Chapter 1: Hint of Girl
“You still look like a girl,” his younger brother Sonny taunted, as the family drove the 100 miles back to their home, returning from Kenny Hansson’s Shakespeare Summer Camp experience.
“Now cut it out, Samuel,” their mother said, using Sonny’s baptismal name. She only used it when she was frustrated and angry, just as she used “Kenneth” only in reprimanding him.
“Well he does, mom. Look at him. Or, should I say ‘her?’” the boy said sarcastically.
“Samuel. I told you. Be quiet and let Kenny concentrate on his driving. And let me get a little rest.” She was in the backseat, leaving her two sons in the front, her head resting against a pillow.
Kenny heard the exchange, but he was behind an 18-wheeler — a cattle truck carrying hogs — and heavy traffic on the interstate made it difficult for Kenny to pull the Caliber into the left lane. He drove only occasionally, and truth be told, he drove scared, afraid to move into traffic and often driving too slowly.
“He even drives like a girl,” Sonny persisted from the right front seat. “Wait ‘til I get my license, I’ll show the little girl how to drive.”
“Samuel, if you don’t shut up about this, you’ll never get your license,” Cecelia Hansson yelled firmly at her younger son.
Kenny heard the exchange, but it didn’t seem to bother him. His little brother’s taunts that he was more like a “girl” almost pleased him, as he reflected back on the six-weeks of Theater Camp at St. Albert’s College. There, he had been chosen to play the part of Ophelia in the camp’s production of ‘Hamlet,’ adopting the Shakespeare era tradition in which men took the parts of women on stage. In keeping with getting to feel the experience of being a woman, Kenny had lived outwardly as a girl called “Karen” on a fulltime basis. The camp director taught “method acting,” in which the actors were urged to assume the identities of their characters to make them more believable.
Perhaps because of his slender, almost dainty frame, Kenny had been chosen to play the fragile teenaged girl friend of Hamlet, and he had played it with great believability.
He continued behind the truck, still resisting the challenge of passing it, reflecting with joy on the three-weeks of his life as Karen, how everyone said he was the prettiest girl in the class, even among the dozen or so other girls who made up the camp. For the first time in his young life he found friends who happily included him in their activities — a gaggle of girls who called themselves the “Bard’s Girls. And he became one of them.
He found out for the first time too how marvelous it was to be a girl, since he so enjoyed being with the other girls doing their activities. Never before as Kenny had he found many friends; nor did he especially enjoy doing the rough, boy things, such as football, baseball or basketball at which always he failed miserably.
Then there was Mark, his muscular roommate. As Karen he had fallen in love with this Adonis-like boy, and had relished in being treated as his girl friend, had found sweet comfort in his strong arms and affection as he was kissed and cuddled.
The thought of Mark brought tears to his face as he drove, realizing that Mark had left her, just as Hamlet had withdrawn from Ophelia with the cruel command: “Get thee to a nunnery!” Mark was headed off to Iowa State University, hundreds of miles away, to play football and find tons of pretty girl friends that were real, and not a mere pretender girl like Kenny. She loved Mark so!
“Watch out,” Sonny yelled.
Kenny was jarred from his reverie, eying the backend of the hog truck now more than a few feet in front of him. His eyes saw the warning sign, “This truck makes wide turns,” loom big before his eyes, and he applied the brakes, slowing down suddenly and bringing a honk from the car behind.
“Were you crying, Kenny?” his brother said.
Kenny nodded his head “no,” but his brother obviously knew differently.
“I didn’t mean it, Kenny,” his brother apologized.
“That’s OK Sonny,” Kenny said, returning his attention to the driving, quickly finding the resolve to move into the left lane and passing the truck, glad to pass these poor hogs, packed into hot compartments obviously on their way to slaughter.
He really couldn’t get mad at his brother. Kenny still did indeed look more girl and boy at the moment, even though he had changed into a boy’s t-shirt and shorts. His hair still maintained the female cut left from the play, and his voice carried the feminine lilt that he had acquired. He wished he could keep his hair and voice like that forever.
*****
Children can never choose their parents, but Kenny felt he scored at least 50% positive in that department. He loved his mother, Cecelia, who was a short woman, a bit fleshy of body with tiny hands and feet. As long as he could remember, he loved nestling his body tightly against her, relishing the warmth that flowed from her softness. He knew his mother loved his cuddles, but as he reached his mid-teens she had sternly rejected any efforts of Kenny to hug her, except for the brief times afforded through greetings or good-byes.
“You’re getting too old for that, Kenny,” his mother said firmly. Then she kissed him and moved to another chair. Kenny had turned 15 then and would miss the comfort of her warmth.
Yet, his mother constantly showed her love for her sons — both of them in truth — by constantly listening to their woes and concerns. She somehow had earned the trust of both boys, even when they reached their teen years when so many other children reject their parents’ advice and counsel.
It may have been that Cecelia Hansson had kept the boys in her confidence even in their youngest years, as she struggled with keeping them fed and healthy as a single mom on only a hospital aide’s salary while also attending night college to obtain a degree in health care administration. The two boys were 14 and 11 and they beamed with pride when Cecelia marched across the University auditorium stage in Green Bay for her degree.
Now, Cecelia Hansson was chief of operations at the same hospital in Manitowoc where as a young mother of 20 she had first been employed as an aide, earning just pennies over the minimum wage. Until Kenny was in high school, the family lived in a one-bedroom apartment in a housing complex of young families, with Kenny and Sonny sharing the bedroom and their mother sleeping on a pull-out bed in the living room, her computer and desk tucked into the dining room area. The one saving grace was that Cecelia worked the third shift, from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m., permitting her to be with her children during their waking hours. While she worked, a widow lady, Mrs. Burkhalter, who lived across the hall, monitored the boys, usually watching television in an old recliner in the Hansson living room.
The boys all called her Aunt Harriet, and she passed many hours a day crocheting. When Kenny was 11, she taught him how to crochet, and he easily picked up the skill, his long, sensitive fingers moving precisely in the process. “My little darling,” Aunt Harriet told him one day, “You’re a whiz at this. I could never get my daughters to do much with it.”
On hot summer days, Kenny loved to go into Aunt Harriet’s apartment (which was air-conditioned) and sit and crochet with the older lady as they watched daytime soap operas or Oprah or other female-led talk shows. At the same time, Sonny played outdoors with the plethora of boys that crowded the apartment complex in makeshift games of baseball, football or basketball.
“Why don’t you get out and play a bit more, Kenny?” his mother asked him numerous times.
“I just like being with you and Aunt Harriet,” he replied. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing dear, but don’t you want to be with boys your own age?”
“No, mom. I like helping you out and keeping Aunt Harriet company.”
Cecelia Hansson usually ended up by smiling, taking the slender boy in her arms and hugging him tightly against her soft body. Kenny was indeed a help around the apartment, keeping the place clear of clutter, cleaning, vacuuming and often cooking meals that she seemed not to find time for.
She worried about her oldest son: he was smart, intelligent, courteous and got good grades in school. Yet, he was so fragile, compared to Sonny, whose trim body glistened with muscles. Kenny just didn’t seem to be developing as boys should. By the time Kenny was 16, he still hadn’t developed any type of beard and she wondered about that. The two boys wrestled — as boys often do — when they were younger, but by the time Kenny was 13 and his brother 10, Sonny was getting the best of the struggles.
The other half of Kenny’s parentage was a mystery to him. Axel Hansson left when Sonny was about three months old. To Kenny who was just about to turn 4, the man is but a blur, a vague remembrance of a tall man with a dark-colored baseball cap. To Kenny’s knowledge, Axel Hansson was never heard from again, leaving Cecelia Hansson (nee Wegner) to fend for herself.
*****
It was only natural that as a teenager — wondering about who he really was — Kenny begin to wonder about his own heritage. Whose genes had caused him to be so different from his younger brother, who seemed to be so much a typical boy, while he found himself so often the butt of comments that he was a “sissy” or even a “girl?” He had not realized it at first, but eventually came to understand that he found great comfort in doing activities that usually only girls did, like being with his mother, doing housework and crocheting and, more recently, quilt-making with Aunt Harriet.
Even though Harriet Burkhalter was no longer responsible for the boys, Kenny often trekked across the hall to visit the older lady. Sometimes, the old woman would bring out her albums of memories. These consisted of old photos, including some studio shots and promotion shots showing a stunning young woman, and clippings of reviews, programs of plays and movie bills. It turns out that Harriet Burkhalter had a brief career as an actress named Holly Burns, appearing both in regional theaters and in bit roles in a dozen movies, even starring in a B-level movie of the type that Hollywood churned out during its hey day.
Kenny became enamored with some of the dresses and outfits that Harriet wore for her productions, all showing the fashions of the post-World War II years. For some reason, he lingered over photos of Harriet in the suits of the era, looking classy, polished and feminine.
“I love those suit outfits, Aunt Harriet,” he said. “You look so classy in that outfit.”
The old woman smiled, her eyes beginning to sparkle.
“That was when I played the part of a secretary in a play about a girl in love with her married boss. That was in Chicago, and Mr. Burkhalter saw me in the play, and, I guess, he fell in love with me then and there. It was a classic case of ‘love at first sight,’ he always said. But that was Leroy, always the romantic.”
“That’s so cool, Aunt Harriet,” he said.
“I was so in love with that man, darling,” she continued. “I never thought I’d leave the theater. Acting was my life, but then Leroy came along and within a year, I’d said good bye to Hollywood, and theater life in Chicago and moved here to Manitowoc to be his wife and a mother. He had to return to take over the family business when his father got ill.”
As the old woman talked, Kenny felt tears coming; her story was so wonderful and he felt himself imagining what it would be like to be a girl in love so completely. In a way, he began thinking of himself as a young Harriet Burkhalter as she related her life stories.
“Oh, don’t cry for me, my darling boy,” Harriet said. “I had a wonderful life. It’s what I wanted as a woman, a loving husband and two nice children. My only regret is that Leroy is no longer here and we can’t grow older together. And, of course, I’m sad my children all live so far away now.”
Kenny smiled, his tears gone. He wondered what girls his age desired in their life ahead; he talked lots with girls in his classes — more than with boys — and didn’t hear any of them talking about being housewives and having children. They talked about boys as “hunks” or “nerds” or “losers.” They talked about entertainers and CDs and clothes; few talked about the future, about world affairs or their futures.
“If I were a girl, I’d love to have the kind life you had, Aunt Harriet,” he said.
“Oh honey, you’re better off as a boy,” she said. “Men have it better, believe me, but, yes, Kenny, I had a marvelous life. Had some disappointments, but wouldn’t change a thing.”
By the time Kenny was in high school, his mother had become an executive officer of the hospital, working daytime — though often long — hours, not getting home until six o’clock at night, or later. Kenny became a surrogate mother to his little brother, Sonny, making sure he got home from school safely and stayed out of mischief. Sonny had none of the closeness to Aunt Harriet as Kenny had developed, though the old lady tried.
Naturally the younger boy resisted the direction of Kenny, calling it “nagging.” He even began responding to Kenny’s direction with a sarcastic “Yes, mother.”
No one but Kenny seemed to understand why a teenaged boy would find enjoyment in the company of a woman who was nearly 80 years old, but Harriet Burkhalter, despite her fragile physical state, was clear-minded and definitely an intelligent woman. Throughout all those years as a housewife, she never lost her curiosity and ability to think.
When they viewed Oprah, they found themselves discussing national and other issues based on the interviews the popular talk show host held. Best of all, she treated Kenny’s views as equal to hers.
“Maybe Aunt Harriet understands me better than anyone,” Kenny mused one night. He had begun questioning his own reasons for his frequent visits.
She didn’t seem to be alarmed that Kenny enjoyed the crocheting and quilt-making and the girl talk the two engaged in, particularly when they commented on the hairdos or dresses that women wore on the Oprah show.
Kenny remembers her watching his hands move quickly in the crocheting and her oft-made comments that “you really have lovely hands, dear boy” or “I love how light and daintily you move with the needles.” Such comments made him blush, realizing that a boy should not be praised for having lovely or dainty hands. Nonetheless, he took care of his hands, washing them in Dove and giving them a daily dose of lotion to keep them soft and smooth.
Several times, his brother knocked on Aunt Harriet’s door and asked Kenny to join him in shooting baskets or tossing the baseball around. Though he would have preferred to remain with Aunt Harriet, he usually agreed to do so.
Kenny was about average height for a boy his age, but quite thin and not muscular. His brother was only an inch shorter, huskier and already outweighed Kenny and was easily the stronger of the two boys. While Kenny hated any form of athletics, he was well-coordinated and seemed to do all his throwing or ball-handling with grace; he was light on his feet and rarely fumbled a ground ball or missed catching a fly. He looked like a ballet dancer when he made a difficult catch. Thus, even though he was a lousy hitter due likely to his weak arms, he was still welcomed by other boys in doing sports.
“Why do I like doing girl stuff?” he asked himself many nights in bed. “I’m not a girl. Why can’t I be like Sonny or other boys?”
Yet, life went on as he completed high school with honors. He was active in the Drama Club, the School Yearbook Club and the Service Club that volunteered for various nursing homes around the city. He loved his time with the Drama Club, where he had several small parts in the school’s plays, often playing a heavily made-up older person. When he was not in the cast of a play, he worked backstage. He was picture editor for the Yearbook on a staff that was largely girls, but the group seemed to have lots of fun, including much giggling as they ogled over the pictures for the annual book
*****
Kenny was persuaded to join the Service Club by Angela, a plain girl who was a stage manager for the Drama Club presentations. Kenny worked with Angela, who was tall and gangly, as an assistant stage manager on several plays in his sophomore year, and the two had developed a close relationship. Both had become enamored with Barack Obama in his first campaign for President and had volunteered to help out. Angela who was a year older and had her driver’s license drove Kenny to the volunteer engagements, and soon the two began telling each other their secrets; Kenny even confided in her that he loved crocheting and that he considered his best friend to be an older lady, Aunt Harriet.
“Kenny, that’s so sweet,” Angela told him, her rather prominent teeth showing as she smiled. “You’re just about the kindest boy I know.”
“I just came to like her and to spend time with her,” he told Angela. “Did I tell you she had done some acting herself in her younger days, even appearing in some Hollywood movies in small parts.”
“No, really?”
“Yes, and Aunt Harriet was a real beauty in her young days. She showed me a publicity picture and her stage name was Holly Burns. And, she also became a newspaper reporter for a short while. Then she got married.”
Kenny loved looking at the old black-and-white picture of the young starlet, her pixie hairstyle, the flowing print skirt she wore with the white blouse, casually open at the neck, showing just a hint of cleavage. The picture held a strange fascination for Kenny who wondered what it would feel like to wear an outfit like that.
“You can learn so much from old people,” Angela said. Her blue eyes sparkled as she spoke and Kenny saw the girl’s real beauty in those eyes; they seemed to tell of a girl with love and compassion, with intelligence and understanding.
“I know I owe my interest in the theater to her, Angela,” Kenny said, picking up the conversation. The two had joined for a quick Coke during a break in rehearsals for “Annie,” the play the Drama Club was staging. They were seated backstage in among the props, and had joined together on an old sofa that had shown up on stage for the last 20 years in every school play needing such a bit of furniture.
“She had a shelf full of books with plays in them,” he continued. “And we soon got to start reading them together, each taking several parts.”
“That’s so cool,” Angela said. “My mom had some books with plays, and I liked doing that, but I’m not pretty enough to be an actress.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Angela,” Kenny said. “I think you’re lovely.”
“That’s nice, Kenny, but don’t kid me. Even my dad calls me an ugly duckling,” she said, tears beginning to flow.
“Oh my God. How could he? You’re really and truly a lovely person, Angela.”
She took a tissue from her smock and dabbed at her face. “You’re sweet to say that, Kenny, but I don’t seem to have many girl friends, do I?”
Kenny considered the comments, knowing it was true. The two were alike, he knew. Angela was tall and gangly and her teeth protruded while Kenny was slender, naíve and unlike any other boy in school. He, too, had few friends. In fact, Angela had become perhaps his best friend, even though she was a year older.
Before Kenny could answer, Mr. Carson, the teacher-director, called the rehearsal back in session, saving Kenny the need to offer any return comment. He had the urge to grab Angela and hold her tight and let her cry her woes out. And, he realized, he might cry right along with her.
“Annie” was staged on two weekends in late April, ending up with typical standing ovations that accompany such school productions — good or bad — and leaving a welcome void in the lives of students and teachers both (planning and staging such plays takes constant attention from the start of the semester, occupying most after-school hours and bringing great tension).
Since Kenny was not an on-stage performer in this play, he worked backstage with Angela and her crew, usually with the costume crew, fitting the performers with their outfits, sometimes even sewing alterations. His skill with the needle was apparent from the beginning, thanks to his hours with Aunt Harriet crocheting.
“You should have been a girl,” one of the girl performers said, as she watched him hem up her dress.
Kenny blushed at her comment, and the girl noticed that, quickly realizing it may have hurt the boy’s feelings, added: “Oh I meant that as a compliment. I know many men make good clothes designers.”
The girl was a senior — and one of the loveliest of the cast — and she stroked his shoulder gently as he worked. Kenny nodded acknowledgement and continued on his work. He knew better than to comment or talk much with the actors, even though they were fellow students. Some of them just seem to be such prima donnas during the plays.
The reference to being a girl was hinted at more and more often as Kenny progressed from his sophomore year into his junior year. Even Angela said about his friendship with her was “like having a good girl friend.” She, too, immediately apologized for the remark, but Kenny quickly replied, “I think it’s a compliment, Angela, for you to consider me such a friend.”
“You’re such a sweetie,” she said.
*****
It was several days after the play ended that Angela suggested he join the Service Club. “You’d be so great for the club,” she said. “You understand older people and I think you’d have so much fun. We visit nursing homes and talk to older people. The old ladies just love us.”
“The semester’s just about over now,” Kenny said. “Maybe I’ll join next year.”
“Oh no, join now. Those of us who can visit the homes during the summer, too. You’ll just love it, Kenny. I know you will.”
The group met weekly after school on Wednesdays, usually for less than 30 minutes to plan for the next Saturday’s nursing home visits. The visits were made from 1 to 3 p.m. each Saturday at one of four nursing homes around town. Besides visits, the group sometimes gave performances using those who might have a particular musical talent, drafting a few other kids who played music or even doing a brief reading or skit.
When Kenny went into Room 203 for the Wednesday meeting, he was shocked to see about a dozen girls already there. There were no boys. He turned to leave, but then Angela appeared, arriving just seconds later. “Good you’re here,” she said grabbing him by the arm.
She dragged him into the room, announcing, “Girls, here’s a new volunteer, my friend Kenny Hansson who’s agreed to join us.”
“Well, I don’t know for sure . . .” he mumbled.
Angela cut him off. “Give him a nice welcome. He’s really cool with older people.”
There were some mumbles and a few faint giggles and Kenny found a seat. Kenny looked about the room, recognizing some of the girls from his classes. None of them, he could see, were the “in-crowd,” and most seemed to be smart, serious girls. He felt strangely at home among the girls.
Chapter 2: Mistaken Identity
The traffic on the Interstate grew lighter, and Kenny’s mind wandered over some thoughts that had bothered him since he had so enjoyed his experience living as Karen. The idea that he could live as a girl had never seriously entered his mind, even though many of his teenage experiences seemed to place him with girls or women. He slowly came to realize that the only places he felt at ease involved being with females. My God, he said to himself, why is it that I love things like crocheting and caring for people and romance stories? No boy should like such activities.
He had looked on the Internet for information about boys who had such tendencies, learning quickly about crossdressers transvestites, drag queens and transsexuals. What he saw of drag queens and their often grotesque outfits and hairdos frightened him. “I’m not like that,” he mused. Later, in his investigations, he realized there were men who were transsexual who truly only wished to be an ordinary girl or woman. Was he not like them, Kenny wondered?
He was fascinated by the first known American who changed sexes, Christine Jorgensen, largely because of the similarities between himself and Jorgensen in ethnic heritage and their physical shapes, both being slender and delicate. “But that’s an awful major step,” he told himself.
Throughout his high school years, he continued to tell himself that he was a boy who would become a man, marry a woman and be a father. To that end, he made an effort to be more physically active and strengthen his body, but any of his exercise regimens soon ended as the press of school and his activities interfered.
During the summer before, between his junior and senior years, he and Angela had taken to playing games of tennis, which they played quite competitively, though Kenny thought sometimes Angela let up on him to let him win so as not to embarrass him too often. He could not get any speed on his serves, while hers often whistled by him as “aces.” Sometimes other girls from the Service Club joined them, and the games usually ended in giggles.
“You look so nice in your tennis outfit,” Kenny told Angela one day. She wore white shorts that ended in mid-thigh and were pleated so that that flared about as she ran, topped by a white tennis shirt that seemed to accentuate her smallish breasts. She wore her hair in a tightly tied, high ponytail that bobbed as she ran. In her tennis outfit, Angela displayed another one of her positive physical traits, long, shapely, firm legs.
Kenny loved the tennis outfits the girls wore, and subconsciously copied their style, wearing an abbreviated pair of shorts, white shoes and a white polo shirt, with light blue trim. He also tied his hair in a high ponytail, so that it bounced as he ran.
It should have been little surprise one day when a pair of teenaged boys approached them as they played. Kenny and Angela had taken a short break after finishing a set, and one of the boys, tennis racket in hand, said, “Say girls, would you like to play doubles?”
“Girls?” Kenny said.
“Ah no, thank you,” Angela quickly interjected. “We’re just finishing up. We’re pretty tired.”
The boy, tall and trim with unruly blonde hair, nodded. “Sorry, we just thought you two girls played pretty well, and we’re not much better.”
“Thank you,” Angela said. “But maybe next time.”
“Well, that would be nice,” the boy said, and he turned to leave.
Kenny turned to Angela, realizing that maybe she’d like to play with the boys, thinking that perhaps she yearned for a boy friend she never had. “Thank you,” he said, “But did you want to play one set with them? I bet you did.”
“No that’s OK,” she said. “I guess we should go.”
“Really we can play one set. He seemed nice and he’s probably in your class, too.”
“But he thinks you’re a girl,” she said. “How could we pull that off?”
“I guess you could give me a girl’s name for today, like Kathy or Karen.”
“Really?” Angela said. “That’s so cool. You could be Karen. I guess you look the part.”
She smiled, her teeth showing and she instinctively put her hand over her mouth to hide the teeth. Kenny loved it when Angela smiled. Her eyes always seemed to sparkle then.
The boys joined them for a set, with Angela teaming up with Elliot, the boy who had approached her, and Kenny (introduced as “Karen”) partnered with Larry. He was a short, huskier of the two. Both boys were juniors at Catholic High School.
Because his voice might give him away, Kenny said little during the match. Angela explained that her friend was shy and didn’t talk much.
The boy’s skills about matched Kenny’s and Angela’s so that match was both fun and competitive. Larry tended to try to overpower the ball, usually ending up slamming it into the net, or sending out of the foul lines; Kenny’s more timid game consisted of some dinky hits that often eluded the opponents. Nonetheless, Angela and Elliott clearly were superior and won the set.
“Thank you, girls,” the boys said.
“Can we buy you a Coke now?” Elliott said.
“No, we need to go,” Angela said.
“Oh that’s too bad, I’d like to get to know you Angela. We made a good team,” Elliott said.
Angela smiled back.
“Let me call you sometime, OK?” he persisted. “Maybe for another tennis match, or maybe a Coke or something?”
Angela hesitated, but gave in providing the boy her phone number.
“How about you, Karen?” Larry said. “Like to meet again?”
Before Kenny could answer, Angela said: “Oh, Larry, I’m sorry. She has a boy friend.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” he said. “I just thought . . .”
Kenny turned to the boy, saying to him in a soft voice, “It was nice of you to ask.”
“Well, Karen, you a very pretty girl.”
Later in the car driving home, Angela said, “You really had them fooled.”
Kenny was perplexed. “Do I look that much like a girl?”
“I guess so. Especially with that outfit you wore today, and your longhair, tied as it was.”
“I suppose so.”
“And you really did look so pretty, Karen,” she said. “And you do have exquisite legs, really lovely.”
Kenny felt he was about to blush. Did he like that characterization of being a girl? He smiled. He liked the idea.
*****
Kenny thought often about the boys at the tennis court and how they both thought he was a girl. The boys truly wanted to “hit” on both Angela and him, who had been called “a pretty girl” by Larry, his tennis partner. What would he do if he ever saw the boys again? It was certainly possible, even though they went to different high schools. Their city wasn’t that big, and there’d likely be lots of opportunity to bump into them.
The incident on the tennis courts occurred near the end of the summer, and Angela would be leaving soon for the University in Madison, since she had graduated high school, with honors, of course. Kenny would be entering his senior year, and he lamented about missing his friend, Angela. They had never been more than friends, and though Kenny found her attractive, he felt it wasn’t right for him to consider dating her. He realized that his relationship with Angela was that of just being two friends, maybe even ‘girl friends’ since their friendship so often revolved around the activities of girls.
The prospect of actually living as a girl was beginning to sound more reasonable to Kenny as he reflected on his several week stint as Karen at the Shakespeare Summer Camp. He had found the experience exhilarating and liberating; it’s as if his true character had emerged during that period in camp.
*****
Even now as he drove his mother’s car on the Interstate from the Shakespeare summer camp to his home, he realized he brushed his hair back in a girlish swish of his hand. He caught himself doing it several times, hoping that his brother didn’t see the action.
“I must stop thinking I’m a girl,” he told himself.
The fact was that the “girl” on his persona still showed. His hair retained the curls and style in which it had been fashioned for the play and his brows had been trimmed. It gave him a definite feminine appearance. During the weeks at the camp, he had worked so hard on retaining a feminine lilt to his speaking, with its soft tone. Even now, with the play ended, he realized he still spoke that way, prompting his brother to say he sounded like a “faggot.”
“I do not,” Kenny had responded. He had been sincere in the response, since he had worked hard not to sound flamboyantly effeminate, as though he might be considered a “faggot.” Frankly, he hoped he sounded like a girl, not an overly dramatic drag queen.
Finally, Kenny drove the car into their assigned spot in the apartment’s complex.
“I’ll help my sister with her bags,” Sonny volunteered. He then laughed.
“Now, Samuel, I warned you,” their mother said.
“You don’t want me to help, mother?”
“Samuel, of course I do, but just quit treating your brother like that.”
Kenny wished his mother would not make such an issue; he knew Sonny would eventually tire of his name-calling. As he stepped out of the car, he brushed his hair back with a flick of his hand. He blushed, hoping his brother didn’t see his effeminate movement.
*****
“They need you at work tonight, Kenny,” his mother said a few minutes after they returned home.
“What? I can’t work, I’m dead tired,” he protested.
“Mr. Alexopolous called, he’s really short of wait staff tonight,” his mother explained. “He left a message on the machine, saying he’ll add 50% to your tips if can make it.”
“That old skin flint,” Kenny said. “He’ll figure out a way to wiggle out of it, mom. You know him.”
“Well call him honey. I know you can use the money.”
Kenny reluctantly called the restaurant; it was a popular family restaurant for the area, so typical of the places operated by Greek families throughout the nation. It was called “Olympus,” and had columns on the outside, looking far more fancy than the fare offered inside. Yet, the food was always tasty, hot and cheap by restaurant standards. Saturday night was the busiest of the week.
“I’m such a mess, George,” he said to the owner.
“You’ll clean up nicely, dear boy. Can you get here by 5:30?”
Even though it was already 3 p.m., Kenny agreed he’d try to make it. He showered and tried to do something with his hair, which seemed to keep falling back into its feminine mode. Finally he decided to wear it in a ponytail, which many boys did, feeling that would make him look less girlish.
He donned his Olympus outfit, a pair of black pants, which were tight about the hips and upper thighs, and a white shirt, with ruffles down the front. George Alexopolous outfitted his male waiters, of which Kenny was one of only three, in this uniform. The others on the wait staff were mainly young women or high school girls. They wore short, dark skirts and white blouses, with just a bit more trim than the male waiters wore.
Kenny got there on time and already the restaurant was jammed, with families clogging the entry waiting for tables. “There’s a 25 minutes wait,” he heard Lucy Alexopolous, who was hostess for the evening, tell a patron at the hostess podium.
“Great, you’re here,” commented Lucy, who was also in charge of the wait staff, as Kenny entered. “The girls will be tickled pink you could make it. You’re a darling. You’ve got Station 3 and right now Sharon and Anna are handling the station. Let them know you’re here.”
He liked Lucy, who was in his class in school, and suggested he take the job. She had told Kenny that she liked how clean and courteous he was. Lucy was more mature than her age, and easily ran the wait staff with great proficiency. A chip off the old block, Kenny thought, but much nicer than her father, the owner.
Sharon was the restaurant’s senior waitress, having been there since her high school days. She had the hard look of a woman who had lived through many challenges in her young life, already appearing to be older than her age of 30. She was raising two boys alone, and now were both oversized middle-schoolers who demanded a full refrigerator. She was a tall, husky woman who retained her shape in spite of what life had dealt her and was a great favorite among the patrons and employees alike. Sharon hugged Kenny, almost smothering him in her bosom. He admired Sharon, who worked hard and fast and was easy on the new staff, always showing patience as they struggled to learn the job. “Waitressing ain’t for sissies,” she said often to a new staff member who might have erred in some way or have gotten a sharp rebuke from the chef or a customer.
Kenny got brought up-to-date with the status of the orders, and proceeded to the job. Soon it was like he had never left the job for six weeks; he picked up where he left off, as he worked to bring order to the rush of the night. Kenny had worked at the restaurant since the previous summer, and was easily the most hard-working and efficient boy on the wait staff. Mr. Alexopolous had only reluctantly agreed to the six-week leave so that Kenny could attend the Shakespeare camp, realizing if he didn’t agree to it, Kenny would quit and likely easily find another job as a waiter, given his obvious talents at the job.
“Miss, miss,” yelled a customer at his station, a large burly man with an obese wife and two roly poly kids. “My check please, miss.”
It took Kenny a second to realize the man was at one of his tables. He blushed, and though he was in the midst of delivering an order to the kitchen, he paused long enough to dig out the bill from the stack left him by Sharon and Anna, and put it in a leatherette credit card folder to hand to the man.
“Here you are sir. I’ll be back in a minute to take it for you.”
“Thank you, miss, and don’t forget us.”
Kenny was about to correct the man, but by then another table was beckoning for coffee, so he turned and cared for the other customer.
Kenny was called “miss” several more times that night, even though his name card said “Kenny.” One group of older ladies called him over and asked, “We ladies were wondering. What is your real name dear? We’ve never seen a young girl called Kenny before?”
Luckily Sharon was passing at the moment, and interjected, “She won’t tell us,” she giggled. “It must really be awful.”
The woman patted Kenny’s arm, saying “I’m sorry we were so nosey, dear, but you were an excellent waitress. We’ll ask for you next time.”
“Thank you ladies,” was all Kenny could say, before escaping the group.
At the end of the night, as the girls and Kenny were counting up their tips, Kenny turned to Sharon to thank her for intervening. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“I heard those old bitties speculating over what the ‘girl’s’ name really was, and I knew they might ask you, so I kept a lookout,” Sharon said.
“I appreciate that so much Sharon.”
“We girls must stick together,” she said with a wink.
“Do I look that much like a girl, Sharon?” Kenny asked. “I got called ‘miss’ quite a lot tonight.’
“I’d have to say ‘yes.’ I never thought that about you before, but there’s something different about you tonight. I could see how you could be taken for a girl. I hope you don’t mind me saying that, Kenny.”
Kenny was silent for a minute. Finally he said, “No Sharon, I want the truth.”
“I’m very fond of you Kenny,” Sharon said. “You’re a top notch waiter and you work hard and you’re so sweet to work with. But, dear, you seem to have grown feminine since you were here six weeks ago.”
Later as they went to the parking lot, Kenny explained to Sharon about the summer camp and the fact that he lived as a girl — for acting purposes — for a few weeks. She hugged him and said that he must have made a pretty girl.
Kenny blushed, finally admitting, “That’s what every one said.”
“I’m sure we have a skirt and blouse your size here,” she teased.
He giggled. He knew it sounded girlish. What’s happening to him?
*****
By the time he got home from his restaurant job, it was 11 p.m. and his mother and brother were watching “Saturday Night Live.”
“You must be exhausted, honey,” his mother said as he entered.
“It was a busy night, but they were all so happy to see me,” Kenny said, collapsing on the sofa next his mother. His brother was on the floor, half asleep with his head on a pillow. He raised his head to grunt a “Hi,” turning quickly back to watch the show.
“Come sit next to me dear,” she patted the sofa cushion on her right, beckoning Kenny to snuggle up next to her.
Kenny followed his mother’s direction, and moved next to her, and she put an arm around him, pulling him toward her.
“It’s so nice to have my two boys with me,” she said. “I love you both.”
“Oh, ma,” grunted Sonny from the floor.
Kenny gave the boy a gentle nudge with his foot, ask if to scold him for his comment.
“You’re such a momma’s boy, or should I say, girl,” Sonny said.
With that Kenny kicked Sonny harder, but before the younger boy could respond, their mother shouted out: “That’s enough now, you two. I see things are back to normal, now both of you shut up and watch the show. And Sonny, why don’t you sit on my other side, so I could hug you too.”
Sonny only grunted again, turning his head away from his mother and brother. Kenny felt good snuggling against his mother’s warmth. As the show continued on its inane ways, Kenny quickly lost interest, thinking he was again in the arms of Mark Hamilton. How he loved that boy! He yearned for the smell of his body, even the sour, sweet smell that a boy has after a night of sleep. Oh my, how he wanted again to feel the firm lips of that strong, muscular boy upon his own lips. Kenny so loved being engulfed in the arms of her lover, of feeling weak and fragile and in need of protection from this Adonis of a boy. Oh, my to be a girl again!
“Are you crying honey?” His reverie was interrupted by the question. It was his mother, still holding him closely.
“No,” he sniveled.
“You are, dear, what’s wrong?”
“Oh mommy, I can’t tell you. It’s so bad.”
His mother held him even more tightly now, stroking his long hair. She was so gentle and next nestled him head onto her bosom. Now his crying became even more intense, his whole body writhing with tension.
“That’s OK, just cry away,” she said gently. “Your brother’s sound asleep and won’t hear a thing.”
“I’m sorry for being such a cry baby, mom,” Kenny said.
He brought his legs up, curled them to one side, laying his head upon his mother’s fleshy thighs. He felt so comforted.
He heard his mother say, “”That’s OK, dear. I know you’ll tell me your troubles when you’re ready. We love you, dear.” Soon he was asleep.
*****
There were five weeks left before he had to leave to go to college, and Kenny was mainly busy working, waiting tables at the Olympus from 4:30 to 10 p.m., every night except Tuesday. It left little time for any social life, except Angela, home from college for the summer. Kenny spent many of day-times together, playing pick-up tennis games and doing a bit of shopping together.
The year away at school seemed to have a great impact on the tall, gangly girl. No longer was she the gawky teenager, and she carried herself with more assurance. Most of the summer, she wore only shorts, and Kenny thought her legs were truly magnificent. Sadly, Angela’s prominent teeth still flawed the girl’s basic beauty.
“No boy friends, yet, Angela?” Kenny probed at their first meeting after he returned from summer camp. The two had met to play tennis at the local park.
“Only you, Kenny,” she teased. “But nobody from college. All they seem to care about is drinking beer. It gets so boring with some of them.”
“And you’re my best girl friend,” Kenny said.
She grabbed his arm as they walked to the courts from their cars. “We are such good friends,” she smiled.
Kenny and Angela were about the same height and same slender body build. His hair was in a pony tail, as was hers and they both wore white tennis outfits.
“Remember those boys from last summer?” Angela asked.
“Yeah, did that Elliott guy ever call you?” Kenny asked.
Angela blushed. “He did, but I had to leave for college a few days later, so we couldn’t hook up. He said he’d call over Christmas holiday, but I didn’t hear from him. He was nice.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Oh well, easy come, easy go,” she said.
“I wonder if they’ll be here today, playing tennis,” Kenny said. “I hope not, ‘cause I’ll have to act like a girl again.”
Angela giggled. “You sure fooled them. I think that Larry fellow was really hot for you.”
“Don’t remind me.” Kenny, however, enjoyed being reminded of what a pretty girl he looked like the previous summer.
“Well, girl friend, if he’s here, you’ll have to beat him off with a stick,” Angela giggled. “You still are pretty.”
“You think so?” he said, a teasing smile on his face. He did a quick and graceful turn of his body, daintily moving his arms up and flicking his wrists.
“Oh my, aren’t you the cutie?” Angela giggled.
“I’m glad you finally noticed,” he said.
“Darling, I’ve always noticed that. You are my best girl friend, aren’t you?”
Angela had improved her game since last summer, and Kenny, who hadn’t played since then, was a poor match for her superior strength. His serves and hits were still puny compared to her strong blasts, but his own speed and alertness to the game helped to make the match competitive.
After three sets, Kenny was totally exhausted, but Angela still seemed fresh as the two sat on a park bench afterward.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more of a competition for you,” he said, his voice coming out between short bursts of breath.
“You were fine, Kenny, and you’re good in returning my serves. You haven’t played as much as I have. If you’d play more, you’d get better.”
“I suppose so,” but he knew he’d never likely ever be a strong as the girl sitting next to him at the moment.
He looked at Angela’s arms, sinewy and hard-looking, comparing them to his own, slender and smooth and soft, with wrists tinier than the girl’s.
“Larry and Elliott didn’t show up today,” he said to change the subject, referring to the two boys from last summer’s encounter. “Did you hope they might?”
“Oh I don’t know,” she replied. “I guess I kinda hoped they would. Elliott seemed so nice, but that would have been complicated for you. I’d have to call you Karen or something.”
Kenny blushed, realizing that he may even look to be a more convincing girl than he was the previous summer. The idea of this strange boy from Catholic Memorial High School being “hot” for him was so exciting, reinforcing his feelings that he was a girl. His feelings about Larry soon melded into being warm thoughts about being in the arms of Mark Hamilton, as Karen. How he yearned for that!
It was true, he thought. He was thinking like a girl, more so than ever.
*****
Later, Kenny confided in Angela, relating his experiences at the summer camp as Karen, and how marvelous he felt in the role of being a pretty girl. The two had retreated to a shaded area in the park, and were seated opposite each other at a picnic table, which had numerous carvings in its wooden slats, “RL loves EG,” “Ginny and Larry” and similar sentiments. Angela had packed a picnic lunch for the two of them, to be consumed after their tennis match. She even brought along a bottle of white wine.
“People will think we’re lovers,” Kenny said, realizing what it would look like to others.
“Maybe we should be, Kenny,” the girl said coyly.
He looked at the girl, almost like she was out of her mind. The girl obviously sensed Kenny’s reluctance at the idea.
“It’s not such a far-fetched idea, Kenny, is it?”
She reached across the table, grasping his hands, her calloused strong hands holding his slender hands firmly. Her forearms looked like those of a strong young man, his more girlish. How could she feel that Kenny, puny, weak Kenny, might be a credible male lover?
“But we’re just friends, Angela,” he protested.
“Oh Kenny, we’re more than friends. We tell each other everything, and I’ve never been closer to any friend than you. I missed you so much this year at school.”
It was true. Angela was Kenny’s closest friend, but hadn’t the two really been more like girl friends that tell each other their secrets and share activities together? During the school year, the two had shared occasional email swaps and even done several “Skype” sessions.
“Come let’s lay down together on the blanket,” she said, her superior strength pulling him off the picnic bench and onto a large blanket she had spread out next to the bench.
“But I’m so sweaty,” he said, resisting unsuccessfully as she pulled him down next to her.
“So what, I am too,” she said.
He found himself flat on his back and Angela on top of him as she cupped his head between her two hands and began kissing him, her full lips pressing down upon his. The musky sweaty scent of their two bodies filled his nostrils as he tasted her mouth, a slightly foul taste that likely matched his own. Soon their lips opened and their tongues intermixed and their kisses became ravenous.
It was intoxicating him and he grabbed her, his arms engulfing her stronger, slender body and bringing her tightly against him. He felt his penis grow hard and press into her groin as they kissed. Feeling the sinews of her strong back, his mind reflected to Mark and how sweet he felt (as Karen) in the arms of this muscular man. And suddenly he was Karen again, a lovely girl kissing a strong boy. It was overwhelming and he couldn’t help it: suddenly he ejaculated, his warm juices swarming into his tennis shorts and wetting the girl on top of him.
Angela, realizing what had happened, relaxed her kisses, and slowly moved off of Kenny, laying to her side.
Kenny began crying. He was so ashamed, but Angela took him in her arms, holding him gently, stroking his long hair.
“I’m sorry, Angela,” he said finally when his crying ended. “I’m such a failure as a lover. I’m no good as a man.”
“My dear girl,” Angela replied. “My poor dear girl. My sweet lover.”
“But . . .” he started.
“No dear, silence,” she said, putting her finger on his lips. “I love you as a girl friend. I don’t want you as a boy friend. I love how soft and weak you are and you’re so pretty. I’ve always dreamed about you, ever since we first met. You’re the only boy that ever turned me on, and I couldn’t figure it out. I only like other girls, dear, and maybe I pictured you as a girl.”
“But I have a . . .” he hesitated.
“A cock,” she said. “I know it, and I bet it’s pretty too.”
Kenny smiled. It was “pretty,” he had to admit, being not as large as most boys’ penises, and rather slim. Yet, he often wondered whether he liked having a cock. Suddenly he was overwhelmed with love for the girl next to him. She has accepted him for what he was, a girl who still had a few boy attachments. They began kissing again, and Kenny said: “Please call me Karen.”
*****
Despite washing his hair to rid it of its feminine style, and efforts at seeking to act in a more masculine manner at work, Kenny still found himself addressed as “miss” or “young lady” several times a week. He wondered why that continued, but soon recognized that his voice retained some of the inflections that enter the speech of young ladies. Of course, he realized his own slender body and still long hair tied in a ponytail may have contributed to the illusion that he was a girl.
“I have half a mind to put you in one of our skirts, Kenny,” George said one day. “I just received another compliment for the service provided by that young lady named ‘Kenny,’ and they wondered why such a pretty girl had a boy’s name. That’s the second comment I had about you in the last week.”
Kenny reddened, wondering what he could say. So he merely nodded to the restaurant owner.
“You’re such a good waiter, Kenny, that I’d hate for someone to start making a fuss about you,” George continued. “Why don’t you cut your hair?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Alexopolous, but I just couldn’t cut my hair,” Kenny replied.
“I’m not going to ask you, too, but people are beginning to wonder about you.”
Kenny hesitated. “I don’t know what to say, sir, but I only will be here for two more weeks before I go to college.”
Just then, he heard the chef yell, “Order Up Three,” signifying that the meals were ready for Kenny to pickup. “I better get this order, this table is getting anxious, sir,” he said, scurrying off.
“Go,” the restaurant owner said, shaking his head as he watched Kenny move quickly, his steps short and quick, and, he realized, very much like the way all of the waitresses walked.
As usual, Kenny got healthy tips from his tables, and he was always generous in sharing with the bus boys and the hostess. It was one of the reasons that Kenny was favored by the entire staff of the Olympus, most of them so busy in their work that they were hardly aware of how feminine the young man had become. Perhaps it was because he was not overly effeminate in his behaviors and was acting as if he were naturally a female.
Chapter Three: Love Affair
He spent virtually all of his free time with Angela in the few weeks remaining before he was to go off to the state university. Often she picked him up as he ended work about 10 p.m., sometimes merely to enjoy a late night cappuccino together at a coffee house and sometimes to drive to a park where they’d site for a while in the car, talking, hugging and kissing. Angela’s hands always found their way to his slender arms, which she loved to massage, squeezing the soft flesh.
She called him “dear girl” or “sweet girl friend” as they kissed, and Kenny softened in her arms, realizing he relished the words. After several nights with Angela, he finally admitted how he spent about four weeks of the six-week Shakespeare summer camp session as “Karen,” living fulltime as a girl to prepare for the part of Ophelia in Hamlet.
“Oh you must have been so pretty, dear girl,” Angela said.
“Everybody said I was,” he admitted, feeling himself grow flush.
“Karen, Karen, Karen,” the girl mused. “That’s a lovely name for a lovely girl.”
“I liked it,” he giggled, remembering how natural he felt to be among the girls in the camp. Even as he sat in Angela’s car, snuggled close to her angular body with his head resting on her small, firm breasts, his thoughts flooded to images of Mark, his muscular arms, hard chest and firm passionate lips.
He loved how both Angela and Mark treated him with gentleness, how they longingly caressed his body, making him feel protected in their strong arms. He was the girl friend of both of them, he realized.
“Karen, you must dress up for me darling,” she said, as she finished smothering him with kisses.
“I don’t have any real girl clothes anymore, except for a few underthings,” he said. “Most of the dresses and skirts I borrowed from the girls in the camp.”
“I think I’ve got some things that’ll fit you. They might be a little big for you, but not much. We’re about the same height.”
Kenny smiled. “I have been thinking about buying some dresses or other stuff for myself,” he said.
“Oh I’d love to help you do that,” she said.
“Really, you like shopping?” Kenny asked. He found it strange coming from this athletic girl who rarely seemed to care about fashions. Yet, he realized Angela’s clothes, while simple, were always well-matched and in good taste.
“I’d love to shop with you, Karen. You’re so lovely.”
The two embraced each other, lost in each other’s arms, only to be interrupted by a car moving alongside them, stopping and hearing a rap on the window with a light shining in on them.
“You two 18 years old?” the police officer asked.
“Yes,” they both said in unison.
“OK, girls, you should know the park is closed now,” he ordered. “We don’t want this to be a hangout for girls like you, so move on. Next time, you’ll be arrested, and tell your queer friends to stay away after hours.”
The officer got in his squad and moved on, and they both sat there, the mood shattered by the rude interruption.
“He thought we were lesbians,” Angela said, beginning to laugh.
Like the girl he was, Kenny giggled, too.
*****
“That was nice of him to let us off so easily,” Kenny said, as Angela started the car and began to leave the parking spot.
Angela grunted, saying bluntly: “The damned Nazi.”
“Oh?”
“What do you think? He let us off because he was a nice guy? No way, he’s a lazy copper and he just didn’t want the hassle of writing us up,” she said, placing one hand on Kenny bare thigh, her fingers gently caressing.
“I suppose so.”
“Besides, after what he said to us, calling us ‘queers,’ that smacks of discrimination, and that’s supposed to be against the Police Chief’s new policies. Our new chief has claimed he’s trying to make the officers more sensitive, now, and we could have leveled a complaint against him.”
“I never thought of that,” Kenny said. “But wouldn’t have looked weird if I been arrested as a ‘lezzie’ when I’m really a boy.”
“Oh Karen, it’s so hard to think of you as a boy, and you can see how the copper was fooled,” she said, squeezing his thigh as she turned onto the main highway to head home.
*****
Several days later, the Kenny and Angela played tennis again at Lakeland Park, which had perhaps the best public courts in the city; they were always well-maintained and required reservations because of the demand on their use. Kenny again dressed as he always did for tennis, in an all-white outfit with shorts that rode high on his thighs and a polo shirt with short sleeves. He wore white ankle socks and shoes.
“Hi Hank,” Angela said, as they approached the desk of the man who operated the courts.
“Angela, nice seeing you again,” Hank said. He was a slim man with a weather-beaten face and for years had been the area’s top tennis player. He still retained the athletic body of his earlier years. “How’s college treating you?”
“Fine, Hank, even played a little tennis,” she said.
“Good, and you girls can use court number 8 on the end,” he said, smiling.
“Oh yes, this is my friend, Karen,” she said, smiling.
Kenny blushed, but recovered nicely to mumble, “nice meeting you.”
As they put their tennis bags down at Court No. 8, Kenny said, “Why did you have to say I was Karen?”
Angela, grabbing a new can of balls from her bag, looked up, “Well, he already thought you were a girl.”
The first set was a disaster for Kenny, losing 6-1. He double-faulted time and again, largely because he was trying vainly to swing hard to put steam into his serves. As he pushed his swing, the ball would be long, or power into the net. Sometimes it went wide, too.
“I’m no competition for you, Angela,” he said, as they switched sides to begin the second set.
As they completed the set, Kenny noticed Hank had joined them, watching the two play the game.
“Let me give your friend here a pointer, if you all don’t mind,” he said.
“No go ahead, Hank,” Angela said.
He approached Kenny, and asked him for his racket.
“Now honey, you know what your problem is?” he began.
“No, what?”
“You’re trying too hard, and swinging too hard,” he said. “First of all, I can see you’re not a very strong girl, not as strong as Angela, so you can’t expect to overpower her. You must outsmart her.”
Kenny nodded.
“And, dear, oh what is your name?” Hank asked.
“Ah . . . ah . . . Karen.”
“You’re a shy one I can see. Anyway you need to be precise on your serves, then speed won’t be as much a factor. Swing easy and make solid contact and you’ll do fine.”
Hank demonstrated a few shots and then handed the racket to Kenny, whose first attempts were feeble, but with a few more pointers soon was shooting the ball more accurately.
“That’s a good girl,” he said, finally. “Now see if you can beat out Angela.”
“Thanks,” yelled Angela in mock sarcasm, as Hank left them to start Set. No. 2.
*****
Hank’s tennis strategy paid off for Kenny as he was able to dink some of his hits just out of the reach of Angela, somewhat offsetting her superior athleticism. Still, his problems continued with his serves, which were more precise but usually easily returned with a muscular blast from Angela that more often than not virtually knocked Kenny back on his heels, rarely able to hit back a decent return. Still he kept the match close, eventually losing 6 — 4.
“Now you’re supposed to leap the net and congratulate your opponent,” Angela said with a testing smile.
“Are you kidding,” he panted. “I’m lucky I can walk that far now. You’ve worn me out.”
“Well at least come give the winner a hug.”
“Oh, I’m so sweaty,” he said, as the two approached.
“Me too,” she said, engulfing him with a big hug.
He buried his face into the crotch of her neck and shoulders, her sour, salty scent unexpectedly delicious and his lips tasting the beads of sweet on her glistening tan body. The mixture of her feminine smell with the mustiness of her sweating body was strangely arousing and he felt his penis suddenly harden.
“You smell so good, Karen,” she said, again reverting to his feminine name.
Their two bodies seemed cemented for an eternity, finally separating when they heard one of the players at an adjoining court yell out: “Hey you two girls save it for the bedroom.”
“Guess we went a bit too far,” Angela said, then turning to the other player, yelling back, “Sorry sir, we’re leaving now.”
Kenny looked at the other player, an older man, trim with long graying hair, who was playing a similar aged man. Both, he had noticed, were accomplished players who had a competitive game going. They both waved amiably as Angela led Kenny off the courts.
“They had a good idea, Karen,” she said. “Mom’s gone all day from the house. How about coming over and you can shower there and maybe we might find sometime for the bedroom.”
What was going on here? Kenny wondered where this relationship was going, and frankly he was frightened. He had never with a girl in a sexual relationship, except for the brief time he and Angela had been together. Even though he was now 18, he was a virgin and really wasn’t sure how to behave with a girl. Besides with his puny, largely hairless body and undersized manhood, he was embarrassed to show his body.
“No,” he said after a bit of hesitation. “I have to be at work at 4:30 tonight.”
Angela scowled. “You got plenty of time. It’s not even noon yet.”
“But I don’t have any clothes to change into,” he said finding another excuse.
“I got something that’ll fit you, I sure,” she said, as they entered her car.
Kenny nodded, easily agreeing to Angela’s suggestion. She was so persuasive and, besides, she seemed to understand him so well. He knew she seemed to enjoy his company, particularly when she treated him like a girl. In fact, she seemed uninterested in him as a boy.
*****
Angela lived in a moderate-sized ranch home in a neighborhood of similar homes, interrupted by an occasional tri-level or modest colonial home. The lawns were trim, dotted by evergreens and flower beds surrounded by railroad ties or stacked designer bricks. Concrete driveways lead usually to a two-car garage tucked in the back; while most were devoid of any sign of life during the midday in this tract of home occupied by supervisors from the local factories, accountants, teachers, police and firefighters, there were some homes where child toys were scattered about the property or a bike standing in the driveway or an occasional pickup truck near the garage.
“This is a nice neighborhood,” Kenny volunteered as they drove the block to the house.
“Boring,” she said.
“I suppose so, but boring also seems peaceful. We live in that apartment building you know, and it seems like there’s always some drama going on there,” he said.
Angela scowled, finally saying, “I just don’t belong here.”
He looked at the girl, realizing how much alike the two actually were. Kenny never felt comfortable in school, for instance, particularly with boys and shied away from any association with other kids, easily getting a reputation of being a loner. Angela, too, being taller for a girl, a bit gawky and geeky and seeming not to be “one of the girls.” She obviously had some natural athletic abilities; yet, she joined none of the girl sports teams. They both seemed to have strong feelings for the environment, against war and in support of issues that assisted the poor and unfortunate. It was through politics — and Democrats — that they found their first bonding, a bond that now threatened to grow into mutual sexual desire.
“Let’s shower together,” Angela suggested when they got to her home.
“Do you think we should?” he asked, truly embarrassed by the proposal.
“It’ll save on water,” she giggled impishly.
“I’ve never done that,” he blushed. “In fact, I’ve never seen a girl naked before.”
Kenny wasn’t sure he really wanted to see her naked. It seemed sordid, he thought. Also he was reluctant to show himself and his pathetic body to a girl. The showers after gym class, when he hurried to get in and out and covered to hide his pathetic body from the teases and taunts of other boys, had been the only instances when he exposed himself.
“You’re such a prude,” she said. “Come on Karen, my dear. We’ll have fun soaping each other up.”
Kenny was dazzled when he saw Angela before him as they entered the bathroom, both naked, to begin the shower. Except for her breasts, which though small, stood firm with pink protruding nipples surrounded by wide areoles, she had the body of a slender, sinewy boy. Muscle tone stood out on her arms and legs, her thighs particularly lined with hard tendons, along with shapely calves. He was fascinated by the patch of reddish hair that formed at her crotch.
He looked at his own body in the mirror, now ashamed to be showing how soft and undefined his shoulders and arms were. His biceps were flat and fleshy and his shoulders were smooth and slender. He looked down to see his smallish penis, growing hard between his soft, white thighs. The hair surrounding the tiny piece of manhood was light, blondish.
“You’re beautiful, Karen,” Angela said, grabbing his hand and leading him to step into the tub. She closed the curtain, and turned on the faucet and the water cascaded upon both of them, a warm steady stream of water already set at the proper temperature since Angela had previously run the water to get it up to bearable warmth.
“Let me soap you up first,” she said. “I can’t wait to get my hands on your body.”
Taking a pink plastic bottle in her hand, she shook out pink cream into her hand, and began applying it to Kenny’s, starting with the shoulders. She massaged it into his arms, kneading the soft flesh, raising the arm and washing the pit.
“Darling,” she said, pulling him close to her, kissing Kenny, as she massaged his back. “You must shave under the arms. You don’t have lots of hair there, but girls shave all of it off.”
He felt her hands massage his chest, massaging his soft breasts, which he had realized actually seemed to show a bit in a tight tee-shirt. Her hands found his bottom, a fleshy butt and the soft inner thighs. Finally they washed his penis and balls, but only gently playing with them as she applied the pink soaps. He was astonished to realize that she paid little attention to his genitals, almost as if it were repellent to her.
“You have such pretty legs, too, Karen,” Angela said as she completed the process.
Kenny smelled the strong perfume of the soap, but when it came his turn to apply soap to her, she put the pink bottle aside and grabbed a men’s body wash bottle, handing it to Kenny to be used on her.
Sensing that he must smell girlish now, he looked in puzzlement to her, wondering why she wanted to use a male soap.
“Go ahead and use this,” she said. “I don’t like those girly soaps.”
The water continued to fall down his body and her, and he shook his head. “But, but, you used the girly stuff on me?”
“You’re a girl,” she said quickly.
He wanted to protest, but realized this tall, strong young woman was fulfilling a fantasy and he hated to ruin it. Besides, right now, he felt totally feminine.
There was no fat on Angela’s body; it was as firm and muscular as any Olympic athlete’s. She moved gracefully as he applied the body wash. He began washing her pussy area, intrigued by the curly red hair that covered it, but hesitated, shy about how far to go.
“That’s all right my darling,” she said soothingly. “Work the soap in good and you can finger me as you do it.”
He did as she commanded, and she began to shake as his finger reached the vagina, cautiously. She began to pant pressing her body outward, and pushing his head down into the bristly hair. She spread her legs apart and he placed his lips onto the lips of the vagina, as she pressed harder and her whole body moved rhythmically. The exotic taste filled his senses and his penis hardened and his body began shaking in unison with hers.
The musky, salt taste, mixed with soap intoxicated him and he plunged his tongue into the hole, relishing the situation.
Suddenly she let out a scream, followed by a prolonged yowl, and he tasted new fluids that entered his mouth.
“Oh darling, that was so great,” Angela said.
So astonished was he by the turn of events that he sat back on the side of the tub, panting, looking up at Angela who had a sweet smile on her face.
“I love you, Karen,” Angela said, sitting down next to him on the side of the tub as the water continued to flow down their bodies.
*****
“Now my darling Karen,” she said, “We can’t put a pretty girl like you back in those drab boy clothes, can we?’
Kenny followed Angela into her bedroom; both were completely nude, except for the towel he had wrapped around his body covering his breasts, as he had seen so many girls do after leaving the shower. He looked at the boyish body on the girl as she led the way, watching the muscles in her calves move as she strode ahead and feeling so weak and feminine in her wake.
They entered Angela’s bedroom, and he was surprised to see a wall plastered with photos of perhaps a half dozen famous women athletes, often showing their muscular arms and legs as they performed the feats recorded in the photos. He saw a bow standing in the corner, with a trophy that listed Angela Trotter as “Champion. Junior Division. State Bow and Arrow Competition.”
“Wow, you’re a bow shooter?” he asked.
She turned and smiled at him. “Yes, I love it. Would you like to try it sometime?”
“Nah,” he said, quickly, realizing he’d have trouble pulling the bow.
“Oh they have competition for girls,” she volunteered.
He blushed.
“Here’s what you can wear now,” she said, producing a summer sun dress from her closet. “I wore this a couple of years ago when I was about your size.”
It was obvious that Angela had outgrown such a dress; her figure, while still slim, had broadened in the shoulders and hips. Still, she had not gained much height, and now she was just a shade taller than Kenny.
Angela remained nude as she rifled her dresser, producing light blue satiny panties with lace trim and a matching bra. Still nude, she helped him on with both of them, filling the cups of the bra with a pair of rolled up stockings. He watched her firm arms with admiration as she dressed him, soon reflecting on how her strength compared with that of Mark. What was this fascination of Kenny’s that he was so enthralled with muscular firmness of the only two persons who had ever hugged him and expressed love? He doubted he’d ever develop the strength of either of them, and indeed, realized he didn’t desire that. He felt comfortable being weak and soft and girlish.
After she finished helping put on the dress, Angela found a pair of flats which Kenny stepped into.
“Now sit down, Karen,” Angela commanded, directing Kenny to a computer chair she had pulled out from a desk.
He did as she commanded, and sat patiently with his hands on his laps, as she brushed his hair out, leaving it flow into a bob that reached the nape of his neck. Across his forehead, she brushed in a bang.
She stepped back now, viewing her work and Kenny looked up at her, seeing her glistening body in front of him, awaiting her next command.
“Yes, indeed, I can see why they chose you to play Ophelia, my dear Karen. You’re so lovely, and we don’t even need makeup on your face. It’s so naturally pretty.”
She went to him, kissing him on his lips and placing her hand on his slender bicep, squeezing it gently but with firmness as if to remind him of her superior strength and his own physical puniness.
“Now, Karen, you may leave me now and wait in the living room,” she said.
“OK, what are you doing?”
“Don’t worry I want to surprise you,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
*****
Kenny was enthralled with what he saw as he looked into a full-length mirror that Angela had mounted at the end of a hallway in the apartment. Looking at himself, he saw the girl in the mirror, lovely wisp of femininity, so dainty. The light yellow dress, with its spaghetti straps, exposed the girl’s smooth, white shoulders and slender arms. The girl’s legs, the bare skin showing from mid-thigh to the tops of her ballet-like shoes, were slender with but a slight showing of curvature, indicating the softness of young girlhood.
He knew the girl was himself, but it shocked him to realize that the person in the mirror could only be female. What did this all mean, he wondered?
He was lost in this reverie when he heard Angela’s bedroom door open, and he was shocked to see a young man enter the mirror picture.
“Admiring yourself, Karen?” came the voice from the other person, a hard voice with a masculine inflection.
Kenny turned, blushing profusely, realizing that the mannish voice came from Angela, who was wearing denim boy shorts and a navy blue boy’s muscle shirt, her short hair combed with a part along the left side in a male style.
“Meet Angelo,” said Angela, flexing her arm muscles to express her new macho image. “What do you think, Karen?”
Kenny was speechless for a minute, awed at the vision of manliness before his eyes, finally uttering a phrase. “My God, Angela, you’re a b-b-boy . . .”
“It’s Angelo now, and remember you’re Karen.”
“But . . .”
“My sweet, sweet Karen. It’s still just me, your friend Angela, but I really am ‘butch’ when with other girls. And I so love being with a sweet ‘femme,’ just like you.”
Kenny nodded, realizing that Angela was indeed a lesbian and liked such relationships, explaining how enticed she was by Kenny’s effeminate nature. He fulfilled Angela’s desire for a same-sex relationship with a soft, dainty girl.
“Come, let’s get some lunch,” Angela said, grabbing his arm and leading him to the living room. “There’s a nice café nearby where we can have something.”
“But I can’t go out like this,” he said.
“Oh sure, you can. Nobody will see you as anything but as my girl friend,” she said. “And in this place, people don’t care who you are.”
“Girl Time” turned out to be a coffee shop located about a mile away, along a strip of bars and restaurants that even Kenny — in his naíveté about sexual matters — understood to be known hangouts for gays. This particular shop in particular appeared to be serving principally women; there were a few male-appearing persons there, looking much like Angela, but they on second look must also be female.
It seemed the staff and many of the patrons recognized Angela, some even coming over to say ‘Hi.” At first, Kenny was ill at ease as Angela introduced him as “Karen, my friend from high school.” Kenny nodded shyly to all of the introductions, and often was rewarded with comments like, “Angela’s lucky to have such a sweet girl friend like you,” “What a lovely, girl!” and “If you tire of Angela, call me dear.”
Angela’s friends were all females, ranging from those appearing to be “butch,” to lovely feminine types.
One of them inquired of Angela, “Robbing the cradle are you?”
“No, Karen’s 18,” Angela responded.
“Well Karen, you are so lovely, I bet half the girls in this place could eat you up,” the interloper said, departing the table.
“I guess you do look like a middle-school girl,” Angela said, when the two were alone again. “I’m sorry about that.”
“I kinda thought that, too, as I looked at myself in the mirror earlier,” Kenny confessed. “You’re friends seem very nice.”
“Some are, some aren’t,” she said. “This can be a rough crowd, but I’ve made some nice friends here.”
By the time they finished their lattes and sweets, Kenny felt more comfortable at this restaurant. No one questioned his gender, all readily accepting him as “Karen.”
“I need to get back and change,” he said as the meal ended. “I have to get to work, you know.”
“It’s too bad,” Angela said. “You should always be Karen, really you should. You’re a natural girl.”
As they drove back, Kenny pondered those last words: “You’re a natural girl.” Yes, he concluded. Angela is right: I am a “natural girl.”
Chapter Four: ‘Go Where Your Heart Takes You’
When Kenny returned home from work that night, his mind was racing over the experiences of the day, primarily his role as the lesbian partner of Angela. The girl had been intent upon creating and turning him into a girl, and had indeed succeeded. Kenny realized that at the tennis courts and at the coffee shop he had been perceived only as a girl, and that this was becoming a regular reaction of people towards him. At the restaurant that evening, he had been called “miss” several times and once was hailed by a customer with a “hey, waitress, more coffee here.” He never attempted to correct the customers, often answering them with a soft voice, using the girlish phrasing that he learned at the acting camp.
Sharon, the senior waitress, was an observant woman, and watched Kenny’s actions closely; she clearly liked the boy, partly since he was such a hard-working, efficient member of the wait staff, but mainly because he seemed so open, kind and friendly.
“You really should take me up on wearing that skirt,” she had teased as things quieted down that night.
“I’m half tempted to do that,” he nodded. “It might end all this confusion. Some man even wondered what I was doing in the men’s room.”
“That camp really changed you Kenny,” she said. Kenny had told her a few weeks earlier about the fact that he trained to be a girl as part of being asked to perform as Ophelia in the play at the camp.
“I guess it did, but since I got only a little more than a week before go off to school, I think I’ll tough out these last few nights on the job as Kenny,” he said.
“Ah, too bad, I think you’d look really cute in our skirts and blouses here.” She smiled at him, and moved off to serve one of her remaining tables.
Since it was a week night, both his mother and brother were already asleep when he arrived home at 11 p.m., exhausted from the physical activities of the day, as well as the emotional stress developed by his time with Angela.
His fatigue lifted as he entered the bathroom, ready to take a shower to remove the lingering smell of the restaurant, and looked into the mirror. Even without makeup, he concluded that his face had nice girlish qualities, fairly high cheekbones, light eye brows and sensuous lips, framed by his long, darkish blonde hair. With a feminine flick of his hand, he brushed his hair to one side, smiling at the image in the mirror. And, what showed of his upper body could easily be that of a girl. He pressed the two mounds of flesh on his chest together, creating tiny breasts and a faint cleavage.
Kenny remembered what Sharon said earlier that night at work, that he’d look “so cute” in a waitress uniform. He smiled, saying out loud, “I am a cute girl.”
Then he giggled, talking again to the mirror, “Oh you’re so vain, Karen.” He brushed his hair back, flicking his wrists, daintily.
As he’d seen women do, he wrapped a towel around his head, and then looking into the mirror, smiled again. He paused, wondering whether he should spray a bit of perfume on his wrists and neck for the evening; he loved the scents, and he went to his bedroom, rummaging into a drawer where he had hidden a small spray bottle of Casual, by Paul Sebastian, a purchase he made when he and his closest friend at camp, Carla, went on a shopping trip from the summer camp.
“A lot of my friends in high school used Casual,” Carla said. “But I don’t wear perfume. Only the girly girls wore it. I think you should.”
Kenny remembers blushing at her comment, but then replying to Carla, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” Carla has said, and the two giggled. It was a precious moment, Kenny felt.
“Why not?” he reasoned, figuring the scent would be gone by morning.
He squeezed quick sprays onto his wrists and neck, relishing in the mild, subtle scents. Kenny went into the drawer, pulling out the light, diaphanous night gown that Mark had purchased for him. It felt so light and airy and made him feel dainty as he slipped it on over his head.
He returned to the bathroom, removing the towel from his head and brushing his hair vigorously. He decided to leave his hair untied while he slept and let it flow naturally; he realized he may have some kinks to remove from the tangles in the morning, but to his mind it added to the image he had of himself when he played Ophelia as a confused, lovely teenaged girl. He wondered if the Ophelia he portrayed was also a portrait of himself; was he not also a confused, lovely teenaged girl?
*****
Kenny’s confusion was based on what his future was to be: was he to live forever as a boy and man? Or, was he really a girl and woman? You can’t be both, he felt.
Then there was the question: How can I have a love affair with two different people? A lesbian and a heterosexual man? That question, he realized, would not need an answer if he remained male; they had both loved a girl, the lovely Karen, although Mark had walked away from Karen at a critical moment. Kenny knew that he loved — no, that was too strong a word — or was enthralled with both of them. How he longed to again be in the embrace of Mark, safely encased in the protective arms of this muscular boy! And, how he longed to be lying next to Angela, her sinewy, firmness against his smooth soft flesh! He was Karen in both places.
So, he wondered, was he boy or girl?
That night, as he slipped into the nightgown amid the scent of Casual, the answer was easy: “I am a girl. Yes, I am a cute girl.”
What would the morning bring?
*****
Kenny rapped on the door to Mrs. Burkhalter’s apartment, across the hall, shortly after 10 a.m. the next morning, knowing the old lady likely had finished watching her favorite morning television show. It was a warm morning and he was dressed lightly, wearing a white tank top, dark blue shorts and sandals. His hair was tied back in a pony tail. In his hands he carried several blueberry muffins he had baked that morning.
It would be his first prolonged visit with his onetime baby-sitter since returning from the camp. He had stopped by a few times for brief visits and she had urged Kenny for a longer visit.
Most young men might feel it an imposition to spend time with an elderly woman, but not Kenny. He had always relished these moments with Mrs. Burkhalter, with whom he had learned to crochet and knit. He had helped her with baking, cleaning the apartment and laundry, times when the old woman shared stories of her life as a onetime actress, confessing about her many boy friends (usually with self-deprecating humor) and some of the stars she had met. She was an obvious beauty in her young years — and still was a lovely woman now in her 80s — but she had none of the qualities of a diva, being humble and always more interested in Kenny’s life than her own.
“My darling,” she gushed as he entered her apartment, running to hug him. He kissed her lightly on the lips, and she took his hand, dragging him into the kitchen.
“Aunt Harriet, you look lovely today,” he said, placing his muffins on the counter.
“I bet you baked these, Kenny.”
“Just for you. I know how you like them. Remember you taught me how to make that recipe.”
“I do, I do,” Harriet Burkhalter said, her voice still strong and clear despite her age, likely due to the voice training she must have had as an actress. “And now you make them better that I ever did.”
“That’s impossible. You were always such a great baker, Harriet,” he said. In recent years he had dropped the “Aunt” in addressing the old woman, and called her “Harriet,” something that pleased the woman. Their relationship had grown through the years, even though Mrs. Burkhalter was no longer needed to watch over Mrs. Hansson’s boys. It was like they were just friends who enjoyed each other’s company.
He was about five when Harriet Burkhalter first began watching the two Hansson children. By the time he was eight or nine, Kenny found he could tell the woman just about anything that was on his mind and he found a sympathetic ear. Soon, he began telling her about his feelings, including things he would never have told his own mother.
“Have you mentioned this to your mother, Kenny?” Harriett Burkhalter said one August day, just after his 11th birthday. Within a month, Kenny was to enter the 6th grade at Jefferson middle school, beginning a whole new experience after his grade school years at Whittier School.
“No, she just wouldn’t understand, Aunt Harriet.”
“Oh I think she would, dear,” the old woman would say. “She’s very smart woman, your mother is.”
Kenny knew his mother was smart and that she loved him and cared only for his best interests; but his mother also was a reticent person, usually keeping her thoughts to herself.
“I just know she’d not like to hear what I feel sometimes, since it’s not what she expects me to be, Aunt Harriet.”
“And what’s that, Kenny?”
“Oh to get good grades in school and maybe be good in sports and grow up to be a big owner of a company or something,” he explained.
“Well, you’re about the smartest boy in your grade, I understand, Kenny. You’re mother should be proud of you.”
“She is in that, I guess,” he said beginning to feel like he was going to cry. Oh, how he hated to cry, but he’d been doing it so often once he hit the 6th grade.
“What’s bothering you then, my darling boy?” she said, taking his slender hands in hers and looking him square in the eye.
“Oh auntie,” he said, as his crying now became audible. He felt so ashamed.
Mrs. Burkhalter took him in her arms, and held the boy firmly, patting his head. Kenny smelled the scent of her perfume (she liked “Charlie” in light doses) and found sweet comfort in the old woman’s protective arms.
“Just cry all you want, dear,” she said, “And then if you want you can tell Aunt Harriet whatever you want.”
It was that day that Kenny finally let another person hear what was causing him such sadness.
“I get called a girl or a sissy or a fag all the time, Aunt Harriett,” he blurted out, his face still stained with tears. “I can’t fight back.”
He began to cry again; Mrs. Burkhalter just held him, saying nothing.
“I don’t like sports and I’m no good at them,” he said. “I don’t dare get into a fight. I’ll get beat up. Oh it’s awful.”
“Don’t you have any friends in school, dear?”
He thought for a minute, finally saying. “Yes, there’s one, Jason. Jason Stein, but he gets teased too.”
“Why does he get teased?”
“They call him a ‘kike’ and ‘jewboy’ and stuff like that,” he said.
Harriet Burkhalter nodded, obviously realizing that Jason was one of the few Jewish lads in the community.
“And Auntie, he worst thing I ever did was take that pot holder I crocheted for mom into a ‘Show and Tell’ at school,” he began, crying again. “I was so proud of it, but the boys just laughed at me, and some of the girls, too, and they began calling me ‘Mary.’ That’s not my name.”
She released Kenny from the hugs, asking the boy if he’d like some lemonade. He nodded, and she went to the kitchen. Now, seven years later, on another August day as he was about to begin a new educational experience in college, he remembered he felt so much better telling her about the secret that had been plaguing him for much of his grade school years.
“I did make some good friends with Amy and Sue in grade school, Aunt Harriet,” he said when the widow returned with the lemonade. “We did lots together, the three of us, like watch tv or just hangout together. I showed them how to sew things, too, on Amy’s mother’s sewing machine. Remember how you taught me to use the machine.”
“Oh, I did, dear. You were so eager to learn.”
“Maybe I should be called ‘Mary’ and be a girl, auntie?” he asked suddenly.
Mrs. Burkhalter held up her hand, stopping him.
“No dear, you’re Kenny and you’re a precious boy,” she said. “But there’s nothing that says a boy can’t like to sew and crochet. There’s nothing to say that a boy has to be an all-star quarterback or one of those silly things. There’s nothing to say that you can’t enjoy being with girls and playing with them.”
“But that’s not like other boys,” he said. “And I’m not strong, either.”
Mrs. Burkhalter smiled at the boy, then said quietly, but slowly and firmly. “My darling boy, you are who you are. Be proud of it. You can strengthen your body, if you wish, but the important thing to remember, is that you should stay healthy and fit. If you want to go, into running or tennis just to stay fit. Finally, go where your heart takes you. You’ll never go wrong.”
Kenny never forgot Mrs. Burkhalter’s advice that day. He said that phrase nearly every day of his life in the seven years following until this day in August a few weeks after he turned 18: “Go where your heart takes you.”
*****
“Your mother told me you played Ophelia in Hamlet at the summer camp,” Harriet Burkhalter said, after the two had seated at her kitchen table.
She made cappuccino for the two to enjoy with Kenny’s baked treats. Kenny marveled at this women, now well into her 80s, who had mastered such modern gadgets as the cappuccino machine, the computer and the I-pad. “If one doesn’t keep the mind fresh, it just dies on you, dear. Besides, how am I to keep up with my two daughters and the grandkids, otherwise. They never write, so I had to figure out ‘Facebook’ to keep up with them,” she once explained.
“And, I saw some pictures from the camp’s website,” Mrs. Burkhalter continued, “You were absolutely stunning as that girl.”
“Really?”
“Oh my gosh, yes. I must say you looked so much like Jean Simmons in the Olivier movie, only sweeter. May I tell you, it must have been impossible to tell you were a boy?”
Kenny blushed.
“I guess they did a good makeup job,” he said.
“You looked so pretty, Kenny. Did you like playing a woman’s part? Did it bother you?”
Kenny was slow to answer, considering how to phrase his answer. “Well, it bothered me a little, but once I got started rehearsing, I have to admit I loved it.”
“I’m sure you pulled it off beautifully dear,” she said.
“Everyone said I did, but maybe that’s because the Professor McIver insisted that I live 24/7 as a girl to get used to the mannerisms, etc. I lived for about four weeks as a girl named ‘Karen.’”
“McIver? Stanton McIver?” she asked.
“Yes, Stanton McIver.”
“Oh my dear, I played down in the Milwaukee Equity company with him when he was just starting his acting career about 30 years ago,” the old woman said, her eyes glistening. “He was a beautiful young man, but damn I was 30 years too old for him. I know this, he loved the ‘method acting’ system, so I can see making you live as a girl. That must have been tough for you, Kenny.”
He laughed, realizing it sounded more like a girlish giggle.
“Not really,” he confessed. “I had four girls take over and transform me. And they helped make me pretty. Is your computer up and running now? I’ll show you a picture of the five of us, plus two boys.”
Harriet led him to her second bedroom, converted into an office and sewing room, where a computer screen showed a picture of a lovely young woman in 1950s style hairdo (an obvious studio portrait) on the screen-saver. “You were so pretty, Harriet,” Kenny said as he sat down.
“That’s good in the acting business until you turn 40,” she said. “But that’s life. Besides I had Adam Burkhalter and he gave us two beautiful daughters. What more could a woman want?”
Kenny nodded and attacked the keyboard, finding the photos from the camp that had been posted on a photo site. There were about a dozen, and Kenny flicked through some scenes from the play, stopping on a photo of five girls (or who appeared to be girls) taken outside the theater building at the St. Albert’s campus. The girls were in tank tops, or tee-shirts with abbreviated short sleeves and skirts of varying lengths.
“Now let me guess which of those girls is you,” Harriet said, squinting closely at the screen.
“Are you the one in the print skirt?” she asked.
“Yes, right in the middle,” he said.
“Kenny, you were the prettiest girl there. Your hair, your face and even your arms and legs are so feminine, so lovely.”
“There’s one more photo,” he said, clicking to a picture of Kenny (as Karen) standing next to a blonde, husky boy. The boy has one arm draped around Kenny’s shoulder. He is wear the same blue tank top and print skirt from the other photo, and the two are looking at each other.
“And who is that hunk?” Harriet said, using a term that a younger girl might say.
Kenny giggled, his voice seeming to grow higher.
“That’s Mark. He played Hamlet.”
“It looks like he’s in love with you. What a lovely couple you two make?”
“Oh Aunt Harriet, that’s what I want to tell you,” Kenny said. “And I hope you won’t be shocked.”
“At my age, nothing shocks me dear. Come let’s sit down on the sofa in the living room, and you can tell me everything.”
When they were seated, Harriet again took Kenny’s hands. Her hands were bony and heavily veined, but the palms were smooth and soft.
“I hate how my hands look now, dear,” she began. “I used to have pretty hands, just like yours are now, so slender and smooth. You have lovely hands.”
“Like a girl’s, right?” he said on impulse.
“Yes, dear.”
Kenny smiled now, moving his fingers caressingly within her grip. He loved this woman so.
“I’m in love with that boy, Mark, and I wish I was a girl. That’s what I wanted to say, Harriet.”
“Oh my darling,” the old woman said. “I’ve wondered about that for a long time. And, I was so worried I had helped you in that direction. Teaching you crocheting and sewing and letting you help me do the chores around here. Those are usually women’s activities, but you liked doing it so.”
Kenny shook his head. “No it wasn’t your fault, Harriet. It was me. Just me. I dreamed I was a girl so often, and then at Summer Camp it all seemed to come out so naturally.”
Harriet paused for a minute. “I know I encouraged you to do more physical activities, just to help you fit in better.”
“And I did them, Harriet, as you know. Lots of tennis and even the cross country team and I swim a lot, too. And I feel better, too.”
“But you still feel like a girl, right?”
“I think so, and I also am so in love with Mark, and he wanted me only as a girl, not as a boy or gay lover.”
With that Kenny told Harriet Burkhalter the entire story, including his recent affairs with Angela. “Auntie, and I felt so good with Angela, too, but only when I was a girl, and that’s the only way she wants me, too. She just loves how girly I am, more than she is.”
“Oh my poor darling,” Harriet said. “But dear, you shouldn’t fret. It’s better to be loved by two people than by no one.”
“But they both want me as Karen. They don’t want Kenny.”
Harriet paused for a moment, as if considering what to say. “And does that seem wrong to you,” she finally asked.
He nodded. “Yes, auntie. I’m a boy, aren’t I? Not a girl.”
“Life is not always so simple,” she said. “Believe me, dear, I saw plenty out in my days in Hollywood, even back then, when I knew men who wanted to be girls. And I knew several who often dressed in women’s clothes when they could. You might not remember Jeff Chandler, but he always played macho guys, and it’s rumored he kept a closet full of women’s things.”
Kenny nodded. He was aware of transsexuals and transvestites and crossdressers. Was he one of them? Such people seemed foreign to Kenny, who was living in a small manufacturing city in the Midwest.
“What should I do, auntie?”
Harriet smiled, kissed him lightly on the lips, and said: “Go where your heart takes you.”
*****
Kenny left Harriet’s apartment feeling pleased that he had finally confessed to someone he loved about his feelings. Yet, Harriet’s final words, “Go where your heart takes you,” disquieted him. It was as if she said, “Go, if that’s what you want: Be a girl.”
He was sure that was what he wanted, he knew it. It was where his heart was. But to get there? That would take courage and strength. It would mean revealing himself to his mother and brother! Would his mother react in her stern manner and reject the idea, calling him selfish and self-centered? Would his brother laugh at him and call him sissy and pathetic? Would his friends think he was a failure as a guy, something they always must have suspected anyway?
Oh, the challenges were so great. But that was where his heart seemed to be taking him, didn’t it?
Harriet Burkhalter had advised him to tell his mother immediately everything he had told her.
“Don’t hide your feelings from her, dear,” she said. “She loves you deeply. I know that she’s proud of you and she won’t want to hurt you. Most of all she won’t want you going through life unhappy.”
“I know Harriet,” he replied. “But she’s so stern sometimes.”
“That’s just her nature, darling. Wasn’t she proud of your performance as Ophelia? And, didn’t she go along with your Karen impersonation with Mark’s family?”
“Yes, but she thought it was all part of the play-acting we were doing.”
“Tell her, anyway, and don’t let her know you confided in me first. She’d be so hurt.”
He nodded in agreement. He had to tell his mother. It would have to wait, since the afternoon had been consumed with his visit to Harriet Burkhalter, and he had to hurry to get ready for work at the restaurant.
Chapter Five: “I Prefer Karen”
The Friday night fish fry in Wisconsin restaurants was a tradition, and the Olympus featured “All You Eat” meals for $9.95 for adults and $5.95 for children under 7. As a result of the constant attention given to quality by George Alexopolous, the place had become a favorite with the residents of the area, many who were raised in the Catholic traditions of meatless Fridays.
This Friday was no different; many families had returned from their out-of-town family vacations in preparation for schools that were opening the following week. To make matters worse, one of the waitresses, Amy, had broken her arm earlier in the week in a water-skiing accident and Kenny and Sharon had to share three work stations.
Kenny seemed to get an unusual amount of stares and puzzled looked, particularly when he introduced himself to new customers with the phrase, “Hello, I’m Kenny, your server for the evening. Would you care for coffee to start?”
“Kenny,” one woman said. “That’s an unusual name for such a lovely girl.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Kenny said. “Can I get you coffee?”
“Did your mother choose that name? Did she want a boy?” the woman persisted.
“Now, now, Myrtle,” the man who was with her interceded, putting his hand on the woman’s arm, as if to shut her up. “It’s none of your business. She looks like a nice young lady.”
Turning to Kenny, he said: “My wife and I both would like decaf, black. Thank you miss.”
Such incidents happened almost nightly, and they made him uncomfortable, but he decided not to try to make explanations, and just continue to give the customer the best service he could. Later, he noticed Sharon had been stopped by the couple who had inquired about Kenny’s name, and had a few words with them. Kenny noticed the couple nodded after Sharon gave what appeared to be a satisfactory explanation. Then he noticed both looked over at him and smiled.
A few minutes later, Kenny approached their table with the check. “You may pay me when you’re ready, sir,” she told the man.
“Oh dear,” the woman said. “I’m sorry I was so nosey. That other nice waitress said your real name is Kendra. That’s such a pretty name, dear, but I’m sure you have your reasons for being Kenny.”
Kenny wanted to slap the inquisitive woman in the face, but instead smiled and said: “Thank you. When you’re ready let me know.”
A few minutes later, the couple got up, smiled at Kenny and left, leaving the black bill folder at the table. Kenny retrieved it. The bill was $32.50, and inside the folder was a $50 bill (complete with Ulysses S. Grant’s picture) inside. Wow! A $17.50 tip! Maybe it was worth being Kendra, or better yet, Karen!
*****
Sharon joined Kenny as they walked to the parking lot after work that night; despite the differences in their ages and life styles (Sharon was a single mother in her early 30s with two daughters and Kenny at 18 was about to enter college) the two had become close, sometimes even stopping at a late night pizza place, where Sharon had a beer and Kenny a diet cola.
“Will you stop with me for a drink tonight, Kenny?” she asked.
“Sure let’s unwind,” he said. “By the way, how did you come up with Kendra?”
“I don’t know why I chose that name. I was so rushed and they stopped me. That woman was so persistent I had to tell her something. It’s the only name that came to my mind. Besides, I was so busy that I didn’t want to take time to explain who you really were. I hope you’re not mad.”
Kenny smiled. “No, but I prefer Karen.”
“You don’t?” Sharon said, giggling. “Well that’s a cuter name and it fits you well.”
Later, as Sharon drank her beer and Kenny a diet cola at the pizza place, Kenny confessed to how he spent several weeks as “Karen” in preparation for the play.
“It seems you learned your role well, Karen,” Sharon said. “You do make such a lovely girl.”
Their conversation continued, discussing Kenny’s college plans, and that he’d work Sunday night and then be leaving the following Tuesday for the state university.
“I’m going to miss you, Kenny,” the older waitress said. “You’re fun to work with and you don’t fuck up.”
“Thanks, and I admire you, Sharon. You’re so good to work with and so efficient. I don’t know what George would do without you.”
Sharon looked at her nearly empty beer glass, apparently debating whether to order another. She didn’t hail the waitress, but said:
“I wanted to go to college, too, and I was accepted at the University in Green Bay to study English and education,” she began. “But I was stupid and got pregnant on prom night; I was so dumb and had been a virgin up ‘til then. His parents forced him to marry me that summer and then around Christmas I had Billy. Two years later, I had James, and now they’re both in middle school. And my husband, he’s long gone; he found a doll and sometimes he sends his monthly support, but usually not. The bum.”
“It’s never too late to go back to school, Sharon,” he said.
“Try it with our work schedule and two kids, honey. I’m exhausted half the time.”
“But you’re so smart, Sharon.”
“You’re biased Kenny, but thanks anyway. I love my boys, don’t get me wrong. They’re really good kids and my mom’s around now to help since my dad died. Maybe I’ll think about it again.”
“You should. I’ll miss you, too.”
“No you won’t,” Sharon said. “You think you will, but soon you’ll be in the swing of school and new friends, and maybe you’ll come by the Olympus on your Christmas vacation to say hi, but that’ll be it. I’ll still be good ol’ Sharon, keeping the wait staff humming.”
Kenny knew that Sharon might be right; at the moment, however, he considered Sharon a dear friend, just like Aunt Harriet.
“Let’s go, dear,” Sharon said. “Or else I’ll order another beer and start crying into it.”
“You can, if you want.”
“No we better go. It’s getting late. Let me buy, Kendra,” she said with a smile.
“Remember, my name is Karen,” he said, giggling.
*****
It was after 10 a.m. when Kenny arose from a sleep that was interrupted with periods of thoughts full of imaginations about being Karen in the restaurant waitress uniform of a peasant blouse and full print skirt, about being soft and weak Karen in the arms of muscular Mark, about being Karen in the erotic embraces of Angela, and about being accepted as a girl by Auntie Harriet. These lovely thoughts excited Kenny and he felt his small penis grow hard and erect in the satin panties he wore at night. At one point they were interrupted by fear: How was he to tell his mother about all this? Soon his mind began scheming many ways to break the news, each one more compelling than the next.
“Oh my God, I look like a wreck,” he told himself in the bathroom mirror.
He ran his fingers through his tussled hair, trying to untangle the mess. He knew he should have put his hair up the previous night, but after his stop with Sharon, he was too tired.
Still wearing the nightie that Mark had given him at the camp, Kenny realized he looked very much like a girl in the mirror, even without makeup. He made several effeminate poses, displaying his slender girlish arms and shoulders. For years as a boy he had cursed his weakness, but now he adored it. How weird was that?
He knew his brother would be gone most of the day at a baseball camp and that he and his mother would be alone. Today, he resolved, he’d tell her about Karen.
*****
He showered, using a scented soap that he knew was marketed for teen girls. He knew it smelled up the bathroom, but since Sonny was gone for the day he wouldn’t have to hear his brother’s complaint that Kenny left the bathroom smelling like a whorehouse. He was sure Sonny knew nothing about whorehouses, but there was no question that when Kenny finished up he left it as a steamy, sweet scented room. About the only thing he didn’t leave that would mark it as a girl’s bathroom were bras and stockings drying on the shower rod. He brushed his hair after drying it, tying it in a ponytail. He felt like putting on some makeup, of course, but felt that wouldn’t do for the day: he was later to accompany Angela and several of the girls from their social service group to their Saturday afternoon visit.
Kenny took his time getting ready for the morning, trying to stem off the evitable discussion he was planning with his mother. Despite Aunt Harriet’s assurances, he was still frightened of his mother’s reaction: She was such a practical woman and he was worried she wouldn’t understand his situation. Finally, he put on a pair of white tennis shorts that barely covered his buttocks and a white tank top along with sandals, realizing how fragile he must look in the outfit. He had reasoned he must not look too masculine for the conversation he was about to have. Slowly, he descended the stairs to the first floor. The smell of freshly baked blueberry muffins filled the kitchen as he entered.
“Hi sleepy head,” his mother greeted him. “I made your favorite muffins today, honey.”
“Thank you mother,” he said, the words coming out quickly and at an unexpected high pitch, reflecting his nervousness.
He kissed her, as was their custom, and then sat down to the table.
“You smell pretty, my dear,” his mother commented.
There was no anger in her voice, since his mother spoke, as she always did, in a matter-of-fact tone, usually merely stating a fact.
“It’s that soap I bought, mom,” he said.
“So that’s what you were doing in the bathroom all this time, Kenny, making yourself pretty?” she asked. “I swear you’re looking more and more like a girl all the time.”
His mother put a glass of orange juice, two biscuits and several strips of bacon in front of him. She followed with a cup of coffee, sweetened with sugar. Kenny finished the bacon, the juice and one of the biscuits.
“You usually eat two of those, Kenny? Are you sick?”
“No, mom, just not very hungry, I guess. They’re so good. I love ‘em, you know.”
His mother looked at him. “So you worried about your figure, young lady,” her words had a sarcastic tone.
Kenny was taken aback. It was the first time his mother had alluded to his girlish behaviors. He mumbled a ‘no mom, I love your biscuits,’ but he doubted she heard him. Now was the time to tell her.
“Why did you call me young lady?” he asked.
His mother sat down at the table, placing her coffee cup in front of her, and looked Kenny straight in the eyes.
“Because that’s all see anymore is a young lady before me,” she said firmly. “What happened to the nice little boy? His name was Kenny. Ever since that camp, you’ve been prancing about here like a little girl. I shouldn’t have let you go there. What’s going on Kenny?”
“Oh mom,” was all he get out before he started crying. His sobbing continued, but his mother did nothing to stop his tears. His body continued to shake, until finally he forced himself to stop.
“Now tell me what this is all about,” she demanded when the crying stopped.
“Mother, I wanted to tell you, but I’m afraid,” he started, finally realizing the best way to begin was to be direct.
“You never should be afraid to tell your mother anything, dear,” she said. “Now go ahead.”
“Mother,” he blurted out. “I’m a girl. Well, not yet, but I feel I am a girl. I love being a girl. I’m happy being a girl. And, I’m so miserable as a boy. Mommy, I’m a girl.”
His mother got that stern look on her face.
“Look, last time I looked, you had a penis, Kenny,” she said. “That makes you a boy.”
“Yes mother, in body, but not in my mind, not in my dreams. I feel I am a girl, really mother.”
She reached across the table, taking his hands and looking at them. “You’ve always had such beautiful hands, dear,” she began. “When you were little, you were such a pretty baby. You probably won’t remember this, but I had a pretty little dress that I bought for you when you were two. You loved that dress so much, but your father — the bum — said for us to throw it out. He didn’t want to make you a sissy, he said.”
“Oh mother, I don’t remember that.”
“You were too young to remember that, but I kept some pictures from then. You’ve never seen them, but I’ll show you later. I called you little Katie. You even had a doll then.”
“Mother, I want to see them.”
“You will, dear, all in good time. Now tell me the whole story.”
*****
Kenny was surprised at his mother’s response to his feelings that he was a girl; he felt she normally would have said his desires were outrageous, outlandish and just plain stupid. His mother suffered fools badly, he knew, and she often responded with derision at those who said statements out of ignorance.
It finally dawned on him. His mother must have known all along that Kenny may have been a different boy from others; his behavior since he was about six years old hardly fit that of a boy.
“Mother, you must have suspected this already,” he said.
“I did, Kenny, since it had always bothered me why you so enjoyed staying in the house helping me or visiting Aunt Harriet. I always wanted you to get out and play with the boys more, but you seemed to want to be with me.
“And then when you were so proud of the crocheting and you took it to 4th Grade ‘Show and Tell’ I began to see what a sweet child you were. I worried about you, dear, I did, but I felt you’d change as you grew older. But I guess you just grew prettier and prettier.”
Kenny felt tears welling up, and fought to hold them back.
“Mother, you must be so disappointed in me,” he said, his voice halting and hesitant. “I never became a real son for you.”
She smiled, and got up from her chair, and hugged Kenny holding him as he shook with his crying. His mother, as he buried his head into her soft, warm breasts, smelled clean and fresh. She never wore perfume and used plain soaps to bathe and Kenny knew her scent from its freshness.
“No honey, I’m not disappointed in you, but I have been puzzled by your behavior, and worried about you,” she began. “I understand how the world wants all people to fall into patterns, such as girls will be girly and boys will be boys, but we’re each different. And, you may just be a bit more different than others, which will make life difficult for you. That’s why I am worried about you.”
Kenny nodded.
“Now tell me about all this, from the beginning, dear. Mother’s listening.”
Kenny related his feelings, telling his mother that the four weeks at the summer camp, when he basically lived as Karen, were the happiest of his life. “The girls treated me as one of them, mother, and I felt so accepted.”
“I could see that,” his mother said. “When I saw the sparkle in your eyes that night after the play, I saw what a beautiful, happy daughter I had. You were so pretty that night.”
“I was mother, I was so happy. I just loved being Karen,” he said. “Mother, mother do you think I’m a girl, too?”
His mother also began to cry, something he rarely saw his mother do. She was normally stoic perhaps due to her strict Norwegian Lutheran background, but that morning she cried out loud.
Finally, Kenny said, “If you knew this about me why didn’t you ask me?”
“Kenny, let me be honest with you,” she began. “First of all, I still don’t know about this girl business. After all you are anatomically a boy, and I’ve done some research on this and know that can be altered, but you’ll never be a complete woman and that would mean bearing a child. Secondly, even if you did choose to live as a woman, it’s an expensive process to change and complicated. Thirdly, your chances of getting a good job might be decreased. Oh dear, there’s all sorts of issues here, I hate to think about them.”
“I know, mother, but it seems so right for me.”
“And the reason I didn’t bring this up sooner was that I knew you’d eventually tell me,” she said. “I didn’t want to push you or nag you. This is a decision you must make, but you must make it with the full knowledge of what you’re getting into.”
Kenny nodded.
His mother continued:
“Finally I got concerned at how feminine you had become this summer. I knew I had to bring this matter to a head. So dear, I talked with Aunt Harriet about this. You know, she’s been around and still has her wits about her. And I know how close you two are.”
“You talked with Aunt Harriet?” Kenny interrupted.
“Yes, dear about a week ago, and I asked her to probe into the situation,” his mother said. “She was so concerned that I might blame her for your feminine behaviors, the crocheting and all that. I wasn’t, of course. I knew she could not have made you what you are without you having such an inclination to start with. After all, can you see Sonny taking up crocheting?”
They both laughed.
“Honey, Harriet and I tricked you, I guess, into coming out about your feelings,” she said. “It wasn’t fair for me to do that, but I knew you’d take Harriet’s advice to tell me. I’m not really the ogre you maybe think I am.”
Kenny looked at his mother. How could this be? And Harriet even told him not to tell his mother they had talked about this.
“Mother, that’s OK,” he said finally. “I needed to be prodded into telling you about this.”
“Well, I’m glad you understand, Kenny, since we need to figure out what we do next,” she said.
“I know mother, and I’m so sorry to bring you this worry.”
She patted his hand and didn’t respond at first. Finally, she said: “Look you’ve got several hours before Angela comes and takes you to the nursing home for your Saturday visits. Why don’t you dress up like Karen and let me see what a pretty daughter I have. I know you kept some of your girl stuff from camp.”
“Oh mother, really? I want to show you so bad.”
He squealed in girlish joy, arising from the table, his arms waving about almost daintily as he went up to change.
*****
Kenny bounded up to his room, rummaging into the drawer in which he had buried several skirts and blouses.
“Something summery,” he mused, as he pulled out a print skirt, lots of pink and light blue flowers emblazoned on a white cloth background. The skirt was pleated and full, reaching to about the knee; it was belted, and being so full, it accentuated his hips.
He also found the small A-cup-sized breast forms and placed them inside a white, lace trimmed bra, and found a top — a lavender colored satiny blouse with buttons down the middle and a small collar. The blouse was sleeveless.
First he put on the bra, learning how to fasten it from the back thanks to the four weeks of being Karen in the camp. He had already been wearing panties, and walked to the bathroom to do his hair and makeup. Looking in the mirror, he untied the ribbon holding his ponytail and let his hair flow freely. He brushed it vigorously. He smiled, as his light brown hair seemed to grow alive as he brushed.
He knew that his mother would not like him loading up on too much makeup, but he felt compelled to fix his face. He brushed on a light coating of mascara, darkened his eyebrows slightly, adding highlights to the lids. Finally, he put on an almost neutral share of lipstick, followed by a bit of lip gloss to highlight them.
“I am kinda cute,” he giggled. Immediately he hated himself for being so vain about his looks, but he felt the truth was clear: he looked like a cute teen girl.
He donned the blouse and dress, finally putting on a pair of light blue ballet slipper-type flats. He ran into his mother’s room, where she had a full length mirror on a closet door to examine himself.
Standing in several poses before the mirror, he smiled, pleased with the girl he saw looking back at him.
His mother was sitting, nursing a cup of coffee when he finally returned to the kitchen. She looked up, examining the boy; finally she nodded approvingly. All she said:
“You young girls take so much time in getting ready.”
Kenny did a turn before his mother, so she could view him from the front, back and both sides. “I wanted to look pretty for you, mother.”
“That’s fine, but did you have to put on so much makeup?”
“Don’t you like it, mother?”
“Oh, it’s all right, as long as it’s not too heavy,” she said. “You don’t want to look like a slut.”
*****
Just then the door buzzer rang. “Go get the door, honey,” his mother ordered.
“Like this?”
“Of course, like that.”
The buzzer sounded again, more insistent this time. Kenny went to the door and opened it, surprised to see Harriet Burkhalter standing these.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in, young lady?”
Kenny feeling embarrassed and totally exposed, merely held the door open more widely in a sign for the old woman to enter.
“Oh, Harriet,” his mother yelled from the kitchen. “Come in, I just made some tea for us girls.”
Kenny followed the old woman (who still walked vigorously and like someone half her age) into the kitchen.
“What do you think of my daughter, Harriet?” his mother asked.
His mother’s behavior was strange, he thought. Rarely had she shown much of a sense of humor; nor had she ever been understanding of anything new or different. And now she was calling him her daughter. Her comment confused him, to be sure, but he felt a sweet pleasure in hearing the word “daughter.”
“I must say, Cecelia, that she’s beautiful, even more so than in the pictures I saw,” Harriet Burkhalter said as she sat down on one chairs at the kitchen table.
Kenny blushed, wondering whether Mrs. Burkhalter said that just to be nice; in truth he felt she was telling the truth since in his own observation he felt he was as pretty and feminine as any girl he knew.
“You saw pictures, Harriet?” his mother said sharply, looking at Kenny.
“Yes, Kenny showed me them on the computer this morning,” she said. “Didn’t you show your mother, young lady?”
Kenny shook his head to indicate he hadn’t.
“Why didn’t you, dear?” his mother demanded.
He paused before answering. “I . . . ah . . . didn’t think you’d like them and would be mad that I’m shown on line as a girl.”
Cecelia Hansson scowled. “Well, young lady, I want to see them, but you can show me later.”
Mrs. Burkhalter rescued the situation, by suggesting that Kenny walk around a bit, so that she could see more of him. Kenny took a few turns about the hallway and kitchen so that the old woman could see, walking easily as a teen girl might walk in short steps, one foot directly in front of the other as he strolled while his arms moved loosely.
“She’s a natural, isn’t she, Cecelia?” Mrs. Burkhalter said, using the female pronoun for the first time.
His mother nodded.
“But we can’t call her Kenny now, can we?” the older woman said. “She’s just the cutest thing, the way her hair is flowing so freely, and with that nice bang she has across her forehead.”
“They called me Karen at the camp,” Kenny volunteered. He self-consciously brushed a strand of hair with his hand.”
“Yes,” his mother said, her tone still a bit severe. “She was Karen there.”
Kenny sat down at the table, making sure he brushed a hand under his skirt to smooth it out before he sat. He had made it a habit to do so when he sat, even when he was wearing pants.
“You have a special child here, Cecelia,” Harriet said. “You must let her blossom out and become the woman that I think she truly is.”
Kenny looked at his mother; she had a scowl that she often wore when thinking about problems and when she was angry.
“I guess you’re right, Harriet,” his mother said. “But it’s not as easy at it sounds. There’s cost and what others will do when they realize there’s a boy still remaining under that cute girl they see before them.”
“Yes, there’s lot’s to consider,” Harriet agreed.
“I would hate to see her hurt, Harriet,” his mother said. Then she turned to Kenny, holding his two hands in hers.
“I’m so worried about you, dear. You’re not very strong and I fear that you’ll be bullied if others knew you dress like a girl, or go out in public as a girl. I can just stand to see you being beaten up.”
Kenny looked at his mother, seeing the anguish in her face. He hated for his mother to be unhappy; it was part of the reason that he had been so secretive about how girlish he felt before.
“Mother, mother, I love you so much,” he began. “I want you so much to love me as your daughter, and I’ll be safer that way, too. You know I get bullied and teased a lot when I’m out as a boy. At least when I’m out as a girl, everyone thinks I’m a girl. Remember how Mark’s parents accepted me as Karen. I’ll be no more bullied than any other girl would be, mother.”
His mother’s grip on his hands grew tenser. “And I love you, too darling. And you really are so sweet and lovely. But I’m so worried about you.”
Kenny understood his mother’s feelings; in truth, he was frightened, too. His realization that he should be a girl came into his life so quickly that he did wonder whether it was real. It’s just that he felt right.
“Mother, other girls protect themselves in many ways,” Kenny said, trying to be reassuring.
“Besides, she can do what I do when I go out,” Harriet said. “I have mace and I have a long straight pin handy I can poke at the guy who attacks me.”
“And mother,” he said, tears beginning again, “I’ve never been happier. I’m so unhappy as a boy. I’m sorry, I can’t explain it. But, as Karen, it feels so natural.”
“I know dear, and we’ll chat more about it,” his mother said.
Harriet Burkhalter interrupted, saying: “I’ve said too much now, I’m sorry, Cecelia. This is family business, and you don’t want an old bitty like me telling you what to do.”
“Oh no, Harriet, remember I asked you to probe Kenny,” his mother said. “I can never get him to talk. You helped immensely.”
They both looked at Kenny and smiled. Self-consciously, he brushed his hair back, showing a flirty, girlish move. Soon all three were giggling.
Chapter Six: Isn’t He Pretty!
Angela picked Kenny up about 12:30 p.m. for their afternoon session at the nursing home. Kenny changed into a pair of low-riding girl’s jeans, having found them to be more comfortable and better fitting than his boy jeans. No one could tell the difference at a glance, anyway, between boy and girl jeans. He wore a light blue polo shirt and tied his hair in a pony tail. He cleaned off the makeup he had worn in the morning with incomplete success. His eyelashes retained their dark tint from the morning and the lips continued to look plump and reddish.
Patty Murray and Gwen Stickney were in the back seat of Angela’s aging Ford Focus as Kenny entered to sit in the front right seat. Angela announced that there would be only four “girls” today at the nursing home. Usually there were eight in the service club that visited the elderly, but two others were away on family vacations and two were preparing to leave for college and were too busy.
They had only gone about two blocks where Patty, a round-faced, plain girl, asked from the back seat: “Is that you wearing Casual, Angela? I love that perfume, too.”
Kenny froze, realizing that in spite of his effort to cleanse himself of the smell, the scent of Casual remained and emanated from his own body into the car’s stuffy interior. He looked at Angela anxiously, who stole a glance at him a she drove the car.
“Ah yes, Patty, my mom wanted me to try it,” Angela said.
She gave Kenny a conspiratorial wink. He let out a sigh of relief.
“I thought you didn’t wear perfume,” Patty said.
“I don’t but mom insisted,” Angela lied again. “Besides it’s not too smelly.”
They had driven a few blocks before the other girl, Gwen, asked: “I wonder why boys don’t wear perfume. Would you like to wear it, Kenny?”
Kenny grew red, wondering if Gwen suspected the truth and was teasing him. Gwen, a rather chubby, cheerful girl, was known for her teasing comments about others. She was not a malicious girl, just trying to be clever, but sometimes was known for going to far with her comments.
“I suppose I would,” Kenny said, surprising himself with his comment. “But if a boy wore it, he’d get laughed at. It’s just not done.”
“I dare you to put some on,” Gwen said, giggling.
“Then I’d smell as nice as Angela,” he said.
“And almost as pretty,” Gwen continued teasing.
“No, prettier,” Angela said, with a laugh. They all giggled.
Angela and Kenny walked together, the other girls several steps ahead as they left the car and walked through the parking lot to the entrance of the Sunset Days Nursing Home.
“Thanks for rescuing me, Angela,” Kenny said.
“Well, you looked so hopeless when Patty asked the question.”
“I didn’t know how to answer, but I had put some on this morning when I dressed up as Karen for my mother.”
“Oh I wish I had been there,” she said, her voice becoming low and conspiratorial. “You look so sweet today, darling. I could just eat you up, dear girl. The perfume, too, it’s so intoxicating.”
The Sunset Days recreational director welcomed the four warmly. She was a large, strong-looking woman with a broad face and warm smile. “Oh, only four of you girls today?” Kenny caught the use of the word “girls,” let it pass, thinking it was a misstatement.
Angela explained the reasons for the four missing girls, and the director nodded.
“Mrs. Oppenheimer is so looking forward to her Scrabble game today with Kenny,” she said, her words pouring rapidly out. “Is Kenny here? Oh yes, there you are. You looked like one of the girls. . . Oh, I’m sorry. Must be your long hair. Anyway, Kenny, you know where Elsa’s room is; just head on down there, and wheel her out into the day room and maybe you’ll get an audience.”
Kenny nodded, realizing that his appearance had been confusing to many persons.
*****
Elsa Oppenheimer was several years past her 90th birthday and she looked every bit of her age. Tiny, terribly wrinkled and able to stand only with a walker, she still had a sharp mind and a keen sense of humor. Kenny found that their regular Scrabble sessions to be a true challenge: he didn’t have to fake losing to humor her since the old woman could easily win on her own abilities.
“She’s a crafty old lady,” Kenny complained to Angela after losing a close match to Elsa. “She knows how to take an ‘a’ and turn it into 40 points.”
“You love the challenge, Kenny,” she said. “Just as you love trying to beat me at tennis.”
“You and your crafty serves, Angela,” he said smiling.
“You mean my power serves, dear,” she corrected him.
On this Saturday, Elsa looked sharply at Kenny as they sat down at the Scrabble table in the recreation center of Sunset Days Home. Her expressive face seemed to assume a quizzical look as she looked about the room, realizing the two were alone in the recreation room at the moment.
“That’s a lovely scent, Kenny,” she said finally. “Is that a perfume you’re wearing?”
“Who me?”
“Who else, Kenny? There’s no one else around. And it smells like some of perfumes the younger aides wear around here.”
Kenny reddened. “Well, yes. It’s me. Mother tested it out on me this morning and I can’t seem to wash the smell away.”
The old lady reached across the table, patting Kenny’s hand. “Don’t fret, my darling boy. It’s OK. You’re such a pretty child and a little perfume helps overcome the stench of old ladies in this place.” She giggled.
Kenny lost by a score of 310 to 299, in spite of gaining an early 50-point lead thanks to placing all seven of his tiles down at one point. “I’ve only beaten you once this summer, Elsa,” he complained.
“Just keep trying, Kenny,” she said. “One of these times my old age will creep up on me and cripple my mind, too.”
“That’ll never happen, Elsa.”
“Aren’t you sweet!”
He helped Mrs. Oppenheimer back to her room, settling her in her rocking chair. “This will be my last visit with you, Elsa,” he said, sitting down on the extra chair she had in her room.
“Oh dear, that’s right,” she said. “You’re off to college soon, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I’ll try to stop by when I’m home for the holidays or an occasional weekend.”
“I would like that,” she said. “I’ll miss our games, but mostly I’ll miss you, dear. You’re such a sweet boy. I don’t know any other boys who would spend a Saturday with an old bitty like me.”
He reached over, taking the old woman’s hand. “It’s fun, Elsa. I look forward to these visits. I really do. Besides, you’re not an old bitty.”
“Now you’re lying,” she giggled. “I am an old bitty. Look how you have to hold me up just to walk down the hall. You’d never know I once won a jitterbug dance contest at the old Roof Ballroom once.”
“I believe you, Elsa,” he said. “You showed me a picture of you dancing. You must have been good.”
Elsa smiled. “Ah, but one shouldn’t dwell on the old days, dear. I’m eager to watch you blossom and do well in life. You deserve the best, my dear.”
He smiled her, not knowing how to respond and then looked at the old lady, her eyes filling with tears. Suddenly, without warning, he felt he must tell her his secret. He loved the old lady, just as he loved Harriet Burkhalter. They were people he could trust, he knew, and both of them cared about him. He had become close as well to Elsa Oppenheimer in his weeks of playing Scrabble, and they often found time to talk before and after the games, and Kenny found that the woman’s reflections — based on a full 92 years of living — were invaluable as he looked forward to life. Now, he was feeling badly that he had lied to her about the perfume she had smelled and felt he had to set the record straight, even if it meant revealing his secret life as Karen.
“I did lie to you before, Elsa,” he began.
“Oh? When?”
“When I told you about why I had had the perfume smell. I put it on myself this morning when I dressed up like a girl this morning. I like looking pretty and like a girl,” he said simply, exposing himself now to the woman.
She eyed him carefully, her shrewd look disquieting him, making him wish he’d never blurted out her desires to dress as a girl to the old lady.
“I hope you’re not shocked by that, Elsa,” he said hurriedly.
“No darling,” she said reassuringly. “I’m sure you must look very pretty in a dress. You have very beautiful features.”
Then he told Elsa Oppenheimer everything, about his selection as Ophelia, his taking on the identity of Karen for four weeks of rehearsal and his acceptance as “one of the Bard’s girls.” He even showed her a small photo of him in the Ophelia costume. When he was dressing for the visit, he had purposefully decided to bring the photo along without any particular reason. Now he realized that he must have been wishing to share the memories of his role as Ophelia with someone, obviously Mrs. Oppenheimer. He was so proud of how lovely he looked — possibly as pretty and winsome as Jean Simmons was in the 1948 film.
Elsa examined the photo closely, glancing up at Kenny several times as if to study his face. Finally, she handed the picture back, saying simply, “You’re so beautiful, dear, and you make a lovely girl.”
“Everyone says I am pretty,” he confessed. “Elsa, I am so confused. I was really so happy when I was acting as a girl at the camp, doing girl things. I never like doing boy stuff and had few boys as friends. Yet, I’m supposed to be a boy.”
Elsa got a twinkle in her eye. “I understand, dear. Oh, I hate calling you Kenny. Can’t I give you a girl’s name?”
“I already have one. I adopted it at the camp. Karen.”
She smiled. “Karen. That’s better. Just between us, I’ll call you Karen and think of you as Karen. You know, we old people are not so behind the times as you think. I know there are boys and men who feel they are female and there are things that can be done so they can live as woman. They’re called trans . . . ah . . . trans something.”
“Transgendered or transsexual,” he volunteered. “I know, but that’s a big step to make.”
“I know, honey, and only you know what you should do. Just follow your heart, dear. Follow your heart.”
Just then, Angela poked her head in the room, “Time to go, Kenny.”
He kissed the old woman good bye, leaving the room reflecting on the advice of two old women: “Go where your heart takes you.”
The wisdom of age and experience! Should that be his guide, Kenny wondered?
*****
“I can’t get you out of my thoughts,” Angela said. After they left the nursing home, she had dropped the Patty and Gwen off at their homes, and had driven to a spot along the lakefront where she stopped the car.
Kenny sat stiffly, saying nothing, his gaze fixed upon the waves as they broke into the sandy shore. Yet, he didn’t see anything. His mind was reflecting on Angela’s statement, fearful of the mystery of where it was headed.
Angela reached across the console that separated the two front seats of her Focus, her hard, calloused hand grabbing his slender hand, with her index finger beginning to trace small circles on his narrow wrist.
“I love how dainty you are Karen,” she said, her voice become low and excited. She seemed to be panting breathlessly as she spoke.
Kenny tried to pull his hand away, but her grip was too firm and he relaxed.
“I have to get home, Angela, to get ready for work,” he said, but without conviction.
“It’s only three, and you don’t have to be there ‘til 4:30. You have time to sit with me. We have so little time together.”
Kenny nodded, and put his other hand on top of hers. He looked at the girl, and she looked back, her eyes pleading for his affection. She pulled her hand out from between his, and leaned over she used both hands to untie the ribbon that created his ponytail, letting his long hair flow freely. She ran her hands through his hair, which had retained some of its curl and it settled in a bob.
“There,” she said. “My pretty, pretty Karen.”
The girl removed both of their seat belts and soon had contorted herself so that she could draw Kenny into a hug. She began kissing him, her lips hungry for his. Kenny felt weak in her arms and received her kisses with eagerness.
Even as he felt he was a girl as he received the attentions of the Lesbian Angela, Kenny felt his own penis stiffen and he hoped he would not ejaculate and mess his panties and the tight girl jeans he wore. He relished his role as the femme in the arms of a butch lesbian friend.
She had loosened her own jeans and guided Kenny’s hand into her crotch. His fingers moved into the coarse hair of her pubic area as his index finger entered into her moist hole. He moved his finger about in the fleshy swamp and Angela moaned loudly, letting out a squeal that scared him momentarily.
“Don’t stop,” she said breathlessly.
Her breathing became heavier and the moans more steady until finding she let out a gasp, and his hand felt a warm moist fluid. She relaxed slightly in his arms. His own penis had become pained, but he willed back an ejaculation.
“Oh my dear girl, I love you so,” Angela said to him. “You’re the best lover. You’re my best girl friend.”
Kenny relaxed, his own erection softening, as Angela moved her lanky body off of him, returning to the driver’s seat. Nobody said anything for a few minutes, both looking blankly at the waves crashing on the shoreline.
“I feel so strange about this, Angela,” he said finally.
“Why is that? There were other couples necking here, too.”
“Not that, but here I am a boy, pretending to be a girl making love as if we’re lesbians. It seems wrong for some reason. I’m sure it’s a sin I’ll have to confess.”
She looked at him.
“No, you silly girl,” she said. “It’s just natural. And besides, I am a lesbian and then you’re more girl than boy anyway. Don’t you love me?”
“Love is too strong a word, Angela. I’m so inexperienced in this stuff. I’m not sure what love is.”
“But you liked it?”
He nodded, giving a little giggle.
“And you really liked being called Karen and being my girl friend, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I like it when you tell me I’m feminine and girly.”
“There, and when we both get to the university we can do this more often,” Angela said.
“Maybe,” he said, still trying to keep the relationship a bit cool.
They had talked about both being at the State University when the school year started. She would be a sophomore in physical therapy and he would be starting as a freshman in liberal arts, maybe hoping to eventually get into social work. Angela would be living with three other girls in a house just off campus where she’d have her own bedroom. Kenny was to be in a dormitory, sharing a room with another student.
“You can visit me whenever and we can be alone in the bedroom, too,” she said.
“I know,” he said. He was none too enthusiastic about the prospect, since he was still wary of carrying this lesbian romance too far. Besides he still thought constantly about Mark. He still yearned for the hugs and kisses of his boyfriend from the summer camp. How could he be in love with both? And, he realized, they both wanted him not as Kenny, but as a fragile, lovely girl named Karen.
What was he to do?
*****
The wait staff at Olympus gave Kenny a brief “going away” party at the end of evening meal on Sunday, his last night of work before leaving for college. It was held in the back banquet room after the doors were shut for the night; there were still some tables left to be cleared, but the owner, George Alexopolous, suggested they all take a short break to bid Kenny “bon voyage” for his trip to school.
Kenny had become a favorite among the staff (virtually all of the others were young women or high school girls), having worked at Olympus since the summer he turned 16, working fulltime in summer and vacation periods and weekends during the school year. He was known to be friendly with all of them, even as he had become a skilled server.
Because of his growing effeminate mannerisms, Kenny knew several gossiped that he must be gay, and he did little to fight that, feeling it was better than revealing his rather recent tendency to think he should be a girl. Nonetheless, he was still a favorite.
Lucy Alexopolous, the hostess, daughter of the owner and a classmate of Kenny’s, opened the party, praising him for his work, and wishing him well at the University. “We hope he’ll be back with us next summer and for the vacation times, when we could use his services here, right, girls?” she asked.
They all applauded. At that moment, George Alexopolous emerged from the kitchen, carrying a small sheet cake with the simple words “To Kenny” written in pink frosting across the top.
“Speech, speech, speech,” several of the girls cried out.
Kenny blushed, remained seated, while Lucy leaned over, saying, “Come on Kenny, you gotta say something.”
He stood and the group quieted down.
“I don’t know what to say,” he began. “Except that first I want to thank Mr. Alexopolous for putting up with me for these years. Thank you, sir. And also I enjoyed working with all of you. You all made me feel so welcome, like I was part of the group, even though I was so young.”
They clapped. One of the girls shouted out, “You were one of us, Kenny.”
He smiled, since he was only one of a few boys who had joined the wait staff. They all knew he had regularly been mistaken for a girl by the customers, and he paused, before quipping: “Yeah, all I needed was to put on your uniforms!”
They all laughed. “Oh, miss, miss,” someone yelled mimicking the cry they had all heard being directed Kenny’s way during the last five weeks.
George added: “I threatened to put him in skirts if I heard one more customer call him ‘miss.’”
Kenny blushed, both enjoying the repartee and being somewhat troubled by the attention his femininity had attracted.
The senior waitress, Sharon, sensing the discomfort Kenny might be feeling, broke it. “Come on Kenny, cut the cake. I know we all wish you the best.”
“Wait,” Lucy Alexopolous said. “We all chipped in for a little gift for you, Kenny.”
She pulled a square box that had been hidden on a chair that had been pushed under the table. It was wrapped in blue paper and dark lavender ribbon, handing it to Kenny. He took it, almost dropping it; it felt heavy.
“Open it,” someone said.
“It’s so beautifully wrapped,” he said. “I hate to tear it open.”
“Oh go ahead,” came a voice.
Finally, he gently pushed the ribbon to the side and removed it, without disturbing the bow. He unwrapped the paper, careful not to tear it, except where a small use of tape had sealed it, and when opened it revealed a faux leather-bound copy of the “The Complete Shakespeare,” which contained all of the Bard’s plays.
Astounded, Kenny looked at it, while someone yelled. “Let us see.”
Before he held it up, he opened the book to see written on the first page, “To our friend, Kenny. Your friends at the Olympus. Aug. 2012.” He began to tear up.
Holding it up finally, he said in a choked voice: “This is so wonderful. How did you know?”
Sharon said: “I talked with your mother, Kenny, and she said you were so taken with Shakespeare that this might be a nice gift.”
“Oh yes,” he said. “This is something that I’ll keep for the rest of my life. You all are so special. I think I’m going to cry.”
“Go ahead,” Lucy said. “Some of us will, too.”
“Now, cut the cake, Kenny,” Sharon said sternly.
*****
Later, Sharon and Kenny left together, since she would be taking him home tonight. When they reached her car, she extracted a small, wrapped package from under her seat.
“This is from me, dear.”
Sharon turned on the overhead light in the car so that Kenny could open it.
“For me? You didn’t have to, Sharon.”
“Let’s just say I wanted to. Open it.”
He opened it carefully again, struggling a bit with the ribbon, but finally removing it intact. Within the wrapped was a small jewelry box. He opened it.
“Earrings,” he said. “They’re beautiful.”
He held them up. They had a pearl center, surrounded by tiny faux diamonds which sparkled in the dim light of the car.
“Look inside the box, Kenny, and you’ll see there’s a certificate to have your ears pierced at Macy’s. It’s good for a year.”
“Oh Sharon, I can’t wait,” he said, leaning over to kiss her lightly on the cheek.
“I know you’re not ready for these yet, but I sense you will be soon. And, if you change your mind, and remain a boy, you can give them to your girlfriend.”
Kenny did just what any girl would do when she receives such a personal, beautiful gift. She would cry, and so did he.
“I so hoped you’d like these, Kenny,” Sharon said. “You’ll make such a sweet girl, I know.”
She handed him a tissue. He took it, dabbing daintily at his eyes.
“I’m so glad I told you, Sharon, about being a girl,” he said, finally. “You didn’t laugh at me, or anything.”
She smiled, taking his hands in hers.
“I just hoped that I wasn’t being too intrusive with this gift, and perhaps your mother wouldn’t understand,” she said.
He shook his head. “No, she knows all about how badly I feel I should be a girl, and she’s OK with it. She’s just scared for me, thinking I’ll have some problems, I guess, with being bullied or beat up.”
“She’s right, of course.”
“But I’m going to remain a boy for a while, at least for the first year of college, but I’m scared about that, too,” he said. “I guess I look too much like a girl already.”
“A lot of our customers thought so, didn’t they?”
Kenny giggled. “I even had one boy about my age ask if I had a boyfriend and rather than argue I said, yes.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He . . . ah . . . said he hoped my boyfriend appreciated how cute I was. And he left me a nice tip and slip of paper with his name on it, Jason, and his phone number.”
“Wow,” said Sharon. “He was right about that. You are so pretty. I only wish you would have been in our waitress outfits. I think you would have looked darling in them.”
“I wanted to wear one so bad, Sharon. I just love the outfits. Those lovely skirts and peasant blouses, except that I don’t have the breasts for them.”
“Well, if you come back to work for us, Kenny, you’ll have to wear them.”
“And then I can put on a name tag that says ‘Karen.’ That was my name when I lived as a girl at the camp.”
“Karen. A pretty name for a pretty girl.”
He put his hand on the car door, and opened it, preparing to leave.
“Sharon,” he began. “Thank you so much for the earrings. They’re lovely , and I will get my ears pierced soon. I’ll at least stop in the restaurant when I’m back in town. Really, Sharon, I’ll never forget you. Never ever.”
She smiled, looked at him and said: “Sweet Karen, I don’t expect you to remember me. You’ll get up to the university and fall in love with some big old hunk of a football player and forget all about us.”
“No. I won’t. I promise. You’ve helped me so much in so many ways, helping me get such confidence as a waiter and now understanding me. I’ll always remember you.”
She held onto his hand a moment longer before releasing it. He left the car and walked into the apartment building. There were tears in his eyes.
By Katherine Day
Chapter Seven: First Days at College
Even though it was a stifling hot and humid day in late August, Kenny shivered as they left the family’s air-conditioned car in front of one of the several two-story, stone buildings that rimmed the lakeshore at the State University campus. Cars were lined up in the front of all of the ancient buildings, all built as college dormitories nearly 90 years ago, just after World War I.
The buildings had housed thousands of students that gathered from all over the country, indeed the world, to attend this State University, which regularly ranked among the top colleges in the nation in academics. At least a dozen cabinet ministers, two vice presidents, many corporate CEOs, prominent writers and artists and Hollywood directors, producers and actors spent their early college years in these dormitories. Now they housed mainly freshmen students, many from the farms and rural communities of the state, others from the urban centers, plus a smattering of young people from other states, with a particular number from the New York City area.
Seeing him shiver, his mother hugged him, hoping to settle him down. She knew how apprehensive he was about leaving home, being placed into a teeming milieu of more than 40,000 students who populated this campus. And, what was his roommate going be like? Would the boy accept him? He knew how effeminate he had become, in spite of his best efforts to overcome those tendencies. He had tried so hard to provide evidence of being more masculine, but know he probably hadn’t. Was he to face a school year of bullying and teasing and humiliation?
His mother was lucky, having found a parking spot almost in front of the main door to their unit, just as another family was pulling away after depositing their son or daughter. Cars were lined up all along the tree-lined asphalt drive that ran between the dorm units and a running track and then the lakeshore. Girls in shorts and tank tops or tees mixed with boys in long knee-length shorts and tops mingled with parents, all struggling with luggage, racks of clothes, TVs, computers and the other accouterments of youth that had been accumulated through their teen years. Even some teddy bears and dolls were visible among some of the debris being unloaded from SUVs, mini-vans, pickups and even a few sedans.
“You coulda brought your Teddy,” Kenny heard his brother, Sonny, say teasingly.
“Shut up, wise guy,” Kenny responded, but recalling how he had actually considered bringing Teddy who had usually accompanied him to his bed at night.
Actually, Kenny’s load of stuff was quite modest compared to most of the others, and between them, Kenny, his mother and Sonny, were able to manage most of it on the first trip.
The door to Room 111 — his assigned room — was open as they arrived, seeing that his roommate and what apparently were his parents already in the room. Kenny was surprised to see that the three were dark-skinned persons, apparently from India.
“Oh hello,” Cecelia Hansson said, as she entered the door. “This must be your roommate, Kenny, and his parents.”
She hurriedly introduced the family as the room suddenly became crowded with six people. Introductions were made and the other parents excused themselves to permit Kenny to bring his stuff into the room.
Rajesh Verma was a bit shorter than Kenny and quite slight of build. Kenny was quite surprised at how dainty the boy’s hand felt as the two shook hands, and Kenny felt immediately comfortable with Rajesh. The boy’s voice was rather lilting and musical in its inflection, but there was not a hint of Indian in his language. He was born in a suburb of Milwaukee where his father worked as an engineer for a major medical instrument manufacturer.
“You can call me Ray,” Rajesh told him once both families had left to return home. “That’s what everyone called me at school.”
“OK, Ray, and what are you studying?”
The boys sat on their two beds, opposite each other in the narrow room; their bare knees almost touched as the spoke. Kenny was so conscious about his effeminate mannerisms that he attempted to stifle the instinct to wave his hands about or to repeatedly brush his long hair out of his face as he spoke.
“My dad wants me to go into electrical engineering, but I’m so interested in designing that I’ve enrolled in an arts program,” the boy said, finishing with a nervous giggle.
“Designing? Like dresses and stuff?” Kenny asked, his interest immediately piqued.
“No,” the boy, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “Like designing products and houses and stuff like that.”
“Oh,” Kenny said, hoping his disappointment at the answer didn’t show on his face
“Why are you interested in dress designing?” Rajesh said.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Kenny quickly answered. “I’m going into either library science or political science, or both.”
“Wow, a double major? You must be smart!”
Kenny blushed. “I guess so,” he said, letting out a girlish giggle.
The two boys spent a while organizing the room together, and at the suggestion of Rajesh agreed on some simple ground rules in which Rajesh seemed pleased to defer to Kenny on many key points.
“Got a girl friend?” Rajesh asked later in the day as they dawdled in the room before leaving for dinner in the dorm’s cafeteria.
“No? You?”
“Me either,” he said. “There weren’t any Indian girls in my school and I just didn’t feel like the other girls wanted to date me. Besides, they all seemed to want those big strong football players.”
Kenny giggled. He had the same feeling. Except for Angela, he’d had no close relationship with any girl.
“I didn’t play football,” he said, stating what Rajesh could tell was obvious.
“I think we’ll get along good,” Rajesh said.
Later at dinner, as they were returning their trays after completing the meal, Rajesh said: “Look at the girls here. They all dress so sloppy now. Why don’t they wear dresses and skirts more?”
“Oh I think they like the comfort of those outfits, Ray.”
“I guess, but it just seems they’d want to look nice. I actually did do some dress designing when I was in high school, but I never told anyone.”
“You did?” Kenny asked. “Who did you do the designing for?”
“Just for me,” he said. “I drew up all sorts of dresses on my easel. Mostly I did gowns. I even thought about fashion school, but I know my dad would be appalled. You know how Indian fathers want their sons to be macho.”
“You never made the dresses then, you just drew them up?”
“Oh God no,” he said. Kenny looked at his new friend, considered his soft features and slight body, wondering if the boy, too, harbored feminine feelings. He mused that Rajesh would look just lovely in a dress or even better yet, a sari. The boy’s legs were slender and as girlish as his own.
Later in the room, as the boys prepared to go to sleep, Kenny’s curiosity got the best of him.
“Ever wonder how you’d look in a dress, Ray?” Kenny blurted out.
“Gosh no,” the boy said, somewhat surprised by the question. “Why would I?”
“I don’t know, but since he liked to draw them, I thought maybe . . .”
“Well, I did wonder, actually, but never did it,” Rajesh said. “After all I’m a man.”
“I guess. I just wondered, that’s all.”
Kenny attempted to look at some of the orientation materials the university had provided and the two didn’t speak for a while. Finally Rajesh said:
“How about you? Did you ever think about it?”
Kenny blushed.
“I guess I thought about it,” he began, pausing for a moment. Then, he said, “Can you keep a secret?”
“You did,” Rajesh said immediately, without awaiting confirmation from Kenny. “You did think about it and I bet you did it, too.”
Kenny nodded. “But don’t tell anybody, Ray, please.”
“I won’t. I promise,” he said. “I bet you were pretty, too.”
Kenny giggled. “Let me show you something. You’re on your computer now. Put ‘Shakespeare camp St. Albert’s’ in your search engine. And then I’ll show you something. But this is just between us now.”
“Agreed.”
Rajesh keyed in the words and when the page came up, Kenny directed him to scroll down until he saw a photo of Ophelia. The boy took a few seconds, finally stopping at a picture showing Ophelia and Hamlet together at the point in the play where Hamlet declares: “Get thee to a nunnery.”
“There,” Kenny said. “That’s me.”
“As Hamlet?”
“No, as Ophelia. I played Ophelia in the play.”
Rajesh squinted at the picture, and then noticed the caption that said. “Hamlet (played by Mark Hamilton) rejects the love of the lovely teenage girl, Ophelia (played by Kenneth Hansson) at the Summer Camp’s performance. The student production following the custom of Shakespeare’s days when men played female parts.”
“That’s you,” the boy said. “I can’t believe it. My God, you’re beautiful. You look so much like a girl there.”
“Well, yes, Ray, that was the point,” he said, suddenly embarrassed that he had told his new friend about his role in a woman’s part. “I guess that’s part of the reason they picked me for the part.”
Kenny noticed Rajesh was examining him closely as the two spoke. Suddenly, Kenny was embarrassed that he had revealed his summer camp experience to the boy, feeling that as an Indian he might disapprove of Kenny’s gender-changing activities.
“I can see that you could be made into a pretty girl,” Rajesh said, quickly adding, “I hope you didn’t mind me telling you that, Kenny. It’s just that . . . ah . . . you really do have . . . what should I say? . . . Very pretty features.”
“Not at all, Ray,” Kenny said quickly, hoping to put the boy at ease. “I get mistaken for a girl lots so I’m used to it.”
“Oh, doesn’t that bother you?” he asked.
“Not much. Besides I guess it’s true and I kinda like being called pretty. After all, I don’t think I’d be much good at football.”
“Me either,” said Rajesh, and the two boys laughed, realizing they both had dainty, slender bodies that could hardly be consider masculine.
The two boys then turned back to their computers, putting on earphones to listen to their own music while they clicked away.
“Kenny,” Rajesh said later after they had readied themselves for bed for the night, “I’m so happy I have you as a roomie.”
“I feel the same about you, Ray.”
“I’m happy. I was so worried I’d be teamed up with some big rough kid.”
Kenny let out a short giggle. “I was, too, but you’re nice.”
Soon, Kenny heard Ray’s light breathing as the boy had fallen asleep, and Kenny’s thoughts turned to his life as Karen and the warm, loving embrace of Mark Hamilton. He knew the boy had left for football pre-season practice at Ames, Iowa, two weeks earlier, and wondered if at that moment he was kissing a blonde farm girl co-ed in some secluded spot on the Iowa State campus. His mind began to rush over what he — as Karen — could do to win back the love of this handsome young man. He even considered transferring to Iowa State.
Soon he was asleep and he would wake the next morning, realizing how ridiculous the idea was. He was still Kenny — not Karen — and hadn’t Mark already rejected her?
Why, he wondered, was he so fixated on the few weeks he spent as Karen? And, then he remembered what Rajesh had said when he saw the photo of Ophelia: “You’re beautiful.” What girl wouldn’t want to hear those words?
*****
Kenny got a text message from Angela the next morning, suggesting that he meet her at the Cardinal Café about 7:30 p.m. “Karen, I so want to see you, Love, Angela.”
He smiled, remembering how Angela like to treat him as another girl and to make love with him as if they were lesbians, with Angela being the butch and the Kenny the femme. He remembered how sweet it felt to be in the arms of Angela, his own soft, fragile body encased by the muscular arms and legs of Angela. When they were alone, she always called him “Karen.”
He texted back: “OK, Maybe you can show me around campus. Karen.”
“Maybe I’ll show you something more, too,” she said.
“7:30 at Cardinal. See you there. Love, Karen,” he texted back.
A late August heat wave had descended upon the campus, and lingered in the early evening, becoming even muggier as dusk fell. Knowing that Angela would want him looking as feminine as possible, he put on dark blue athletic shorts with white trim, a light girl’s tee-shirt with cup sleeves, a pair of sandals without socks and tied his long hair in a ponytail.
While the shorts were unisex, Kenny knew that normally they were worn by girls; the bottoms ended just below his butt, exposing much of his thighs. Kenny knew his roomie would be gone, since he had planned to visit some Indian friends who were upper classmen and promised to acquaint him with the campus.
Only a few boys were hanging around the first floor of the dorm (which was the boys’ floor) and they paid Kenny little attention, since girls (who were on the second floor of the building) often wandered onto the boys’ floor to visit their male friends. He did get a “Hey what’s your name, honey?” from a large, overweight boy standing in the lobby. He just walked by as if he didn’t hear.
He walked in quick, short steps, his feet planted directly forward, causing his hips to sway with each step. He let his arms move freely as he walked, bending at the wrists daintily. Anyone looking at him would only see a young college girl, he knew. The thought excited him, since he knew he was anonymous and no one would even suspect he was a boy.
The walk to the student union took him through a short stretch of woods, and as he entered the area he grew frightened, realizing that as a “fragile young college girl” he was vulnerable. Already in student orientation, they had warned young ladies to not walk alone in the darkness, due to a spate of attacks on girls that had occurred in the previous school year.
He sensed footsteps behind him as he entered the 200 yards of forested walk where the dark had already developed. He hurried his steps, but heard the steps speed up behind him, fear filling his mind. He reached into the fanny pack he used to find the pepper spray that Aunt Harriet had bestowed upon him as something “every pretty girl should have handy.”
“Wait, miss, please,” Kenny heard the labored voice of the young man following behind.
He sought to move faster, breaking into a trot, but the voice behind persisted. “Miss, miss, please, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Kenny looked back, almost stumbling over a root in the semi-darkness, forcing him to slow down and soon the man was next to him.
“Miss,” the young man said, panting heavily. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. But you dropped this.”
In the remaining light, Kenny could see the man held a light sweater that Kenny had been carrying. He had brought it along since warm late summer evenings in Wisconsin often turned chilly.
“Oh my God, I did,” he said.
Both of them stood there in the failing light, both panting, and then Kenny said, “Thank you.”
“Let me escort you out of this,” the boy said. “A girl shouldn’t be walking through here in the dark.”
“I know I didn’t think it would be this dark,” Kenny said, giving the boy a flirtatious look.
“I’m Gabriel,” he said, taking Kenny’s arm and leading him along the path.
“Karen. Nice to meet you.”
In the five-minutes it took them to reach the student union, Kenny learned that Gabe, as he wanted to be called, was a second-year student in pre-med. He was from a small town in Minnesota and played football there, but kidded that there was no way he’d be considered as a member of the university’s team, always a top team in the nation. He was a tall, large young man, with short brown hair and cheerful eyes.
Just before they got to the student union, Gabe said, “I’d like to see you again, Karen.”
Kenny was wary of the invitation; after all, this boy didn’t know that he was not a girl.
“Oh, I don’t know you, Gabe,” he said. “Let’s just leave it like this, OK? I really thank you for escorting me. I was kinda scared in the woods.”
“Oh, sure, I understand,” the boy said. “I’m sorry for being so forward.”
“You’re sweet. Maybe we’ll meet again, Gabe,” Kenny said, standing on his tiptoes and giving Gabe a light kiss on his cheek.
Angela was waiting outside the Cardinal Café as the two arrived. “Karen, how nice to see you,” the girl said. “And who is this?”
“This is Gabe, who escorted me through the dark woods,” Kenny said. “I was so scared.”
“Shame on you, Karen,” Angela said. “You shouldn’t dress so sexy. She’s such a pretty thing, isn’t she, Gabe.”
The boy blushed, and Kenny realized the young man was a bit embarrassed with the conversation.
“She’s very pretty, yes,” he said.
The boy then said he was meeting friends and left.
“You little flirt,” Angela said as she led Kenny out on to the Café’s patio that overlooked the huge lake that adjoined the campus.
“I thought you’d want me dressed as Karen,” he said.
“I did, and you look good enough to eat, dear.”
Kenny smiled as they sat at a small round table on the patio overlooking the lake, already shimmering in an early evening glow as the sun settled down behind the horizon. It was a lovely evening and even though the campus was still largely empty (since only the new students were on campus), the patio was nearly full. Angela pulled two chairs together, and then went off to get drinks, leaving Kenny sitting alone at the table.
He looked out at the lake, viewing the blinking lights on a few moored sailboats in the nearby harbor and hearing the honking of gulls flying along the shoreline with a lone speedboat purring and frogs croaking. As he awaiting Angela’s return, Kenny wondered what had so quickly broken his resolve to only dress and act as a boy in his first year on campus. In just one day, he found himself again in the role of Karen and loving it.
Angela returned with the drinks, a power drink for herself and a diet cola for Kenny, setting them on the table and saying, “Here you are darling.”
She leaned over and kissed Kenny on lips, a long, lingering moist kiss; it caused Kenny to squirm, wondering what others would think seeing what appeared to be two girls kissing.
Sensing Kenny’s squeamishness, Angela released her lips and sat down, pulling her chair tightly up against Kenny. She sat down and Kenny soon felt her muscular legs intertwining his underneath the table. Then, he felt her hand caressing his slender forearm, growing excited with the girl’s touches.
“Don’t worry about what others think here, Karen,” Angela said. “This campus is used to seeing two girls — or two guys for that matter — hugging and kissing. It’s so liberal here.”
Kenny looked about, seeing several mixed couples caressing each other before finally spotting two young men kissing briefly and then walking off hand-in-hand as obvious lovers. Encouraged, he looked up into Angela’s eyes, leaned into her, and kissed her again.
The two finished the evening off at her apartment; she was still alone since her three roommates had not yet arrived for the fall semester, and Kenny and Angela quickly went to bed.
“Karen, Karen, Karen,” Angela said breathlessly, as she completed her third orgasm of the evening, the last one with Kenny’s lips buried on her pussy. Kenny relished the musky scent of her vagina and loved putting his tongue into the opening, tasting her.
*****
It was after midnight when Angela dropped Kenny off at his dormitory; she had use of one of her roommates’ cars for several days before the other girl returned to campus.
“It’s good this is a coed dorm,” Angela said. “That way you look just like one of the girls.”
Kenny smiled, adding, “Oh yes, girls are running in and out of boys’ rooms all the time.”
“You be careful, dear. The way you look some of those thugs might just wanna take advantage.”
“I’ve been reading up on how girls can protect themselves, so I hope I’m ready for ‘em.”
“Think of me tonight, darling,” Angela said, as they kissed just before Kenny left the car and bounded into the dorm and through the lobby, where a solitary boy sat on the lounge chair talking on his cell phone. The boy looked up, and Kenny heard him say into the phone: “Wow, look at this hottie. Looks like somebody in this place is getting lucky tonight.”
Kenny realized he even ran like a girl.
*****
Rajesh was sound asleep, a slight wheezing sound emanating from his mouth, and Kenny was careful to be quiet. In the subdued light, Kenny groped for his pajamas and retreated to the bathroom to change, removing any sign of the girl Karen.
Looking in the mirror, he thought back over the night’s events, proving that in this large university and its more than 40,000 students that he could be a complete stranger, and that he could be Karen and no one would question his gender. Off hand, he could think of only a handful of people who might know him on campus as Kenny: Angela, his roommate, several boys on his dorm floor and three others from his class in high school, who were also lost among the 5,000 in the freshman class.
He crawled into his bed, the room a bit stuffy and he found he couldn’t sleep. His mind was turning over and over, first about sexual activity with Angela, where she used her superior strength to move him into intimate positions, where he found how much he loved the girl’s nasty scented, moist vagina and how she treated him as if he were her feminine lesbian lover.
Then he reflected on the shame he felt: he was still a virgin. An 18-year-old boy, and still virgin! How pathetic!
Yet, he reflected, he was not ready to actually fuck a girl. He had a vague idea of what he would do, but worried that his penis — undersized but not tiny — would be up to the task. Angela had made it easy for Kenny; she didn’t want his penis in her, nor any man’s penis for that matter. What Angela liked about Kenny was that he was tender and soft and girlish. Angela, the butch, and Kenny (or should it be Karen?), the femme.
Was he doomed to be a lifetime virgin? Or, was he really a girl?
His mind shifted to Gabe, who obviously had been wooed by Kenny’s impersonation of a girl when he provided the escort through the woods. He remembered the quick kiss he gave Gabe upon parting. It had come so natural and he had done it without thinking. Only a girl would do that, right?
He found himself comparing Gabe to Mark. They were both the same height, but Gabe’s body appeared to be thicker and softer. He appeared strong enough, just not in the same trim athletic way that Mark was. He remembered the nights that he and Mark lay together, their legs intertwined, and arms about each other. Kenny remembered burying his head in Mark’s armpit, growing excited at the man scent and the hard muscles of his arm.
The memories of Mark soon brought tears to his eyes. Kenny tried to shut out those last few minutes with Mark when the boy walked away from him, rejecting his love. He had loved Karen, that was certain; but he loved Karen as a complete girl, not as an imposter. Kenny’s sobs grew louder. He loved Mark so much. In the other bed, Ray began stirring and Kenny buried his head in the pillow, stifling his sobs.
*****
The next morning, while he was awaiting Ray to finish showering, Kenny thought back over the night, wondering how he could get Mark out of his mind. He had to realize that Mark — already established as a future top-rated football player — could never be interested in him, even as Karen, since Kenny could never provide him with a family. Besides, he must have dozens of female admirers on the Iowa State campus in Ames. He had to get Mark out of his mind.
Opening his laptop, he went into his email. He always looked first for an email from Mark. It was never there. This morning was no exception.
“So much for that,” he said outloud.
Kenny went into his drawer and found the fanny pack he wore the previous night and opened it, pulling out a small scrap of paper. Looking at it, be punched the keys of the laptop, writing for several minutes. He stopped, not sure whether to send it. He looked at what he wrote:
To: Gabe
From: Karen
Subject: Thank you.
Gabe: Thank you for your kindness last night. You were very sweet to rescue my sweater. I needed it later that night, so I am grateful. And Thanks for the nice escort you provided. You made this girl feel so safe.
Maybe, if you’d like, we could have coffee or something and get to know each other. No obligations either way.
But, only if you want to. This is such a big place and I don’t know many people.
Email me back if you are interested. If not, that’s fine. I will understand.
Thank you again, Karen
Kenny looked at the message for several minutes, wondering whether to punch the “send” button. Was he being too forward? And should he continue the fiction that he was a girl? That would be so wrong, wouldn’t it?
Oh damn, why not? He had to get thoughts of Mark out of his head. Maybe this big strong boy from Minnesota would be just the remedy. If they clicked, he knew he’d have to tell him the truth. Oh, dear lord, what to do?
He punched “Send.”
*****
The moment he punched “Send” Kenny felt pangs of guilt. Not only was he betraying Angela and her love for Karen, but he was violating the continuing feelings of affection he had for Mark. And, he was lying to a sweet boy by the name of Gabe. The one thing he knew about the Internet was that once you hit “Send” it was gone; there was no retrieving it, no running down to the mailbox and intercepting the postal worker who was gathering up mail. It was out there forever.
“Come on, we’ll be late,” Ray admonished Kenny who was fussing with his hair, wondering if there was any way to make it look more masculine, short of cutting it back.
“Coming.”
As they assembled their papers for the morning’s orientation session, Ray looked at Kenny, his face taking on a quizzical expression.
“Are those girl jeans you’re wearing?” he asked.
“I guess they are, but they seem to fit better than boy jeans. Besides it’s hard to tell the difference.”
“They do look nice on you, Kenny,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Kenny also wore a simple light blue dress shirt, open at the collar, hoping that would make him look more masculine. It apparently didn’t work, since he was called “miss” and “young lady” and “girl” in every encounter the two had. He remembered the double-takes by the university staff with whom he was meeting to register for classes. Invaribly, he be told, “You’re next miss,” or asked, “What’s your name, dear?” His answer of “Kenneth” brought surprised looks and quick expressions of “sorry,” before moving on to the business at hand.
Kenny looked about at the thousands of students already on campus and saw all sorts of outfits being worn. Being on a college campus was revealing; no longer did all the students dress the same as in high school. Students were allowed to be “different” in college, and he felt not too out-of-place; yet the repeated references to him being female were beginning to be troubling.
During a break period, Ray ran into one of his Indian friends, a tall, dark, gangly young man named Hamid, who upon seeing Kenny said, “Oh, have you got a girl friend already, Rajesh?”
Ray was nonplussed, and Kenny answered quickly. “Sorry, but my name is Kenneth and we’re roommates.”
The boy expressed extreme regret for his remark, bowing before Kenny to ask forgiveness.
“There’s no need for that, since I’m mistaken for a girl lots,” Kenny said. “Guess it’s the hair.”
The three exchanged pleasantries for a while before moving onto the next session. Ray looked at Kenny before saying, “You really should do something about that, Kenny. It seems you’re taken for a girl all the time.”
Kenny merely nodded.
There were long waits in some of the lines in which he stood to register for classes, giving him time to think about the email he sent to Gabe, as well as to ponder the words of Ray that he should “do something” about his appearance. Pangs of conscience bothered him as he considered the email to Gabe. Here he was, posing as a pretty girl, a pose he could easily effect? And he was tempting a boy in the throes of raging testosterone with his apparent, but phony female attributes!
Chapter 8: A First Date
It was nearly four in the afternoon before he returned to his room at the completion of the busy day of orientation activities. He hurried to open his laptop, set already with the AOL mail page as his startup view on his screen.
Since he had only a few weeks earlier set up an email address for “Karen93” to give his alter ego, Karen, a separate account, he had only a few emails a day, a refreshing change from the hundred or so he seemed to get daily on his original account. Listed second from the top was this message:
From: Gabe [email protected]
Subj: Re: Thank you
Kenny paused a moment, his eagerness to see the reply coupled with a fear that the boy had accepted the proposal of having coffee together, posing all sorts of possible trouble ahead. Finally, he clicked on the message, opening it up:
No, ty. Luved escorting you thru woods. Glad I saved your sweater, since I wouldn’t want you freezing. How about 8 PM at Java Jazz on University tomorrow (Thur)? Let me know. Like to see you, Gabe
Kenny, having been on campus only two days, didn’t know about Java Jazz, but figured it must be a coffee house that was frequented by students. He was sure he could find it.
“Oops, now what have I done?” he asked himself aloud.
He even considered cancelling the date and junking the whole idea, but felt he couldn’t do that, since he had initiated the meeting. Maybe he could just not show up. No, that would be cruel. Besides, he was intrigued with Gabe who obviously found him to be an attractive girl; he did have a sweet smile and really kissable lips.
He responded:
Seeya’ 8 pm thurs at javajazz. Karen
Taking a deep breath, he touched the “Send” button. Even as he hit the button, he felt he was betraying Mark Hamilton, and he felt additional guilt piling upon himself. It was strange, he knew, to feel this way, since wasn’t it Mark who dumped him? Oh, how he yearned to feel Mark’s sweet body cuddled tightly against his.
*****
Late Thursday afternoon, Kenny found a new message from Gabe when he checked his email:
From: Gabe [email protected]
Subj: Re: Thank youLet me pick you up. You shouldn’t walk alone to JJ. Where you staying?
Gabe
Wasn’t that nice of Gabe to offer, Kenny thought. He couldn’t accept the offer, since Gabe would quickly realize that his “Karen” was living on the boys’ floor of the Kronenberg dorm. Yet, he welcomed the escort, since he knew he was vulnerable walking through a darkening campus appearing to be a fragile, tender girl.
He replied:
Gabe: ty … meet me at bus stop at University and Babcock dr about 7:45. OK? Karen
The campus was so huge and it had a regular bus service, which had stops right in front of his building’s entrance, and would easily deposit him at the well-lit bus shelter on Unviersity Ave. and Babcock Dr.
Gabe’s reply was almost instantaneous:
Deal. Seeya. Can hardly wait. Gabe
Kenny shivered at the reply. The boy was truly eager; he pictured Gabe sitting in his room in his briefs, hand on his penis and imaging the soft, sweet body of Karen in his arms. The boy’s hard-on must be so painful. He knew he’d have to be careful in his meeting with the young man.
*****
What should he wear for his coffee visit with Gabe, he wondered? Kenny had only a few items of girl clothing to choose from, having left much of his meager wardrobe at home. After all, the plan was that he would attend his first year of college in his boy mode, a sensible idea while he got used to studying and adjusting to college life. His female outfits consisted of a pair of white shorts that ended just at the top of his thighs, a mini skirt, two pairs of jeans, two tee-shirts with cap sleeves, a pink polo shirt, several bras and a few panties. These he had buried deep in his closet away from the eyes of Rajesh.
He was able to dress the part of Karen for the date because Rajesh would not be back until after 10 p.m. from his visit with his Aunt Indira who was a professor of biology at the University. Kenny dressed first in shorts and a pink tee shirt with a pastel blue bunny on the front, realizing that maybe was too suggestive. After all, this was merely a coffee date! Yet, as he examined himself in the mirror, he really loved how he looked, so feminine and comely. His own penis hardened as he imagined how Gabe would react to view Kenny’s crossed legs as the two sat close together in the coffee shop.
Kenny finally settled on jeans and a white shirt, since he often knew girls wore a man’s shirts over jeans. It made sense since the evening would be cooling off, and a girl needed to stay warm. He wore a pair of white tennis shoes of the type usually worn by girls. To top it off, he created a high ponytail that bounced as he walked.
“Damn, I am a cutie,” he said to himself. Quickly he chastised himself for being so vane; had he lost all modesty and humility?
Yet, he felt he was being honest with himself. He was a “cutie” and likely a “hottie” as well. The only problem, he realized, was that he now looked like a 15-year-old teen girl, instead of a college co-ed. Oh well, he mused, Gabe will like what he sees.
Just as he was about to leave, his cell phone rang. It was Angela, suggesting he join her at the Student Union so that the two could play some tennis under the lights at the campus courts. “I’ve got a 9 p.m. reservation,” she said. “These are great courts to play on, dear.”
Kenny gave his apologies, saying he had “other plans.”
Angela persisted. “What plans? These reservations are hard to come by.”
“Just plans.”
“What’s with you? You got a girl friend? A boy friend, more likely?
“No, I promised I’d meet someone.”
There was silence on the other end, finally Angela said, “Someone, eh? Who that boy you met the other night walking through the wood? I saw how you flirted with him.”
“Well, yes. I wanted to thank him for being so nice,” he said.
“And I suppose you’re going to be Karen for him, too?”
“That’s how he knows me. Besides, that’s my business, Angela.”
The girl snorted. “Your business, ha! When you started crying over this guy or that Mark guy, who’d you think you’re going to need to tell your sob story to? Good ol’ Angela.”
Kenny realized Angela was feeling hurt. And she was jealous. He began feeling bad, since Angela was such a good friend, so understanding and so loving. She had helped him grow as a young person, introduced him to both political work and community work, not to mention their torrid love-making.
“I love you, Angela,” he said, finally.
The girl’s voice sounded full, as if she was fighting back tears. “You know I love you, Karen. But, just be careful with this boy. You don’t know him and wait ‘til he finds out you still have that cute cock. He could get violent, and you can’t really defend yourself.”
“I know, Angela. And I gotta go, or I’ll miss my bus.”
“OK, dear. I’ll see if I can get a reservation for tennis Friday night. OK?”
“I’d love that, Angela. Bye-bye. Gotta run, dear.”
Kenny pocketed his cell phone in the fanny pack he had attached; he had brought no purse to school. He ran off to the bus stop, his ponytail flapping as he ran in a short-step, hurried girlish way. He heard a few hoots from boys idling around the dorm unit, and finally some boy yelled from an open dorm window. “Slow down, dearie. I’ll give you a ride. I got a hot car.”
He ignored them all, happy to board the bus, where the driver had waited, seeing a cute girl hurrying to the bus. Kenny smiled at the driver, mouthing a “thanks” and getting a slight wink from the young man at the wheel. The driver was obviously a student who drove the bus on a part-time basis.
It was less than ten minutes to the point where he’d meet Gabe, and tension grew within as he considered how he’d handle the meeting. Should he confess his real identity that night? That might be wisest, he thought, since it might stall off pain and suffering later if the two had truly hit it off as a couple. Yet, the prospect of telling him frightened him.
“I’ll play it by ear,” he concluded, as the bus approached the stop. It was the cowardly way out, he knew.
*****
Gabe was waiting at the bus stop, smiling broadly as he saw Kenny step off the bus. Kenny waved in a girlish manner as the boy approached, easily accepting a hug from the large-framed boy. He felt almost dainty in the arms of this boy; though the boy was softer than she remembered Mark, Kenny could feel his strength. He could also smell his fresh soapy scent, coupled with the muskiness of after shave lotion. The boy had obviously prepared for this simple coffee date with as much fuss about his appearance as Kenny had.
The hug was a brief and awkward, and Gabe said: “I was hoping you would make it, Karen.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I said I would.”
He could see Gabe blush a bit before answering, “Well sometimes girls stand you up.”
Kenny nodded, believing that Gabe may have been “stood up” before. He had that happen to him in one of his few efforts to get a date with a girl in high school. Was Gabe as shy around girls as he suddenly appeared, he wondered?
“Well, you’re here,” Gabe said, taking Kenny’s hand and guiding him. “Let’s go, it’s just a couple of blocks away. I hope you don’t mind walking, Karen.”
“No, Gabe. I enjoy the air.”
Kenny’s slender hand felt dwarfed in the large, meaty hand of Gabe; yet, the boy held it gently, as if Gabe was fearful of crushing Kenny’s. The hands of both were moist, almost clammy, indicating the nervousness of both. Kenny wondered why Gabe appeared so tentative and shy; the boy had looked confident enough when they first met.
“You’re so cute, Karen,” Gabe said as they rounded a corner and Java Jazz came into view, along with the sound of a piano, bass and drum set playing a faintly familiar jazz tune.
Kenny giggled softly, mumbling, “Thank you, but this is just something casual I’m wearing.”
“Even cuter than as I remembered you from the other night.”
With his free hand, Kenny reached across to lightly pat the arm of the other boy. In the bright lights of Java Jazz sign, he could see the boy blush with the touch.
They found a table at the perimeter of the outdoor patio, and Gabe rushed to pull a chair out for Kenny. How sweet this boy was, Kenny felt; he saw few other young men using such gentlemanly manners for their girlfriends. He sat down gracefully, brushing his buttocks as if he were smoothing out a skirt before sitting, even though he wore jeans. The trio performed under an awning that stretched out from the coffee house’s front, being positioned on a short riser; they played a quiet form of jazz, but emphasized the beat so that Kenny could see the group had gathered the attention of the patrons, many of whom were keeping time with their fingers, some with their feet and others with a steady bob of the head.
“They’re good, aren’t they,” Kenny said to Gabe.
“Yes, and I’m glad you like them. I was afraid you might not.”
“Oh no, this is perfect. Such a beautiful night, too.”
Kenny sat alone, as Gabe excused himself to run to the counter and get their drinks. He noticed a group of boys seated several tables away turned to look at him; then one boy, a trim, dark-haired boy dressed in a light blue polo shirt and wearing rimless glasses looked directly at Kenny, giving a discreet wave. Kenny gave a slight nod, acknowledging the wave and the boy smiled. Kenny sensed that the words the boy whispered to his friend were, “Look at her. She’s so hot.”
The boy’s smiles turned to scowls as Gabe returned with the drinks, a skinny vanilla latte for Kenny and an espresso for himself. He also had two caramel date bars. The two sipped their drinks, listened to the music and said little. Kenny noticed that Gabe sat rather stiffly, and made no attempt to hold hands or to make contact with Kenny’s person. Kenny wondered about this, having expected the boy’s hands to begin wandering. Gabe even seemed to avoid the possibility of their knees touching, even though that could have happened so innocently.
Was Gabe so shy he would avoid bodily contact? Hadn’t he held hands as they walked from the bus?
Never had Kenny felt so totally girlish. He sat quietly, wishing for a sign of affection from this large, gentle boy. He looked at his own hands and forearms, resting on the table, next to Gabe’s. Kenny’s hand looked tiny and delicate next to the massive arms and wide husky hands of Gabe. His own forearms slender, smooth and with light fuzzy hair, compared to Gabe’s wide, moderately hairy forearms and big hands.
Gabe was watching the trio perform, seemingly paying no attention to Kenny. The situation was puzzling Kenny, who fully expected to be treated as any girl would be on a date with a young man. The boy next to him was stiff and seemingly expressionless. Kenny could not resist any longer; he reached over and placed his left hand on Gabe’s forearm and he could sense the forearm tense up with his touch.
Gabe turned to look at Kenny, his face seeming to come at peace, and a small smile developed. Kenny smiled back in a teasing, flirtatious manner.
Just then the music stopped, and following gentle applause, the leader retold the names of his band mates and announced a “brief break.”
Gabe placed his own left hand upon Kenny’s and the fingers of the two hands played together, an activity that sent shivers through Kenny.
“I’m not much with girls,” Gabe said. The words came out hesitantly and seemingly out of nowhere.
“Oh, why not? You’re such a sweet boy, and so much a gentleman.”
Gabe blushed, his round, pinkish face growing redder in the fading light of the evening.
“My mom always taught me manners,” he said. “I guess it’s kinda corny. Some of my friends laugh at me for that.”
“How cruel!”
“I can’t believe you wanted to see me again. You’re so pretty. I bet you got lots of boyfriends. Why would you wanna see me?”
Kenny looked at the boy, who obviously was struggling with how to interact with a girl. It’s like Gabe had never had a date before.
“Well, for one thing I wanted to thank you for escorting me and finding my sweater,” Kenny said. “That was so kind of you. You didn’t seem so shy then.”
“I did what anyone would do. Besides it was nice to thinking of helping a pretty girl.”
“Not anyone and you’re so sweet about it,” Kenny said, leaning up and kissing Gabe on his lips, a quick, friendly kiss.
“You might be the first girl who’s paid any attention to me, Karen. I never had a real date, not even once in high school.”
Kenny nodded, remembering his own lack of dating throughout high school, realizing that this tall, strong massive boy also had problems in dating girls. Kenny understood his own reasons for being fearful of dating, feeling that girls would not like such an effeminate, slender boy as himself. Gabe, however, had a totally masculine build though probably a bit overweight; he seemed fit and likely had played lineman on his school’s football team. Certainly, Kenny felt, the boy would have found a few girls to be interested in him. Yet, Gabe had no confidence in himself, it was apparent.
“If it’ll make you feel any better, Gabe, I didn’t have a date in high school either,” Kenny said.
“I can’t believe that,” Gabe said. “You’re so pretty. You look so cute tonight, Karen, and I think you’re the prettiest girl in this whole place. Really, I do.”
“Thank you, Gabe. But I was pretty plain in high school and nerdy. Besides, I wasn’t in the in-crowd, you know, the fashionable girls.”
“You, too! So we’ve got something in common.”
They both laughed and Kenny sensed Gabe was growing comfortable as they talked. Soon they exchanged stories about their childhood, their families and their hometowns, with Kenny leaving out one vital piece of information: anatomically he was a boy.
*****
They stayed at the coffee house for nearly two hours, their hands touching. Sometimes, their legs touched under the table, sending a tingle down Kenny’s back and bringing a hardening of his penis. After a while, Kenny removed one of his sandals, freeing him to run his feet on the back of Gabe’s leg, and as he did that he felt Gabe’s grip tighten on his hand. Several times, Kenny sensed the boy squirming as they touched, as if he were near to ejaculating.
Gabe asked to excuse himself to go to the men’s room, leaving Kenny alone again at the table. The boys who had noticed him before were gone, but two other boys looked at him, both smiling, but turning away abruptly when Kenny returned the eye contact. When Gabe returned, Kenny excused himself to go to the Ladies’ room; he had become comfortable using the woman’s facilities during his weeks as Karen at St. Albert’s. He knew no one took him as anything but a pretty young girl.
He sensed eyes followed him as he wound his way through the tables; even in his casual androgynous outfit he realized that he exuded sexy girlishness as he walked. The image excited him, as he pushed open the smooth, shiny door labeled “Women — Senoras” finding himself in a large rest room of beige ceramic tile, accented with curly-cued strips of embossed pinkish-brown tiles. There was a fragrance in the damp atmosphere in the room, which included a changing table for infants and two padded straight chairs. Four stalls in light blue enamel lined one wall, with a row of four sinks imbedded in a long vanity beneath a shinning mirror.
“Wow, this must be the nicest pissoria in this town,” said a young woman who followed Kenny through the door.
“They just remodeled,” a girl about Kenny’s age said, as she stood before the mirror brushing her hair.
“They must make lots of money on these $2.50 cups of coffee,” said the first woman.
Kenny paused as he was about to enter a stall, and quipped: “Don’t we girls deserve it?”
“You’re right about that, sister,” said the first woman.
When he finished, he left the stall to see the woman at the mirror, fixing her lipstick, and Kenny moved in alongside her, removing his own compact from the fanny pack and lipstick, planning to freshen his face. The woman was older than most in the coffee house, tallish with straight black hair and just a hint of graying. She had a tallish, trim body and wore dark shorts and a purplish sleeveless blouse with crá¨me-colored trim. Kenny could see she was athletic, with an almost flat chest and slender but firm muscular legs and arms. She reminded him of his friend, Angela, and wondered if she, too, was a lesbian.
Using the mirror, Kenny could see the woman examining him, and he self-consciously began fumbling with his compact, finding difficult to open for a moment, realizing how awkward he was with the materials.
“Can I help you, honey?” the woman said. Her voice was surprisingly feminine and soft, when he had been expecting a more masculine, harsh sound.
“No, I think I got it, but thank you just the same,” he said, beginning to blush in embarrassment at his awkwardness.
The woman nodded, completed her makeup routine, and as she put the materials away, she looked again at Kenny and asked, again in a soft, pleasant voice: “Is that your boyfriend, dear? He looks like a sweetie.”
Kenny looked at her, wondering why the woman asked. It really wasn’t any of her business, he thought.
“I’m sorry, but he’s looking at you with those mooning eyes, and I just wondered. I guess I’m being a busy body. Sorry, dear.”
“Oh, no. That’s OK,” Kenny said. “Yes, he’s such a gentleman, too. But, no he’s not my boyfriend. This was just for coffee.”
The woman smiled and announced that her name was Bernice, or Bea, prompting Kenny to tell her that his name was Karen.
“What high school do you go to, dear?”
“Oh, I’m outa high school, and I’m a freshman here this year.”
“Oops, there I go again, putting my foot in my mouth again,” the woman said quickly. “But then my husband says I always talk too much. Oh well, sorry, my darling, but you’re so cute. You look about 15.”
Kenny shrugged, realizing that he did look younger than his 18 years, since he had such a fresh, soft undeveloped body.
“That’s OK, Bea. I am told I look so much younger than I am. I am 18 now.”
“Enjoy it while you can dear. Soon you’ll want to look like a teenager.” Bernice laughed at here own joke. “So what are you studying, dear.”
“I’m not sure,” Kenny said. “I’m interested in political science, but also in drama. I did lots of acting in high school and a couple of other places. But it’s so hard to get into the drama school here, it’s so popular.”
“Yes, that it is, and it’s a tough profession to make a living in, dear,” Bernice said.
“Is your husband with you tonight?” Kenny asked, wanting to change the subject.
“Yes, I’m with that tall, balding guy. We’re sitting not far from you. We come here on the nights they play jazz. That group’s pretty good, aren’t they?”
Kenny nodded, agreeing that the jazz group was great and that he might come back in the future, maybe even with Gabe if the two decided to meet again. Bea and Kenny left the restroom together and the Bernice unexpectedly grabbed Kenny’s arm, guiding him toward a table where a man, obviously her husband, sat alone.
“Eric, I want you to meet that lovely young lady we noticed before,” Bernice said. “Karen, meet my better half, Eric Fenstrom.”
“Professor Fenstrom?” Kenny said, shocked at being introduced to one of the most renowned professors on campus. He was a onetime actor who had, as a young man, starred in several movies and on Broadway; now he was chairman of the Theater Department at the University, a department that had begun to win national recognition for pumping out promising directors, film technicians and actors.
“Yes, that’s me, I’m afraid, and I see you’ve already met Bernice,” the man said.
“Oh my,” Kenny said, turning toward the woman, finally realizing who he was talking with. “That means that you’re Bernice Peters.”
“Guilty as charged, dear,” Bernice replied, admitting that she had also been an actor whose names had been on lights on Broadway. Kenny recalled that the couple acted several times in plays together, always winning great reviews; since coming to the University, the couple occasionally acted in several of the Equity companies in Chicago or Milwaukee. “Fenstrom and Peters,” a legendary name in the theater.
Kenny looked over toward Gabe, realizing the boy must be getting restless at the long time he was away from the table. She waved at him, making a sign of returning to him in just a moment. He nodded, apparently satisfied to wait.
“Oh, dear, that nice boy is waiting for you, isn’t he, dear?” Bernice asked.
Kenny nodded, and began to say goodbye to the Fenstroms, but Bernice held his arm.
“Eric,” the woman said, addressing her husband, “This young lady said she might be interested in taking a theater major.”
Eric Fenstrom became alert. “Really, Karen?”
“Well, yes,” Kenny said haltingly. “Right now, of course, I’m in liberal arts and haven’t declared a major, yet. I was going into social work and hoping for a theater minor.”
“Sit down, dear,” Professor Fenstrom said. “Bernice, go over and bring her boyfriend over here and have him join us.”
Kenny was overwhelmed with the commanding nature of the Fenstroms, and felt he had no choice but to sit down as ordered. He watched Bernice Fenstrom walk over to Gabe, and literally drag him over to sit next to Karen at the Fenstrom table.
Professor Fenstrom asked Gabe if it was OK that he detained them for a few minutes, and Gabe, ever the accommodating gentleman nodded in agreement. They asked both Gabe and Kenny if they wanted something more to drink, and both declined.
“First of all, dear,” Eric Fenstrom began. “Tell us in a few brief sentences what kind of theater work you have done.”
Kenny outlined the work he did in high school, both in stage parts where he usually played the parts of children or young teens, due largely to looking so much younger than his real age, and backstage, mainly in costuming. He also told of the Summer Shakespeare Camp at St. Albert’s and his role as “Ophelia.”
“Was that with Stanton McIver?” Fenstrom asked.
“Yes, it was, and I loved acting for him.”
Fenstrom looked at his wife and they both smiled. “Good old Stanton. Does he still act like he’s on stage in a great tragedy all the time?”
Kenny laughed, nodding his head in agreement, quickly adding, “But I learned a lot this summer from him.”
“I’m sure you did, dear! He’s a great actor who never got the credit he deserved, and I’m sure he was a great teacher.”
“He was sir, very much so. Our ‘Hamlet’ was a big hit.”
Kenny could see Gabe was growing uneasy with the discussion, and he looked at the boy, who quickly said, “I never knew that about her.”
“We only really met the other day,” Kenny explained quickly. “We’re just getting to know each other.”
“That’s understandable children,” Fenstrom said.
“Anyway, Karen and Gabe,” Bernice Fenstrom began. “I must confess something to you. We were eyeing Karen here from the minute we saw you, and she really looked so perfect for a play that Eric is producing next spring here on campus. And, dear Karen, I followed you into the ladies’ room just to drag you back here to meet Eric.”
“Bernice, that’s enough now,” the professor said. “Let me explain, Karen, that first off all I’m glad you’ve got some experience and the second I am scouting out all sorts of girls about age 15 for this part. I just had to talk to you.”
“My god,” Gabe said, astonished at what he’d just heard.
“So, Karen,” the professor continued. “Don’t expect anything will come of this meeting. I need to look carefully, and I would like to see you tryout anyway, if not for this play maybe for a possible slot in the theater program, if you’re interested. A lot depends upon your grades and what you want to do, dear.”
“I understand,” Kenny said, his excitement growing, but realizing he’d have turn the offer down. As soon as the Fenstroms found out he was really a boy, he’d be finished.
Professor Fenstrom asked Kenny to provide contact information and he’d keep him in mind when the time came to consider casting for the part.
Kenny thought for a minute, finally said. “I’m not sure, sir. I need to think about this and talk to my mom. Maybe if I’m interested; would it be OK if I let you know then?”
Fenstrom thought a minute, unused to being refused by budding young actresses at invitations to tryouts.
“That’s fine, dear, but don’t wait too long,” he said. “I’m interested in doing some preliminary casting in a few weeks.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card with his contact information. He handed it to Kenny.
“We should go,” Kenny said to Gabe. Rising from his seat and turning to the Fenstroms, Kenny did a small curtsey, saying in a sweet voice, “And thank you for being so kind, Professor Fenstrom and Mrs. Fenstrom.”
Eric Fenstrom rose from his seat, saying: “Now dear Karen, don’t forget us, and if you’re serious about acting, you must call me. You must.”
Then the professor took Kenny’s right hand in his own right hand, and leaned down to kiss Kenny’s hand. Kenny blushed and instinctively returned with a second curtsey.
“Aren’t you two just too, too sweet?” snarled Bernice Fenstrom, her tone obviously sarcastic.
Watching this, Gabe rather abruptly took Kenny’s hand and led him through the maze of tables, with Kenny turning back desperately to wave a good bye. Then the two walked out together hand-in-hand, to all observers a lovely young couple in love.
"You're in the dorms next to the lake, Karen?" Gabe asked as they walked slowly. "I thought they were boy dorms."
"They're co-ed now, the girls on the second floor, Gabe," Kenny said, hoping the boy would not want to escort him to his room.
"Oh, isn't this nice being together like this?"
"Gabe, you're so sweet," he said, looking up into the boy's blue eyes.
Chapter Nine: Hugs and More Hugs
Kenny and Gabe said nothing as the two walked down University Ave., before heading along the campus hiking trail that led to Kenny’s dorm units. It was a heavily wooded area, with the trees lining both sides, except where the path led along the lake’s shore. There, it opened up to an expanse of water, which was illuminated by the full moon that was unseen since it was behind them as they walked. It would have been a scary place, except that after several attacks had occurred lights had been installed to keep it lit, and apparently safer. There were benches placed every several hundred feet along the path, most being occupied by young couples, many in various stages of embraces.
Signs were posted along the path that warned against loitering and announcing that the path would be closed from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. The postings were apparently aimed at discouraging the young people from becoming too overwrought in their emotional hugs and kisses and to prevent attacks in the late evening and early morning hours.
Once they had entered the trail, Gabe said: “He’s nothing but an old letch, Karen. These old Hollywood types are always looking for younger girls. Why can’t he be happy with his wife? She’s still a pretty woman. I don’t know how she tolerates that stuff.”
Kenny stiffened. He had been overwhelmed by the attention the old actor had given him.
“Wasn’t that sweet how he kissed my hand, Gabe?”
“That was sickening.”
“It was not,” Kenny said, his voice taking on a petulant tone. “It was the mark of a gentleman. Besides he’s a legend here and to get his attention is really cool.”
Gabe grunted and the two continued on without speaking for a while. Kenny sensed a bit of chill growing between them. Was Gabe jealous? Yes, that’s it. Gabe was jealous. Still they walked on hand-in-hand, though the steps seemed to be quickening as Gabe led on.
They finally had gotten within a block of Kenny’s dorm when Kenny, breathing a bit heavily from the faster pace of their walk, spied an empty bench.
“Let’s sit and talk a minute, Gabe. OK?”
Gabe nodded and the two sat on the bench, which faced the lake. They sat silently for a few minutes, watching gentle waves wash onto the shore, the backlight from the moon casting an eerie glow on the darkened lake.
“This is such a beautiful campus,” Kenny said finally. “Aren’t you glad you came here?”
The two no longer held hands, and both sat erect and stiffly. Kenny held his hands in his lap as a girl would often do, while Gabe sat forward on the bench, his hands gripping the bench seat as his arms hung down from his sides.
“Yes, I am glad I came here. It’s so much prettier than the campus in my state U, stuck right in the middle of a big city.”
“Well, I’m glad you came here, too, Gabe,” Kenny said, reaching over with his left hand and placing it on Gabe’s right arm and playing his fingers lightly along the smooth underside of the boy’s forearm.
Gabe looked toward Kenny, his eyes sparkling from the light of a nearby lightpost.
“Karen,” the boy said. “I’m glad I came here because I found you. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
“Gabe, you’re so sweet to say that, but we hardly know each other,” Kenny said in a soft, almost whispery voice.
“I know that I feel comfortable with you and we seem to like so many of the same things. I’ve never felt that way with a girl before.”
Kenny lifted Gabe’s arm from the bench, placing the boy’s hand on his own denim-covered thigh, permitting him to move next to him so that their bodies touched. He wanted to snuggle his body tightly against this large boy and feel the comfort of his warm flesh.
Gabe moved his arm from Kenny’s thigh, lifting it up over Kenny’s head, grabbing his slender shoulders and embracing Kenny in a firm hug. Kenny rested his head on the boy’s tee-shirt, feeling the softness of the boy’s chest, surprised to feel tiny mounds of flesh forming breasts. The boy’s armpits were moist, and Kenny caught the scent of manly sweat. He put his other hand on Gabe round tummy, which bulged a bit over the belt of his jeans.
The boy stiffened as Kenny gently kneaded the boy’s belly, which Kenny found to excite his own penis.
“Don’t do that, Karen, please,” Gabe said.
“Why? Your tummy is so cute.”
“I’m too fat, I’ve gotta lose weight,” he said. “I’ve always been big.”
Kenny remembered what it was like to be different from other boys, and Gabe obviously must have obsessed about his weight most of his life.
“Oh, but you’re not fat, Gabe. You’re a big guy naturally. Nothing wrong with that. And, I can tell how strong you are, too.”
“You think so? Really?”
“Yes. You told me how hard you worked on your dad’s farm in Minnesota. You had to be a big strong boy.”
Gabe embraced Kenny even more firmly, and the two sat their in their embrace for many minutes, saying nothing. Kenny was thinking; he had misled this boy into thinking he was a girl, and soon Gabe, as shy as he was with girls, was going to explore his body with his hands and learn the truth. Kenny realized he had to tell Gabe the truth. And, he’d have to do it now, before they parted for the evening.
Kenny pulled away from Gabe, saying that it was near to 10 p.m. and they’d have to move off the bench since the campus patrol would be along soon.
“Guess you’re right, Karen, but this has been so marvelous, you and I.”
“Gabe, I need to tell you something before we leave tonight,” Kenny began, his voice suddenly becoming hesitant and unsure.
“What is it? Is it serious?”
“Yes, it is, and . . .”
“I know,” Gabe interrupted. “You have a boy friend already.”
“No, no, no, it’s not that,” he said pausing again.
“Well, what is it?”
“Gabe, promise you won’t hurt me when I tell you this thing, OK?”
“What are you talking about? What could be so horrible I’d hurt you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry you’re so sweet I can’t imagine you hurting anyone.”
Kenny felt tears filling his eyes. Gabe founded clean tissue in his pocket and wiped the tears from Kenny’s face.
“Well, Gabe,” Kenny finally said. “I’m not what I appear to be.”
“Oh, and what are you?” Gabe’s voice was gentle, soft and he took both Kenny’s hands in his own.
“I’m really a boy,” Kenny said quickly, speaking so fast that he wondered if Gabe could hear what he had said.
Gabe looked at him, still holding Kenny’s hands and said nothing. He shook his head, as if denying what he heard. Kenny looked into Gabe’s eyes, waiting a response from the boy.
“A boy? How can that be? You’re . . . ah . . . ah . . so pretty . . . ah . . . ah . . . so much a girl.”
Kenny composed himself, pulled his hands from Gabe’s grasp and said. “Well, you thought I was a girl the other night, even though I was dressed in a man’s shirt and wore jeans, the same as tonight. So when we were to meet tonight, I thought I’d be Karen again, and we’d have our coffee and that would be it, and we’d walk away never to see each other again, but you’re so nice and I like you so much I wanna be friends with you.”
Gabe’s eyes narrowed and Kenny felt there was anger growing within the boy.
“I don’t know what to say, Karen,” he said finally.
“Don’t say anything, and let me tell you what’s going on. Then you can judge what you want to do with me . . . or to me. Ok?”
They took ten minutes to walk to the dorm, and Kenny told Gabe how the Shakespeare Camp experience had led him to appreciate how much he wanted to be a girl; he said it must have been a feeling that had been present within him all of his young life. Kenny also said he was looking into the possibility of transitioning into a female mode in the future.
“I hope you understand,” Kenny said as they approached the dorm.
They stood about 100 feet from the dorm entrance, partially hidden by a grove of trees. They weren’t touching, but stood face-to-face.
“I don’t understand that, Karen. Oh damn, how can I call you Karen now?”
“I prefer Karen to my own name. It’s Kenneth, but everyone calls me Kenny. I’ll email you some links to some Internet sites that explain what I’m going through. It’s like a disease.”
“Ok? A disease? Is it catching?”
Kenny laughed, realizing how naíve Gabe was about such gender issues. “No silly, but it’s usually something such a person has a hard time resisting. I guess that’s me.”
Gabe agreed to study the Internet materials.
“I don’t know whether I want to see you again, Karen,” Gabe started. “I prefer Karen, too, and that’s how I’ll think of you. I don’t know this Kenny guy, Ok.”
Kenny smiled. “That’s fair, Gabe. I won’t bother you again, but I’ll give you all my contact information when I email that information to you. You can decide if you want to see me again.”
“That’s fair,” Gabe said, his voice gentle. Then he took Kenny in his arms, pulled him into his bulk, leaned over and the two kissed. It was a warm, passionate kiss.
“I’ll never forget this kiss,” Gabe said, as they broke apart.
Kenny began sobbing. He turned and hurried to the dormitory, not looking back, cherishing his short time as Karen with a sweet hulk of a boy named Gabriel.
*****
He scurried past several boys lingering outside the dorm entrance, holding a tissue to his face and trying to hold back the tears.
“What you crying about, girly?” one of the boys said, his voice sounding sympathetic and kind.
“Can we help you?” asked his companion.
Realizing that he still had his hair in the high, bobbing ponytail and that he was hurrying up the steps in his usual girlish gait, Kenny knew the boys had mistaken him for one of the freshmen girls who lived on the second floor of the dorm.
As he entered the main door, he heard the first boy remark, “She must have broken up with her boyfriend.”
“The guy who dumped her must be nuts. She’s cute,” the other said.
He moved in fast short steps to Room 111, shocked to see light showing from the bottom of the door, indicating that his roommate, Ray, must have returned before him. He slowed down as he approached the door, trying to compose himself. He wiped his eyes hoping to hide his girlish appearance and the fact that he’d been crying.
His roommate was seated at his computer, wearing only a pair of briefs and a white tank top that contrasted with his brown skin and exposed his trim, sinewy body. He looked up as Kenny entered and began to say something, but then stopped.
“Hi,” Kenny said, trying to sound cheerful.
“Oh, you surprised me,” Ray said. “I thought you were one of the girls from upstairs.”
“No, just me.”
Ray turned on his swivel chair, now looking more closely at Kenny.
“What’s going on, Kenny?” he asked finally. “You could be one of the girls. Your hair . . . ah . . . ah . . . and your face. Are you wearing makeup?”
“Oh Ray, it’s awful,” Kenny said, beginning to cry again.
He bolted into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He sat down on the commode and cried and cried and cried. Moments later, he heard Ray banging on the door and demanding: “Kenny, open this door. Please, Kenny. I want to help you.”
“Go away,” Kenny cried, his sobbing becoming more pronounced. “You’ll just hate me.”
“No, Kenny, I won’t. Let me help you.”
Kenny didn’t answer, but got off the commode, turned and kneeled before it and lowered the seat cover so that he could lay his head down upon his arms and sob more quietly.
“Kenny, answer me. Don’t do anything to yourself, Kenny, please.”
Realizing that Ray was worried he was going to kill himself, Kenny finally replied. “I won’t. I’m Ok. Just let me be.”
“Not until you open this door, Kenny. I mean it. If you don’t, I’ll go get Robert.”
Kenny knew Ray meant it; Robert was the floor proctor, the graduate student who was given free room if he’d keep an eye on the residents of the floor. He couldn’t have the whole floor of wise-cracking college boys learning about his situation.
“Ok, I’m coming. Just gimme a sec, Ok?”
“Just 30 seconds, Kenny and then I’m getting Robert,” Ray said.
Kenny got up, dried his eyes and wiped off the lipstick and eye-liner as best he could. He looked in the mirror, and quickly let his hair down so that it hung down to his neckline making him look even more feminine. He struggled in tying it back in a ponytail, but before he could do so, Ray pounded the door again, threatening to get the floor proctor.
“Ok, Ok, I’m coming out.”
Leaving his hair fall freely, he opened the door, forcing a smile upon his face, and looking at Ray who was clearly worried over the incident.
He let Ray lead him to his bed and to assist him in sitting on the side of the bed. Kenny almost felt like an invalid being assisted in walking to his own bed.
Ray sat next to him on the bed and said nothing. He reached over and grabbed Kenny’s free hand (the other hand held the tissue, now soggy with his tears). He held Kenny’s hand gently and Kenny felt comforted. Both boys had smallish hands with slender fingers, and Kenny felt strength in the other boy’s fingers. A growing comfort came over Kenny, whose thoughts went back to when his mother would come to him when he was troubled and comfort him. Oh how he missed her, as well as Aunt Harriet. Only they could understand him.
“You can get a new roommate, Ray,” Kenny said.
“Why would I want to do that?” Ray said.
“Oh Ray, I’m a weirdo. You don’t want to be associated with me. They’ll tease you, bully you, just ‘cause you and I sleep in same room.”
Ray shook his head, finally saying, “Aren’t we all a bit weird sometimes? Now tell me what’s going on.”
“Oh, you’ll either laugh or be horrified if I told you,” Kenny said.
“No, Kenny. I promise you this. I won’t laugh and I’ll try to understand, but tell me why you look so much like a girl tonight and why you’re crying. You look just like my teenage sister after her boyfriend dumped her.”
Oh my gosh, Kenny thought. Ray didn’t realize how close to the truth he was.
“Promise me, Ray, you’ll not tell anyone else about this. Please.”
Ray nodded his head. “I’ll promise you this much. Whatever you tell me will be our secret, unless you’ll confess to a crime like murder.”
The thought brought a smile to Kenny. “Nothing like that, I assure you, Ray.”
Kenny told his roommate just about everything, from the time he was chosen to play Ophelia and lived outwardly as Karen during rehearsals to his growing feelings that he was a girl and should possibly transition. He even told how Gabe had mistaken him for a girl and that he had played along, only to face being dumped when he told the boy the truth. About all he left out was his lesbian-type relationship with Angela.
“Oh Kenny, I understand, I really do,” Ray said when Kenny finished.
“You do?”
“Of course I do, Kenny. Some of the most beautiful girls in my country and in other countries of the area are guys who transitioned. It’s well-known in our country, even though it’s frowned up and so many are treated badly.”
“Then you understand about this? That I’m not some kind of pervert?”
“Oh Kenny, yes I do, and you’re no pervert,” Ray said smiling.
“You’re sweet, Ray,” Kenny said. “I will try not to embarrass you, Ray, and I’ll try to be more boyish from now. I’m registered as a boy, and I’ll just have to live that way from now on, at least for the first year of school.”
“Are you considering transitioning?”
“Yes, very much so, and I know they have a gender clinic here so I think I’ll look into that.”
Ray smiled, put his arm around Kenny’s shoulders and drew him in tightly, caressing Kenny’s arm as he did so.
“You are really pretty and I’d like to call you Karen now.”
Kenny let himself be pulled against the boy, relaxing in the arms of this gentle boy. It felt good.
Finally, Ray loosened his grip, releasing Kenny and standing up.
“Karen,” he said, kneeling before Kenny and grabbing Kenny’s hands. “I’m proud to be your friend and I hope we remain roomies.”
“I’d like that, Ray.”
“Maybe sometime you’ll dress up for me as Karen,” Ray said. “I’d love to see you.”
“Really, would you like that?”
“Oh yes, and I might even borrow a sari from one of my Indian friends who are in the university,” he said. “I bet you’ll look nice in that, too.”
“Oh Ray, you’re so nice,” Kenny said, getting up from his bed and giving Ray a quick sisterly kiss.
“Karen, Karen,” Ray said, putting his arms around Kenny. He tried to kiss Kenny back, but Kenny turned his head away, and tried to squirm out of the hug, but Ray held firm, though gently.
Kenny felt weak in the arms of Ray, even though both boys were nearly of identical height and weight. Kenny knew, however, that the other boy was stronger and he began feeling submissive and powerless, and he liked the feeling.
‘Ray, please no, I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he protested.
“Don’t you like being kissed?”
“It’s not that, but we really shouldn’t, Ray, really.”
“Why not? You’re a pretty girl and I’m a guy,” he said, a smile on his smooth, dark face.
“Oh Ray,” Kenny turned his face toward the boy, and soon the two were kissing, this time longer and with more passion.
Suddenly, he was Karen, a tender, lovely girl again.
The two boys lay tightly together, as if hanging onto each other for dear life, their legs entangled, Kenny’s smooth fleshy thigh against the more sinewy inner leg of Ray. Their penises rubbed together as they embraced, Kenny feeling submissive and weak against the hard body of his friend. Kenny’s penis grew hard, and he could feel Ray’s wider and longer shaft rubbing against his own and becoming hard. They both began panting heavily, Kenny feeling Ray’s intensity as the boy’s hands dug into the fleshiness of Kenny’s buttocks. They both began sweating, and Kenny sensed the perfume he thought he’d cleansed from his skin earlier beginning to permeate the smells, clashing with the more sour, manly odors from the glistening and moist body of Ray. Kenny felt a seeping moistures dampening his panties.
“Oooooohhhhh, Ray,” he screamed out.
Ray quickly pressed his mouth onto Kenny’s as if to stifle the noises and the kisses grew hard now, their mouths open and tongues mingled together.
It ended, far too quickly, both boys ejaculating almost simultaneously, creating a soggy mess, and they soon collapsed into each other’s arms.
They lay together for a few minutes in the dampness of the bed sheets. They looked blankly at each other, saying nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Ray said softly. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“That’s Ok, Ray. I felt so good in your arms.”
“I’m not gay, you know, Karen,” Ray said, using the female name for the first time.
“So what if you were, Ray. You’re a sweet boy.”
“You say that like a girl.”
Kenny smiled, and repeated, “You’re a sweet boy.”
He reached over and kissed Ray on his forehead, then his nose, before following down to his lips. The kisses were light, soft and tender.
“I don’t know why I did that,” Ray said again. “I’ve never kissed a boy like that before. But I felt I was with a girl all the time.”
“You treated me like I was your girl, Ray, I could feel it.”
“Did you like that, Karen?” Ray said, kissing Kenny with short tender pecks on the nose and lips.
Kenny smiled at the dark-skinned boy, his gleaming black eyes reflected from the dim light coming through the dorm windows.
Finally they broke apart, and Ray retreated to his own bed. Kenny laid face down on his bed amid the now-stiffening mess, feeling a mixture of happiness and sadness. He was Karen, totally and completely, a feminine, dainty, lovely, sweet girl. What had happened that day was overwhelming: he had been Karen, been wooed and rejected by a nice, huge boy by the name of Gabriel, been considered for a part in a play as a girl and now was being kissed, hugged and sexually stimulated by his roommate as if he was a girl. And, to make matters worse, he found he was the romantic attraction of three people, Angela, Gabriel and Rajesh, who all wanted him as Karen. He had welcomed the attention of all three, not rejected any of them. Meanwhile he was deep in his own unrequited love for Mark Hamilton, off playing football in Iowa.
Kenny always considered himself to be kind, open, honest and moral; yet, he found himself engaged in deception and duplicity. To make matters worth, he worried that Karen was really a slut at heart. The thought scared him.
Was not his Karen also to be of the same sweet character as he felt he was? He realized that as Karen he now had power and recognition that was missing in his life as Kenny, which made him wonder whether his own need for respect and dignity was not driving him into womanhood, rather than a real need to recognize that he may have indeed been one of those considered to be transsexual.
But for now, he was Kenny, a boy who wasn’t a boy and was increasingly not looking like a boy, but a boy nonetheless, and he was facing a year in college as a boy. He had lots to think about and sleep came slowly. It was a confusing, troubling but wonderful time. And, he cried.
*****
The University’s Medical School — always listed as one of the top cancer research centers in the nation — was only a newcomer in the field of psychiatric medicine and some associated fields. Spurred on by two leading legislators in the State, a woman and a man who were openly gay, the School two years earlier had established the MaryAnn Keyes Gender Clinic, named for a prominent male-to-female person who as a scientist had created a pioneering organic agent for insect prevention in farming. She later became a leading spokeswoman for transgendered causes.
Cecelia Hansson told her son that he ought to make an appointment to see a Dr. Bargmann at the clinic. “She’s a very good and compassionate, Kenny. I discussed your situation — confidentially, of course — with the head of our psychiatric services department, and he recommended Dr. Bargmann.”
“Oh mom, you didn’t,” Kenny said.
Kenny talked to his mother on Friday — the day after his adventures with Gabe, Eric Fenstrom and Ray — and while he didn’t tell his mother much about those events, she sensed his gender issues were troubling him.
“You know Dr. Taylor, honey,” his mother reassured him. “He has always noticed something special in you.”
“You mean like I’m crazy?”
“No, no, no. These things have nothing to do with mental illness, dear. Dr. Taylor understands that some people are born with gender confusion, and such people just need help. You know that. Besides, I paid him one dollar, just to assure that we had a doctor-patient relationship established to keep it confidential.”
“You didn’t?” Kenny said, giggling.
“And you know, dear, I love you dearly, as either Karen or Kenny,” she said, too.
“I love you, too, mommy.”
His mother laughed, and said, “Thank you, Karen.”
Kenny wished he were home, fixing dinner for his hard-working mother, or doing the laundry or cleaning the house, wearing a cute little smock and looking forward to being drawn with a hug into her soft, warm body.
“By the way,” Kenny said, changing the subject. “How’s Sonny?”
He heard his mother sigh. “Your brother’s turning 14 in a few weeks, and he started 9th Grade and he’s in high school.”
“Oh.”
“Well, dear, he’s a sweet boy, but he’s been getting sassy and he seems to have teamed up with some questionable characters. I can smell smoke on him when he comes home, and without you here he’s got no one around after school.”
“Can’t Aunt Harriet keep an eye on him?”
His mother laughed. “Harriet’s having trouble walking now, and has trouble caring for herself. And, she misses you terribly, dear. She loved your visits.”
“I miss her, too, mommy,” Kenny said. “I want her to stay healthy. She’s really fun to be with, you know.”
“I suggested to Sonny that he visit her for a few minutes everyday after school,” his mother said.
“That would be nice. I know Sonny would soon love her, too.”
“I don’t know, Karen. All he said. ‘That’s a girl thing.’”
“Oh mommy, he still is embarrassed by me, isn’t he?” Kenny said, still using the girlish way of addressing his mother.
“I don’t know, but he seems to want to prove to everyone that he’s a tough, strong macho boy.”
Kenny thought about his little brother, remembering the fun he once had playing with him. Sonny had an infectious, impish smile and really had a gentle nature, which apparently he was trying to hide to the world.
“I’m sorry what I’ve done to him, mommy,” he said.
“No, honey, it’s not you; he’s just going through a growing stage, and I need to understand and love him,” his mother said.
“I hope so, mommy.”
“Don’t worry about Sonny, dear. I want you to take care of yourself and make that appointment with Dr. Bargmann, dear. Please, honey.”
“I love you mommy,” he said, hanging up.
(To Be Continued)
Chapter Ten: Affection and Rejection
The next morning, realizing that he needed to dress in a more masculine style, he wore a pair of khaki slacks and a dark blue polo shirt; the weather continued to be warm, and many of the students wore shorts, but Kenny felt it wiser to be more staid. He tied his hair in a ponytail, hoping it would look manly enough.
“You can’t fool me, I still see Karen when I look at you!” Ray said as the two walked to the cafeteria for breakfast.
Kenny smiled, but said nothing. If he had replied, he was afraid he would have said that he still felt like Karen and that he loved the affection of his sinewy, wonderful Indian roommate.
“You’re hot, you know,” Ray said.
“Thanks, Ray, but I need to remain a man for now,” Kenny said. “Don’t you ever tell anyone about last night.”
Ray laughed. “You think I’m nuts. If the other Indian students knew, I’d be ostracized so quickly.”
After the orientation sessions ended that day, Ray was going home to Milwaukee for the weekend; there was handy bus service between the University and the state’s major city. There was no such service to Manitowoc, and those students from there might occasionally drive home for the weekend, even though it was a difficult trip mainly along two-lane country roads.
“I’ll miss you this weekend, Ray,” Kenny said, using a quiet, soft flirting tone.
“Don’t start that, you little tease, or I’ll kiss you right out here in front of God and the entire student body.”
Kenny giggled, reverting quickly to acting more manly.
Orientation ended in the early afternoon, giving the students an early start to the weekend so that they could either return home or relax before the formal start of classes the next week.
Angela had reserved a tennis court for 4 p.m. that afternoon and persuaded Kenny — reluctantly at first — to join her. Kenny protested, saying he had neither a racket or appropriate clothes or shoes for the match. “I just didn’t have enough room for that stuff,” he said as they talked on their cell phones during the lunch break.
“I got an extra racket and also extra clothes and shoes,” she said. “And I know they’ll fit you, even though I might be a little bigger.”
Kenny had nothing scheduled for the rest of the day or the weekend and said yes. Besides, Angela was mad a him; she had texted him several times the previous night, left a few voice mail messages which he ignored, having been either in the arms of Gabe or later Ray. He felt he had to go along with her suggestion.
“And don’t come looking like Kenny to my place, Ok,” she ordered.
He agreed, realizing that he was more often taken for a girl anyway, even in men’s outfits; since half of the girls that lived in the same house with Angela looked butch, he didn’t see that any of her housemates would notice. He wore the same girl jeans and shirt he had worn the previous night to meet Gabe. He tied his hair in a traditional ponytail, which he planned to unpin as he approached Angela’s residence, letting the hair flow freely, accentuating his girlish look.
As Kenny suspected, Angela had a completely feminine outfit for him to wear; knowing she’d want him to also be wearing girl underthings, he wore a pair of white, cotton panties, with a gaff to keep his penis hidden; he also wore a white training bra, which he had learned to fit so that it squeezed the soft flesh of his chest into tiny, subteen girl breasts and a hint of cleavage.
She had him strip down to his bra and panties, as she stood examining him. “God, you’re as sweet and tender as a 13-year-old girl.”
Kenny couldn’t help it; he blushed.
“Damn, you’re so cute” she said, beginning to cry.
Kenny was confused. Why was she crying?
“Oh, Angela, why? What’s wrong?”
“Oh Karen,” she said, tears flowing down. Reached out to him, drawing his slender body next to her, almost squeezing him breathless. She smothered him in kisses on his face, and he felt the moisture from her tears. He tried to extricate himself from her grasp, but was too weak to loosen her strong arms. Finally, Angela let go, and she collapsed onto her bed, and Kenny wasn’t sure what to do, and sat down on the bed, next to her. He saw a box of issues on the night table, reach to get one and wiped the girl’s face gently.
“Karen, Karen, Karen,” she said. “Every boy at the U will want you. I’ll never have you. I love you so dearly.”
Kenny got up from the bed, wanting to remove himself from this needy woman. He, too, had great affection for Angela, wanted her as a friend and companion and felt obligated to her for welcoming him into the sorority of young womanhood. Yet, she wanted so much.
“It’s getting late, Angela,” Kenny said. “We’ll not make the tennis time unless we hurry.”
“You’re right, Karen.”
She got up quickly and the two dressed for the courts, Kenny in white flaring short mini dress, a sleeveless white top with pinkish trim, short athletic anklets and white female tennis shoes that fit Kenny, once they were tightened up. His feet were a slight bit narrower than Angela’s. She found a pink baseball cap, with a gap in the back, through which she wound his hair so that it would bob when he played. She used a hairpin to fix the cap on his head.
“If you aren’t the cutest thing,” Angela said.
The match was the usual one-sided affair, with stronger serves of Angela overwhelming Kenny’s weak returns; occasionally Kenny scored a point by dinking a ball out of reach of the athletic Angela. He did feel, however, he was getting more competitive with her and she complimented him repeatedly when he gained a point or they had exchanged a particularly competitive volley.
Kenny felt he was being watch by many of the young men playing in adjoining courts, noticing that the ball from the court to their south kept getting into their court, usually on Kenny’s side. Kenny would bend down, girlishly at the knees, to retrieve the ball and then hit it back to the boy.
Eventually, he realized it was only one of the boys whose balls seemed to make it into Kenny’s court. He was a slender, tallish boy with a light complexion, and a shy smile. He always said, “Sorry about that. Thank you miss.”
Kenny could see that Angela was getting miffed with this interruption and after about the tenth time, she yelled out:
“Hey there, you in the next court,” her voice boomed.
“I said I’m sorry,” the boy yelled back.
“She’s already got a boyfriend, so keep your ball in your own court.”
The boy looked at Kenny, blushed demurely and nodded, as if to apologize for Angela’s reaction.
The boy smiled. “You’re cute, and I’m sorry. I should have known you had a boyfriend. You must of hundreds.”
Kenny nodded, his exchange interrupted by Angela’s shout: “Are you ready to serve, Karen. He’s just another boy.”
They finished their match, Kenny losing the two sets that they had time to play.
Walking back to Angela’s room, the girl held Kenny’s hand, but it was a firm, angry hold, not a sweet, gentle one that was more usual. Kenny could tell she was mad.
“See what I mean?” Angela said. “You’re so cute and hot I’ll never have you anymore. You’ll never love me, with all those boys after you.”
“I’ll always love you, Angela, no matter what.”
“You’ll dump this lezzie when the first guy comes along, I know it.”
“No, I’ll always be with you.”
“Don’t say what you don’t believe, Karen. And where were you last night? Who were you with? You didn’t answer my texts or my phone calls. Who?”
Kenny removed his hand from Angela’s hold, turning toward the girl, saying firmly. “Angela, I’ll always be your friend and your lover, I hope. But we should both be able to do other stuff, too. Ok? What and who I do it with, or you do it with, is our own business. Ok?”
Angela was taken aback by the sudden aggressive reaction by her friend, usually so compliant and submissive.
“Ok, Karen, you’re right,” she said finally. “It’s just that I’ve never felt so much love with anyone like I have with you.”
They returned to Angela’s room, showered together and spent an hour in bed; this time it was different, with Angela being sometimes laid back and submissive, inviting Kenny to take the initiative, which he began doing. It was a new and exciting way to make love for him. Angela liked it too.
*****
He left Angela’s, relieved that he had asserted himself. He was fond of the girl, particularly since she seemed to fully accept him as he was. But, he wondered: what was he? An effeminate girly boy or a girl? More and more, he felt he was a girl.
*****
With Ray gone for the weekend, Kenny planned to have a lonely Saturday. First of all, he needed to get his part of the room organized; he also needed to spend some time on the computer, checking out what he could expect from the classes and the professors for the coming semester.
The real reason he wanted to be alone was that he could lock his door, and dress up as Karen for the day, leaving only in his male outfits for meals and an errand to the pharmacy for some toiletries and, perhaps even buying pantyhose. He didn’t go out for breakfast; Ray had a small refrigerator in the room, which he said Kenny could use to store small cartons of milk or a can of soda or two, and Kenny kept a box of cereal, which he ate for breakfast.
Thus, he wore his pink nightie, a soft cottony affair with thin straps over the shoulders; he let his hair flow loosely and put on a light pink lipstick and modestly darkened his eyebrows and lashes. He felt totally feminine; it was heavenly and peaceful.
He opened his laptop, powered it up, signing into the University’s system, marveling at how quick it was, compared to the service they had at home. Before he even checked his email, he punched in “Mark Hamilton Iowa State,” a routine he’d gotten into checking on the progress of Mark Hamilton. He had been surprised to learn that Hamilton’s arrival on campus had been heralded in the sports coverage of Iowa media as a real victory. Today, he saw a link to an article in the Des Moines Register:
Freshman Hamilton
Shines in PreseasonThe appearance of a freshman from Milwaukee has brightened the outlook for Cyclone football in the coming season.
Judging from his early performances, Mark Hamilton could take over the No. 1 spot tomorrow should all-conference Senior Quarterback Henry Wall falter or get injured.
“We didn’t expect Mark to be of much value to us this season, but the way he has progressed is indeed impressive,” commented Iowa State Football coach Hank Denker. The coach refused to commit to naming Hamilton as the backup QB, but he had been having the young man practice with the backup squad.
“We were lucky to get Hamilton out of Wisconsin, which may again be headed for a top bowl game this year, but the team is top heavy in quarterbacks and Mark really is looking forward to playing regularly fairly soon,” Denker said. “He’s a bright young man, who seems already to have gained the respect of the rest of the team, which is quite an accomplishment for an incoming freshman.”
Kenny scanned down the page when a paragraph near the end caught his attention:
Hamilton is majoring in theater arts and hopes to become either an actor, director or screenwriter. He said in an interview: “I love performing and I played Hamlet in a first-rate Summer Camp program this year. It was a thrilling experience.”
Kenny smiled, reflecting upon their scenes together at the Summer Camp, their warm kisses and great interplay on the stage. He wondered if Mark had any girl friends.
He got up from the computer and went into the bathroom; without thinking, he began to pretty himself up, brushing his hair, refreshing his lipstick and rubbing a light bit of mascara on his face. He looked at himself closely in the mirror, reflecting on how pretty he looked, even in this casual outfit.
“I must be a girl,” he mused. “When I needed to think or get a break, what do I do? I fix my makeup.”
He returned to the computer, and began an email message:
Dear Mark,
Saw story in newspaper about how well you’re doing! Congrats!
My oh my, a real football star. I knew him when. But don’t get hurt. U know I’ll cry if U do. LOL. I really will cry, u know that.
Glad to see u still like theater. U r a natural actor, and so handsome, too.
Just starting at the University, majoring in Social Work and minoring in drama. Love it here.
I so enjoyed our time together. Email me anytime or call me. I still have the old cell ph number. That’s only if you want to.
Your friend, Karen
He reread the message three times, wondering if he should send it. Mark had made it clear he was finished with their romance; it was obvious the boy couldn’t accept the fact that the Kenny might be a transgendered woman. Should he sent it? Kenny hemmed and hawed, finally hitting the “Send” button. A chill went down his spine, worried about the reaction the message might get.
*****
“What are you doing, darling?” Angela asked.
“Oh just organizing my room and looking over stuff for school,” Kenny said replying to the call from Angela.
“I’m doing the same. Just got back from volleyball practice. I’m all sweaty now, wanna come over and help me shower off,” she said, giggling.
Kenny giggled, reflecting on the memory of the two of them showering together after their tennis match, and how much of a contrast the two presented: Angela with her tanned, trim hard body and perky tiny breasts, Kenny looking soft and white with a flabby chest and tummy.
“That would be nice, but you’ll be all dried off by the time I get there.”
“It’s a nice thought, isn’t it? I just had to call you, Karen.”
Kenny purred aloud, “You miss your girl friend?”
“Yes, girl friend. And I can’t wait to tell you, I’m going to be first string this year.”
“Oh Angela, how great! You deserve a hundred kisses.”
“Only if they’re from you, darling.”
The two talked for a half hour, and Angela invited Kenny to join her and a group from the volleyball team for a swim party at the University beach Sunday afternoon. “You’ll be Karen, my girl friend, dear.”
“I don’t have a swim suit for Karen,” Kenny said.
“That’s OK, I have an extra that should fit.”
Kenny accepted the invitation, agreeing to arrive at Angela’s to be appropriately outfitted for the outing.
Kenny checked his emails regularly. Nothing came from Mark or Gabe. He cried that night in bed.
*****
“Remember you’re my girl,” Angela warned as the two walked onto the beach, carrying a pair of blankets, a thermos of iced tea, towels and a bag of potato chips.
“Some of those girls will be apeshit over you, Karen.”
“They aren’t all lezzies, are they?” Kenny asked.
“Oh no, just a me and a couple others. Some will be there with boy friends. There’ll be some others with girl friends, but I assure you, you’ll be the cutest of the bunch, Karen.”
Kenny had arrived at Angela’s early so that he could try on the swim suit. It was a two-piece tankini, with a light blue background covered with wispy tulip-like flowers in lavender and pink on thin green stems. It had a ruffled top, as did the matching bottoms that accentuated the hips. Over it he wore a white boy’s shirt. He wore a light blue baseball cap.
“Aren’t you just adorable,” Angela said as he finished putting the suit on.
Angela insisted that Kenny have his toenails painted, which she did using a light pink shade with great precision. She paused in her artistry at times to massage Kenny’s feet, remarking how smooth they were
“God, even you’re feet are pretty. Not many girls have such pretty feet, and yours are so slender and smooth. You must use lotion on them,” she said, looking up into Kenny’s eyes.
Kenny nodded his head that he did use lotion; it was true he did like his feet to be smooth and pretty.
“You’re such a girl,” Angela said, smiling.
When she finished, she pulled each foot up to her mouth, cradled it gently in her hand and kissed the instep. Then she ran her lips up one leg into the soft inner thigh and then own the other, affixing kisses on the way. The feel of her lips excited Kenny and his penis rose, growing hard, as it always did when he imagined himself as a girl.
“I don’t know if I should take you this afternoon,” she said. “You’re so yummy, and I know at least one of those girls have an eye for sweet, young girls like you. I’ll have to fight her off.”
Kenny giggled at the prospect, and Angela looked up at him harshly. “Don’t laugh!”
“I’m sorry,” Kenny said. “But, I’m sure you’d win any fight.”
“Maybe, but Maxine thinks she can beat any of us up, and she’s quite a wrestler, too, and thinks she can star on the wrestling circuit.”
“Will I be safe?” Kenny asked, truly concerned now. He knew he’d be no match for any of the girls, all of whom were likely much stronger than he was.
“I’ll protect you, Karen,” Angela said, “just as long as you know you’re my girl. Now let’s finish fixing you up.”
Kenny was clearly out of breath from the hurried walk to the beach when they found the group of about a dozen young people. There were three young men among the young women, and Kenny was surprised to see that all of the women were tall and lovely. Their bodies were all tanned and firm, with noticeable muscles showing on their arms and legs. Kenny could see the three boys had gathered to one side of the bunch; they had been engaged in some sort of conversation, probably about football. They were obviously the boy friends of some of the girls, and had tagged along. They stopped talking as they saw Kenny standing there, their mouths saying something that he could only interpret as something on the version of “wow, she’s hot.”
“This is Karen, girls,” Angela announced to the group. “And she’s all mine. Look, don’t touch.”
With that Angela swept him up in her arms and kissed him, to the hoots and howls of the group. He blushed and his apparent shyness just seemed to stoke the group even more.
“Way to go, Angela,” one of the girls yelled. “Robbing the cradle, eh?”
Kenny knew that his diminutive body — well, diminutive in comparison to the Amazons gathered on the beach — along with the pigtails Angela had fashioned made him look like a middle school girl. His softness, too, made him look like a girl whose body has yet to mature.
“No, girls, she’s old enough to vote and drink beer now,” Angela said.
Some of the girls ran off to swim, including Angela, but Kenny demurred, saying he wasn’t much of a swimmer. He watched them pushing and splashing water about as they fought in the lake, their giggles and yells filling the air. He watched Angela’s magnificent body glisten as she shoveled water about, her muscular arms rippling as she moved about.
He was so engrossed in Angela’s action that he didn’t notice that Maxine had moved up next to him until he felt her hand grab his slender bicep.
“Angela’s so lucky,” she whispered, as her fingers kneaded the soft flesh of his arm.
Maxine was dark-haired, heavily tanned with a body-builder’s physique covered only by a yellow bikini that exposed the abs of her stomach and a tiny matching bra that barely could hold her firm, but smallish breasts.
Kenny said nothing, but looked straight ahead, watching Angela, but not seeing her, as his mind worked to figure out a way to escape the attention of this brick of a woman who had moved next to him.
“You really 18?” she asked.
“Uh huh,” Kenny replied, trying not to communicate any more tan he had to.
“You look about 13, so tender and cute,” Maxine continued, her voice now a low, sexy whisper.
The girl reached out to put an arm about Kenny, but he moved a few inches away. He said, “You better not, Angela will get mad.”
“Don’t worry about her,” she said. “I can handle her with my little finger.”
Maxine’s voice was becoming almost sinister, and Kenny got up, saying, “I’d better get in the water.”
And he ran toward the water, his arms flaying about, his steps short with his knees together. A girlish trot. He ran into the water, surprising Angela by hugging her as she stood in waist-deep water giggling with another girl. Angela lifted him up, and kissed him.
He felt like a helpless baby, and he wrapped his arms about Angela’s neck somewhat desperately, as if he feared being dropped into the water. Yet, he felt safe in the girl’s strong arms. He knew he should feel humiliated, being a boy, but he didn’t. He was a soft, tender girl.
They returned to her room about supper time, showered and went to bed. Two girls making love. The love was even sweeter after he told Angela how he escaped the advances of Maxine and how she had frightened him.
“And you ran to your man, dear girl. I love you so much.”
Kenny stayed ‘til 10 p.m., realizing he had to get back to his room. Ray would have returned and wonder where he was; besides classes started in the morning, and he had to prepare for that. Angela drove him back to the dorm, dropping him off at the door, watching him hurry in his girlish style up the steps as several boys watched what they saw as a cute freshman girl, headed either to her room on the second floor where the girls stayed or headed to the first floor room of a boy friend.
*****
Kenny found the room empty when he entered. There was no Ray, and all of his belongings were gone, including the small refrigerator. The two cans of diet soda that Kenny had in the fridge were placed on his nightstand. There was no note, no indication of what happened to Rajesh.
He was mystified. Why would Ray vacate the room, without so much as a “good bye” note, perhaps even a phone number or an address. It was so strange, Kenny thought, given the love-making the two had experienced a few nights earlier. He remembered Ray suggesting that Kenny should put on sari for him sometime. The kisses and caresses between the two had been so real; why the abrupt desertion?
He wondered whether he should he go out of his room and ask around as to what happened to the boy, but realized he still looked far too girlish to barge in on the boys in the room across from him; their door had been slightly ajar when he returned, but Kenny had not yet met them, given the few days they had all been on campus. Besides, they always seemed to act in rude, macho manner, and probably were already wondering about the effeminate boy across the hall. He could imagine what the boys said about him already.
He did the only thing a girl could do; he went into the bathroom and fussed with his hair, trying to figure out what would make him even prettier. He thought about curling his hair a bit; he’d always worn is straight, and recently had been tinting its light brown strands into being more blondish. “You have beautiful hair, dear,” Angela told him several times.
In truth, Kenny looked at himself and realized that he looked so often like the cute blonde teen girls he’d seen in high school. Standing in front the mirror, wearing only his panties and training bra, Kenny could only smile.
He put on his nightie, a pink satiny affair with wide lace straps over the shoulders, and a lace trimmed bodice that held his tiny breasts. Crossing his legs, he sat down at his laptop to check his email inbox: there were no massages from either Mark or Gabe. Nor were their text messages on his cell phone. There was one from Angela:
“Cute Karen I miss u already.”
Kenny thought for a minute and texted back simply:
“Kisses”
Despite the affection from Angela, Kenny felt desolate: he had been deserted by three boys who had shown deep affection for him. In reality, they had been making love to Karen, a girl that didn’t really exist. Or did she? Karen was real enough, Kenny felt. He cried softly into his pillow that night before falling asleep.
Chapter 11: Humiliation
Kenny sought to remove all girlishness from his appearance and mannerisms as he prepared for his first set of classes. He tied his hair in a ponytail, wore a pair of boy jeans and a short sleeved plaid shirt, hoping that might make him appear manly. He made certain all signs of makeup had been removed.
Josh Barnes, a graduate student, was the floor proctor, charged with keeping peace among the boys and generally managing the floor. His room was the first room to the left of the main entrance, and his door was open when Kenny approached.
“Mr. Barnes,” Kenny said, his voice tentative.
“What?” Barnes looked up from his desk where he had been hunched over a computer.
“I’m Kenneth Hansson, room 111. What happened to Ray . . . ah . . . er . . . Rajesh, my roommate?”
“Oh, the Indian boy,” he said. “He moved out.”
“I know, his stuff is all gone.”
Barnes seemed annoyed by the question; it was apparent that he had been deep into something on his computer when Kenny interrupted him; yet, Kenny knew, the young man’s job was to be open to questions.
“He moved out yesterday afternoon,” Barnes said. “His parents were with him. I guess they wanted something fancier for their kid. You know how fussy these Indian kids are, specially the rich ones.”
“Did they leave a forwarding address?”
“Nope.”
“And no further reason for going?” Kenny persisted.
“Well, they did say one thing, something about Rajesh having bad influences here. That’s about all I remember. They were kinda angry, the parents were, but Rajesh told me he was ‘sorry’ and seemed to be feuding with his parents. They were not a happy family.”
“That’s all?”
“As far as I remember, kid,” Barnes said, his tone becoming more friendly and warm.
“Thanks.”
“Oh Kenneth,” Barnes said, as Kenny turned to leave. “You eager for another roomie? Or do you like being alone?”
“Alone is fine, but either is Ok.”
“It could be you’ll be alone for this semester, unless management finds someone,” Barnes said. “They don’t like an empty bed.”
Kenny walked out, heading for breakfast, worried that Ray’s parents had moved the boy out because of him. It was a depressing thought. First, Mark, then Gabe, and now Ray. He was beginning to feel like Typhoid Mary.
*****
There was no end of varied outfits that the students wore on campus; due to the unusual late summer heat, the majority of both genders were in shorts, tank tops, tee-shirts or similar forms of undress while some loaded themselves into heavy camouflage trousers and shirts or Goth, as if to dare conventions.
Kenny realized that in his plaid shirt and jeans he was dressed more conventionally than most of them, reinforcing his confidence that he might not cause attention by his androgynous appearance.
As he entered his first class, Sociology 101, he was astonished that it was being held in what appeared to be an auditorium, almost as large as the one in his own high school. It was already filling up with students and he moved into a row halfway up to the front, settling into a seat a bit in from the side aisle.
Even though he was wearing jeans, he instinctively reached back as if to smooth a skirt as he sat down. He raised the side writing platform and placed his Sociology notebook on it, crossed his legs, and awaited the start of classes.
There were several seats open between himself and another boy, who thus far had paid no attention to him. Kenny forced himself to look at his textbook, which he had drawn from his bookbag, but he didn’t see what his eyes looked at. His mind was still focused on the missing roommate. He felt like crying, but held the tears back.
“Miss, oh miss,” a voice said.
Kenny looked up, it was a girl standing next to him, indicating she wanted him to rise and permit her to pass into the vacant seats.
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”
He rose quickly, dropping his next book, only to have the boy reached over and pick it up and hand it to him.
“Thank you,” Kenny said, his voice weak and tentative.
The boy smiled at him. Kenny stood while the girl and the boy passed, filling the vacant seats. After they were settled, the girl — a slender, dark-haired girl with a long nose that marred an otherwise lovely face — turned to Kenny.
“Thanks, dear,” she said. “My boy friend is such a gentleman, isn’t he? I trained him well.”
The girl giggled at her own joke. Then she continued:
“I hope he wasn’t flirting with you. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
Kenny froze. They both thought he was a girl.
“No, as you said, he was a gentleman,” Kenny said.
“Good,” the girl said. “By the way, I’m Jenny and this is my boyfriend, Kevin. And what’s your name?”
Kenny hesitated. What was he to say?
*****
Before he could answer, thunderous cheers erupted as Professor Emery Prowesczy (pronounced “pro-witch”) mounted the podium, sparing Kenny the embarrassment of telling the two that he had a boy’s name.
Kenny had signed up for Sociology 101 partly since it was a requirement for all taking the social work major but also because Prowesczy was one of the top-rated sociologists in the nation and had become a media star due to his compelling way to making sociology feel so personal and alive. His lectures were known for the outspoken frankness, providing controversial concepts while spicing it up with real life stories and many laughs.
His lectures were on Mondays and Wednesdays, with students then put into groups of 30 for lab sessions with a graduate assistant on Thursdays or Fridays. True to form, Prowesczy enraptured the freshmen students, as promised, and he finished with a standing ovation, the only professor on campus who gets such a reception.
Standing next to him, the girl named Jenny grabbed his arm, and yelled in his ear: “Wasn’t he just unbelievable? Aren’t you glad you got this class?”
Kenny nodded as he cheered, hoping to escape more attention from the girl, but his hopes for a quick exit were dashed since his way was blocked by others still in their seats.
“I could see you were so involved in his lecture,” the girl said as the crowd noise ended, and the students began filing out. “I don’t know about my boyfriend, though; he seemed bored.”
“It was all right,” the boy said. “Maybe you girls just got the hots for the guy, even if he’s at least 50 years old.”
Kenny turned to walk out, but Jenny (obviously a garrulous girl) reached out to stop him, and said, giggling a bit as she spoke: “No I didn’t have the hots for him, Kevin; I only have the hots for you. It’s just that I think we just are more interested in sociology than you boys are.”
She turned to Kenny, and hardly taking a breath, asked again: “Isn’t that right, dear? Aren’t us girls just a bit more into this stuff? Oh, what did you say your name was?”
Kenny stood still, his mind running as to how he should answer, trying not to pause too long to add attention to his answer, finally blurting out: “Kenny.”
“But you agree with me, right, Kenny?” Jenny continued, apparently not realizing that “Kenny” was a boy’s name.
“Jenny, he’s a boy,” Kevin said.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Jenny said. “It’s just that . . . ah . . . you looked so much . . .”
“No problem,” Kenny said quickly. “I get mistaken for a girl lots these days.”
“That must be so humiliating for you, Kenny,” the girl continued.
“Yes, we’re sorry about this, Kenny,” her boyfriend added.
“It’s my fault, I should cut my hair, I guess,” Kenny said.
“When’s your lab session, Kenny?” the girl asked. “I’m at 10 a.m. Thursday with a grad assistant name Spencer.”
“Same as me,” Kenny said. “Guess we’ll see you then, if not before.”
As they moved out into the aisle, Kevin addressed Kenny: “Just remember Jenny’s my girl. Hands off.”
“I’ll not forget,” he said, looking at the muscular boy holding hands with Jenny.
Kevin gave Kenny a friendly wink, and Kenny left them, hurrying onto his next class. He was smiling; he felt good about telling the truth.
*****
What was nice about the huge university setting was that there was such diversity among the students with a nice mix of African-Americans, Hispanics, folks from the Middle and Far East and others. What was even better was that the students wore all types of clothing, including some outlandish outfits that defied definition.
Kenny spied several students whose androgynous appearance made one wonder about their genders. Most, however, were girls who had either shaved their heads or wore boyish buzz cuts and were dressed completely as boys. He failed to see, however, any truly effeminate boys, feeling perhaps they might be in the arts programs.
In the first days of classes, he tried to maintain a strictly manly appearance, but more often than not he was called “miss” or “girl.” Usually he would not correct the impression, unless it turned out to be someone with whom he was to have an ongoing relationship. He got few direct comments after revealing his true gender, but did sense there were some whispers about him.
Frankly, he felt free, being just one of 40,000 some students on the campus. In a sense, he felt no one knew him and if they felt he looked a bit strange and not quite a boy it really didn’t matter. It was hard to escape the fact that, even in boy’s clothing, he looked like a girl, with his long hair framing his soft featured pretty face and his slender, almost dainty body.
Someone once said, he remembered, that the key to a happy life was “to be one’s self.” In Kenny’s case that meant being “Karen” whether in boy’s or girl’s clothing.
Kenny’s growing feeling of self-confidence, however, didn’t spare him from feeling hurt when some boy openly made fun of his girlishness, or called him “faggot,” “pussy” or “freak.” The two boys across the hall in his dorm eyed him closely, and it was hard to avoid their stares since they always seemed to have their room door open; their room had become a hangout for several other boys for lots joshing and rude remarks so typical of loutish young men.
“Come in here, girl,” the voice commanded as Kenny sought to enter his room one night after he had spent time with Angela. He knew his outfit — girl jeans, pink tee-shirt with cap sleeves and white tennies — made him look particularly female that evening, but he had dressed that way to please Angela who always wanted him in the most feminine of outfits.
Kenny tried to pay no attention, but the voice, harsh and demanding, caused him to shake with fear as he tried to put his key into his door. He failed after several attempts to fit the key into the lock, the delay giving one of the boys, an overweight kid with a dirty tee-shirt, unshaven face and smelling of beer and sweat, was at his side, grabbing Kenny’s keys.
“Let me help you little girl,” he said.
“I can do it myself,” Kenny said, his voice thickening as he felt he was about to cry.
The boy, however, grabbed the keys from Kenny’s hand and dragged him across the hall into the room where three other boys lounged about, all laughing.
“Take her pants down, Randy. Let’s see if she’s got a pussy,” said one of the boys to the fat kid who held Kenny.
“I bet it’s a juicy one,” said another.
“Nah,” said Tommy, one of the boys who lived in the room. Kenny recognized him as one who eyed him most closely. “She’s supposed to be a boy, but you can’t prove it by me.”
“Come girl, kiss me,” Randy said, his beer breath making Kenny want to retch. The boy had drawn Kenny into his soft body. Despite being overweight, the boy was strong, far too strong for Kenny to struggle out of the hold.
Kenny’s sobs grew stronger and in spite of moving his head to avoid the boy’s lips hitting his own, he finally submitted, letting the kiss come. The boy’s tongue fought to enter Kenny’s mouth and he became overwhelmed by the foulness of the boy’s juices. The boy finally had enough, released Kenny and pushed him rudely onto another boy who was seated on a bed.
This boy was a tall, slender boy and wore granny glasses. He had been silent during the incident and grabbed Kenny firmly, permitting him to be lowered safely onto the bed next to him. The boy’s hold was gentle, almost caring.
“Sorry about that, but Randy’s had too much to drink,” the boy said, holding Kenny in a gentle hug.
“What are you doing, Robert?” Randy said. “I gave her to you for you to kiss. She’s a sexy kisser.”
“Randy, you’ve had enough fun,” the boy named Robert said. “You could get us all booted out of here.”
“But look at her,” Randy persisted. “She’s even wearing girl jeans. Can’t you see that? She probably sits down to pee.”
Kenny sat on the bed, taking a tissue from Robert and rubbing his eyes dry.
“Let me out of here,” he pleaded.
Robert got up from the bed, assisted Kenny to his feet. He pushed Randy aside, grabbing Kenny’s keys from the boy’s hand and led Kenny across the hall to his room.
“Is this the key?” Robert said, holding up the bronze-colored key.
Kenny nodded, and the boy opened the door, helping Kenny into his room.
“Thank you,” Kenny said. For some strange reason, he had a desire to stand on his toe and kiss the boy for his kindness, but he resisted.
“Are you all right now?”
Kenny nodded.
“You’ll have to forgive Randy,” Robert said. “He had too much.”
Kenny said simply. “Just go!”
The boy smiled at Kenny, saying “I’m sorry.”
“Go,” Kenny said, pushing the boy out the door, closing it and putting on the double latch.
Kenny fell onto his bed and cried softly into the pillow, his mind drifting to Mark, wishing he was here, knowing that Mark would protect his Karen from these louts. Mark, Mark, where are you, my love? I need you to hold me and keep me safe.
*****
The MaryAnn Keyes Gender Clinic was housed in makeshift quarters in a storefront building just off University Avenue that once housed a novelty store. Kenny was surprised to see how ragtag the building appeared; the remnants of a marketing sign painted on the building’s side added to its seedy exterior.
The ramshackle appearance did nothing for Kenny’s confidence as he entered the aging aluminum framed glass doors that once opened up to bargain-minded college students. A musty odor filled his nostrils as he entered, feeling the ancient wooden floor creak as he walked.
A pock-marked, slender young man was seated behind an old metal desk, upon which sat a sign: “Reception.” The man looked up from his computer, asking, “May I help you.”
Kenny announced that he had an appointment with Dr. Bargmann, which the young man verified by punching the keys on the computer. He directed Kenny to a waiting area behind a portable wall, where a dozen metal folding chairs were set up for clients. Three other young people, all of indeterminate gender, sat patiently. All were looking at school notebooks, but Kenny suspected none of them were concentrating on the pages in their laps.
“Hi, I’m Jamie,” a cherub-faced, round-bodied young person said in a high-pitched, thin voice, as Kenny sat down in a chair nearby.
Even though Kenny wore jeans (girl-style), he brushed his bottom as if he were wearing a skirt, and then flicked his hair from his face. Kenny nodded the greeting, and regarded the person, realizing on closer examination that the voice belonged to a boy.
“I guess we should be glad this clinic is here,” Jamie said again.
“Yes, but it sure doesn’t look like much,” Kenny said.
The boy giggled. “You can’t tell a book by its cover, but I’m told these folks know what they’re doing.”
“Let’s hope so,” interjected a husky voice from one of the other clients, a large, tall young person with a butch haircut. Kenny figured the speaker was a girl who may be wishing she were a boy; yet, he couldn’t be sure.
“I did some research on this place,” Kenny said. “It’s only in its second year, and I guess they will eventually get nicer quarters. Dr. Bargmann is supposed to be tops in the field.”
“That’s what I’m told,” the cherub-faced boy said. “I need the best.”
“Guess we all do,” chimed in the boyish looking girl. “By the way, I’m Bobbie, or Roberta hoping to be Robert.”
Kenny smiled, happy that the persons in the waiting room broke the ice with their openness.
“I’m officially Kenny, but prefer being Karen,” he said.
Jamie reached over a patted Kenny’s hand. “You’re very pretty, Karen. I’m jealous.”
“Don’t be,” Kenny said. “This hasn’t been easy.”
“Not for any of us,” echoed Bobbie. The boy sat primly, his soft pudgy hands folded in his lap.
Their discussion was interrupted, when a youngish woman entered the room and announced: “Kenneth.”
“That’s me,” Kenny said, arising from his seat.
“Dr. Bargmann will see you now. Follow me,” she said.
Kenny was led up old worn wooden staircase and into a large makeshift office, a room that may once have been a bedroom. It contained two overstuffed leatherette chairs and a love seat, end tables, lamps, a coffee table, and a coffee service set up on an old dining room table.
Dr. Bargmann arose from one of the chairs; he was a nondescript man of moderate height, bespectacled and balding, hardly what Kenny had been expecting. Shouldn’t a famous doctor look more commanding?
The doctor held out a gentle hand and greeted Kenny, motioning to sit down on a love seat, while the doctor returned to the easy chair placed to Kenny’s left.
“I hope that’s comfortable for you,” he said.
“This is fine,” Kenny said. For some reason, he felt at ease with this man.
Kenny accepted a bottle of water while the doctor poured himself a cup of coffee from a carafe on the coffee table.
Dr. Bargmann began by apologizing for the quarters, saying he hoped the appearance would not bother Kenny. He said that he had examined Kenny’s records as put together in a long telephone Kenny had in making the appointment.
“Tell me about how this all came to be, Kenny. Oh by the way, while we consider our course of action with you, I’ll be calling you Kenny. I hope that’s Ok, or do you prefer Kenneth or Ken?”
“I’d prefer Karen,” Kenny said, “But I understand, and Kenny’s fine.”
‘We’ll see if it should eventually be Karen. Now tell me your story. Take all the time you want. We’ve got 30 minutes.”
Kenny needed less than ten minutes to tell his story, and when he was finished, the doctor, who had listed closely but took no notes, said nothing for what seemed an eternity. Instead the doctor sat quietly, looking directly at Kenny with what appeared to be a blank expression. Kenny was puzzled; wasn’t this doctor supposed to be a top expert?
“Is there anything else?” Kenny finally asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Bargmann said softly. “I’ve only heard about the last four months of your life. Did you just pop out of your mother’s womb last June?”
Kenny let out a brief giggle. “No, I didn’t, but that was when I began thinking about being a girl. It’s when I first dressed as one.”
“Ok, Kenny,” the doctor said. “Now tell me about your friends.”
Kenny paused for a moment. He really didn’t have any friends in high school, except for Angela. How could he confess that he was essentially friendless, that his last friend who was a boy — Alex who lived in the same apartment building — ditched him in 6th grade when he found out Kenny won an award for a scarf he had crocheted at the State Fair.
“Well, there’s Angela,” he said.
“Is she your girl friend?”
“Not in the sense of being a boy-girl romance,” Kenny said. “We’re just friends.”
“Tell me about her.”
Kenny explained that Angela had gotten him interested in politics and the two had worked as young teens on the election of the current President; from there, Angela got him interested in the Social Service Club at the high school, drawing him into making regular visits to the elderly and stirring his interest in social work.
“She’s been quite an influence on you, am I right?”
“Yes, doctor, she has been. She’s a year ahead of me and is also up here at the U.”
“Does she know about your feelings?”
“About being a girl? Ah . . . ah . . . well yes. She does, and she considers me a girlfriend and only calls me ‘Karen’ when we’re alone.”
Dr. Bargmann again remained silent. This maddened Kenny, since he felt compelled to speak again.
“Do you have sexual relations with Angela?” Dr. Bargmann finally asked, his tone direct and factual.
Kenny blushed. “I’m still a virgin, doctor.”
“That’s not what I asked you? Look, Kenny, if you’re not honest with me, I won’t take you as a patient. And sexual relations mean more than the putting of one’s penis into a woman.”
Kenny felt embarrassed; how could he confess how Angela treated him as if he were a woman, how she wanted him soft and weak, how she wanted him to taste her? All of these activities had bothered him as being immoral, dirty and a sin.
“Kenny I’ve heard it all, and if you don’t tell me everything, I can’t help you. I’m bound by law not to reveal what you tell me.”
The doctor leaned over and patted Kenny’s knee. He smiled at Kenny and then relaxed back into his chair.
“I sleep with her, doctor, but not as her male lover,” Kenny began. “She’s lesbian and she wants me as her girl friend only.”
“Thank you, Kenny. But you’ve had no boys that you were friends with, even in grade school.”
“Well, only Alex,” he said. “But that ended in 6th Grade.”
“Why was that?”
“He just drifted away.”
“He moved?”
“No,” Kenny said, pausing as he considered whether to tell the doctor about his crocheting prize. “He didn’t like me after the news went out through the school that I won an award at State Fair for a scarf I had crocheted. The whole class found out about it and the boys started laughing at me, calling me a girl or sissy. I cried right there in front of the whole class, and that made matters worse. Alex never walked to and from school with me after that day, even though we lived in the same apartment building.”
Kenny looked down at his hands when he finished; the incident may have been the worst in his young life.
“After that day,” he continued, still looking down at his hands, tears beginning as he recalled those days. “I never played with any boys again, but started hanging around with a few of the girls.”
The doctor stayed silent.
“I had more fun with the girls, doctor.”
“Now tell me about this crocheting, Kenny,” the doctor said. “How did that start?”
“Oh, from our baby-sitter, Aunt Harriet, only she wasn’t really our aunt, we just called her that. She watched us after school, until I got old enough to watch Sonny myself. But I like Aunt Harriet and visit her a lot. I loved watching her crochet and she taught me. She used to act in the movies and still acts a bit when she can.”
Soon, Kenny was eagerly telling the doctor how much he enjoyed doing housework, favoring that over messing around with boys in rough-housing or sports. He told how he made dinner each day for his mother when he was home, how he enjoyed watching movies with his mother, particularly romantic stories, and even read novels written for teen girls.
“But you never considered being a girl or wearing girl clothes until last summer?” the doctor asked.
“I never wore any clothes, no, but I often wondered why I wasn’t a girl, since I liked doing all girly things.”
Dr. Bargmann merely nodded and then smiled. “Well Kenny let me say first that you’re a smart, surprisingly well-adjusted person. And, if you’re interested, I’d like to work with you.”
“To make me a girl?” Kenny said, hardly disguising the eagerness in his voice.”
“Not so fast, dear. We’ve got a lot of work to do to see if that’s best for you,” he said.
“I know it’s best for me, doctor.”
“We’ll see, dear,” the doctor said, his voice kind and warm. “From outward appearances, I think you’re probably right, but we do need to get to know you a bit better. It’s really in your best interests, Kenny. This is a total life-altering step you’re thinking of taking, and you’ve really only been sampling a girl’s life for a few months.”
“But, doctor, my feelings go back lot longer than that,” he pleaded.
The doctor looked at his watch. “Well, I see our time is up now. We’ll get into more of this next time I see you.”
He directed Kenny to discuss future appointments with the young man at the receptionist desk. Kenny thanked the doctor, held out a limp hand, palms down, to be shaken by the doctor. As he did so, he imagined himself as a dainty princess holding her hand out to be kissed by a knight in shiny armor. He made no effort to hide his feminine mannerisms. Now that he knew Dr. Bargmann would be working with him, he was happy as a school girl.
Chapter 12: Making New Friends
Maybe it was because of the alphabet that Kenny and Jenny (the girl he met in the lecture for Sociology 101) were assigned to the same lab section along with some 20 other students and were assigned to a same Writing class as well. Kenny’s last name was Hansson and Jenny’s was Hanready. Her boy friend was not in those classes, and Jenny seemed to gravitate to Kenny in both classes, probably because they had already met and each was pleased to see a familiar face.
“Kevin seems nice,” Kenny ventured as they left the Thursday lab session together.
“He’s Ok, but sometimes he acts just like a guy. You know how that is,” she replied.
“I suppose so, but I wouldn’t know about that,” Kenny said.
“Why not? You’re a guy.”
Kenny nodded, juggling the book bag on his back and then brushing a stand of hair that came lose from the ponytail tie.
“Yeah, but I never hung around with a lot of guys,” Kenny explained. “I seem to be with girls for some reason. Maybe ‘cause I’m not much of a jock.”
“Well, you’re different, Kenny, I’ll say that,” she said. “But I kinda like that.”
Kenny blushed, noticing that as he walked along next to Jenny, he strode almost in the same hurried short steps.
“I seem to get along better with girls,” he said. “I guess that makes me weird.”
Jenny looked closely at him as they walked. She seemed to be considering how she would answer his comment. Finally, she said:
“Not weird. Different. And special. Yes, that’s it, you’re special.”
They continued talking as they headed for the student union, where Kenny said he was going to find a quiet corner to study before his next class; Jenny said she was to meet some girl friends at the grill in the union. They talked about their families. Jenny was one of six children (the oldest) and works parttime as an aide at a nursing home, which she said spurred her interest in social work, possibly in geriatrics.
“I’m kind of interested in that, too, Jenny,” he said. “I belonged to a social service club in high school, and we visited a nursing home on Saturdays. I had a regular Scrabble game with one woman who was 93. She was a sharp player and I loved it.”
“Wow, that’s incredible,” Jenny said.
“Why?”
“Well, you’re a guy, and I never knew a guy to care about that stuff. I think that’s so cool.”
“Well, she was fun to play,” Kenny said. “I also loved visiting the lady across the hall from us. She used to baby-sit for me and my brother until I got old enough. I still see her.”
Kenny told Jenny about how Harriet talked about her days as an actress and how interesting it was. Jenny continued to ask questions, and Kenny began to share with his new friend how he enjoyed doing what was considered to be feminine activities. What was it about Jenny that prompted him to tell her about this?
“She even taught me to crochet, and I won some awards at State Fair for my work,” he said. “I was so proud I was one of three winners in the junior division. When the guys at school found out . . . oh, Jenny . . . it was so awful.”
Jenny looked at him sympathetically. “You poor boy.”
“I don’t know why I can’t do these things without being teased and bullied,” he said. “I don’t know why a boy can’t enjoy being with older women or knitting and sewing if he wants to.”
“I agree,” she said, “But it seems you’re quite different.”
“I know, but you’d think there’d be some other boys who might like those things, but I’m often the only boy there. I was the only boy who submitted anything in the knitting contest and the only boy in that social service club.”
“I think you’re brave to step up and do these things, Kenny,” she said as that entered the Student Union building.
“I don’t know about that,” he said with an ironic smile. “Usually people call me a sissy or something worse.”
She grabbed his arm, and smiled. “Come along with me and meet my girl friends. You can study anytime.”
There were three girls seated at a round table in the giant pub room of the Student Union; it was a huge room in the basement of the huge Student Union that was built just before World War I and had become a traditional hangout for students. Some of the students seated at the ancient wooden tables scattered among the huge pillars that held up the building were engaged in earnest discussions about philosophy or the future of the world; others were pounding away at laptops, reading books or playing with their cell phones; still others were playing pinochle (a card game that was also a tradition at the University) and a few were just laughing and joking away. At a nearby table, a girl was in tears as she talked with a boy who apparently was making excuses for having been seen talking with another girl.
“I brought along a new friend to join us,” Jenny announced.
“Great and welcome,” said a round-faced girl with straight, short hair and glasses.
Kenny took the chair offered him between Jenny and the round-faced girl, and ran his hand over his bottom as if to smooth out a skirt as he sat down.
“And what’s her name, Jenny?” asked a thin-necked girl with close-cropped light brown hair.
Jenny looked at Kenny and they both laughed, puzzling the other girls.
“See you’re not the only one,” Kenny said softly to Jenny.
“What’s so funny? Is it her name?” persisted the thin-necked girl.
Jenny leaned over and whispered into Kenny’s ear, “Should I tell them the truth? Or should I invent a name like Kathy or Kerry?”
Kenny answered by announcing to the group that his name was Kenny.
“That’s an odd name for a girl,” replied the girl who was persisting in the name issue.
“That’s because she’s not . . . he’s not a girl,” Jenny said.
“But, she looks . . . I mean . . . he . . . oh . . . gosh . . .” The thin-necked girl stuttered on.
Kenny smiled at her. “That’s OK, everybody makes that mistake,” he said. “I’m used to it. Hope you don’t mind me joining you.”
They all nodded in apparent agreement of welcoming him, then each followed with an introduction. The round-faced girl said her name was Tracy, the thin-neck girl was Beverly and the other girl, an elfin girl with a face that would have been beautiful except for heavy pockmarks was Tricia. Like Jenny, it appeared none of the girls wore makeup or seemed to pay much attention to their hair. They also wore rather plain outfits. Tracy wore a sweat shirt, Beverly a beige blouse and Tricia an oversized tee shirt that seemed to dwarf her already tiny body.
“Kenny’s a social work major, too,” announced Jenny.
“Yes, we’re all in social work, too,” Tracy said. “It’s always nice to see more boys in this work. We need more men.”
“Yeah, ‘specially since all the social problems are caused by men,” Trisha said.
“You’re probably right, but then again I wouldn’t really know,” Kenny said.
The conversation continued, mostly about their impressions of the professors they had in these early classes of the semester.
Jenny soon was engaged in a conversation with Trisha, discussing what appeared to be troubles involving Trisha’s boyfriend. Kenny sat quiet for a minute before Tracy turned to him and said: “Do you like the theater, I mean like plays, Kenny?”
“Oh yes, I’m hoping to minor in drama,” he said.
“You are?” she said, her eyes brightening. “Me too!”
“Wow, that’s great,” Kenny said. “I like both acting and stage management. How about you?”
“Well, I’m not much in the looks department, but I’ve been writing some plays and I’d like to direct or produce.”
Kenny looked at Tracy, recognizing that the girl was overweight but also noticing that she had cheerful, sparkling blue eyes, and an earnest, sincere face. Really, he realized, she was pretty, and, with a little bit of effort could be made beautiful.
“You could be plenty pretty, Tracy, I have no doubts,” he said. “And I’m impressed that you write plays. That takes work and imagination.”
“I try to write humorous plays, and some are pretty good, but some stink,” she said with a laugh. “Have you done any acting?”
“Oh yes,” he said. “I did a couple of plays in high school and then I was in ‘Hamlet’ at a theater camp this summer at St. Albert’s.”
Tracy was impressed. “You were in that Shakespeare Camp? That’s really got a good reputation. That’s cool.”
“Yes, it was intense, I’ll tell you. We had to do everything in six weeks and then come out with a finished show which we performed once for the public.”
Kenny noticed the other girls had stopped their side conversations and we listening in on his words with Tracy.
“What part did you play, Kenny?” Jenny asked.
“Just a part, a small part,” he lied, hoping the conversation would move elsewhere.
“No, really,” Tracy said. “I’m interested.”
“Oh if you must know,” Kenny began. “Well, the producer wanted us follow the tradition of Shakespeare’s time when men played all the parts. And I was Ophelia.”
“Ophelia!” Tracy said. “That’s a big part. And you were her?”
Kenny nodded.
They persisted in the questions and Kenny finally related how it all happened.
“The professor taught method acting,” he said. “And I spent the four weeks of rehearsal living 24/7 as a girl named Karen. I constantly wore girl’s stuff, everything from panties and bras with breast forms to blouses and skirts and shoes. I was expected to walk, talk and act like a girl. I guess I learned all that easily.”
“You got any pictures of you like that?” asked Trisha.
“I guess there’s some online,” he said.
Beverly had her laptop open on the table in front of her and asked Kenny to provide a link, which he did. Soon, she had found the webpage of the Summer Camp, which included pictures of the key actors, both showing stage settings and individual shots of the actors in their costumes.
The girls and Kenny all gathered around Beverly to look at Kenny’s pictures.
“That’s you?” Jenny said, forming it as an exclamation. “Wow, you’re so beautiful.”
“And so feminine,” added Tracy. “No one could tell you’re a boy.”
Kenny smiled, truly enjoying hearing the compliments.
“And look at this picture,” said Beverly, drawing their attention to a studio-type photo taken of Kenny, showing only his face and shoulders, with free-flowing long hair flowing gracefully. He was wearing a top with spaghetti straps, exposing his slender, pretty shoulders and arms.
“What a glamour-puss!” Tracy said.
Beverly clicked the mouse and a picture of Mark Hamilton in his Hamlet costume popped up. “What a hunk that guy is? And you kissed him?” she asked.
Seeing the picture — and hearing the girls gush over him — brought tears to Kenny’s eyes as he thought back over the warm embraces the two shared, the sweet caresses and delicious kisses. What a heavenly time that was?
“Yes, he was a good actor,” he said. “I kissed him.”
Kenny couldn’t hold back his feelings, and burst out crying. Turning from the girls, he headed for the bathroom, running in short quick steps and grasping a tissue to his face. He charged into a stall, seated himself on a commode without taking his pants down and cried.
When he returned, the girls looked at him, wondering what had brought on this sudden show of effeminate emotion.
“Did we offend you, Kenny?” Jenny asked.
“No,” he said. “You were all fine. I adore you all.”
“I’m sure we all feel the same about you,” Tracy said. “We’re sorry you got so sad.”
“Not your problem, Tracy,” he said, his voice thick. “It’s something I thought of when we looked at the pictures. Just a personal thing.”
“Ok, dear,” Tracy said. “Time for our classes, and Kenny you’re welcome to join us anytime. We’re here most mornings about this time.”
Jenny left with Kenny and the two headed back toward their classrooms. “The girls really liked you, Kenny,” she said.
“I liked them,” he said. He meant it, too. They had made him welcome and he enjoyed the conversation.
“It’s like you’re one of us.”
Kenny giggled. “One of the girls, eh?”
“Yes, you are.”
*****
Despite his androgynous appearance — and constant confusions by casual acquaintances as to his gender — Kenny sensed he received little attention from others on the campus. After all, students wore all sorts of weird outfits — many of them purposefully gender-bending — just to make a statement of some sort, political or otherwise. The State University campus was renowned for its openness to weirdness, and a girlish-looking boy certainly fit right in. It was comforting.
It was only in his own dorm that he faced derision, often accompanied by an assortment of crude comments, usually demeaning as much to the female gender as it was to him personally. “Hi, pussy,” was a favorite one by some of the boys on the first floor, most of whom had heard of the one-night encounter in the room across his halls. “Let me see your cunt, dear,” was another. To counter these attacks, which sometimes drew him to tears, he tried mightily to dress in a more masculine fashion, but a combination of his pretty face, long hair and dainty mannerisms betrayed him. Repeatedly, items were pinned to his door, including poop-stained pink panties, a black lace bra and a lady’s garter.
Kenny knew he should have reported the incident in which he had been attacked by the boys in the room across the hall, particularly naming that big oaf, Randy, who might have raped him if not restrained by one of the boys named Robert, who had rescued Kenny from the beer-stained, sweaty pig Randy. The truth was the whole event humiliated him, and now he felt he understood how women felt when they failed to report being assaulted by men. He felt powerless, too weak to fight back with his fists (just like many girls were) and too afraid of future retaliations. Then, too, he wanted to be liked by the boys in the dorm. Didn’t most people want to be liked by others, even the boorish boys who seemed to populate his floor in the dorm?
Randy continued to frighten him, always hanging around Tom, the boy who lived across the hall.
“I only wanted to kiss you, pretty girl,” he whispered one time when Kenny left his room.
Kenny refused to look at him, just shut his door and scurried away down the hall and out the door, heading to the Student Union to meet Angela. He was wearing girl jeans, a man’s dress shirt, and a gray hoodie to protect against the chill of the early evening, already growing dark. His ponytail bobbed as a he hurried down the path into the woods, his hips swaying by his manner of moving in short, quick steps.
“Hey wait up, little girl,” pleaded a voice behind him that he recognized as Randy’s, already growing breathless as he lumbered behind.
“Stay away from me,” Kenny yelled back, his voice reaching a tense high pitch. He hurried his steps.
“Wait, I won’t hurt you,” the boy’s voice came again, sounding closer.
Despite his bigness, Randy seemed to be moving fast, gaining on Kenny as they entered the dark path, tunneled through the forest. Kenny tried to pick up his pace, but he never was much of a runner and realized that Randy would soon be upon him. He panicked, wondering about diving into the trees to escape the lumbering boy, when he took a quick look back to see how close Randy was. Suddenly he hit into something which stopped him cold.
“Karen,” the voice said, emanating from the body in front of him. “I’ll protect you, dear.”
Kenny stopped short. He realized he had run smack into the waiting arms of Gabe, the boy she had met on her first days at the campus.
“Karen, was he chasing you? That guy?”
Kenny nodded, too out of breath to answer.
“Well, when he saw me, he took off,” Gabe said.
“Oh Gabe, thank you, I was so afraid of him,” he said, his breathing slowly returning to normal.
Kenny clung to the huge boy, engulfed in Gabe’s heavy arms and feeling so comforted by his cushiony body. Gabe’s arms surrounded him in a gentle hug.
“Did you know him, Karen?” Gabe asked, using his girl’s name even though he was aware of Kenny’s gender.
“Yes, he’s from the dorm and he’s been tormenting me almost since I got here,” he said, feeling he was about to cry.
“Oh, you poor dear. Why didn’t you let me know? I’d handle him, easily.”
“I thought you were mad at me for lying to you,” Kenny said. “I didn’t think I should bother you.”
Gabe opened his arms to release Kenny and took Kenny’s hand and began to lead him toward the Student Union. Kenny’s dainty hand felt so tiny in the big mitt of Gabe.
“I take it you’re going to the Union, right?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you. I am meeting my friend Angela,” he said. “By the way what are you doing here tonight?”
The two walked hand-in-hand for a while and eventually broke into the open as they left the wooded area. Gabe remained silent, and Kenny decided not to pursue the question.
“The truth,” Gabe said finally and with hesitation, “is that . . . ah . . . I was hoping to see you again.”
“To see me again? Why? After I lied to you?”
Gabe pulled Kenny to an empty bench and the two sat down, their thighs touching. Gabe continued to hold Kenny’s hand and looked directly at Kenny. Gabe’s voice was soft and Kenny had trouble hearing his words.
“Karen, and I only really known you as Karen, I felt so good being with you,” he began. “I’ve never been good with girls, you know, and you’re so pretty. Oh, it’s more than that. You’re so sweet and kind. Oh, I don’t know what to say. I just loved being with you, even for that short time. Oh Karen, I missed you so and I’m so sorry that I left you that night.”
Kenny looked up at Gabe, whose face even in the gathering dark of dusk was brightened by the faint light of the nearby street lamp. The boy’s eyes had grown watery as if he were about to cry and Kenny — in the mindset of a loving girlfriend — felt an urge to throw his arms about this big bear of a boy and hug him with all his might.
“I cried that night when you left me, Gabe,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yes, Gabe, my sweet boy, I ran into my dorm crying and still had tears in my eyes when I was attacked the first time by that bully Randy. Oh, Gabe, it was the worst night of my life, first to lose you and then to be raped.”
“You poor girl,” he said, wrapping his arms around Kenny and drawing him into his soft body. Kenny’s face nestled comfortably against Gabe’s chest.
Other students walked by the couple as they sat on the bench; the sight of a boy and girl hugging along the path was commonplace and few paid any attention as they passed. Kenny relaxed next to Gabe and neither spoke; Kenny felt the boy’s heart pounding and felt the boy’s large hands gently caress him. Even though the hug was awkward, it was welcoming.
“Oh my God, Angela,” Kenny said, breaking from Gabe’s hug. “I’m late and she’ll be mad. I gotta go, Gabe.”
“Don’t Karen,” he pleaded.
“I gotta run, Gabe, really. Angela can get so mad. You know her; you met her the first night.”
“Yes,” he nodded. It was apparent he wasn’t impressed with Angela.
The two got up from the bench began heading to the Union, with Kenny breaking away from Gabe just as they approached the building. Kenny knew that Angela would get jealous if she saw Kenny being escorted a second time by this large boy.
“When can I see you again, Karen?” Gabe asked as they parted.
Kenny paused, bringing his hands up to his mouth in a coy gesture. He cocked his head so that his a few strands of his hair dropped into his face, feeling very much like the girl he was.
“You’re so cute, Karen. Please I want to see you again.”
“Ok,” Kenny said. “You free for coffee at the same place about 4 p.m. tomorrow?”
“Sure, shall I meet you there?”
“Yes, Gabe, my last class is near there.”
“Great.” He leaned over and gave Kenny a quick kiss, and Kenny reacted by returning a longer kiss to him.
And Kenny was off to meet Angela. Oh how marvelous it was to be a pretty girl!
*****
He spent the evening with Angela and several of her lesbian girl friends; they had all accepted Kenny as Karen, Angela’s “femme” girl friend. Although it was obvious several of the girls were the “femme” girls, Kenny realized that he may indeed have been the most girlish of them all. Certainly, he was the prettiest and daintiest.
There were eight girls all told and they lounged around the sitting area of the house in which Angela had a room. Kenny was aware that several of the “butch” girls eyed him closely, and he worried that perhaps they had read him as a boy. That fear ended, when one of the girls, Doreen, a tall angular girl with heavily tanned skin and muscular legs protruding from her athletic shorts, sat next to Kenny on the couch at a spot where Angela had been seated before she left along with the others to go out to get drinks, leaving Doreen and Kenny alone.
Kenny felt the girl’s calloused hand grab his own hand. She caressed his hand and looked at it; the nails were rounded and covered with a natural gloss.
“You have the prettiest hands, Karen and so soft,” she whispered into his ear, moving in so that her body rubbed against his.
Kenny said nothing, and tried to move away, knowing how angry Angela would be if she saw Doreen’s advances, but he was trapped by the couch’s side arms.
“How I’d love to have your hands all over me,” she continued almost inaudibly. “You’re so dainty.”
“Please, Doreen, don’t,” Kenny pleaded. “Get up. Angela will be so mad.”
Doreen was not to be stopped and moved her face toward Kenny as if to kiss while wrapping her arm around Kenny. She grabbed his soft upper arm in her strong hands. Kenny attempted to squirm free and avert his head, but he was powerless against Doreen’s superior strength.
Soon the girl’s lips were upon him in a clumsy kiss as Kenny tried vainly to turn his head; by then, the girl held his head firmly, restricting his movements. Her lips firm and hard were upon his.
“Doreen,” it was Angela, screaming loudly. “Get off of her. She’s mine.”
Doreen froze, Kenny still entrapped in her arms, as Angela was upon them. She grabbed Doreen’s hair and dragged her off Kenny and onto the floor.
Kenny shook in terror, but Angela’s rage was turned onto Doreen. She had surprised Doreen, who was lost in her lust for Kenny’s girlish body and his luscious lips, and wrestled the girl to the carpet, straddling her and punching Doreen vigorously toward the head. Fortunately the blows missed the girl’s head or grazed her shoulders as they struggled together on the ground.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” screamed a couple of the girls, all of whom had re-entered the room with their drinks. One of them removed a coffee table to give the two fighting girls more room to fight. No one tried to intervene and several cheered the two on.
Kenny stayed seated on the couch, too horrified by the scene to move. He watched as the agile, athletic Doreen finally raised a leg to catch Angela and toppled her onto the floor. The two wrestled, accompanied by grunts of “bitch,” “dyke’ and “asshole” thrown at loosely between the two. He watched as their sinewy legs and arms became entangled and their skins beaded up in sweat.
“Stop. Stop Angela,” Kenny pleaded, his voice coming out in a faint squeak.
They kept fighting and Kenny began to cry helplessly. He had caused this, and he feared Angela would blame him for encouraging Doreen’s advances. He had merely smiled at the girl a couple of times, just as a friendly gesture.
One of the girls, obviously a “femme” partner, sat down next to Kenny as the two continued to wrestle.
“Here, take this, dear,” she said, handing Kenny a tissue and putting her arm gently about Kenny, obviously to comfort him.
“Thanks,” he looked at the girl. She had a pretty, round face and a short, doughy figure with smooth pinkish skin.
“Look honey,” she said. “You’re such a beauty I can see why those two would fight over you.”
“I guess,” he said. “My name’s Karen, and thank you.”
“Heather,” she replied. “And you seem like a nice girl, Karen.”
“You, too, Heather.”
Angela finally pinned Doreen to the carpet. She gave Doreen one last violent push into the ground, and stood up, breathing heavily.
“You bitch Doreen, keep your filthy hands off her,” Angela said.
Doreen rose quickly, sweating profusely, her short hair all tangled and her tank top hanging askew. She moved toward Angela as if to throw a punch, but one of the other girls grabbed her from behind.
“Just let it go, Doreen. You know Angela brought Karen. You should have known better than to put a move on Karen,” the girl said.
Doreen gave Kenny a quick look, accompanied by a slight pucker of her lips. Kenny was thankful Angela didn’t see it.
“Come on Karen,” Angela said, grabbing Kenny by the arm and pulling him off the couch. “Let’s blow this joint.”
*****
“Ow, you’re hurting me Angela,” Kenny pleaded. The girl held Kenny’s left wrist firmly and dragged him out of the house and down the steps, along the sidewalks to her car.
“You’re such a crybaby,” she said cruelly.
She wrenched his wrist violently pulling him along the sidewalk, and he tried vainly with his other hand to force her to release her hold, but she only strengthened her grasp to the point that Kenny felt she would snap his slender wrist.
“Why are you hurting me?” he sobbed, tears filling his eyes.
“Quit your crying and get in the car,” she said.
She opened the door and rudely pushed Kenny into the right front seat. When she had settled in her seat in front of the wheel, she held her car keys in her hand for a moment, staring straight ahead saying nothing.
Kenny cowered in the seat, his body tight against the door, as if trying to stay far away from Angela whose anger appeared to be mounting. He was scared of the girl; in her rage, he feared, she’d get violent and he knew she was strong enough to hurt him badly. He knew he was too weak to fight back, and he wondered what girls did in these situations when their boyfriends — or in this case girlfriend — attacked them. Should he bite her, he wondered?
“You flirted with Doreen, you slut,” Angela said finally, the words coming out of her mouth almost as a hiss.
“I did not, Angela,” Kenny said, his voice weak and hesitant.
“Don’t lie to me, I saw you smile at her, Karen,” Angela said, moving her body to face Kenny.
She grabbed onto his shoulders, her strong hands seeming to crush slender bones, and looked squarely into his face. Angela’s eyes blazed wildly.
“I . . . I . . . was just . . . trying to be nice. I wasn’t flir . . .”
“Karen, you’re mine. Mine,” she said, her spittle spraying onto his face.
Suddenly, she kissed him violently, her lips pressing hard upon his, as he tried to avert her face. With one hand, she held his head firmly from behind, and the two began kissing. Kenny’s fear dissipated as Angela’s hard kiss soon turned to passion. Her hands roamed his body as they kissed, no longer feeling rough but affectionate in their firmness. Kenny surrendered himself totally to this domineering, loving woman, relinquishing his own soft, puny self to Angela’s hard, muscular body.
Kenny’s penis grew hard and he heard Angela’s breathing grow heavy and he feared they both would soon orgasm right there in the car, moistening the seat. But the strong embrace which had frightened him now turned to sweet affection.
Angela released him and returned to her seat, panting.
“I love you so, Karen,” she said. “Don’t ever flirt again.”
“But, I didn’t . . .”
“Well it looked like it, Karen. Oh, but it’s not your fault you’re so pretty. And that damn Doreen. She knew you were mine.”
“I’m sorry,” was all Kenny could say.
“Don’t you love me, Karen?” Angela asked.
Kenny hesitated, worrying about his answer.
“I don’t know about love, Angela,” he said, summoning up courage to answer honestly. “That’s pretty serious word and I don’t know yet. I like being with you and I like what we do together. You’ve always been so kind.”
“But not love, darling?” she said, her voice now gentle and warm.
“Not yet, but I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Angela.”
“Fair enough,” she said, turning the key to start the car.
They decided not to return to Angela’s room since her roommates would be there. She drove Kenny back to his dorm, escorting him to the door, where they kissed briefly in full sight of several other boys who were smoking.
As Kenny headed for his room, he could hear one of the boys say to the other:
“Figure that. Our faggot has a girlfriend and what a fox, too!”
Kenny smiled, hoping this display for affection with a handsome girl might bring him respite from the teasing and bullying he was suffering from many of the boys in the dorm.
By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2012)
(Kenny — as Karen — becomes the object of frightening obsessive
behaviors while gaining opportunities for an acting career.
Another chapter in this sequel to “To Be Or Not to Be.”)
Angela’s words “you’re mine Karen” pounded in his head as Kenny tried to get to sleep; he was exhausted from a day filled with emotion, beginning with Gabe’s renewed attention to Karen and ending with the obsessed desire of Angela to possess him even to the degree that she would engage in a fierce physical fight for his attention.
Angela frightened him with the intensity of her passion and the strength of her arms and legs. He had never seen a fight as physical and fierce as he did that evening between the two girls. And now Angela was declaring that he was hers; no, Karen was hers. He could never defend himself against the girl, he realized as he looked at himself in the mirror that night as he put up his hair before retiring. His arms were those of a 13-year-old girl, slender, undefined, spongy.
He realized it was his fragility and weakness that helped accentuate his feminine beauty and made Karen such an object of desire by Angela and her girl friend Doreen; that same daintiness attracted boys like Gabe and Mark Hamilton.
The idea of being “owned” by Angela began to rankle Kenny. No one should be able to own another person; that was slavery. How could he remove himself from the grip of Angela, he wondered. He feared her anger if he told her he wanted nothing to do with her.
His life had changed in the few months from summer when he was chosen to play Ophelia to the days at the University where he was identified so often as either an effeminate faggot and as a lovely girl. Kenny checked his email after putting on a nightie before going to bed; he rarely wore a nightie to bed, even though he still was without a roommate and was free to wear anything he wanted. He worried about a fire alarm coming in the middle of the night and he’d be forced to leave his room in the nightie to the derision of the entire dorm population.
There was an email from Gabe:
“Thinking about you, Karen. See ya’ tomorrow. Hugs and kisses. Gabe”
And one from his brother Sonny:
“Hi bro. am starting qb on jv fb team. Mom sez hi. Sonny”
He smiled remembering his brother’s manner of using few words to say anything, but he knew Sonny would be thrilled at being the starting quarterback as a freshman on the junior varsity football team. Despite Sonny’s continual teasing and apparent disgust with Kenny’s girlish ways, Kenny realized he loved his brother and was happy that he was finding success on the gridiron. He was worried, though, because he knew how dangerous the game could be and that his brother might get hurt. He would never understand how young men could expose their bodies to such violence and potential hurt.
He brightened up when he saw an email from Mark Hamilton:
“Hi Kenny . . . hope you’re doing well at the univ. I still think often of Karen and the lovely couple we made. (Smiley face) I’ve been so busy with fb and school and get so tired some nites but when I think of Karen I wished she was in the stands cheering me on. Reply if you wish. I’ll understand if you don’t. I was cruel to you. And I’m sorry. Mark.”
Kenny read the message three times and finally read it aloud, relishing every word. Of course, he began crying. The tears flowed and he sobbed aloud, but the tears were joyful ones. What else could a girl do?
He tried several times to start to reply to Mark, realizing that he would only answer him as Karen a girl deeply in love. But what should Karen write? After several false starts, he began typing:
“Dear Mark . . . I would have given you a hundred kisses for every touchdown pass you threw last week. That would have been 300 kisses! Would that become boring for you? LOL.
“Yes, I check the scores every week to see how you’re doing. You must have every girl on campus lusting after you. I’m jealous! Really!
“I cherish every moment we had together this summer and I understand why you had to walk away from me that night. Meanwhile, I hope you have many more td passes and you find a real girl friend who loves you as Karen did.
“And Mark, please don’t get hurt. Don’t let them break your arm or scratch your handsome face. Please. It’s such a rough sport.
“If you wish, I’d welcome more emails from you. Your friend forever, Karen”
Kenny hit “send” and fell upon his bed and cried as only Karen would cry.
*****
Kenny grew more comfortable in the classrooms and as he walked about the campus. He realized few students paid much attention to him and his androgynous appearance. More often than not he was obviously mistaken as a girl and several boys made flirtatious comments and perhaps even eyed him as a potential girlfriend.
The problem was, however, that his new life was clouding his mind and interfering with his concentration in class. He had always been a top student, but on the day after his exchange of emails with Mark, coupled with memories of the Angela’s possessive nature and Gabe’s newfound affection, he found it hard to keep his mind on the lectures in the classroom. Mostly, he thought of Mark and how much he desired to again be holding his hand and nestling next to him.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Jenny said after the morning lecture as they walked to their usual morning get-together at the Union with the girls. Though the girls knew of his gender, they all had called him Karen and he had soon been accepted, giggles and gossips included.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kenny said. “I guess I was day-dreaming.”
“About one of your many boyfriends?” Jenny said with a smile.
Kenny giggled.
“No,” Jenny said, answering her own question. “It must be just about one boy. I get that way sometimes about Kevin.”
The two continued without talking as Kenny considered whether to tell Jenny about Mark, whether he should admit his longing for the boy and his own sadness at being rejected by Mark when he refused to tell his parents about Kenny’s gender.
“Yes, it is about one boy,” Kenny said sheepishly.
“Wanna tell me about him?”
“Not now, maybe soon. I got lots to sort out in my own mind,” he said.
“Ok, Karen, I won’t probe, but if you want to talk about it at anytime, remember I’m your friend,” she said.
“I know you are, and a sweet friend, too,” Kenny said, reaching and giving the girl’s hand a gentle squeeze.
*****
Even though it was a coolish early fall afternoon, most of the outdoor tables at Java Jazz were occupied when Kenny arrived just a minute or two after 4 p.m. Gabe had found a table in the sun and Kenny was grateful since he wondered whether the purplish hoody he wore would keep him warm enough.
“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” Gabe said.
“I wasn’t that late, was I?”
“Oh no, it’s just that I wanted to see you so bad and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t come ‘cause the way I treated you.”
Kenny smiled, moving his chair closer to the boy, and leaning in to peck him on the cheek.
“Forget that, Gabe. I have.”
Gabe left to get their drinks and cookies, leaving Kenny to settle down. He felt a tweak of guilt by accepting the hospitality of Gabe while his mind raced back and forth about Mark. He couldn’t get the boy out of his head.
“Oh, there you are, my girl,” said a booming voice.
*****
Kenny looked up to see Professor Fenstrom standing next to the table, eyeing Kenny carefully.
“Yes, you’re just what I need for my part, dear,” Fenstrom said, bringing an empty chair from another table and plopping it down at the table.
“Oh, professor!” Kenny said, surprised.
“You’re just as cute as I remembered you,” he said in his theatrical voice. “Almost a natural to play a teen girl.”
“But,” Kenny protested.
“No buts. You’re a picture of teenage cuteness. I want you to do the audition, honey. We’ll see if you can act, and if you can, you’re a sure bet for the part.”
Gabe returned with the drinks and the cookies, setting them down on the table without much ceremony.
“Hello, young man,” Fenstrom said. “I’m sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, but I just had to talk with your girlfriend. For the part, you know?”
“That’s Ok,” Gabe said, not trying to hold back the disgust in his voice.
“I won’t be long, son, I just need to know if this lovely girl has made up her mind about doing the audition. As I recall, your name is Karen, right?”
Gabe looked at Kenny, giving him a quizzical look. Kenny felt uneasy, realizing that Professor Fenstrom had been serious on their previous meeting and had no idea that Kenny was a boy.
“I don’t think so, professor,” Kenny said, realizing how awkward the moment was to everyone.
“Why not, honey?” Fenstrom said, putting a hand on Kenny’s arm. “You said you wanted to be an actor and had done some acting with McIver. If he liked you, I’m sure I would too.”
“Well . . . ah . . . ah . . . I’m just not ready for it, sir,” Kenny said. He was lying, realizing how much he’d love to play such a part.
“I think you are,” Fenstrom said, fixing his eyes upon Kenny. “What are you worried about?”
Kenny wanted to hide under the table. There was no way that he could take the part; he was still a boy, regardless of his appearance. How could he convince the professor without telling the truth? Oh yes, the truth! Such a fearsome thought.
Gabe reached over and grabbed Kenny’s free hand. He looked pleadingly at Kenny; it was as if he was telling Kenny to confess the truth. Kenny looked at him, wondering if he would burst into tears again. He made a decision at that moment.
“Sir,” he began. “The truth is . . . ah . . . ah . . . well . . . that I’m really a boy so I can’t do it.”
The moment he said it he felt relieved, even though he feared the professor might rise up in anger and beat him to a pulp. Fortunately, Gabe was there to defend him.
Fenstrom’s eyes widened. He gulped noisily and coughed into his hand.
“A boy? You’re kidding me!” he said.
“No she’s not,” confirmed Gabe.
“She? You just said she,” the professor said.
“Well that’s how I know her, but she told me she’s really a boy,” Gabe said.
Fenstrom shook his head in puzzlement. “But, Karen, or whatever your name is, you’re so incredibly feminine!”
“Thank you, sir,” Kenny mumbled, still numb from the whole incident.
“Well, that changes things a bit, I guess,” Fenstrom said. “I’ll have to rethink this. Hmmm, a lovely boy playing the female lead. Just like Shakespeare times.”
Kenny looked at the professor. Was he serious? He sounded that way.
“Look, Karen,” the professor started. “I want you to audition next Monday afternoon at 4 p.m. at the Union theater. Come dressed just like you are and list yourself as Karen and whatever your last name is and tryout.”
“But, sir . . .” Kenny began.
“No buts young lady. Just show up. Don’t prepare. I’ll send you a few lines to study and instructions by email. Let’s see what you can do! Ok?”
Kenny nodded.
“Ok then, tell me your last name now so I can list you for the audition, dear,” he said.
“It’s Hansson with two ‘s’ sir.”
He stood up, leaned over and gave Kenny a quick kiss. Without a word, he left the table.
*****
Gabe grabbed Kenny’s hand firmly, almost crushing it. He was angry and he looked at Kenny, his eyes flashing violently.
“You’re not going to tryout for that old letch, are you?”
Kenny looked at Gabe, feeling so confused. He nodded his head tentatively.
“I think I will, Gabe,” he said, not entirely sure about whether he’d actually follow through with the audition.
“But Karen, it’s just not right,” Gabe said, his voice firm and commanding. “He wants you to audition as girl. That’s dishonest.”
“But Gabe, I want to act so bad and if I have to do it as a girl, maybe that’s what I need to do.”
“That’s disgusting. You’re still really a boy.”
“But that’s not how you see me, is it, Gabe? You treat me more like a girlfriend, don’t you. Always calling me ‘Karen.’ Don’t you see a girl here?”
The boy nodded. “That’s all I see now. God, you’re so pretty Karen. Why can’t you be a real girl?”
“Oh Gabe, I am a girl inside,” Kenny said. “I’ve never realized it until recently. I don’t ever think like a boy.”
Suddenly, he burst into tears; his noticeable sobbing drew the attention of several students at nearby tables and one of the boys got up from his table, challenging Gabe: “Are you hurting this girl?”
Kenny looked up, as the boy handed him a tissue, apparently to wipe his eyes.
“No, I’m not hurting her,” Gabe said, defensively.
“Is he hurting you,” the boy addressed Kenny, placing his hand gently on Kenny’s shoulder.
“No. No. He’s not,” Kenny said through his sobs.
“You’re sure?”
A girl’s voice boomed in, “Frankie, she’s all right. Leave them alone. It’s none of your business.”
It came from a girl who had been the boy’s companion. She was obviously mad at the boy for deserting her for what he perceived to be an even better-looking girl in apparent distress.
“Just so you’re Ok,” the boy said to Kenny. “Just yell out if you need help. I’ll be right over there.”
“Just go,” Gabe said. “She’s mine and you better tend to your own girlfriend, Buster.”
Kenny blanched, his mind reacting to Gabe’s words of “she’s mine.” He’d heard those words before when Angela declared “she’s mine” when she thought Doreen was paying too much attention to Kenny.
“I’m nobody’s girl,” he thought to himself. “I’m my own girl. Nobody has a right to own anybody else.”
Where did people get the idea that they own another person? Do all girls face this thought that their boyfriends (and butch girlfriends as well) own them? Or is it just dainty, girly girls like Karen?
He looked up at the boy, tears still flowing down his cheeks, and said, “I’m fine, really! My boyfriend and I just were having a discussion. He’s really very sweet. You better get back to your friend, dear. But thank you for your concern.”
The boy nodded and left with a smile, carefully concealing his face from the gazes of either Gabe or his own companion. Kenny heard his female companion berate him as he returned to the table. “You want to be a knight in shining armor to every pretty girl you see, don’t you Frankie? Not all of us can be a cute as that bitch over there. Bet she’s dumb as a rock.”
“Awwwww, she was crying. I just trying to help.”
“Sit down and pay attention to me,” she said.
Kenny looked at Gabe, his eyes still moist with tears. Overhearing the argument at the other table, Kenny began to giggle. Gabe did, too, and soon the both of them struggled to hide their laughing from the quarreling couple. It was a precious, shared moment.
The two later spent time touring an art exhibit that was set up in one of the rooms of the Union and Gabe invited Kenny to have pizza with him at a local restaurant before escorting Kenny back to his room. When the got to the dorm, Kenny warned Gabe to treat him like a boy — “no kissing or hugging.”
“I been having problems with the boys in the room across the hall,” he said. “You know that boy you scared away? Randy?”
“Yes, that one! He looked mean. Why don’t I go with you to your room, if you’re scared?” Gabe said.
“That’s sweet of you, Gabe,” he said. Kenny kissed the boy on the cheek. They were still a block from the dorm and in a relatively isolated spot.
Randy was with two other boys in Tom’s room across the hall as Kenny and Gabe reached the door to the dorm room. Kenny could hear some snickering and then a voice, obviously Randy’s boom out: “I see the sissy girl has an escort.”
Gabe turned to face the boy: “Leave her . . . ah . . . him alone.” His voice faltered, his gender reference throwing him off his threatening tone.
“And you’ll do what?”
Regaining his composure, Gabe yelled, “And, I’ll make a sissy girl out of you and your buddies, too. And don’t think I can’t do it.”
Remembering how Gabe had shamed him before, Randy obviously thought best of continuing the challenge. “All right, all right, don’t get in a huff. Just having a little fun, is all.”
“Well, lay off Kenny,” he warned.
Kenny opened the door, his heart pounding both in fear and excitement, and he led Gabe into the room, purposefully leaving the door open. He wanted to indicate to Gabe that he was not to show any affection for him while in the dorm room.
“Thanks, Gabe, maybe that’ll shut them up.”
“I’d like to have another go at that tub of lard,” he said. “I hate bullies, and he’s one for sure.”
“Thanks again.”
Gabe smiled. “Anything for a damsel in distress.”
“That’s me,” Kenny giggled.
*****
“Mommy, I miss you and Sonny so much,” he said into the phone.
“Oh, my darling it’s good to hear your voice but you sound like you’ve been crying,” his mother said. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, mommy,” he said, high voice pinched into a high register.
“You’re sounding so much like a little girl, now, dear,” she said.
Kenny sniffled, trying to muffle the sound, but failing. “I probably do,” he said finally. “It seems everyone thinks I’m a girl, too.”
His mother didn’t answer for a moment. “Is that causing you trouble, dear?” she asked, her voice reflecting her hesitation.
He giggled, a nervous giggle, since the real answer was that he liked being mistaken for a girl; it was better than being taken for a sissy faggot, as he seemed to be labeled by many of the residents of his dorm unit.
“No mother,” he said, seriously. “I like it. In fact, I’ve made more friends than ever, since they all thought I was a girl at first.”
“That’s nice, dear. Tell me about them.”
“Oh, mother, it’s so cool, really. Jenny this girl I met in the first class I took. She’s so nice, too, and usually during a break I join her and her group of girl friends at the Union, and they all like me, mother. Really, it’s just like I’m one of them.”
“Do they know about Kenny, dear?” she asked.
“Right from the start, mother. I insisted that we tell the truth. But they don’t even notice I’m a boy now. They always call me Karen. It’s so cool. I never had any real friends before.”
“Oh my darling Kenneth,” she said. “Are you gone forever?”
Kenny was alarmed. His mother sounded mad.
“Mother, are you mad at me?”
“Oh gosh, honey, no. As long as you’re happy, dear.”
Relieved, Kenny began to gush, words pouring out in torrents as he described how Angela had introduced him to her group of friends; he did not tell his mother that her friends were gay and that he had kept his gender a secret with them.
“And I have a boyfriend already,” he said.
“A what?”
“Mother, a boyfriend. His name’s Gabe and he’s big and strong and he’s so nice to me,” Kenny said. “And he’s so protective of me. Making sure I get to me room safely and all that. He’s such a gentleman and he was raised on a farm in Minnesota. Gabe’s a real sweety.”
“A boyfriend? Do you think that’s safe? Does he know about you?”
“Yes, mother, I told him and he walked away at first, but then he asked me for a date. I told him everything, mother.”
“And what’s this about him being protective? What’s going on, Kenneth?” Her voice had a firmness that was accentuated with calling him “Kenneth.”
“Oh, nothing. He’s just being protective.”
“Why do you need protection?” his mother persisted.
“Oh mother,” he began. “It’s so awful. I’m scared all the time here.”
“Where?”
“In this dorm, the guys all call me names, and Gabe saved from attack from one of them. I love the school and my classes and my friends, but this dorm scares me, mother.”
“An attack?”
“Oh it was nothing. Gabe came along and scared the guy away. He’s so nice, mother.”
Kenny wished he hadn’t told his mother about the dorm and alarmed her. He said he was dealing with it, and she wondered if he could be moved to another dormitory. Kenny argued it probably wouldn’t matter; he’d probably have the same problem in whatever boys’ dorm in which he lived.
He told her he had begun going to the gender clinic and that the doctors there indicated he might be a good candidate for transitioning to living fulltime as a girl. He had a few more visits he’d have to make before he could begin doing hormones to begin the transition.
“You’re sure that’s what you want, darling?” his mother asked.
“More than anything, mommy,” he said, reverting to a little girl’s manner of addressing his mother.
“It won’t be easy for you, dear.”
“I know, but it’s the only way I can live. Mommy, I’m a girl.”
“And a very pretty and sweet girl you are, my daughter,” his mother said.
“I love you, mommy.”
“I love you Karen.”
“Mommy, thank you for calling me that.”
“Bye bye, take care of yourself, dear and study hard.”
“I will mommy, and tell Aunt Harriet I miss her and hope to see her during Thanksgiving vacation. But don’t tell her I haven’t done any crocheting. I’ve just been too busy here.”
“I know she misses your visits, Kenny, and I’m sure she would understand.”
Aunt Harriet was the name Kenny and his brother gave to an elderly woman in the apartment building who used to babysit them, and had become particularly fond of Kenny. He had visited her regularly and the old woman had introduced him to the female world of crocheting, fashions and soap operas.
“And give that big strong little brother of mine a kiss from me.”
His mother laughed. “I’m not sure that he’s ready for that yet, but he asks about you a lot.”
“Really? I thought he hated me.”
“No, darling, he doesn’t,” his mother said reassuringly. “Just the other day, he wondered about how you’re doing in college. I know he was proud of how you acted in the play, though I know he won’t admit it. He did say that he was sure that if you were really a girl, you’d be the prettiest girl on campus.”
“He said that?”
“Yes, dear. I think he’s just afraid of what his friends will think of him because of you. You know how boys his age are? He loves you, I know.”
Kenny was in tears when he hung up.
Chapter 14: The Audition
Professor Fenstrom sent Kenny an email with instructions of how to prepare for the audition for his play. He suggested that he dress and appear as if he was a 15-year-old girl, perhaps even to the extent of putting his hair in pigtails. Also he was sent two pages of a script, which portrayed a teen girl, named Amy, talking to a boy who was several years older. He was told to study the part of Amy and be prepared to do her lines in the audition. He did not need to memorize them, he was told, since he could refer to the script.
Also, Professor Fenstrom said he should come with a short reading of his own — to be done from memory. Kenny chose a scene from Act II, Scene I of Hamlet in which Ophelia describes to her father, Polonius, about a visit she got from Prince Hamlet:
“He took me by the wrist and held me hard;
Then goes he to the length of all his arm;
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,
He falls to such perusal of my face
As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so;”
Kenny loved the scene in which he had to show both Ophelia’s budding love for Hamlet with a wariness and confusion as to his real motives. He recalled how strongly he identified with Ophelia and her feelings of affection for the troubled Prince. He hoped he could rekindle the spirit he felt on the night of the play when he performed the part opposite Mark Hamilton, playing Hamlet. Like Ophelia had for Hamlet, Kenny (as Karen) had developed a deep love for Mark, who had deserted Karen just as Hamlet deserted Ophelia.
Fenstrom’s student group was to perform the play, an original script entitled “Traitor’s Daughter” by a local playwright. The character, Amy, was the central figure in the play. She is described as being shy and retiring but with an underlying strength that few saw. The playwright described Amy as being a rather plain-looking girl with few friends; she looked fragile and dressed in simple, unstylish dresses, far out of fashion for the World War II era in which the play was based. Most girls shunned her because of her rather dumpy looks.
The play’s main plot involved Amy learning that her father might be a Nazi sympathizer, subjecting her to even greater shame and taunting. She doesn’t believe the stories and sets about to learn the truth while facing terrible abuse at the hands of the family’s neighbors and her classmates. It’s then when her determination, intelligence and pluck surface. She even gets her first boyfriend.
Kenny loved the plot, but recognized the challenge of portraying a rather unfortunate girl with both sympathy and strength. He realized he’d have to act, not merely be a pretty face on the stage.
*****
He was directed to the University Theater’s Green Room upon his arrival for the audition. Three girls were also in the room, all petite, round-faced and seemingly in their mid-teens, though that all of the actors in the play were actually university students. He realized that in his Karen mode he looked much the same, like a petite 15-year-old girl.
Each girl sat nervously, saying nothing, each holding the same script and instructions sheet that Kenny had received. Unlike the others, who were all heavily made up and wore dresses, Kenny had put on pale-colored lipstick, a modest bit of eyeliner and light mascara, hoping to keep a warm, natural look. He let his hair flow naturally, topping it with a purple headband. He was the only one not wearing a dress, realizing the difficulty of walking through his dormitory with an overtly feminine look. Instead, he wore dark Capri pants, a light pinkish sweater with short cap sleeves and the bodice that dipped almost to the top of his bra.
He shared a tentative “hi” to the other girls, who barely acknowledged him. Each was obviously dealing with her own demons over the auditions.
Two of the girls were called first with each girl taking about ten minutes before the next was called, leaving Kenny still in the Green Room with one girl, a freckle-faced girl with sparkling blue eyes, who introduced herself as Heather. She spoke first as the two sat together, nervously eying the other.
“May the best girl win,” she said, her tone warm and friendly.
Kenny giggled, happy the girl had broken the ice in the room.
“I guess that’s fair,” Kenny said.
“You a freshman, too,” Heather asked.
“Yes. You kinda scared, too?”
Heather laughed. “Scared out of my wits. Did you see how big that theater is? Wow.”
“I know,” Kenny said. “I did some high school plays and a summer camp theater program, but this is so scary.”
Heather was from a small town in the far northwest part of the state, an area full of lakes and forests and logging and paper mills and was in a high school of less than 400 students.
“Me too. I did plays in high school and community theater, but nothing like this,” she said.
Heather was called next, and Kenny wished her luck; she did the same. Kenny meant it, and he was sure Heather did as well. Kenny felt a sisterly friendship between the two.
“Last to audition is Karen Hansson.” Kenny heard Professor Fenstrom’s voice boom from out of the darkness as he walked onto a huge stage that was bathed in stark white light. Kenny attempted to peer into the darkened theater before him, but was blinded by the stage lights. He realized there must be at least a half dozen persons sitting there, judging the audition. His felt sick to his stomach suddenly, feeling almost ready to vomit as a hint of bile rose in his throat. Swallowing hard, he walked erect and serenely onto the stage, hoping to hide his nervousness.
“Step to the chalk line in the center of the stage, honey,” said another voice. “As you recite your lines, dear, stay behind but within two feet of the line. You may move back and forth if you feel it necessary, but not beyond the ends of the line. Understand dear?”
“Yes, sir,” Kenny nodded.
“Now you may start when ready to read the lines you have chosen, Karen,” Fenstrom’s voice said. “But tell us the source, Ok?”
Kenny was comforted by the kind and encouraging tone in the professor’s voice.
Kenny put the script he was holding on the stage floor in front of him, taking a moment to compose himself before speaking. It was at that moment that the image of Mark (as Hamlet) entered his mind and Kenny became Ophelia, shocked and saddened at Hamlet’s strange behavior. He read the lines as he had the night of the play, with passion, sadness and confusion all at once. He ended, almost collapsing on the stage to dramatize the moment.
He expected applause, but none came. Not even a well-done. He heard a slight buzzing among the folks in the darkness.
A third voice commanded. “Now let’s do the scripted part, Karen. I’ll read the other actor’s lines and you respond as the script notes. You may look at the script as we perform.”
“I won’t need to, sir,” he said.
“Ok, then, it’s your funeral.”
The voice started with the opening line, and Kenny (who had rehearsed the lines with Jenny several times) soon fell into the mood of the scene, repeating the lines perfectly, and, he felt, with appropriate emotion. In fact, he felt so good he wished there was someone on stage to share “high fives.”
All Kenny got, however, was a curt “Thank you” from Professor Fenstrom. “We’ll let you know by email by the end of the day tomorrow our decision, Karen.”
Kenny left the stage and walked out of the audition still in shock over the experience. He must have done horribly, he thought. As he left the building, he was pleased to see Heather was there, waiting for him.
“How did you do, Karen?”
“I thought I did pretty good, but I got no reaction from them. Just a ‘thank you.’”
“Same here. Nothing. They were silent.”
“That’s so cruel,” Kenny said.
“At least they could have said something. I wanted to cry when I left.”
“Me too, and I feel like crying now,” Kenny said.
“Let’s cry together,” Heather said, quickly putting her arms around him, and he responded by drawing her slender, dainty body to his and they both began sobbing, a sobbing that quickly ended in giggles.
Kenny felt so good being in the world of girls.
*****
“How did it go?” It was Gabe’s voice, coming up from behind Kenny as he and Heather walked toward their dorm rooms, both located in the same direction.
“Oh, Gabe, there you are,” Kenny said, turning around.
“I was waiting for you, Karen,” he said softly, eying Heather closely.
“Oh, Gabe, this is Heather. She also auditioned for the part,” he said.
Gabe and Heather exchanged brief “hi’s.”
“Well you two looked awful chummy for rivals,” Gabe said. “I saw you hugging.”
“Oh, we were just commiserating with each other, ‘cause they didn’t tell us how we did,” Heather explained.
“Yeah, they’ll let us know tomorrow, I guess,” Kenny said.
“I think Karen will get it,” Heather said. “She’s the cutest of the four who auditioned.”
Kenny blushed, and said: “I don’t know about that, Heather, you look pretty cute to me. It just depends upon who they want and who read their lines the best.”
“You’re both cute,” Gabe said.
“Such a diplomat,” Kenny said, moving to Gabe’s side and reaching around to hug him, as she patted his soft tummy. He always felt so tiny and fragile next the large boy.
“Guess I better run along,” Heather said.
“Nice meeting you, Heather,” Gabe said quickly. Kenny nodded in agreement.
“Bye Bye and may the best girl win,” Heather said, as she walked off.
Gabe took Kenny’s hand as they headed off to a pizza parlor. “Did you forget I was going to take you for pizza after the audition?” Gabe asked.
“Ah . . . oh . . . I guess it slipped my mind,” Kenny admitted. “Heather and I were both so excited after the audition.”
“To forget our date?”
“I’m sorry, Gabe, really, I’m sorry. It’s not like me to forget something like that.”
“Guess I don’t count in your life,” he said.
“Oh, Gabe. Forgive me, it’s just that Heather and I got talking.”
“You don’t have to have pizza with me if you don’t want to,” he said.
“But I do, Gabe. I do, really.”
“Ok, then, let’s go,” he said. He grabbed Kenny’s hand roughly and almost violently.
Kenny had to nearly run to keep up with his long purposeful strides. He knew Gabe had felt hurt by the nearly missed date, and it troubled Kenny to realize how jealous this big, husky boy had become. It wasn’t an easy realization.
All through their pizza date (Kenny, however, skipped pizza and chose an Italian salad and garlic sticks), Kenny’s mind wondered how deep Gabe’s jealousy ran. Did it involve the boy’s temper running amok and perhaps causing harm to either Kenny or some other person? He thought, too, of Angela’s jealousy and had seen her anger, too.
He tried his best to keep up the conversation with Gabe and to show him his undivided attention, but it didn’t seem to work. Gabe sensed Kenny’s uneasiness, and soon sought to resume being sweet and gentle. In response, Kenny snuggled up next to Gabe as they ate; they were seated next to each other in a booth and their thighs touched with their arms brushing together. Kenny welcomed the warmth from the boy’s large body and he felt strange stiffening in the nipples on his chest and in his hardening penis. Yet, he remained wary over the quick anger that had engulfed his potential and jealous lover.
*****
Kenny had Gabe drop him off several hundred yards from the dormitory that night, in spite of Gabe’s insistence that he accompany him to his dormitory door. “You’re not safe going their alone, Karen, and facing those animals in that dorm,” he argued.
“Gabe, darling,” she said. “I don’t want you to have to be taunted by those boys either. They can be so cruel.”
“I’m a big boy,” he said with a smile.
“Yes, you are,” he giggled, giving his tummy a gentle squeeze. “But, just associating with me will get you tagged as some sort fag or sissy. It’s not fair for you to fight my battles.”
“But . . . but . . .but, I want to protect you.”
“You already have, dear, and I love you for it, but that’s too much to ask.”
With that, Kenny pecked Gabe on the cheek and turned to run toward the dorm, leaving Gabe standing open-mouthed. He watched Kenny run, seeing only a lovely girl moving in short, quick steps, arms moving loosely.
The lobby was mercifully empty of students and none were outside smoking either, and Kenny, puffing a bit from his short run, felt at ease as he approached his room. Even the door to Tom’s room was closed, indicating none of the louts was hanging around, ready to harass him. He had his key out, about to open the door, when he saw something pink hanging from a nail in the middle of his door. It was a panty, rimmed with lace while traces of feces shown prominently on the cloth. A crude note in crayon was taped to the panty: “You missing these, faggot.”
Kenny was embarrassed and angry. He clenched his fist, wanting to punch somebody, but instead he started to sob. He took down the offending underthing, looking both ways down the hall, seeing no one. At least, no one saw his shameful sobbing.
It was the second such incident. Two days earlier, someone slipped a note under his door that read: “No cunts on this floor. You belong on 2nd floor.”
His inclination was to tear both notes up, but he decided to save them, locking them in a drawer that was provided to all students for their valuables. He pulled the previous note out, and placed both on his desk side-by-side. Both were in crayon, written in block letters that seemed to match perfectly. The same person wrote the notes, it seemed obvious.
“What did I do to these guys?” Kenny asked himself as he stared at both notes. “Nobody deserves this.”
He flung himself on his bed, feeling so depressed. Why couldn’t he be accepted by boys? Why was he treated so badly? Maybe he did deserve being shamed; after all, he was so pathetic as a boy. Was there any boy as weak as he was? Weren’t boys supposed to manly and have muscles and play rough games like football? He hated the thought of hitting people or being hit himself? He suddenly felt so powerless and useless. He cried and cried and cried.
Still sobbing on the bed, he heard his cell phone tingle, indicating he received a text message. After a few moments, the crying abated and with tear-filled eyes, he opened the phone to check the message:
“I love u, Karen. Gabe”
And he began crying again. “I am a girl, I am a girl, I am a girl,” he repeated over and over again as he cried into his pillow. “I am a girl . . . girl . . . girl . . .”
*****
Kenny’s email inbox the next day had two messages from Gabe:
“Have u heard about the audition? My fingers are crossed for u . . . Love, Gabe,”
and
“No word yet? Praying. Love, Gabe.”
He got the second one while in the student union, seated among Jenny’s friends whose attention was focused on the new hairdo of one of the girls. Kenny couldn’t help but smile as he read the last message from Gabe, and his reaction was noticed by Jenny.
“I bet that was from a boy,” she whispered to Kenny.
Kenny blushed, answered only with a giggle.
“You’re holding out on me, Karen. You must have a boy friend.”
Even though Jenny kept her voice low, the other girls’ ears perked up at the word “boyfriend.”
“You have a BF, Karen?” asked Tracy.
“She must have,” Jenny said. “And she just got a message from him, I bet.”
Kenny kept his head down, hoping they’d change the subject, but the girls weren’t going let him do that. Boys, it seemed to Kenny, were always on the minds of the girls, perhaps because none of them, except for Jenny, seemed to have a boyfriend. He loved this group of girls, all of whom were open, friendly and obviously intelligent; yet, none of them could be classified as a “beauty.”
“Come on Karen, who is he?” Beverly, one of the other girls, asked.
Finally Kenny raised his head. “Just a boy I met by accident. We’ve only had a coffee date and a pizza date. Nothing special.”
“The way you’re blushing, I think he must be special,” Beverly giggled.
“He’s nice, but we only just met.”
Kenny was saved by the clock, since the conversation ended as it was time to leave for class.
*****
At lunch time, Kenny checked his phone again for messages, finding one from Professor Fenstrom.
This was it, he feared. He was to get the word of whether he got the part in the play, a prospect that both thrilled him and scared him. To actually be chosen would be a terrible challenge, not only to be required to perform, but to face the situation of being a boy playing the part of a girl. It would surely raise issues within the University and perhaps lead him to even more harassment. He paused before opening the message.
“Karen: I regret to inform you that another girl has been chosen for the part of Amy in the play. Please do not take this as any reflection upon your acting ability. Your performances in both your chosen reading and in the script overwhelmed me and my colleagues. However, for circumstances that may be obvious to you, we deemed it unwise at this point to choose you for the part.
“I deeply regret this decision, but the play’s producers felt it was necessary. We do not want to discourage your acting ambitions in any way. I’d like to discuss this with you further. I would like you to come to see me tomorrow at 4 p.m. backstage at the theater. Please let me know if you will be able to make it.
“Best wishes, Fenstrom.”
Kenny reread the message again. He was shocked; for some strange reason, he felt he had nailed the part. He felt he had portrayed a shy, lovely teen girl perfectly. It was puzzling, and he was surprised that he didn’t break into tears, as he seemed to be doing more often recently.
It was only then that he realized the real reason. It was contained in the sentence that read “for circumstances that may be obvious to you. . .” They knew he was a boy, acting under a convincingly feminine appearance. It was then that he cried: he was not the lovely girl he imagined himself to be. He was a freak of nature — neither boy nor girl.
*****
“No honey, you’re a girl — the most girly girl I know,” Angela said, as the two nestled together in Angela’s bed that night.
Kenny clung to his friend, his soft, smooth, tender body against Angela’s hard muscular frame, their legs intertwined. He sobbed almost inaudibly, his face buried into the neck of the girl, as she gently caressed his hair.
“You have lovely hair. I love the scent,” Angela purred.
That evening there had been no wild, sometimes violent sex, as often featured their love-making. Kenny and Angela met after dinner, and the girl had sensed his distress immediately and after considerable prodding, Kenny told her the whole story as to how he had been rejected for the part in the play.
“Oh Angela, I’m just a freak,” he had cried, collapsing into the girl’s arms.
After long embraces, the two separated, and Angela and Kenny lay there, half asleep, saying nothing. Kenny’s sobbing finally ended, and Angela repeated her words, “honey, you’re a girl — the most girly girl I know.”
“I feel I am,” he said quietly.
“Besides, the professor wants to see you again, doesn’t he? I’m sure he sees you have talent. Remember, he saw you only as a girl at first.”
“I know.”
After a while, Kenny said, “I guess I better get back to the dorm.”
“I wish you could stay right here with me, Karen,” Angela said. “You feel so good.”
“Me too,” he added. “But I better not. I still should look at my geography book tonight. We have a quiz tomorrow.”
“Maybe next semester, you could move in here,” she suggested. “I think there’ll be openings.”
“But they won’t take boys here will they?”
Angela laughed. “No, but who said you’re a boy?”
Kenny giggled, wondering if they could accomplish such a move. He hated the dorm and each day he awoke with fear over what new humiliations he might face. Yet, he knew he was locked by contract into spending a full school year as a dormitory resident as long as he continued to be a fulltime student. Briefly, he considered dropping out, but rejected that idea immediately, realizing that his mother had sacrificed immensely to make it possible for him to attend. Besides, he truly enjoyed the learning experience.
Angela was aware of Kenny’s difficulties in the dorm, and as had become a routine, drove him back to the dorm, demonstrably performing a “good night” kiss in the hopes of dispelling Kenny’s image of being a faggot, sissy or girl. It never really stopped the harassment.
This night was no exception; there was plastic bag of used tampons tacked to his door with a note: “Did you lose these?”
*****
For school days, Kenny usually wore fairly nondescript, androgynous clothing and this Friday, when he was to meet Professor Fenstrom, was no different. He wore hip-hugging, girl jeans, a light blue polo shirt and a beige-colored zip-up jacket. He tied his long hair in a pony tail, and wore no makeup.
The backstage of the University Theater was dimly lit, the only light coming from a picnic table far back on stage left, where two men and a woman, all dressed in work clothes, were lounging , a soda bottle and two cups of coffee in front of them. They were laughing about something and obviously were on break from the backstage chores, or had just gotten to work.
“You looking for the prof, young lady?” yelled one of the men.
Kenny nodded.
“Take the stairs up to the second level. He’s in Dressing Room B.”
Kenny gave them a girlish wave, and proceeded up the stairs. As he walked away, he overheard the woman say: “I bet Fenstrom chose her for the part. I saw her in the audition and she was the best I thought.”
The words cheered Kenny, who had heard that stagehands often can be the best judges of talent.
“I’m glad you could make it, Karen,” Fenstrom said, motioning to Kenny to take a seat in front of a vanity and mirror in the waiting room. Fenstrom was seated at a small desk, and Kenny realized he must use this room as sort of a remote office.
Fenstrom echoed what Kenny heard the stagehand say before. “You were easily the best of the auditions, Karen, but the producers just weren’t prepared for the risk.”
“I guess I understand, professor,” Kenny said. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“I fought for you, Karen. I really did, and if we were producing Hamlet or a show where a boy is supposed to dress up like a girl, that would be fine. This part, however, was for a cute teen girl, which I was convinced you could handle easily. But they were so afraid of the backlash. We’d have to bill you as Kenny, a boy, playing Amy, a girl. And they were so afraid of the religious nuts that are popping up all over these days.”
Kenny was silent. He totally understood the situation.
“I don’t want you to lose interest in the theater, dear,” Fenstrom continued.
“Oh I won’t. I find I love it so much, but I only feel comfortable acting as a girl. I’m not macho enough to play boy parts.”
“No, you’re not.”
The professor asked Kenny what his plans were about his gender and Kenny replied that he was beginning treatment at the gender clinic and hoped he’d eventually be a candidate for transitioning.
“I’m hoping to attend the University next year as Karen, not Kenny,” he said.
“Then you’ve decided to transition?”
“I am pretty sure, sir. It depends on what the psychiatrist and the doctor thinks, but they seem to think I should be a good candidate for transitioning. I can hardly wait.”
“Tell you what,” Fenstorm said. “We have a small part for a girl to play a waitress. She says only about three lines, but she appears several times in scenes. You’d be perfect for the part. How about it?”
Kenny smiled. “I’d like that.”
Fenstrom reached into his briefcase and extracted a partial script, handing it to Kenny. “Here’s the part. You’ll be Marianne. Read it over. We begin rehearsals at 5 p.m. next Monday and we rehearse Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays at five. You will not have to attend all the rehearsals and only those for these scenes. We’ll let you know when you’re needed. Ok?”
“Oh professor, that’s great. You’re so sweet to think of me,” Kenny said.
The professor rose from his seat, signaling the end of the meeting, and Kenny rose from his seat, moving next to the professor and instinctively gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. “Thank you professor.”
Fenstrom’s arm held Kenny and returned the kiss with a hug, holding Kenny firmly for a few seconds more, finally releasing him. For an instant, Kenny felt the professor was about to kiss him back and prolong the hug.
Kenny, now red-faced and embarrassed by his sudden show of affection, turned to leave the room.
“By the way, Karen, Heather got the part of Amy,” Fenstrom said.
“She did?” Kenny said, turning back and looking at the professor, still mad at himself for his impulsive show of affection, but now becoming wary of the attention the professor had shown.
“Yes, Karen, she did, but she still wasn’t as perfect for the part as you were,” he said.
Kenny had become fond of Heather, even with the short time the two had been together.
“I think she’ll do just fine, professor,” he said. “I’m rooting for her.”
“Good for you, honey,” Fenstrom said, his voice growing intimate. “You’re a real trouper to say that. She’ll need support of a girl friend like you as we rehearse. I’m happy you’ll be around, Karen.”
“Thank you, Professor Fenstrom,” Kenny said, turning again to leave.
“Oh, and Karen, feel free to come see me anytime if you have a question, or just want to talk. Anytime.”
The professor’s voice softened as he spoke, and Kenny felt as if the voice were caressing him, kissing him and smothering him. What was this old man doing?
Chapter 15: The Decision
Moira Vernon was a tall, plump, thirtyish woman, who dressed stylishly, seductively accentuating her soft curves. Unlike many heavy women, her outfits did not cling tightly to her body, giving the impression that the fat was ready to burst the seams of a dress. Moira wore tasteful outfits that were loose, but tucked at the waist to outline her full hips and ample breasts. Her face was lovely, rounded with blue, smiling eyes. Altogether, Moira was a pleasure to view.
Kenny had grown to like the woman and looked forward to his twice-a-week visits to the Gender Clinic, where Moira worked as a graduate assistant and therapist. Dr. Bargmann assigned Miss Vernon to be Kenny’s therapist between his monthly visits with the doctor. Almost from his first visit, he felt comfortable sharing all of his thoughts with the handsome woman.
“How are things going with you at the dorm, dear?” Moira asked softly, halfway into the interview on their sixth visit in late October.
Kenny looked down and didn’t answer.
“Not so good it appears,” Moira continued, reaching over with her hand to lightly touching Kenny’s, as he sat opposite the therapist on a couch.
“No, Miss Moira,” he said. “The other night, they hung a bra on the door. They’re so hateful. I’m scared, so scared now. I hate to think of going into the halls there.”
He began crying; actually it was more a sniveling whimper. He felt so humiliated at how pathetic he must sound to the confident women therapist.
“Have they ever hurt you, dear?”
Though his sniffles, Kenny answered, “Yes. They tried once to rape me.”
It was the one piece of his history that he had been reluctant to tell Moira. The experience was not only humiliating, but it brought back horrible, frightening memories. The memories had often visited him at night, causing him to curl up in bed and cry.
Finally, after prodding, he told of the night when Randy attempted to rape him, while the others encouraged him and shot out with disgusting comments so belittling to Kenny. He related how he was only saved from actual sexual raping by Robert, the boy who saved Kenny by challenging Randy’s assault.
“And then he tried to attack me on the path to the Union the next night, too,” Kenny continued.
“What stopped him?”
“Another, bigger boy came by and pushed him off,” Kenny said, a weak smile coming, as he recalled Gabe’s rescue.
“The other boy thought I was a girl, even though I was only wearing boy stuff then,” he added.
Moira smiled. “Did you like the idea that the other boy thought you were a girl?”
“Kinda, I guess. Actually he escorted me to the Union then and asked to see me again, and I did.”
“Have you told him the truth about yourself?”
“Yes, when he kissed me after the time we next met. I told him, not wanting to lead him on falsely. And he got mad, I guess, and left me.”
“Oh that’s too bad, Kenny,” Moira said. “But it’s always best to tell the truth when a friendship or a relationship is about to become ongoing.”
“Oh he got back to me a day or so later, still wanting to date me as Karen and we’ve had some time together. He’s altogether so sweet.”
Moira nodded her head, but then returned to the subject of rape.
“Why didn’t you report that attack in the dorm?” she asked.
“I was scared to,” he said. “Randy had all those friends in the dorm. I was afraid others would come after me. And besides, I knew it might cause them to be kicked out of school.”
“You were worried about them?”
“In a way, yes, but I was also scared about others attacking me.”
Moira got up from her side chair, and walked over to a small desk, retrieving a piece of paper.
“We need to get you out of that dorm, Kenny,” she said.
“But I can’t. I have a contract to stay through the year,” he explained.
“You don’t have to stay if you’re in fear, dear.”
Moira said that she would refer Kenny’s situation to the Gender Clinic’s social worker. “There’s a chance there’s a spot in a residence for transgendered girls that the LBGT group runs, and I’m sure we can get you out of that contract in the dorms after what you’ve suffered there.”
“Oh thank you, Miss Moira, thank you.”
“Well don’t get your hopes up,” she replied. “First we have to see if Dr. Bargmann will agree that you’re a prime candidate for transition and from what I’ve seen, you are.”
“Am I, do you think, Miss Moira?”
“Yes, honey. I see nothing but girl in you.”
*****
Every time he entered the resident hall, Kenny felt a thousand eyes were focused upon him, viewing his girlish mannerisms and demeanor with disdain, derision and disgust. Around each alcove and doorway, he feared the presence of Randy, or some other lout who might attack him and rape as if he were a tender wisp of a girl.
Admitting to Miss Moira that he was not strong enough to resist attack, he had broken into tears as he told how powerless he felt the night of the attack.
“Well, dear, you must be prepared for this like any other girl,” Moira said. “I’ve never faced such fears, maybe because I’m such a big girl and certainly not a cute little beauty like you.”
The therapist took Kenny hand into her own larger hand, and held it gently and firmly.
“First of all,” she began, “Girls like you need to realize what the weak points of a stronger person are and be ready to use that knowledge. First, of all, you know where to kick a guy if he gets fresh. Then, don’t be afraid to bite them hard and anywhere you can hurt them. Carry a police whistle or some other noisemaker and maybe even use pepper spray.”
“I’ve never liked to fight, Miss Moira,” he said.
“You may have to sometime, dear,” she said, patting his hand before letting it go.
Kenny felt a pang of fear as he considered the situation where he might have to do violence to another human being, even someone as reprehensible as Randy. Could he somehow muster up the strength to act firmly, he wondered.
Moira gave Kenny a can of pepper spray and a police whistle to put in his backpack, and to take one of them out of the pack if he felt he was entering an area where he might be attacked.
“Just have it at the ready, dear,” she warned. “A girl can’t be too careful.”
“Thank you, Miss Moira,” he said, hoping he’d never have to use it.
Only a few hours later, Kenny pulled the whistle out of his backpack as he walked through the wooded area on the approach to the dormitory. He took Miss Moira’s warnings seriously, remembering her warnings: “A girl can’t be too careful.”
“Here she comes,” she heard the voice coming out from a group of five boys who had gathered on the front steps of the dormitory.
He tried to ignore the hoots and whistles that accompanied his steps toward the dormitory. He made no pretense at attempting to appear masculine, and walked in the short, quick steps that he knew provided a feminine sway to his hips.
Kenny moved past the group of boys, even though one of them, a short, stocky lad with a dark, unshaven face and a tangle of heavy black hair on his head move in front of him, as if to block his way. Kenny dodged to a side and sprinted up the steps, ready to blow his whistle.
“Get out of my way,” he tried to say loudly and firmly, but was shocked to hear his voice come out as girlish squeal.
“All I want is a kiss,” the boy said, appearing that he was about to grab Kenny.
Kenny panicked, putting the whistle to his mouth, but getting only a breathy sound as he blew on it ineffectively. The boy moved closer, so close that Kenny smelled his pizza-scented breath.
“No,” Kenny screeched in fear, and in an instant did the only thing he could think of doing: he kicked the boy in the genitals.
It was a weak, almost pathetic kick, but it apparently hit the boy in the most vulnerable area, and he doubled up, letting out a shout that brought laughter from the other boys. Kenny scampered up the steps, into the dorm, down the hall, frantically opening up his room door, and charging inside, locking the door firmly behind him. He fell face down on his bed and cried uncontrollably.
*****
“What’s the use of it all?” Kenny began writing into a diary he had purchased recently. While shopping for school supplies he had fallen in love with the cover of the diary, composed of pink, purple, yellow and blue hearts.
It had been an impulse purchase, something he rarely did, having been disciplined by his mother to withstand such buying since the family finances were tight. It just seemed like a diary that a young lady might use to write her thoughts, and he imagined himself as Elizabeth, the girl in Pride and Prejudice, a book he had read three times over, writing by candlelight over her own thoughts.
Even for a young lady, the purchase of diaries — to be written in by hand — seemed to be hopelessly old-fashioned, but Kenny had been writing his thoughts in the diary each night since the purchase ten days earlier. On the title page, in a tiny, girlish script, he had neatly written in blue ink “Karen Jean Hansson” with his birth date, “June 22, 1994.”
It was as Karen that he wrote each night, usually sitting at his small desk with only a small desk lamp illuminating the room, wearing his nightie and having readied himself for bed. The past entries told of his encounters with Gabe and Angela, of his invitation and audition for the play and of his being accepted by the friends of Jenny as if he was one of the girls. Admittedly they were giggly and gushy entries, and he smiled as he wrote them.
This evening’s entry would be different. He wrote in his painstakingly slow and in precise letter formations. It was easy to read his entries.
“Oct. 22, 2012:
“What’s the use of it all? I feel so rejected and I cried and cried tonight, after again being attacked by boys and laughed at. I was told I was the best actress in the audition, but because I’m so different they won’t let me play the part.
“Why do I only enjoy girl stuff? Why do I only like girl clothes? Why do I feel I am a girl, but I’m not.
“I’ll never fit in. They say I can ‘become’ a girl. But I’ll never be a real girl, never able to bear children and to have a babe suckle at my breast.
“My dearest love, Mark, won’t have me, and, as sweet as Gabe is, I just don’t feel I love him. And even if I did, I know once his parents knew who I really was, they’d ruin it. Besides, I could never give them grandchildren.
“Angela, how fond I am of her, but she scares me. Her affection is so physical and I’m so weak in her arms.
“How can I stand to live this way?
“Oh mommy I love you so. Dearest mommy. Whatever happens, mommy, remember how much your daughter loves you.
“Karen.”
He cried himself to sleep that night, hating himself for feeling so sorry for himself; he knew people in much of the world would go to bed hungry; yet he was going to bed with a full tummy. He tried to think of all of the good things in his life; yet he cried and cried and finally slept.
*****
“What’s wrong, honey?” Jenny asked him as they finished their morning sociology class and headed to the Student Union for their morning coffee with the girls.
“Nothing,” Kenny said.
“You’ve been crying. I can tell,” Jenny said, grabbing Kenny’s arm and steering him to a bench along the path. The two sat together, with Jenny resting her hand on Kenny’s arm.
It was a cold October morning, and many of the trees were already barren, their leaves scattered about the ground; a cool wind blew in from the north off the lake, and most of the students scurried by along the path, braced against the wind hardly paying attention to what appeared to be two girls in hoodies sitting together on the bench.
In the few weeks since the two met, they had become close friends. Kenny realized that in confiding in Jenny and her boyfriend, Kevin, that both could keep a confidence. In turn, Jenny began sharing some of her most intimate thoughts and feelings to Kenny. In particular, Jenny told how “ugly” she thought she was compared to other girls, and she wondered why she had a boyfriend as handsome as Kevin.
Kenny reassured her sincerely that she was far from ugly, and was truly quite winsome and appealing. “I know Kevin loves you,” Kenny said several times, especially after an incident when Jenny complained her boyfriend was spending too much time with another girl classmate in apparent studying. “And that girl is prettier than me,” Jenny complained.
Quickly, Kenny and Jenny had developed a sisterly bond, often sealed with hugs as they shared their concerns about life. Kenny realized that Jenny’s questions that cold morning required answers.
“Your eyes are so red, Karen,” Jenny said, using Kenny’s girls name, as she usually did.
Kenny nodded, mumbling, “I had trouble sleeping last night.” It was only a half truth, of course, since his eyes were red from the heavy crying he did last night.
Jenny said nothing, but merely patted his arm, eventually removing her arm and wrapping it around Kenny’s thin shoulders, drawing him close to her in a warm sisterly hug.
“I’m such a freak,” he said finally.
Kenny poured out his feelings, telling Jenny everything he wrote in his diary, wondering if he did have a future.
“Why should I even live on, not sure if I’m a boy or a girl? I fit in neither world, Jenny. Oh, it’s so awful.”
He began crying again, as he finished.
Jenny held him tightly for a few minutes, and was quiet. The only sound came from the wind through the trees, the lapping of waves on the shoreline, the leaves rustling and occasional youthful chatter from other students as they passed.
“Oh darling,” Jenny said finally. “You’re Karen, dear. All Karen. All girl.”
It seemed to comfort Kenny.
“It’s cold,” he said. “Let’s join the other girls for coffee.”
“That’s better,” Jenny said. She kissed him. It was a kiss between two sisters. The two headed off for their morning coffee time.
*****
The morning coffee time with the girls at the Student Union (each school day from 10 to 11 a.m.) had become Kenny’s favorite time of the day, and Kenny’s morose feelings lifted as he approached with Jenny. Rarely had he felt so accepted by any group of young people as he did with this warm, cheery bunch of girls, none of which showed the slightest bit of vanity or false pride. After his first several sessions with the girls they all agreed it would make sense to use his girl’s name, Karen.
“We just think of you as one of the girls, Karen,” Tricia had said in explanation. “Is that all right if we call you that?”
Kenny remembered blushing in humiliation, having recognized how easily the girls had penetrated his true feelings. He nonetheless nodded that he’d like to be known by the group as “Karen.”
What fascinated Kenny the most was their interest in their studies, world affairs and the future of the life ahead; they were unapologetic over their apparent lack of fashion or traditional trappings of beauty. Few wore makeup beyond usually neutral shades of lipstick, light touches of mascara and simple hair stylings.
As was usual for her, Tracy, a somewhat overweight, tall girl, knitted each morning while she chatted with the others, and Kenny had watched her labor over a sweater she was trying to finish for her father as a Christmas gift. That morning, her hands moved haltingly with light green yarn as she worked on what appeared to be a sleeve for the sweater. Kenny could see the girl struggle, begin to lose patience and finally put the partially completed sleeve down in her lap with disgust.
“I’ll never finish this by Christmas,” she said angrily, interrupting Jenny as she was describing a particular point the sociology professor had made in the morning lecture.
“Just be patient, Trace,” Beverly, who was seated next to her, said.
Jenny looked at Kenny as the other two looked at Tracy’s knitting; finally she smiled.
“Maybe Karen here can help you out,” she said. “She won prizes at state fair for her knitting.”
The girls all looked at him in surprise. “You did?” Beverly asked.
Kenny nodded, growing red in embarrassment. He looked at Jenny, angry that she divulged this moment from his life, a moment that was both proud and humiliating at once.
“I know it’s strange for a boy,” he said. “And I was the only boy in the competition. One of mothers even said I shouldn’t get the prize, that it should only be open to girls.”
Kenny giggled nervously after revealing that incident, which may have been the first time in his life that he began to wonder if he truly should have been born a girl.
“Let me look at that,” he said finally, turning to Tracy, still holding the knitting project in her lap.
She handed him the partially finished sleeve and the two knitting needles; he examined the project.
“Your knits are a bit loose here,” he said, directing the Tracy’s eyes toward the offending location. He unraveled some of the knits, and said:
“You see this. Now watch what I do.”
Kenny slowly began to knit, holding the project up to the girl so that she could see how he did it. After a few knits, he asked if she understood, and the girl nodded with a smile. He continued with light, speedy action to complete a few rows, before handing the project back to Tracy.
“Thank you, thank you,” she gushed. “I don’t know if my big clumsy hands could do it like you, Karen, but I see now what I have to do.”
“Wow, I’ve never seen anyone knit so fast,” Beverly said.
“You have such dainty hands, Karen,” Tricia said.
Kenny nodded, turned to Tracy and said: “Trace, I’ll be glad to help you. I know you want to surprise your dad for Christmas.”
“You’re such a dear, Karen. I love you,” Tracy said, her broad face beaming.
Kenny smiled, recognizing that phrase was often used girl-to-girl as an expression of friendship and companionship. He was proud that this tall, awkward girl off of a Wisconsin dairy farm considered him her girlfriend.
*****
“Hi mom,” Kenny said into his cell phone a few days later.
It was past nine o’clock and he knew his mother by now would be relaxing after her day of work, preparing dinner and cleaning up afterward. Her job, now that she had been promoted, tired her out each day so that she’d likely be in bed by ten o’clock.
“Hi honey, how nice to hear from you,” she said, her voice growing with anxiety. “Is something wrong?”
“Why? Don’t you want me to call?”
“Gosh no, honey, it’s just that I usually hear from you only on weekends. I know how busy you’ve become.”
“I miss you, mother, and I even miss Sonny,” he began.
“You know, he misses you, too, Kenny. Really he does. You were always here for him when he got home. I’m afraid he’s becoming a latch-key kid.”
“But how’s the football team going?” Kenny asked, referring to the JV squad on which his brother played.
“He’s starting halfback now, and they’ve won every game.”
Kenny smiled, picturing his athletic little brother in his maroon and gold uniform. How strange, he wondered, that two boys, created by the same mother and father, could be so different!
“Mother,” he said. “I’ve got lots of news.”
“What is it? Good news I hope? You’re doing OK in school, aren’t you?”
“I think it’s all good news, and I think I’m doing OK in my classes, but we won’t know until the end of the semester when the grades come out.”
“OK.”
“Mother, I’ve got a job working at Professor Fenstom’s assistant during the play rehearsals. I’m actually getting paid for being what he calls a ‘script girl.’ Mainly I sit next to him during rehearsals, taking notes on what he says in directing the play, and he uses me to get things for him, including his coffee. The job begins the week before Thanksgiving and continues through the production. Maybe he’ll keep me on as an assistant next year, too.”
“Are you no longer going to be in the play?”
“Oh yes, mom, but my part is so brief, I can just pop up on the stage when my scenes come. He always asks my opinion on how the rehearsal is going. Mom he actually values my opinion.”
“Really, dear? That’s unusual, but it sounds like he values your opinion.”
“And, you need to tell Aunt Harriet that I have been helping a girl with her knitting project . . . she was trying to knit a sweater for her dad for Christmas . . . and, mother, all the stuff Aunt Harriet taught me . . . well, I guess I just dazzled everyone with how quickly I knitted. And this girl … her name’s Tracy . . . she’s from Winneconne . . . And tell Aunt Harriet about this; I think she’ll be so proud of me.”
“Oh Kenny, I’m feeling so strange about this,” his mother replied. “This just doesn’t seem right. You’re my son, darling.”
“Mother, please, don’t be worried. I’m really so happy now. Everything points to me being a girl. It’s the only way I’m happy.”
There was a pause.
“Mother? Are you alright?”
“Yes, honey, and I want you to do what makes you happy. That’s most important. I do know it’s going to be a rough time ahead.”
“I know, mother. Dr. Bargmann and the therapist have been clear about that, but I’m more happy as Karen . . . happier than I’ve ever been, and I’ve got friends now.”
“I can hear that in your voice, dear.”
“Dr. Bargmann says that he expects to start me on hormones after Christmas, and recommends I try to spend as much time as possible in my Karen mode. They’ve even arranged for me to move next week into a special house, away from the dorm.”
“But we’ve already paid for the school year, honey. We can’t afford new rent.”
“Mother, they’ve arranged to transfer the rent to the other place. I’ll be happier there, mother, I never fit in here.”
“What kind of place is it?”
“It’s called ‘Susan’s Place,’ named after Dr. Susan Planchet, a transgendered woman who became a prominent surgeon in sex transitioning. She was a graduate of the U.”
The conversation continued for a while, ending with Kenny telling his mother, “I think you better get used to calling me Karen from now on.”
“Kenny . . . ah . . . yes . . . my dearest Karen. My daughter.”
“Mother, I love you.”
“Karen, my dear . . .”
Her words were broken up by sobbing.
“Mother, mother, are you alright?”
“Yes, Karen, my daughter. I’m fine. I was just thinking how we could spend times together as mother and daughter. My beautiful daughter, Karen.”
Karen’s tears flowed as she ended the phone. Tears of joy.
*****
A day after my meeting with Professor Fenstrom, he messaged Kenny that he’d like to meet him for coffee at Java Jazz Coffee Shop at 4 p.m. the following afternoon. “I would like to suggest something to you, Karen,” he wrote.
The message bothered Kenny, since his hug at the end of the last meeting had seemed to be overly long. Even with her limited knowledge of male sexual desires, Kenny realized Fenstrom may have an inordinate interest in him. Moira had warned Kenny that sometimes men — older men in particular — may be particularly troublesome for a pretty girl, which apparently she was becoming.
Kenny broke off a scheduled date with Gabe believing it was necessary since Professor Fenstrom would have great influence on his chances for participating in future plays and being accepted into Theater School (even for a minor degree).
Gabe was Ok with cancelling, but when he told him why, he got mad. “You’re going to meet that Professor? I just don’t trust him, Karen,” using Kenny’s girl’s name as he always did.
“Oh I can handle myself, Gabe.”
“Maybe you need me tailing along when you are with him,” he suggested, half in jest.
“No, Gabe. Don’t you trust me?” Kenny asked.
“Yes, but I don’t trust him.”
He assured Gabe she would be Ok, largely since the meeting would be in a public place.
Since the weather had turned cold the next afternoon, Kenny dressed as dowdy as she could, wearing sweat pants and hoody under a boy’s winter jacket.
The professor beat her to Java Jazz, and was seated at a table for two at the rear corner of the room. He spied her as she entered, getting up from his seat, with broad grin, and yelling “Karen, over here.”
He took the boy’s slender hand in an old-fashioned manner and directed him in a courtly way to a seat.
“My you’re so cute, Karen, regardless of what you wear,” he said.
Kenny found herself playing along, flirtatiously responding in a coy girlish tilt of his head and a cooing, “Thank you.”
The professor, however, did not continue the charade, turning almost immediately to business and offering Kenny a job to be an assistant for the duration of the play’s rehearsals, paying him under the University’s work-study program at $2 above the hourly minimum wage.
He explained he contacted Stanton McIver from the Shakespeare Summer Camp program to learn more about him, and the McIver had been impressed with Kenny’s commitment to the theater and my work ethic. “I need someone like you to help keep me organized,” he said.
Kenny’s computer skills were more than adequate for his needs, he said. Under the plan he would work from 4 to 7 p.m. Monday through Thursday, plus most Saturdays, either at the rehearsal hall, or at his home studio, located in walking distance off campus.
The professor seemed to be most professional in his approach that afternoon and seemed sincerely to want someone like me for the job. Kenny needed the money, so he accepted the offer.
*****
The move to Susan’s place was made on November 1st, made possible by Dr. Bargmann’s intervention with the university housing program. He wrote a letter urging that Kenneth Hansson be refunded the balance of his rent for the year since the university was unable to provide safe housing. The letter said:
“Mr. Hansson has been physically attacked several times in the hallways of his dormitory, including a bust-in to his own room. He has also been restrained by two different residents of the dormitory who threatened to rape him. In addition, he has been constantly harassed and humiliated by items that have been hung onto his dormitory room door.
“Mr. Hansson has been diagnosed — after intensive examination — to experience gender dysphoria, or gender identity disorder, and will begin treatment to begin living as a female on January 1.
“The Gender Clinic has arranged for safe housing for Mr. Hansson effective November 1.”
The university, obviously fearing a law suit, sent the chief of the campus police to meet with the dormitory’s manager and with Kenny. They asked Kenny to give them his daily schedule, telling him that they’d alert police to pay attention to his activities and be close at hand to protect him in the time left at the dorm. He was given a special phone number to call if he felt threatened.
In addition, the dorm’s male residents were summoned to a special meeting and given a brief training on how to respect differences among the residents. They were warned that any further incidents of harassment to any student would mean expulsion from the university.
While Kenny was not mentioned as the victim, all the dorm residents knew he was the “different” person involved. It didn’t make his last few days at the dormitory any easier, since the boys either avoided him or snickered as he past.
Chapter 16: Introducing Karen Hansson
Karen Hansson entered Susan’s Place, located in a neighborhood of 100-year-old houses, most of which had been turned into student housing. Most of the structures in the neighborhood were three-story duplexes originally build to contain three-bedroom units on each the first and second floors and a full attic on the third floor. All three floors had been remodeled to provide housing for eight students.
To the outside observer, the building appeared to be a residence for female students, with a small discreet sign on the front of the porch roof stating, “Susan’s Place.” The wide front windows of both the lower and upper units were covered with gauzy lace curtains that made it impossible for bypassers to view the interior, while still permitting light to enter the rooms.
“This is adorable,” Karen said as she entered the front door of Susan’s Place and came upon a lounge area, obviously created out of what must have been the living room of the original residence.
Karen was welcomed at the house by a Ms. Sonja Peterson, who said she was manager of the residence. As Karen soon learned, Ms. Peterson was a graduate assistance in gender studies at the University and a graduate of the social work school. She lived fulltime at the house and would oversee activities. Sonja (she invited Karen to address her by her first name) would be the place for Karen to go if she had any questions. Karen was also given a phone number to call in emergencies if Sonja was not available.
The lounge was neat and bright with the pastel tones of the walls and the furniture. The chairs were of light, almost dainty construction, and were arranged randomly about the room. There were two carrels, obviously meant for studying, painted in light blue and white shades.
A stocky girl dressed in light blue sweat pants and a pink tee-shirt with cap sleeves that exposed soft heavy arms and barely contained her tummy and modest breasts sat at one carrel, a laptop open.
“Daphne, this is a new girl, Karen,” Sonja said, addressing the girl. “And Karen, Daphne has been elected by the other girls here to be chairwoman of the house committee.”
Daphne rose, her six feet of height and wide body made Karen feel diminutive and inconsequential. She held out a beefy hand, taking Karen’s tinier hand in her own and gently shook it.
“Nice meeting you, Karen,” Daphne said in a husky, but soft-toned voice. Karen was impressed with the warm smile and glistening eyes that the large girl displayed and felt immediately at home in the setting.
Sonja took Karen on a tour of the place, displaying the kitchen on the first floor which still had the old fashioned cabinets, but an up-dated modern sink with a built-in stove and oven and a fixing table in the middle of the room.
The dining room held a table with ten chairs. The original breakfront, still finished in the original varnished wood, was filled with plates, cups, glasses and bowls.
“We have group meals here two nights a week, on Mondays and Wednesdays,” Sonja explained. “You don’t have to join us, but most of the girls do. If you do, we ask each girl to put in $3 a meal to cover the cost of food.”
“Do you have a cook here then?” Karen asked.
“No honey,” she said. “I thought you knew this is run on a cooperative basis. The girls themselves do the meals and we all pitch in to keep the place clean, clear the snow from the walks in winter and mow the lawn in the summer. Daphne tries to set up a chore list to meet each girl’s time constraints. We all have to do our share, even me.”
“That’s fine,” Karen said. “I’m not a bad cook, but could be better.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Many of the girls when they first got here weren’t good at cooking. I guess they weren’t expected to cook earlier in their lives.”
“Oh?” Karen said. “Are all the girls here like me? You know . . .”
“You mean, were they born as boys?”
Karen nodded.
“Yes, all of the girls here are in various stages of transitioning, just like you are,” Sonja said. “I’m the only GG here.”
“GG?”
“Genetic girl.”
Karen looked at Sonja closely; she also was tall and displayed strong, sinewy arms from a sleeveless blouse. She was truly a good-looking young woman with shore cropped dark hair and sharp-chiseled face. She reminded Karen of Angela, wondering which of the two would win in a fight. Sonja invited Karen to sit at the dining room table and then poured tea for the two and set out a plate of shortbread cookies.
“You’ll find we’re generally a compatible bunch of girls here, Karen, but that whenever you put eight girls under one roof, you’re bound to have some conflicts,” Sonja explained.
“I suppose so.”
“Each of you are in your own stage of transitioning, and most are on hormones. They produce mood swings, as you probably know, and that can cause some girls to get moody, or overly sensitive. But you’ll have to be tolerant sometimes.”
“I understand,” Karen said.
“You look like a sweet girl, Karen,” Sonja said. “I think you’ll do fine.”
Karen sampled a cookie, finding it delicious. Despite her concern about gaining weight, she reached for another.
“I shouldn’t have another, Sonja, but these are so tasty.”
“They are, aren’t they? Daphne made those. She’s a marvelous baker.”
“She seems like a sweet girl,” Karen said.
“She is and the girls here all love her,” Sonja said. “You’ll find it hard to believe but she was a linebacker in high school. And a good one, making all-state. She was even being courted for a football scholarship, when she confessed to hating the idea of hitting people.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and she’s such a sweetheart, too. We’re luck to have her as our house leader.”
Finishing their tea, Sonja said. “Now let me show you your room and I think your roommate is in so you can meet her.”
*****
Sonja led Karen to a large room in the rear of the second floor, explaining that the room had been the master bedroom of the second floor unit. “It’s a large room, and it easily has room for both of you, plus it has something special for girls — two large closets.”
Karen giggled softly, so enjoying being accepted as a girl with the habits of a girl.
“Ramini, can we come it?” Sonja said as she rapped on the door.
“Yes,” came a high, but strangely inflected voice from within. Karen thought for a minute that she recognized the voice.
Sitting at a computer table was a tiny, petite girl in a sari, with a dark, round face.
“Hi, I’m Karen,” she said, with a tentative wave of her hand.
The girl got up and rushed to Karen, hugging her tightly.
“Oh Karen, I’m so happy you’ll be my roommate again,” the girl said, her arms extending from the sari. She was short, and came up only to Karen’s the middle of Karen’s face.
“Again?”
“Yes, Karen, I’m Rajesh. You remember, Ray?”
“Ray! Oh my God, Ray. I wondered why you left me so quickly,” Karen said, as she recovered from the shock of seeing her former roommate from the dorms.
“Only now it’s Ramini, dear. You can just call me Rami, if you wish.”
“Ramini sounds good. It has a pretty sound.”
Ramini smiled: “Well, it means beautiful girl in India. My mother suggested it.”
“Oh, Ramini, how perfect.”
The two hugged again, soon both falling into tears.
“Well, I’ll leave you two girls to get reacquainted.” Sonja said. “If you need anything, Karen, just ask, and you’re able to move in anytime now, dear.”
“Thanks, and I expect my friends will be arriving in about an hour with my stuff,” Karen said.
Ramini explained that she had been removed from the dormitory room when her father learned that Kenny was apparently gay or a transsexual or something that in his mind was unsavory and unfit for the son of a prominent doctor. He was afraid that his son, whom he had long accused of not being manly enough, might be improperly influenced. Little did his father know, Ramini continued, that he had been wearing saris off and on since he was about eight years old, a practice his mother knew about, and even seemed to encourage. Ramini said she had been seeing a gender specialist for several months before entering college, and once her father was told of her desires her treatment to begin transition started. She was now beginning hormones.
“The weekend after I was taken from the dorm and relocated into a residence with mainly Indian students, I was attacked by one of the boys,” she explained. “It was then daddy found out about my own feelings.”
“Oh, that must have been difficult,” Karen said, remembering her own terrors.
“It was, but maybe it was for the best, since daddy was forced to accept the truth that I would never be a son he could be proud of,” Ramini said, tears gathering in her dark, lovely eyes. “Now daddy understands me. He’s not too happy about it, but he is a man of learning and so he knows I’m for real.”
“I just loved you as a roomie,” Karen said. “And I hope you liked me, too.”
“I did, Karen. You are so kind and gentle.”
“I think we both are. Maybe it’s because we’re both girls.”
The two giggled again.
“Just don’t use my lipstick,” Ramini warned in a teasing voice.
“But I’d like to try on a sari sometime.”
“Oh you may, darling, anytime. I think you’d look so beautiful in one.”
They giggled and then sat down on one of the twin beds in the room. Karen took Ramini’s hands in her own as they sat beside each other, their legs together. Karen was struck by the daintiness of Ramini’s soft hands and felt so at home.
*****
Karen returned home for the Thanksgiving weekend, accepting a ride with another girl from the area who had a car and had advertised for riders for the weekend.
The two-and-one-half hour drive from the University to Karen’s hometown was occupied mainly by Claire Livingston, the driver, a senior girl in education, jabbering almost incessantly about her boyfriend and his loutish ways. Karen wondered why she stayed with the boyfriend, who sounded like such a bore.
It meant Karen hardly had to say anything during the trip, particularly to answer questions about her own background, perhaps eventually having to reveal her gender status.
“You’re only a freshman, Karen?” the girl finally asked as they neared their hometown.
“Yes, just started.”
“You got a boyfriend?” Claire asked.
“Sorta,” Karen said, thinking about Gabe. “I’ve been kinda dating this guy and he’s asked me to a Holiday Dance his house is giving the weekend after this vacation.”
“But you’re not pinned or anything like that?”
Karen smiled. “Hardly. He’s just a sweet boy. A good friend, is all.”
“My brother needs a girl friend,” she said. “And he’s home for the weekend, too. Maybe you’d like to do something with him. He’s really nice.”
“Oh,” Karen said, blushing. “I’m sure my mother may have plans for me.”
“He could call you, couldn’t he? And, if you’re free, maybe you two could meet.”
“I suppose so, but I can’t promise.”
“His name is Aaron, and he’s good looking, too, really,” Claire assured Karen. “He doesn’t have two heads.”
Karen giggled. “OK. He can call me.”
“It’s time Aaron meets a pretty and smart girl like you,” she said.
“He can call my cell phone then. You have the number.”
Karen gave the girl permission for her brother to call, but she wasn’t sure that was the wisest course of action. She could have just said “no,” and let it go at that. Yet, the girl seemed nice enough and Karen needed to be sure she’d have a ride back to school on Sunday.
*****
Karen was worried about the reactions of the neighbors on her appearance as a girl. Fortunately, with the weather being cold, no neighbors were out to view the slender, pretty young woman alight from the car and carry her cosmetics bag while dragging her overnight bag on wheels into the building. The truth was that, except for Aunt Harriett, who lived across the hall, the families in the building rarely interacted.
“I don’t think the other residents even know whether I have an older son or daughter, Karen,” his mother stated on the phone prior to the visit.
Her mother had seen Karen leave the car from her second story window, and was waiting at the door to welcome. Karen was wrapped in a hoodie and wearing jeans as she entered the hallway.
“Darling, we’re so happy to see you,” Cecelia Hansson said, hugging the girl. “Come in, Sonny is so eager to see his sister.”
Karen was not sure how her brother would react; her mother said he had accepted it, even had begun bragging about how special his new sister was.
“Here’s Karen, Sonny,” Cecelia announced to her youngest son, whose attention was glued to a football game on television.
“Oh hi, Sis,” Sonny said, not turning his head, but continuing to look at the television.
“Sonny, hi,” Karen said.
She took off her hoodie, revealing a light blue long sleeved blouse with a violet vest.
“Look at your sister, Samuel,” their mother ordered.
“Ok, just a minute,” Sonny said. “It’s almost to commercial.”
Karen didn’t care about football in the least, except when her little brother played, or when he convinced her to join him in watching a game on television. She knew that she might find herself sitting with Sonny to watch several games during the Thanksgiving holiday period; she might even spend time passing the football around with him in the park across the street from the apartment complex in which the Hansson’s lived.
She smiled at the thought of passing the football around; in the past her lame efforts at throwing the ball sometimes brought taunts of “you throw like a girl.” Now she wouldn’t care.
The commercial came and Sonny got up off the couch. “Hi sis.”
“Oh Sonny, so good to see you,” she said, grabbing him in a hug. Karen moved to give her brother a kiss, but the boy — who was strong and as tall as she was — merely moved his head and struggled out of the hug.
“You girls, always so gushy.”
Karen giggled. She knew she’d have a great weekend with her little brother.
*****
During her high school years (when she was masquerading as a boy), Karen made few friends, with the exception of Angela. Therefore she was under no pressure to meet anyone she knew in high school, which relieved any tension over having to call anyone and face the questions around her new identity.
Normally she would have gotten a ride home from the University with Angela, but the girl was to spend the holiday with another girl at her home. Surprisingly, Angela’s new love interest was Doreen, the girl with whom Angela had fought in a quarrel over Karen’s affection. A week earlier, Angela had suggested that Karen join them in what she called a “threesome.” Karen wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but felt it might step over the bounds of her limited sexual experiences.
On the night before Thanksgiving, just after she arrived home, she got a call from Sara Alexopolous, a high school acquaintance and daughter of the owner of the Olympus Restaurant where she had worked before leaving for college.
“Kenny, this is Sara. How are you?” The call began.
“Fine, Sara, and you?”
“Fine, Kenny. I’m so happy you’re in town for the holiday,” the girl continued in the hurried way she always seemed to talk.
“Yeah, going back Sunday,” Karen replied.
“Well, how’d you like to make a little extra money this weekend? We’re down two girls on the wait staff and we’d love if you could put in some hours on Friday and Saturday. How about it Kenny?”
“Well, I don’t know, Sara.”
Karen probably could find time to work and she certainly needed the money, but she was anxious about revealing that Kenny was now a girl called Karen. Finally, she agreed to work some daytime hours — when the family restaurant would be the busiest.
“But, Sara,” she began, hesitating in her speech. “I’m . . . ah . . . no longer Kenny. My name is now . . .ah . . . ah . . . well, it’s Karen.”
“What?”
“I’m living now as a girl, so call me Karen.”
There was a stunned silence. “A girl? My gosh, Kenny . . . ah . . . Karen. A girl? Of course.”
“Yes, I made the change at school about three weeks ago, Sara, and I’m so happy.”
“Karen, that’s marvelous,” Sara said. “You always were a bit . .. how shall I say it?”
“A bit like a girl,” Karen finished the sentence.
“Most of the customers said that they liked that ‘nice young girl’ waitress they had,” Sara said with a laugh.
“But I don’t have a waitress outfit?” Karen said.
“Don’t worry? We have several around here that’ll fit you.”
Karen smiled. She loved the peasant skirts and tops that the girl wore at the Olympus; they flowed so beautifully when the girls walked.
*****
She had been home less than an hour when Cecelia Hansson told her new daughter: “Aunt Harriet can hardly wait to see you, dear. You better go over and say hi now.”
“I want to see her, too,” Karen said, her eyes sparkling as she thought fondly of the old lady.
“You’re beautiful, dear,” gushed Harriet Burkhalter as she opened the door to view Karen standing in front of her. Karen had put on a trim, dark skirt, a simple white blouse with a flat collar and a violet wool vest. She had fashioned her hair to flow freely, with a slight bob at the back and a bang to the right of the forehead. She wore stockings and black short-heeled pumps.
“Let me look at you girl,” said Harriet as she ushered Karen into the apartment.
“You look beautiful, too, Aunt Harriet,” she said sincerely. It was obvious the woman had gussied herself up, apparently just for Karen’s visit.
“I just had my hair done,” the woman explained. “But look at you. So totally like the girl I always knew you to be.”
“I’m so happy now, Aunt Harriet,” Karen said.
“You look just like Jean Simmons,” the older woman said, after they sat down. “But then you don’t know who I’m talking about.”
Karen smiled. “Oh yes I do. I watched her do Ophelia in the movie, and when I acted in the play I kind of followed her style.”
Karen told her onetime baby-sitter about how she helped her friend Tracy finish a sweater for her father. She said she was the envy of all the other girls in her group at the University because of her skills with the needle.
“I can’t thank you enough, Aunt Harriet, for teaching me to knit and crochet,” Karen said, reaching over to touch the old lady’s hands.
The woman grabbed hold of Karen’s hands, looked at them. “You always had the prettiest hands I ever saw.”
Karen blushed.
“If you’ll remember, I didn’t want to show you how to crochet at first,” Harriet said. “I felt you needed to do more boy stuff, like football and such. But you kept saying you’d rather be in the apartment with me, watching me crochet or talking to you about my early life. And I remember you pestering me to show you how to crochet and knit.”
“I must have been fascinated in watching your hands,” Karen said.
“I didn’t want to teach you. After all you were a boy, and I felt you should do boy things.”
“But even then I must have wanted to be a girl, auntie, or at least do girl stuff. I was never any good as a boy.”
Harriet Burkhalter smiled, her sweet, kind smile: “You’re such a beautiful girl, and you’ll make a beautiful woman, dear.”
*****
Karen got two text messages that night.
Gabe texted:
“This will be such a boring weekend without you, Karen. Mom and dad glad to see me. Back doing farm chores. Love, Gabe.”
And one from Mark Hamilton:
“Happy Thanksgiving. Can’t be home since team has a game Saturday at Kansas State. Thinking of u, Mark.”
She smiled when she saw Gabe’s message, and the sight of Mark’s name caused her to grow hot and flushed. She wanted to shout to the housetops: “He’s still thinking of me.”
Karen quickly texted back to Gabe:
“Aw, poor boy. Seems like we’ll both be tired after our vacations. I’m working at the restaurant. See you, K”
The reply to Mark took more thinking. She wanted to respond to him quickly, to show she also thought about him. Oh, yes, how much she thought about him, about his strong arms, about his warm kisses, about how protected she felt when with him. She wanted to tell him of her love, her deep, devoted love.
But she knew that would make her sound too eager, too possessive at a time when she knew he may not have the same strong feelings. Yet, he did bother to text her. She hadn’t heard from him in nearly a month, and now one simple text message, which took him no more than five minutes to write, got her all stirred up and excited.
Finally she wrote:
“Mark. Happy Turkey Day to you. I’ve been following your team on the Internet. Congratulations on a good season. By the way, I am living as Karen now and will soon begin transition to female. Keep in touch. Love to see you again sometime. As ever, Karen”
She looked at the message a long time before finally hitting the “send” button.
In less than ten minutes, the text alert went off:
“Karen. Really. Now a girl. Bet you’re a beauty. Mark.”
Karen’s excitement rose when she saw the message, and immediately she sent back to him a picture of herself wearing a short denim skirt, tank top and sandals. It was one taken by Gabe, and for a minute she wondered how fair it was to send a photo taken by one boy to another boy.
She attached the photo and texted:
“This isn’t a glamour shot, Mark, but it’s the only one I had handy. As ever, Karen”
Two minutes later:
“You’re still the prettiest, Karen. Hope to see ya’ soon. Mark.”
Karen was so excited she had trouble sleeping that night. Finally after playing with her small penis, she got so excited she came and soon was sound asleep.
*****
Thanksgiving morning, Karen helped her mother prepare the turkey and all the fixings for the late afternoon meal. Aunt Harriet was to join the family, as she had for the last half dozen years, since her children all lived far away. “We’re all family,” Cecelia Hansson told the old woman who at first resisted the invitation, saying she didn’t want to intrude upon the Hansson family’s celebration.
It was Karen’s pleading, then the 12-year-old Kenny, who convinced Harriet to join them, but only with the understanding that she’d bake her special sweet potato pie. “It’s far better than pumpkin,” she said.
Karen knew she’d have to endure Sonny’s need to watch the Detroit Lions annual Turkey Day football game; thus the reason for the later meal. It didn’t bother her, however, since she and her mother would be busy in the kitchen, giving themselves plenty of time for girl talk.
About noon, the phone rang, and Karen — who stood close to the kitchen phone — picked it up: “Hello.”
“Is . . . ah . . . this . . . ah . . . Miss Karen Hansson?” said a tentative, nervous voice of a young man.
“Yes, and who is this?” Karen asked using a rather stern voice.
There was a brief silence, and Karen was about to hang up.
“Ah . . .this is Aaron Livingston,” the voice continued, still nervous. “My sister, Claire, said I should call you.”
“Claire?”
“You know, the girl who you rode home with?”
“Oh, yes, you must be her brother,” Karen said, suddenly feeling empathy for this hesitant boy, realizing that the boy must have been goaded into calling her by his bossy sister. Remembering her own period as a shy boy, she felt a need to be gentle with this person.
“Oh yes, she said you might call me,” Karen said. “And how are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” the boy said, his voice seeming to gain confidence. “I was just wondering if you were busy this weekend.”
“I am kinda busy, Aaron, since I’m working both Friday and Saturday, but I’m free maybe in the evenings,” she said.
“Oh, maybe you’d like to do something? I mean with me? Like meeting for coffee, or a movie, maybe?”
After some hemming and hawing, the two finally agreed to meet at a local coffee shop at 8:00 p.m. on Friday night, which would give Karen time to clean up after completing her workday at the Olympus at 7 p.m. She would use her mother’s car, just so she’d not be relying upon Aaron to get her home if the date turned into a disaster.
“Be careful, dear,” his mother warned as she gave her the keys to the car. “Your license still says Kenneth as a boy. You don’t want to get stopped.”
“Oh she won’t, mother,” his brother Sonny chimed in. “She drives like a scared little girl.”
Karen giggled. How true that was!
*****
Karen considered cancelling the date with Aaron, mainly because she was so tired after she completed her workday on Friday — eight hours of being on her feet, with a short break during the afternoon lull when she and the other waitresses shared a few minutes of girl talk. Both the restaurant owner, George Alexopolous, and the head waitress, Sharon, were effusive in their praise of Karen’s appearance and how she looked.
“You’re the cutest girl working tonight,” Sharon said. “If I were another of the young girls working here tonight, I’d be jealous.”
Karen had hugged Sharon when the two met that evening. She had remembered how understanding and supportive the woman was when she worked there during the summer, still in his Kenny mode.
“Don’t say that, Sharon,” Karen said, blushing. “I want the other girls to like me.”
“Oh they will, honey. You always were a great co-worker, and I told them all about you so that there’d be no problems tonight with the staff.”
“Thank you, Sharon,” he said.
It was true; for the most part, the staff greeted Karen with a cheery “hi” and some even added a few sisterly hugs and kisses as they met. “So glad you’re one of us now, Karen,” one of the longterm waitresses whispered into Karen’s ear as they hugged.
The sole exception was from Beatrice, who wore a prominent necklace with a cross and was a stoic young woman with a permanently stern appearance. Her lips seemed perpetually pursed, giving her a business-like appearance. During her breaks, Beatrice retreated to a far corner of the restaurant, bringing out a small Bible from her purse, which she read, using her forefinger to trace along the lines of the page as she read.
Karen had worked with her before without trouble. In fact, Beatrice had proven to be a top-notch waitress, friendly — in a formal manner — with the customers and cooperative with the other girls, assisting others when they might be hurried.
She greeted Karen with a grudging “hello” and then averted her eyes from meeting Karen’s directly, quickly running off.
The restaurant’s owner, George Alexopoplous, greeted Karen with a smile as she approached him after changing into the waitress uniform.
“Aren’t you pretty!” George said, his jowly face crinkling with smiles. “That outfit fits you fine, dear.”
“Thank you, Mr. Alexopolous,” Karen said.
“I always thought you’d make a pretty girl, and I sure wasn’t mistaken. Now, if any of the customers or the boys in the kitchen hit on you or pinch you, dear, or bother you in any way, you let old George know and I’ll puncha them outa here,” the bushy haired owner said, his eyes twinkling.
Karen gave him a slight curtsey and a flirty smile in return.
“Daddy, you better behave too,” Sara, his daughter, chimed in followed by a good-natured laugh. Karen realized the owner’s daughter was teasing her father, since he was well-respected as a man of impeccable honesty and morality.
“You’ll have Section 3, sharing overflow with Beatrice, Karen,” Sara said. “I know you two have worked together before.”
“Yes, it’ll be fine,” Karen said, worrying nonetheless about whether Beatrice with her stolid evangelistic views would be happy with the arrangement.
Karen loved the swish of the colorful peasant skirt as she walked about carrying dishes of food or approaching a table with her order pad in her hand to say: “Hello, I’m Karen and I’m your waitress today. Welcome to the Olympus.”
She loved saying, “I’m Karen.” George had even made a badge that read “Karen.” Now, when a patron would say “miss” she would glow. It was all happening; there was no question. She was a waitress called “Karen” and she looked pretty. She noted many of the other girls used the word “waiter,” since it was the more politically correct term in the current day. Even though Karen shared in the idea that the use of the generic “waiter” was proper, she couldn’t resist calling herself “waitress.”
To Karen’s surprise, Beatrice turned out to be a great co-worker, easily taking up an extra table when Karen was overwhelmed with the huge lunch crowd that was traditional on the day after Thanksgiving. She seemed grateful, too, when Karen assisted in her section. Yet, Beatrice said nothing to Karen that night, except when necessary in the course of work. She treated Karen stiffly, without showing any warmth.
Karen quickly became aware that she often drew the attentive eyes of the customers, particularly the men. Her natural openness and friendliness seemed to further draw attention to her.
“What are you doing tonight?” one particularly friendly young man asked her after he had politely asked if she was a college student. She had responded that she was. The boy had acknowledged he was as well and attended a major university, studying drama. She smiled and said she was hoping to study drama, too, but was majoring in social work.
Realizing she had told the young man too much, she left the table; she could see the boy’s two companions talking with the boy, sometimes laughing.
It was when she returned with the check, the boy reached out his hand, grabbing hers gently and asking, “When do you get off work?”
“When I’m done,” Karen answered quickly, but accompanied the remark with a cute smile.
“Aww, you’re a funny one, eh?”
“No sir, I hope everything was all right tonight,” Karen said, withdrawing her hand, and dropping the leatherette folder with the check inside. “You may pay the cashier, sir.”
“Come on, honey,” the young man said. “I’ll stop by later and take you out for coffee or something.”
“Sorry, I have a date tonight,” she responded, feeling so happy she had an excuse to fend off the eager young man.
She couldn’t help eyeing him as he paid the bill and walked out; she had to admit he was handsome, maybe even of “hunk” quality. As she worked entering information into the computer for a customer’s bill, Sharon approached, and whispered: “So you got the eye of that hunk?”
“I guess, and he asked me out. Fortunately I had a date.”
“Good for you, Karen, but he’ll be back checking you out, I’m sure. The younger girls have had their eye on him for sometime, but you’re the first one he ever asked out.”
Karen blushed. He was cute, she had to admit.
They were still busy at the quitting time of seven o’clock, and Karen agreed to stay for another half hour or so. She was exhausted when she finally finished at twenty minutes for eight o’clock, and had been so busy that she had nearly forgotten her promise to meet Aaron.
Realizing she had no time to change, she asked Sara Alexopolous if she could wear the uniform home and wear it to work the following day. “Of course, you can,” Sara said.
Karen sat on a bench in the small staff room in the restaurant to count her stack of bills and coins that constituted her tips for the day. As she was separating out the portion she’d share with the other staff — the busboys and kitchen staff, as well as the hostess — Beatrice entered the room.
She eyed Karen stiffly and then placed herself at the other end of the bench. “I enjoyed working with you today,” she said in a flat tone.
“I did, too,” Karen said, warily.
“I’m fearful for your soul, Kenny,” the girl said, using the male name. She spoke quietly, but firmly. “I’m here for you. Look to God, Kenny. He will guide you from the sin you are committing.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Beatrice, but I feel I must live as girl,” Karen said simply.
“God will punish you. Look at Deuteronomy 22.5 and you will understand.”
“But God also wants us to be honest with ourselves, Beatrice, and I know I am female in my own soul. Please understand.”
“You’re a good person, Kenny, who is sinning. I will help you to see the light,” Beatrice said, her face glowing with intensity.
“Thank you for your concern, Beatrice, but I must go, since I’m meeting someone at eight,” Karen said, getting up to put on her coat.
“Please consider what I have said, brother Kenny. I will pray for your soul.”
Beatrice’s insistent behavior, though obviously sincere and caring, felt intrusive to Karen, and she worried about how to free herself from this girl without hurting the girl’s feelings.
“Thank you, but my name is Karen” was all she could think of to say.
With that, Karen turned on her heel and hurried out of the room, not bothering to put on her coat until she was in the parking lot on the way to her mother’s car. She would be a few minutes late, but she expected Aaron would be waiting for her patiently.
Chapter 17: Oh, Those Darn Men!
She recognized Aaron Livingston from his Facebook photo, a round-faced, almost cherubic face with unruly, blondish hard that tended create cowlicks. He had a clean, fresh appearance and a surprisingly trim and hard-looking body that appeared to be out of sync from his baby-like face. He had told Karen to look for a boy about six feet tall wearing a St. Albert’s College jacket with the school colors of black and gold.
The boy stood politely as she approached, almost bowing to her, “Miss Hansson, I presume.”
Karen almost giggled as she tempted to say “Dr. Livingston, I presume” in reference to the famous phrase coined in 1871 when Reporter Henry Morton Stanley located the long-lost Dr. David Livingston near Lake Tanganyika in Africa. Instead, she said simply:
“You must be Aaron, how nice to meet you.”
In an unusual show of gentlemanly manners, he pulled back a chair, as a host would, to assist Karen in sitting down.
Without much more than a few words, Aaron left the table to get Karen a latte; unlike most girls who ordered such drinks to be “skinny,” that is with skim milk, she took it full strength since she was tired and hungry after her long day of work. Unlike his loquacious sister, Aaron spoke awkwardly and haltingly, his words coming out in short bursts followed by pauses. It was not quite a stutter, and the boy seemed to be struggling to find the proper words to say. His hands played nervously with his coffee cup.
“You went to Lincoln High School, my sister said,” Aaron said.
“Yes, and you went to McKinley?”
“Yes, you know anyone at McKinley?” he inquired.
Karen shook her head negatively.
“I played American Legion baseball with some of the guys who went to your school,” he said.
“You play ball?”
“I’m a pitcher and I play now on the St. Albert’s team, but that’s not much. It’s just a small school and it seems any lefty with an arm can make the team,” he said dismissively.
“That’s nice, and I bet you’re better than you say, too,” she said, bringing out a flirty smile.
Aaron blushed.
“You’re pretty,” the boy said suddenly.
“I feel like a train wreck,” Karen replied. “I had to come directly from work, so I couldn’t change from my waitress outfit and only had time to touch up my face.”
“That uniform looks cute on you. You’re pretty just as you are, Karen,” he said.
Aaron took a sip from his coffee, paused to look out the window at a bus that was stopped to pickup passengers across the street.
“Did you know Bill Svenson or Buzz Warner at Lincoln?” the boy’s question again changed the subject abruptly.
“Yes,” Karen said, cursing herself immediately for the answer. She knew both boys and they, of course, would not know about Karen, and perhaps could link her to Kenny.
“They’re good buds of mine,” he said. “Didn’t they ever ask you out on a date?”
Karen blushed and wanted to tell this deadly serious, awkward boy that they would never have met Karen.
“There are lots of pretty girls at Lincoln and they had plenty to choose from,” Karen said finally. “And I didn’t know either of the boys that well.”
She had told a lie. The fact was she had graduated with both boys, had shared many classes with them and had occasional chats with them, even joining them at their lunch table in the cafeteria. Both boys were among the few boys who had treated the sissy boy known as Kenny with some degree of friendliness. They had never belittled Kenny.
As it turned out, Aaron soon began talking more easily, and Karen found their conversations to flow easily. When Karen told him that her major at the University was social work, the boy’s face beamed.
“That’s terrific,” he said. “You care about helping people. Oh, Karen that’s so nice.”
“Thank you, Aaron.”
“I think there’s too much suffering in the world,” the boy said, his words beginning to flow easily and rhythmically. “This may sound stupid and naíve, but I think as young people we have a duty to help change things. Don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but how, Aaron? It’s such a big problem. Where do we start?”
“Sure, but we have to start somewhere,” he said, the stammer and stutter gone from his talk. “I’m not a religious guy, but I know that Jesus began the Christian faith with just 12 men and said that wherever a few people gathered in God’s name that they had power. Oh I got ideas.”
It was nearly ten o’clock — almost two hours — later when Karen suggested that she should get home. It wasn’t that Aaron had bored her; indeed not, he had stimulated her, since it was obvious that they agreed on the need for assuring that all people deserved a chance in life. Interspersed in their conversations about “changing the world,” Aaron revealed himself to be a sensitive, caring young man, as well as somewhat awkward and inexperienced in the world of dating.
“I never even had a date in high school,” he admitted. “Never went to the prom. I bet you had plenty of dates.”
Karen shook her head. “No, I never went to the prom.”
“Really, as pretty as you are? Are the boys at Lincoln all blind?”
“I was not popular there and pretty much of a nerd,” she said, realizing the conversation was getting into an uncomfortable area.
“That’s unbelievable, Karen. You’re so pretty.”
Karen looked up at the clock on a back wall. “Well, Aaron, it’s been nice and you’re nice, but I need to go. It’s nearly ten o’clock and I have a full day of work tomorrow.”
“Really, already ten? I can’t believe it this time went to so fast. You’re such a . . . ah . . how shall I say it . . ah . . . I guess . . . so smart. I like you.”
“You are, too, Aaron, and I truly enjoyed meeting you.” she said.
“Are you free tomorrow night after work?” he said suddenly.
“Oh Aaron, I’m afraid not. Sorry.”
She saw the immediate disappointment on his face, and immediately wanted to retract the statement, seeing the reaction Aaron had. The truth was she had nothing planned for Saturday night, but since it was her last night at home before returning to the University, she felt she wanted to spend it with her mother, perhaps watching a movie and sharing popcorn together. Also, she did not want to encourage Aaron to pursue her friendship, since it would certainly force her to reveal her background to him. She hoped he would not soon meet up with his friends from her old high school and ask about a girl named “Karen.”
To his credit, Aaron merely nodded and did not pry into why she had to turn down a possible date. Some people, she knew, would want to know why she was busy and would have forced her into a lie. What a sweet boy!
He accompanied her to her car, and she gave him what amounted to a sisterly hug as they parted. To her satisfaction, Aaron accepted it, without responding aggressively, letting her go with a comment: “Maybe I can see you during Christmas vacation.”
Karen nodded, giving him a cheery wave, as she started her mother’s car.
All the way home, she cursed herself for agreeing to the coffee date with Aaron; she had done it merely to satisfy the boy’s sister who was to be her ride back to the University on Sunday. She had hoped the boy would be a big bore or rude or something so hateful that she could rebuff the boy, but he wasn’t. Aaron was a sweetheart, a boy she could easily fall in love with. She could hardly afford another complication in her life. Wasn’t her true love in Ames, Iowa, at that moment, preparing for a football game? And what about Gabe, whose loyalty and support was unquestioning? Fortunately, her female lover, Angela, had found a new love interest in Doreen and would no longer jealously pursue Karen. But, Aaron was such a sweetie! What more could a girl ask for?
*****
Karen’s shift on Saturday began at 11 a.m. at the Olympus and soon became a busy and exhausting day, with the restaurant’s famous brunch special bringing in huge gangs of families. She was exhausted when she began a two-hour break between 2 and 4 p.m. Sharon had suggested that the two of them might want to a nearby mall for leisurely shopping and chat time at the food court.
Karen had hoped to avoid any conversation with Beatrice after the confrontation he had with her the previous night over Beatrice’s stated concern for Karen’s soul. The day so far had been so busy that even though Beatrice and Karen shared adjoining stations, and as had been their practice, assisted each other without complaint.
As things quieted down just before the 2 p.m. break, Beatrice finally cornered Karen at coffee station with a comment: “Have you reflected on the word of God, Kenny?”
“The name’s Karen,” she replied, her tone even and direct. Karen turned to walk away from Beatrice, but was restrained by the girl’s hold on her arm.
Karen turned to look directly into Beatrice’s piercing green eyes. “Didn’t you look up Deuteronomy 22.5? It’s clear that a man should not wear women’s clothes. You’re sinning, Kenny.”
“Again, I’m Karen, plain and simple,” Karen said.
“But you’re a boy, you’re Kenny,” the girl protested.
“Beatrice, I was called Kenny, but I’ve always been a girl. Deep inside me, I’ve always been a girl.”
“But . . . but . . .” Beatrice sputtered.
“When I was in boy’s clothes, did I act like a boy, Beatrice?”
“Well . . . ah . . . ah . . . you acted . . . oh . . . I don’t like that word,” Beatrice said, obviously fumbling.
“Didn’t I move like a girl? Even talk like a girl?”
Beatrice merely nodded.
“And I can knit and crochet better than any girl on the wait staff, I’ll bet. Does that sound like a boy?” Karen asked.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Look, Beatrice, the truth is my body is more like a girl’s than a boy’s and it’s always been that way. I believe I think like a girl and I know I cry like a girl. Doesn’t it follow that I’m really a girl?”
“I guess,” Beatrice said, looking puzzled.
“You know, Beatrice, I’m one of those people whose called transgendered. It’s really something I have no control over. I may have some male parts, but my whole being seems to be female. Thus, I’m really a girl, basically. So when I was dressing like a boy, that’s when I may have been violating what Deuteronomy 22.5 says, if that the Bible says.”
Beatrice looked puzzled, unsure of how to respond. Karen reached over to the girl.
“I know you meant well, Beatrice, but you really didn’t understand,” Karen said, putting her hand on Beatrice’s arms, which she had folded over her chest.
“Maybe you’re right, Kenny . . . oh . . . I’m sorry. I meant Karen,” Beatrice said.
“When I’m back for Christmas vacation, maybe we can talk more, Beatrice,” Karen said. “I know you do some charity work through your church, but I’d like you to join me when I get back, and you can go with me and a couple of my girlfriends when we visit the nursing home. I go there when I can to visit with the ladies. It cheers them up so much.”
“Really, you’d invite me to join you, Karen?” Beatrice asked, surprised at the invitation. “I thought you all laughed at me because I believe in God.”
Karen let out a small giggle. “I think most of us believe in God, especially when we’re being kind and understanding of each other, Beatrice. I don’t know about the others, Beatrice, but I like you. You’re honest and a hard-worker and we make a good team.”
The girl smiled; it was the first time Karen had seen Beatrice lighten up, and he was surprised at how pretty she was when she smiled.
“I’d like to go with you to the nursing at Christmas, if you’ll have me,” she said.
“Of course, we want you to join us,” Karen said.
Karen was surprised to see Beatrice’s eyes begin to well up in tears, and move suddenly to Karen and give her a big hug.
“Thank you, Karen, so much,” she whispered. “I didn’t think anyone cared about me?”
“Oh I think we all do, Beatrice. All we have to do is to open our hearts to everyone,” Karen said.
Their embrace was interrupted by George, the owner, barking loudly, “You got customers want their checks, Beatrice.”
The girl quickly released Karen, and rushed off to serve the customers. Karen looked up at the clock, seeing it was 2 p.m., time for her to meet Sharon and begin their break. She went back to the staff room to get her coat and a purse. As she and Sharon walked out Karen noticed Beatrice was smiling. It brought a smile to her face, too, and Karen was certain Beatrice would find her tips much better for the rest of her shift.
*****
Despite their age difference, the Karen and Sharon had become close friends. Karen had seen that the life-hardened Sharon — her pretty, but lined face showing her many troubles — had a superb mind. The woman, Karen knew, had few years earlier after picked up a G.E.D. and had entered the community college to study accounting. In addition, Sharon was a consummate reader of the news, and had become a solid feminist. Since the summer, Sharon’s life had been further enriched with occasional dates with a local attorney she met through mutual friends. The man was older and widowed with three children and while their dates were infrequent they always left Sharon feeling good about herself. The attorney respected her brains, it was obvious, as well as her natural beauty.
“I finally found a man who respects me,” Sharon confessed to Karen as they sat down with their drinks at the food court in the mall. “I always felt I was only a sex object for guys. But with Wesley it’s so different. He values my opinion on stuff and he’s taken me to new things, like plays and even the opera.”
“The opera? Weren’t you bored to tears?”
“No, not at all. We drove to Milwaukee to see ‘Carmen,’ and it was so colorful with the music and costumes. Oh my, Karen, they were so exciting. And I never heard such voices like that. I loved it, and I dressed so elegantly for the opera. I felt like a queen for the first time in my life.”
Sharon’s eyes glowed as she told of the experience, and Karen almost felt like crying to see the joy in her friend’s face.
“But how are you and the men in your life doing?” Sharon asked, having been given brief words about Karen’s situation during their brief breaks at the Olympus.
“My life has become so complicated, Sharon,” Karen moaned after taking a sip from her Diet Coke.
“Your trouble, dear, is that you want to please everyone, to say ‘yes’ to everyone,’ and you just can’t keep everyone happy,” Sharon said, her calloused hand resting over Karen’s.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”
“That’s sweet of you, Karen, but sometimes the kindest thing to do is to say ‘no.’ You tell me you really pine for that boy in Iowa, and that he seems to be warming up to you again, right?”
“Well, he’s responding to my emails, now, and he said he’d try to see me during Christmas vacation, if his team doesn’t get a bowl bid and he’ll be busy during vacation, and it looks like they will go to a bowl. Oh Sharon, he’s a big star on that team, and he’s so sweet.”
Sharon laughed. “I know, you’ve told me that a hundred times and you carry that picture of him in that football suit around in your purse. My God, girl, it sounds like you’re in love.”
Karen blushed, realizing how infatuated she was with Mark Hamilton, how she yearned to smell the sweat of his body and the moisture from his lips again. An image of him dressed as Hamlet flashed into her mind, seeing again his muscular legs encased in the white tights of the costume, his broad shoulders framed in the coat and his troubled face as the Prince of Denmark. How she desired him.
“But I don’t know if he loves me?”
“And so you’re keeping this boy Gabe in reserve, just in case? And now you find this Aaron kid sweet, too?”
“They’re both so nice, Sharon. And they seem to like me, too.”
“That’s no good,” Sharon said firmly, almost shouting it out like a reprimand. “Look, you’re just 18 years old, and you have an education to get. A pretty girl like you will never be without boyfriends, so you don’t want to hurry this along.
“Take it from me. I got pregnant with my Kerry at age 16 and dropped out of school and I thought that Kerry’s father was the love of my life. Hell, in a year, he was gone to Lord knows where and two years later, feeling sorry for myself, I got involved with Gary who stuck around just long enough to give me my Jamie. Well, Kerry’s ready to graduate from high school, and I hope she gets a scholarship, since I can’t afford college for her. Yet, she says she’s in love with this dropout, and I’m worried about her. I put the foot down on Jamie and you’ve met her. She’s 16 now and doesn’t have a boyfriend. And, if I have anything to say about it, she won’t think about boys seriously until she’s graduated college.”
Karen sat transfixed at this stern lecture given by Sharon.
“I think of you almost as my own daughter, Karen,” Sharon continued. “You have so much to offer the world, regardless of which road you take, whether in dramatics or in social work. Don’t get tangled up with men just yet. You’ll have plenty of time.”
The two sat silently for a moment.
“You’re right, Sharon.” It was all Karen to think of to say.
“Look, girl, you should date and meet up with guys for fun, but just don’t get serious. You do have one benefit over my daughters: at least you can’t get pregnant.”
Karen laughed. “I guess that’s true, but Sharon I would love to be able to be a mother. I’ve dreamed about it so often.”
“My dear Karen,” Sharon said, tears forming in her eyes. “I have to admit becoming a mother were the two most joyous times of my life, in spite of the pain of birth and trials over raising two kids alone.”
Karen’s eyes also filled with tears. She knew she’d never experience the ultimate joy of motherhood.
*****
“Men are no good, Karen,” Claire Livingston said as she gunned her Ford Focus sedan along the smooth, blacktopped two-lane highway that was flanked by rolling farm fields, farmhouses and steel outbuildings that were replacing the traditional red barn.
Karen looked at the speed-o-meter, already hitting 75 miles an hour — 20 miles over the limit — as the girl drove along the empty highway. There was little traffic, Karen realized, since it was Sunday afternoon and the Green Bay Packers were playing football, leaving the roadways bereft of cars whose drivers were obviously at home or in bars watching their beloved team play. That’s why her brother, Sonny, his eyes focused on the TV screen, barely managed a gruff “bye” as she left. She gave him a sisterly kiss, which he brushed away like he would a pesky fly.
For the first hour of the trip, Claire, a husky girl with a plain, round face, had complained again about her boyfriend. “I think he’s going back to that slut he knew in high school,” she said.
“Why do you think that?” Karen asked, not out of any true curiosity, but merely to keep the girl company.
“Well, he’s cancelled our ski trip over the Christmas vacation to the Porcupines for one thing, saying he’s gotta be home in Winona for the holidays. It’s that Cindi girl, I know it.”
“Maybe his family wants him home, Claire,” Karen said.
“He don’t care a hoot about his family. It’s that Cindi. She’s a hot little number — not as pretty as you mind you — but not a plain old cow like me.”
Karen looked at the speedometer, now nearing 80, with a curve coming up ahead.
“Hey, you better slow down, Claire,” she said almost in desperation.
“Oh?” Claire said, glancing at the speedometer. “My God, I didn’t realize it. I’m so mad at the bastard.”
Karen let out a sigh of relief as Claire let up on the gas pedal and the car slowed to a more reasonable, but still illegal, 65 miles an hour.
“And Claire, you’re a very attractive girl,” Karen said.
“You’re just saying that. I’m big as a cow.”
“Listen, Claire, you are a tall, strong girl, stronger than most boys I bet and you’re an athlete, a star soccer player,” Karen said. “But you’re also an attractive woman with an intelligent face and lively disposition. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”
Claire glanced at Karen and then negotiated the curve cleanly. She was indeed an accomplished driver, Karen felt, and relaxed a bit.
“You mean that, don’t you, Karen?”
“I do. Really.”
“I feel like I’m about to cry,” Claire said. “Coming from you, such a pretty girl, that’s so sweet to hear. You must have plenty of boys after you.”
“Not so many.”
“Well, my brother Aaron hasn’t stopped talking about you since your date Friday night. Did you enjoy it, Karen?”
“He’s very nice,” Karen said.
“Thank you for going out with him,” Claire said. “He’s not very good with girls. He’s so shy. I just thought you might like him just a little bit. He’s not the hottest boy around.”
Karen was shocked to hear a girl talk so despairingly about a brother, since she had found Aaron to be a pleasant, smart and friendly boy.
“Oh, Claire, I think Aaron has lots going for him,” Karen said. “He’s one of the first boys I’ve been able to talk with about all sorts of things. He’s really very smart.”
“He said the same about you, and he said he never realized a girl could be so beautiful and smart at the same time.”
“I think he’s exaggerating a bit,” Karen said with a smile.
“He really wants to be your boyfriend, Karen,” Claire said. “He’s never had a real girlfriend, you know.”
Karen didn’t answer and turned her head to look at the building in the main street of the small town through which they were driving, her gaze landing on a half dozen or so teens gathered outside an ice cream shop, two of the prettiest girls smoking cigarettes. She hated to see girls smoking. It didn’t seem ladylike to her.
“What do you say about that Karen? Could you be his girlfriend?” Claire pressed.
“Oh, I like Aaron, a lot, really, but I’m not ready for the boyfriend-girlfriend thing yet, Claire. I’ll be happy to spend some time with him over the Christmas holidays, just as friends, OK?”
“I think that’s fair, Karen.”
The conversation stopped as Claire began to enter the busier streets of the University’s home city. Karen wondered whether it was time to tell Claire about her gender background. She didn’t feel it correct to continue to lead the girl or her brother on further without letting them know the truth.
“Here’s your street,” Claire said, pulling up to Karen’s residence, which was marked with a simple sign, etched out of wood that read, “Susan’s Place.”
“Thank you for the ride,” Karen said, putting off the time to tell of her gender. She had already paid Claire the $10 she requested as her share of the gas.
Karen was nearly out of the door when Claire asked, “By the way, what kind of place is this house. It looks kind of special.”
“It is,” Karen said. She sat back down on the passenger’s seat, and closed the door. “I better tell you everything now, Claire.”
“Oh?” Clair said, mystified.
“You see, I was born a boy and Susan’s Place is for students like me who are transitioning into being a woman,” Karen began, her voice soft and precise.
“A boy?”
“Yes, Claire, and right now I still have my boy equipment.”
“But, a boy? I can’t believe it. A boy, but you’re so . . . ah . . . ah . . pretty, and dainty and feminine. You’re about the girliest girl I know.”
Karen smiled. “Thank you. I like to hear that.”
“Well you are.”
“I feel you and Aaron should know about me and if he or you never want to see me again, that’ll have to be OK, even though I like both of you a lot.”
Claire just looked at Karen in puzzlement. She shook her head, as if confused. “I don’t know what to say, Karen, but I’m sure Aaron will be disappointed. You just impressed him so much and I’d never seen him so turned on by anyone or anything until he met you.”
“I’m sorry,” was all Karen could think of to say.
“Does he have your cell phone number, Karen?”
“Yes, he does,” she said. “I think he put it on his contact list.”
“Ok, I’m going to have him call you later tonight and you can tell him yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” Karen repeated, stepping out of the car.
As the door closed, Claire gunned the car, leaving Karen standing at the curb with her carryon suitcase, cosmetics case and purse. She felt like crying.
*****
“Oh darling, you’re back,” Ramini said, rising from her desk and moving to give Karen a sisterly hug even before Karen could set down her luggage.
Karen could not help but smile, seeing her eager and petite roommate, her long black hair tied into a bun atop her head. “How was your weekend, Ramini?” Karen asked, placing her luggage on her bed and removing her fleece-lined violet colored winter coat and the wool cap.
“Daddy was not happy with me, but my mother was so excited to have a daughter in the house, Karen. It was so cool, I learned all about some traditional Indian dishes. I loved it. Mother would never let me in the kitchen before, telling me that in Indian households only women spend time in the kitchen.”
“How sweet, Ramini!”
“I sat there and gossiped with my aunts and my girl cousins. At first they were kind of cool toward me, but soon they were treating me just like one of them.”
The girl was literally beaming as she related her first weekend home as a girl.
“And the men wouldn’t let me hang around with them. It was so cool. My cousin, Arun, told me to ‘get in the kitchen and that girls weren’t welcome with men.’ And he used to be my favorite cousin.”
Karen and Ramini hugged and kissed, tumbling onto Karen’s bed and wrapping their arms and legs around each other. Their embraces were warm and sisterly, comforting each of them; their kisses were gentle and sweet; their caresses bordered on being sensual, but that was as far as it went. They were girl friends, plain and simple.
*****
Gabe called after the two girls got back to their room after supper; the weather had turned into a damp chill, and snow was threatened later in the evening. Karen and Ramini had worn their hoods tied tightly to their heads as they walked back from the pizza place where they each opted for salads and garlic bread with diet drinks. Despite her petite frame, Ramini tended to develop a chubby tummy and that bothered her, since she wanted so badly to wear a bikini in the following summer.
Karen was uneasy, worrying about how she’d tell Aaron, sweet, gentle Aaron, that she was still, anatomically at least, a boy. She dreaded the phone call, finally confessing to Ramini about the entire incident.
“Just tell him straight-out, Karen,” the Indian girl suggested. “Make it almost the first thing out of your mouth after you say hello.”
“I guess that’s right, but I don’t want to shock him, Rami,” Karen said, using a shortened version of the girl’s name.
“No, of course, not, but dear maybe you should say something like, ‘Aaron, I’ve got something to tell you that may bother you, but I’ve got to tell you the truth about me.’ And he’ll probably say something like, ‘Oh, you got another boyfriend,’ or ‘You’re not sick or anything.’ Then you would say something like, ‘No, nothing like that, it’s that I’m different from most girls. You see, I was born a boy but I feel I am a girl and I live as a girl.’ Maybe something like that.”
“But he’ll get mad at me,” Karen said.
“No that’s the best way, Karen. Be direct with him. There’s no dodging the truth, dear.”
Karen nodded, her mind racing over what she’d say, wondering how she’d respond to Aaron’s concerns. Then, she remembered how Gabe acted at first; yet, he soon understood and now he had become one of her closest friends.
When the phone buzzed in her purse just as the two girls entered their room from supper, Karen’s heart began pumping hard. Still in her winter coat, she plunged into the purse, finally freeing her cell phone from her purse by the third ring to see that Gabe was the caller.
She calmed down, and answered it, still breathing hard. “Oh Gabe, it’s you,” she said in a strained voice.
“Karen, I’m so glad you got back before the storm,” Gabe said. “I was worried about you. Are you all right?”
“Sure, why?”
“Well, you sound so strained or something.”
“My roomie and I just got back from supper and I’m still in my coat.”
“I missed you, Karen.”
“I missed you, too, Gabe,” she said. She was not being totally truthful; since her weekend had been so busy she had little time to think about him.
“Can I come over and we can go out somewhere for a little while, Karen?”
“Oh, Gabe, I’d love that, but I was so busy this weekend that I didn’t get that paper done,” she said. “I better do that tonight. Maybe we can get together tomorrow night.”
Gabe didn’t push the issue, and Karen was happy, since she again told a half-truth. She did have a paper to do, but it wasn’t due until Friday, and she had time to get to it. She hated herself for these half-truths she was using, but she felt she was being nice to Gabe. After all, he was such a sweet boy.
*****
Aaron’s call came at 9:30 and he was apologetic, saying he didn’t get his sister’s message until he returned to his dorm room at St. Albert’s.
“But what’s so important? My sister said I should call you tonight,” he began.
Karen repeated what she and Ramini had worked out should be her message. There was silence on the other end; it seemed an eternity, but at least Aaron hadn’t hung up.
“You’re a boy?” Aaron said finally, his voice full of astonishment. “But how? You can’t be. You’re . . . ah . . . so dainty and, damn, you can’t be a boy.”
“Well, I am, but I’ve felt like I was a girl all my life, Aaron, and I felt you should know about me now, before we became too close as friends.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“I’m sorry, Aaron, but I guess I’m considered to be transgendered. You’ve heard of that?”
“Yes, of course. You’re like a drag queen then?”
Karen wanted to giggle, thinking of herself as one of those overly made-up, garish queens wearing beehive wigs, but she knew better than to belittle his reaction.
“Not exactly, Aaron. Most drag queens are men who just want to dress up as women and be showy. In my case, I’m a boy who is really a girl in my mind, instincts and even in some physical ways, but I do have a penis, though it’s not as big as most guys. Apparently, my X and Y chromosomes have a more feminine tilt to them.”
“Oh, I guess I’ll have to look into this and get to know more.”
“There’s plenty on the internet about this Aaron,” she suggested.
Aaron said he’d do some studying on the subject, and then asked: “Did you tell my sister about yourself?”
“Yes, and I should have told you first, I know, but she asked about the place were I live, and realized it was for girls like me. So I told her.”
“I bet she’s laughing at me. I never had a real girlfriend before, and now I was hoping you’d be my girlfriend. And you’re not a girl at all. I talked about you all weekend. Oh, everyone’ll laugh at me. I’m always a loser with girls.”
“You’re not a loser, Aaron,” she said. “You’re one of the nicest, smartest boys I’ve ever met. I truly enjoyed our short time together, and would like to continue to be friends with you.”
“You’re so pretty, Karen,” he said. “I would love to take you out, maybe to a dance or dinner or something nice.”
“I’d love that, too.”
“But I can’t now,” he said.
“We can still be friends.”
“Maybe, bye, Karen.” Aaron abruptly left, and Karen felt sad. She knew Aaron would likely cry himself to sleep tonight.
“How’d he take it?” Ramini said, having heard Karen’s side of the conversation.
“Not too good, and I feel bad. He’s such a vulnerable boy. He said he had hoped I’d become his first-ever girlfriend.”
Ramini hugged Karen assuring her that she’d done the right thing and that if Aaron was as nice as Karen said, he’d eventually find a nice girl. They fell asleep in each other’s arms — girlfriends together.
Chapter 18: Just Like the Other Girls
Karen’s life before the Christmas break became hectic; she was working 16 hours a week assisting Professor Fenstrom while also rehearsing for the bit part in the University Players play that was to be performed the first two weekends of December. Along with her therapy sessions at the Gender Clinic and keeping up with her studies, she found she had little time for either Gabe or Angela.
In fact, both of her lovers seemed to be fading from her life. Perhaps it was her busy schedule, but the loss of their frequent presence seemed not to bother her.
Angela’s lesbian relationship with Doreen had grown so that the two were inseparable, both girls finding warmth and perhaps eventually a lifetime partner. They had invited Karen in for a threesome, but she had declined. Angela, however, remained a friend, and the two occasionally met for coffee, with Angela always ready to give Karen rides if she needed them.
Gabe, in the meantime, had become friendly with Tracy, who he met when Karen introduced them after the audition. A few nights into the rehearsals, Karen had to stay a bit longer than usual at rehearsal to work with Fenstrom in re-blocking a scene because of lighting problems. Realizing she’d not be able to meet Gabe on time, she asked Tracy (who had become a stage worker for the play) to tell him she’d be late and that it was Ok if he didn’t want to wait. She’d call him later.
It was a full half hour later when the rehearsal finally ended, and Karen was surprised to see both Tracy and Gabe still just outside the theater, standing together and talking earnestly. So engaged in conversation were they that they didn’t even notice Karen approach.
“Oh Gabe, I’m sorry I was late. I couldn’t help it,” she said, startling the two.
“Oh, you’re here,” Tracy said. Karen noticed how red-faced the two were.
“You didn’t have to wait, Gabe,” Karen said.
“Well, Trace and I just got talking,” Gabe said.
Karen noticed that Gabe called her “Trace,” a name that only the closest of Tracy’s friends had used.
“I better go, and leave you two to do your thing,” Tracy said.
“No, stay with us and join us for coffee,” Gabe said hurriedly.
It was obvious Gabe enjoyed Tracy immensely. That was made even more obvious when a few days later Gabe told Karen that he had a friend who needed a date for the Holiday dance to which he had invited Karen. “Do you have a girl friend who might like to join us? He’s a real nice guy.”
Karen had plenty of girl friends; in fact most of the girls in her morning coffee group were dateless, except for Jenny and herself.
“Sure I supposed, if your friend is as nice as you, Gabe,” she said.
“How about Trace?” he asked, again using the girl’s name in a familiar sense that made Karen wonder just how close those two had become.
“Tracy might like that, although I don’t know that any of us are keen on blind dates,” Karen said.
Gabe agreed and suggested the four meet for coffee so that Tracy and Gabe’s friend could meet. Several days later, they did just that, and Gabe’s friend, true to his word, was truly attractive, though a bit shy. He was tall, angular, but with wispy, unruly blond hair and a few freckles. His name was Cletus Andrew Macomb III, but he insisted on being called “Andy,” complaining that he had been chosen by his farm family to carry on the family name of “Cletus.”
Karen thought his shyness was a “cute” trait, and was surprised to see that Tracy and Gabe seemed to converse more with each other than either Karen or Andy. That behavior was duplicated at the dance, as Gabe repeatedly asked Tracy to dance with him, even though Tracy — an awkward girl at best — was tentative on the dance floor; by contrast, Karen had become excellent in following a boy’s lead. Andy, it turned out, for all his shyness sensed the music as he danced his steps sure and his command of the girl in his arms allowed him to easily direct her on the floor.
“Gabe, I sensed you really like Tracy,” Karen said to the boy as few days after the dance. They met after class in the student union’s snack area.
Gabe reddened, mumbling, “Yes, she’s nice, I guess.”
“You guess?” Karen said, her voice rising in anger. “You only had eyes for her at the dance. You hardly danced with me.”
“Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to be nonchalant.
“Like hell you didn’t,” Karen said, cussing in a way that surprised her.
“Ok, so I did. So what?”
“So what? Wasn’t I your date? Or had you forgotten that? Or are you so dazzled by her that you can’t see me?”
Gabe rose suddenly from his chair, almost causing it to overturn. He looked at her, his face showing disdain and disgust she had never seen before.
“It’s not like you’re a real girl,” he said, his voice cruel and hurtful. She had never before heard him speak in such a tone.
She looked at him, not believing what she heard. Several students at adjoining tables heard his words and looked in astonishment at what they must perceived to be a pretty girl having an argument with a large-framed boy.
“I want a girl who can give me babies,” he said, his voice harsh and loud enough for those at nearby tables to look at the quarreling pair.
Gabe picked up his bookbag, turned on his heel and left abruptly. Karen began sobbing, knowing her friendship with him was ended. She tried to hide her face from onlookers, but Gabe’s dramatic and noisy departure brought lots of attention. A matronly older woman came to her table and sat down in the chair vacated by Gabe.
“Are you all right, dear?” she asked kindly.
“Yes,” Karen said through her sniffles. “I could kill him.”
The woman smiled. “That’s better, dear. A little bit of anger helps in these situations.”
Karen looked at the woman, realizing the words she had said. Never in her life did she think she could speak out with such an awful statement.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said to the woman.
“You didn’t mean that, I’m sure dear, but it never hurts to let out a bit of emotion at times,” the woman said. Karen thought the woman looked to be in her mid-50s, and figured she must have been a faculty member; she was a short woman, quite slender with close-cropped graying hair. Her gray eyes and crinkles about them displayed a warmth that instilled confidence.
“It’s just that Gabe never acted like that before,” Karen said.
The woman nodded. “He does seem like a nice boy, but really dear if he’s no longer interested in you, for whatever reason, that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. You’re obviously a pretty and it appears intelligent young lady. It’s best to know early in a relationship that two people don’t click.”
“I guess you’re right, ma’am,” Karen said, wiping her eyes.
The woman smiled, and reached into her purse, extracting a card and handing it over to Karen.
“Look dear, I’m the Carol Stanley listed on the card for the University Women’s Center,” she said. “Why don’t you stop over sometime, and you’ll find lots of girls you could chum with? Or, if you just want somebody to talk to, I’m there as a counselor most of the time.”
“Thank you, Ms. Stanley, but I think I’ll be all right now. Thank you for helping.”
The woman left and returned to her table and Karen put the card into her purse. She didn’t think she’d need it, but who knows what the future will bring. As she clicked the purse shut, she smiled: it was so nice being accepted into the world of women! Karen picked up her bookbag and headed to rehearsal where she knew she’d have to see Tracy, who would also be there, assisting in the rehearsal.
*****
During the walk to the Theater she had been able to clear her head. Yes, it was better that Gabe was gone from her life; it was only fair to him, since she knew he wanted to have girlfriend and possible future wife who would give him children. She knew she’d be a burden upon any man who wished to make her a partner in life. The reality was cruel, but it was a fact of life she had to accept.
She saw Tracy the minute she entered the theater; she was seated in a chair, with a small table before, the script open. There were a few minutes before rehearsal would begin.
“I broke up with Gabe just now,” she said. Her voice was flat and matter-of-fact.
Tracy looked up, as if she hadn’t heard Karen.
“You what?” Tracy said.
“Gabe and I are no longer. He’s all yours.”
“Oh my God,” Tracy said. “Karen, I never wanted that to happen. Really, but he just seemed to latch onto me, and I found I liked him. A lot. But I never wanted to come between you and him. I love you too much, Karen.”
Karen believed Tracy; she had become fond of this large, plain girl and felt Tracy would never want to hurt anyone else.
“I understand,” Karen said. “It just wasn’t right between us, you know. He said he wanted a ‘real girl,’ and I can’t blame him. And you’re real.”
“Karen, you about as real a girl as I know,” Tracy said, rising from the chair and hugging Karen, drawing her into her soft, wide body. They both cried.
*****
Karen’s love of the theater and drama was beginning to overwhelm her, as she watched the rehearsal, working closely with Professor Fenstrom as he directed the scenes. She watched how Heather, who was playing the lead, struggle through the rehearsal, playing her part with an unnatural stiffness and tentativeness that surprised Karen. She watched in horror as Professor Fenstrom constantly berated Heather for what appeared to be minor details, such as failing to get an inflection just right or to be standing just a few steps from where he expected her to be. Several times Heather broke down in tears before the entire cast, only to find the Professor berate her even more fiercely.
It became apparent to Karen that the more Fenstrom criticized the girl the stiffer she became.
After one rehearsal, Heather hugged Karen and began to cry quietly. “I’m doing just awful, Karen. I don’t know why I’m doing this, Karen,” Heather said, sniffling through tears.
“Look, Fenstrom is a perfectionist and he’s only doing this for the play. You’ll do fine.”
“I don’t know, Karen. Maybe he should have chosen you.”
“No, honey,” Karen said. “You’re best for the part. Really.”
Heather forced a laugh. “I don’t know, Karen. You really aced that audition, and I can’t imagine why he chose me in the first place. I’m such a klutz.”
Karen remembered how hurt she had felt when Fenstrom selected Heather. In her heart, Karen honestly felt she been the best of all those who auditioned; yet, she knew Fenstrom had been honest with her when he said the Players’ producers had ruled out using a boy-turned-into-a-girl as the lead.
Taking a tissue from her purse, Karen wiped Heather’s face, and then the other girl reached over and kissed her.
*****
Most of Karen’s work with Fenstrom involved sitting next to him in the theater’s small studio where most of the rehearsals would be held. Her job, Fenstrom stressed, was an important one and consisted of taking notes on a laptop of his directions to the actors, the stage managers and others.
“Karen, sit right here so you’re close enough for me to whisper into your ear about matters on stage,” he ordered, taking her hand and leading her to a small table with a laptop, and a secretarial chair. It stood next to an upholstered stool, where the director was to sit.
Several other stools flanked Fenstrom and Karen, and they were occupied by the stage manager (a grad assistant by the name of Stephanie Miller, whom everyone called “Steve,” likely due to her mannish hair styling and clothing) and by an assistant director (another grad assistant, Ellen Gipson, a tall, striking blonde whose basic good looks were spoiled by her constant sour look).
During rehearsals, Fenstrom was all business, closely observing each scene as it was played out, yelling instructions almost constantly. It was apparent that his directing style was far different than that of Karen’s Summer Camp instructor, Stanton McIver, whose devotion to method acting was to get the actors to become immersed in their characters, and then to give them free rein to act out the scene with their own ideas. Fenstrom seemed to demand precise positioning on stage, rigid posturing and clear diction, almost in the classic traditions of the theater.
Fenstrom’s tendency was to be particularly hard on Heather, and it bothered Karen who thought he was too critical of the girl’s performance. After the incident where Heather broke into tears, Karen could see her friend was at the breaking point. She felt she had to say something to Fenstrom, but was reluctant knowing how he might explode if his acting directions were being questioned.
She found an opening to mention her thoughts at the end of a rehearsal; it was typical that after the rehearsal Fenstrom, the assistant director, the stage manager and she would confer on various details emerging from the session.
“Heather’s really not got this part yet,” Fenstrom said. “She’s so stiff, hardly like the fun-loving teen girl she’s supposed to be. I should have gone with you, Karen. Maybe I should make the change now, before it’s too late.”
Karen quickly shook her head. “No. No. No. Heather will do just fine. Give her a chance.”
“I know she’s your friend, dear, but don’t let that cloud your professional judgment,” Fenstrom said.
Karen looked directly at the professor and said: “Eric, you should give her freedom to act out the part. Make her feel at ease. You’re yelling at her for everything. Really she’ll do fine. All she needs is a little confidence.”
She was surprised at her own audacious outburst, but she honestly felt she was correct. She waited what she thought would be an outburst, but was surprised to hear him reply.
“You think so, dear?” Fenstrom said.
He conferred briefly with the assistant director, Ellen Gipson, who seemed to agree with Karen.
“Well, let’s give it a try,” Fenstrom said. “Karen, go see if Heather’s still in the dressing room and bring her out here.”
Heather was about to leave the building, when Karen stopped her and said Fenstrom wanted to see her. At first Heather hesitated, suggesting that Karen could say she’d already left. It took persuading but finally she agreed.
Fenstrom took the girl backstage for what he said would be a private conversation, and Karen feared that rather than try to work more gently with her, he’d end up kicking her off the show. Karen stuck around, even though Fenstrom said they could all leave. She felt she’d have to be there in case Heather broke down after the conversation. Finally, Heather emerged from behind the curtain, followed by the professor and Karen heard her say: “Thank you Professor Fenstrom, I’m sure I understand what you want now.”
She was smiling, and immediately ran up to Karen, hugging her tightly.
“I love you, Karen,” was all she said, and she bounded out the door.
*****
The last two weeks before the play was to be performed were about as hectic a period as Karen had ever faced in her young life. She was at Fenstrom’s side for three hours every rehearsal day, often staying one to two hours afterward to finish up details with him and his two grad assistants. It turned out, as well, that he had her work a full eight hours on the two Saturdays. She would be paid for the extra hours, she was promised, and that pleased her, but it cut into her study time. Usually when she got back to her room she found herself too fatigued to do much more than give her books much more than a passing look, and she feared for her grades. Semester finals would be coming up in the week following the last performance, and she knew she was hardly prepared.
Karen was pleased to see him ease up on Heather, and the girl quickly responded by giving a her character, Amy, a 15-year-old girl, an easy naturalism that soon captivated the actors, the stage managers and even Fenstrom himself.
In the play, Amy was to be a pert, wispy girl who was exceedingly dainty and pretty, but also vulnerable, and Heather offered just the right amount of softness to make it realistic.
“I must say I’m happy I listened to you, Karen,” Fenstrom said to her after the completion of a rehearsal in which Heather had been particularly effective.
Everyone else had left, and the professor had asked Karen to stay to finish up some last minute details. The two were standing together in the studio, when Fenstrom without warning pulled Karen toward him, engulfing her with a sweep of the arm, hugging her tightly.
Karen was taken completely off her guard, since, contrary to her earlier feelings that Fenstrom might make such an approach, he had done little in their weeks working together to indicate that anything other than the play occupied his mind. It was true that the two were seated so close in the studio that their thighs or arms would touch; but such brushes were to be expected due to the close proximity of the layout.
Suddenly, Karen felt his hand at the back of her head, and felt him tilt her head upward so that their lips met in a kiss. She tried to pull her head to one side, but the pressure of his lips was too hard, and she felt his tongue pushing into her mouth. She wanted to scream, but felt powerless and unable to pry her mouth from his.
She could taste a sourness of his mouth and smell his man odor as he continued to kiss her at the same time his free hand caressed her body, attempting to sneak his hand up inside of the sweatshirt she normally wore to rehearsals. Karen tried to squirm away, but he was too strong, and she attempted to figure out a way to run a knee into his groin.
She silently cursed her weakness, and wondered whether everyone had deserted the theater, leaving her alone with Fenstrom, who was now full of lustful passion that seemed to consume him and give him super strength.
“Relax, my dear Karen,” he said, finally removing his lips from hers. “You’re so beautiful. I need you, dear.”
“No, please, professor,” Karen pleaded, giving up the idea of screaming.
“Karen, I won’t hurt you,” he said. He tried to soften his hold on the girl, caressing her now, some of the passion seemingly gone from him.
Karen wondered what she should do; for some reason, she refused to scream in hope of attracting attention. Perhaps, she felt some loyalty for Eric Fenstrom, since she had truly begun to appreciate his directing knowledge and love of the theater. More importantly, he had seemed to value her opinion on matters in the theater as the rehearsals had continued.
For some reason, Fenstrom let go of her, took her hand and led her to a sofa that stood at one side of the studio. Karen knew she should feel frightened, but she accepted his offer to sit next to him. Once seated, he took Karen’s hands in both his own, and held them together, resting on their thighs, now tightly joined.
She looked at Fenstrom; there were tears in his eyes. For a moment he said nothing, and it was obvious his sexual ardor had been stilled. Karen had an impulse to reach over and dry his tears, but both her hands were being held. Should she lean and kiss his eyes? She was overwhelmed with a desire to comfort this man, who just moments earlier seemed to be on the verge of a violent sexual attack.
Instead, she said, finally coming to her senses: “You shouldn’t have done that, professor.”
He nodded his head, finally mumbling: “I know, I know.”
“Maybe I better quit this job, professor,” she said.
“No, no, no, you can’t do that. It’s just three days before the opening,” he said. “I need you.”
“But I need to protect myself, sir.”
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he said. “I was so wrong, but Karen you make me drunk with desire. You are so deliciously feminine.”
“But you know I’m not even all girl yet. I still have my penis.”
“You’re all girl to me, and, no, I’m not interested in your penis. I’m not that kind of man. I only like girls.”
“Then I’m not for you,” Karen said, getting up from the sofa.
Fenstrom made no effort to stop her. He looked pathetic on the sofa, looking up at Karen, his eyes pleading now.
Sensing his discomfort, she said finally: “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t say anything, just as long as you keep your hands off me until this job is done.”
Suddenly, he seemed to compose himself, and he arose from the couch and headed to the clothes tree, where he found Karen’s coat. He brought it to her and in silence helped her get into it.
“I’ll see you are 4 p.m. tomorrow,” she said.
Karen left the room without looking back.
*****
The play turned out to be a resounding success with Heather getting rave reviews, both from the campus daily newspaper and the local newspaper. Even Karen’s own three brief appearances on stage, drew the attention of the reviewer from the city’s daily paper, who wrote: “One of the most refreshing moments in the play involve the brief appearances of a pert waitress, played by Kenny Hansson, whose unquestioned striking beauty and sexy mannerisms stole the three scenes in which she appeared. I predict we’ll see more of Miss Hansson on the University stage in the future.”
Surprisingly, the reviewer seemed unconcerned about while an actor named “Kenny” was playing a female part, and Karen wondered whether he must have thought the “Kenny” was just a nickname adopted by the young female actress. Obviously, Karen’s beauty threw him off any concerns about her gender.
As the rehearsals had continued, Karen had grown increasingly impressed with Fenstrom’s directing genius, with his precise if sometimes maddeningly obsession with details, but in the end it worked.
Heather confided in Karen on the night after the dress rehearsal, as the two left the theater, exhausted from the tension of the day, but nonetheless elated by the fact that they felt the rehearsal had been smooth and would bode well for the opening the next night.
“I’m not sure what you said to Fenstrom that day, but he quit harping on me, Karen, and made me feel so good about my acting,” she said.
“I didn’t say much, Heather,” Karen replied. “I think he finally realized he was riding you too much.”
“You must have said something, Karen, ‘cause once he told me what he wanted of me in that talk we had then, I felt I could do it,” she smiled.
“I think he’s a good director, Heather.”
“Yes, and contrary to his reputation, he never hit on me, never propositioned me even once,” Heather said.
Karen nodded, but then Heather quickly followed that up with a comment: “Don’t tell him I said that, Karen. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I know you work closely with him.”
“You know I won’t say anything to him about this,” Karen assured her.
“Oh, Karen, you’re such a great friend. I love you,” Heather said, gathering Karen in her arms and giving her a sisterly hug.
*****
Once the play was ended, there was less than a week before semester finals were scheduled, with the long Christmas-New Years holiday period following shortly thereafter. While Karen tried to focus on her studies (she had fallen behind in her reading due to the play rehearsals), she found she couldn’t help but reflect on what her future held for her. It appeared she was headed into full transition into womanhood, but even that caused her great tension, and threw her into deep depression.
Her experiences with men tended to wear on her mind, realizing that she had basically been rejected time after time just because she wasn’t a real girl. That thought hit Karen hard one night shortly after the play ended as she tried to go to sleep. Though she was exhausted from her busy days, her mind wouldn’t let her rest. It raced through the events of the recent days, and she wondered what the future would bring. Was there any reason to even pursue further life?
She had never felt like this; always, even in her darkest, loneliest days as Kenny, she had an optimistic view of the future, that somehow she would succeed in life just because of her ability to learn and accomplish things. Now, she wondered. The first glory of emerging as a lovely, popular girl had faded with reality: she looked like a girl, she talked like a girl, thought like a girl and walked like a girl. Yet, she wasn’t a girl.
Karen began sobbing, and buried her head into her pillow to avoid awakening Ramini who was snoring contentedly in her bed across the room.
Karen was suddenly aware that someone had moved into bed alongside her. Ramini’s petite, soft body as nestled tightly, her warmth comforting Karen. Had she finally dozed off, she wondered?
“Are you all right, Karen?” Ramini said, her words coming out in a lyrical sing-song rhthym.
“Did I wake you, Rami? I’m sorry. I tried not to.”
“Darling Karen, I want to help you. What’s wrong?” The girl stroked Karen’s hair, and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
Karen welcomed the caresses and moved her body more tightly against Ramini, cuddling together like baby kittens.
“Oh Ramini, we’re such freaks,” she said. “We’ll never fit into this world.”
With that, Karen began to sob again. Ramini held Karen’s head, bringing it tightly against her narrow bosom, patting her head as she would a tiny baby’s head.
“No honey, we’re just a bit different, and there’ll always be a place for a lovely, smart girl like you,” Ramini said.
“But I’m not a girl, Rami. We need to stop kidding ourselves. Even when we get our operations, we’ll still not be able to have babies. We’ll never be complete. What boy will ever want us?”
Ramini pushed Karen away, and Karen could see a determined look grow on the tiny girl’s face, thanks to a sliver of light coming in from outside street lights.
“Don’t be silly, Karen,” Ramini said, her voice firm and commanding. “Millions of what you call real girls can’t have babies and not all men want babies either. You’re as much a girl as any around here.”
“But Rami, I’ve been rejected five times just ‘cause I’m not real. First, Mark walked out on me at summer camp when he had to tell his parents I wasn’t real. And, Angela ditched me for a real girl so she could have a real lesbian affair. Fenstrom said I would have had the lead part in the play if I had not been a fake girl. A boy I met at Thanksgiving who was really nice as much as hung up on me when he found out I began as a boy, and now, today, Gabe dumped me.”
“My poor dear,” Ramini said, moving closer to Karen and the two cuddled.
Karen sobbed quietly. Soon, her crying ended as she found warmth and love in the arms of her friend. And so they slept.
*****
Her mood wasn’t much better the next day, and she had planned to skip the usual morning coffee time with the girls, largely because she felt it would be awkward to see Tracy so soon after she learned of the girl’s friendship with Gabe.
“Come on, you’ll feel better, Karen,” her friend Jenny coaxed as they left the sociology lecture.
It was difficult seeing Tracy, whose eyes, Karen felt, seemed to sparkle unusually brightly this morning. Tracy reddened when Karen and Jenny arrived, but quickly composed herself and urged Karen to sit in the empty chair next to her.
“I was hoping you’d still come today, Karen,” she said.
“Why wouldn’t I, Trace?” she said, deliberately using the name that Gabe used for the girl, immediately regretting the slightly sarcastic tone she injected into the use of “Trace.”
“No reason, but I wanted to thank you. I got my sweater finished for my dad, thanks to you,” the girl said. “Just in time for Christmas.”
“I’m sure your dad will love it,” Karen said.
“Well thank you, again,” Tracy said, leaning over to kiss Karen a quick kiss.
Soon the conversation turned to what each of the girls were planning for the Christmas vacation period, a topic that left Karen a bit depressed, since she had no plans at all. There would be no boyfriend back home waiting for her, unless she were to meet up with Aaron, but that didn’t seem likely. She looked around the table, and suddenly realized that among the girls there only Jenny and now Tracy had boyfriends; the others in the group were largely without boyfriends, too. Real girls, too, face disappointments with boys, she realized. Maybe she wasn’t any different, after all. The thought made her smile.
Chapter 19: A Holiday Surprise
Karen skipped lunch that day, and found a quiet place in a lounge area of the Student Union; her stomach churned as she settled onto an overstuffed chair, not far off a main lobby where a TV played CNN without sound, its words streaming along the top of the screen. She saw how the streaming letter cut off the foreheads of the TV reporters, idly watching it, but not comprehending the words. Her mind was on Mark Hamilton, running over and over the sweet times she had with him during the summer, wondering if they could ever again occur. Finally, she drew out her cell phone, held it in her left hand and punched out a text message:
“Mark. I miss you. Merry Christmas. Karen.”
She waited five whole minutes before hitting the “send” button, worrying over whether a girl dare be so forward. She didn’t expect an answer.
*****
She hardly concentrated on her classes that afternoon, eagerly awaiting the “ding” on the phone that she got a text message. There was none. Now that the play performances were completed, she had no rehearsals, but she had agreed to work at a yarn shop, located not far off campus, where Christmas buying had kept the place busy. Her friend Tracy had alerted her to the job, realizing how skillful Karen was with a needle.
Tracy pointed out the online ad which had announced the shop, “The Spinning Wheel,” was looking for a person with skill in knitting and crocheting for a temporary job during the Christmas season.
“You’re a natural for the job, Karen,” she had said.
At first the shop owner, a vigorous, fiftyish woman with short gray hair, was astonished when Karen applied.
“You’re so young, dear,” the woman said. “And you’re skillful with the craft?”
“Yes ma’am. Let me show you.”
The yarn shop owner obviously was impressed and took Karen on for a ten-day stint in the store, assisting with some training class and with clerking duties.
Even with the constant distractions of customers and work duties, her mind still wandered to her beloved Mark; she couldn’t have heard the cell phone “ding” over the din of the store, so she looked at her cell phone almost every two minutes, it seemed.
*****
Tired, exhausted and disappointed, she returned to her room at 8:30 from work, finding that Ramini was gone. She remembered her roommate had a get-together planned with her Indian friends that night. Karen remembered how tickled Ramini was when she related how she found three girls — also Indian students — who welcomed her in their company, even though they knew she was transgendered. There was, she knew, a built-in resentment toward transgendered girls in the Indian society, even though there were thousands in that nation and other Asian nations.
Karen took a long shower, enjoying the sweet scent of a soap that was advertised to soften her skin and make it “lovingly touchable.” Shamelessly, she viewed her slender, feminine body in the mirror, posing like a model as she did so. Her arms and shoulders, in particular, were so white and smooth, devoid of any definition that would have betrayed her masculine gender.
When she was finished drying her hair, she let it flow naturally down to her shoulders. She applied a slight bit of lotion to her face, but otherwise kept her face clear of cosmetics. Karen wandered nude into her room, finding a short pink lace nightgown that had thin straps over her shoulders and went down to mid-thigh. She stepped into it, her movements dainty and feminine, and pulled it up over herself. She donned a pair of white, satiny panties, pulling them up under the nightgown.
It was only then that she went to her computer to check her email. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, Mark responded to her own brash email. If he did, Karen wondered, would he be angry with her for her forwardness?
There it was, and email from her beloved Mark. Dare she open it?
Her heart pounded uncontrollably; she seemed to become breathless, and finally she clicked on it. It came up on screen, but Karen, frightened to see his words, closed her eyes.
Finally, she opened them and read:
“Dearest Karen: You have never been out of my thoughts. Weren’t our 6 wks at St. Albert’s so magical?
“I was awful and cruel to walk away from you that night, rather than tell my parents the truth about you. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I don’t know where our friendship will take us, but I hope we continue to be friends. I know you’re different, but you’re all girl to me. I have been researching all about TGs and TSs and all that. I understand, I think.
“I trust you are having a great time at the University, probably making lots of friends. Any boyfriends?
“I know you have been following our team. We’re really good and will get a bowl bid. Not sure where or when, but it means I may not be home for Christmas. We’ll need to practice, I know. You might be interested in knowing I have joined a community theater company in Ames. Seems I can’t get acting out of my blood, and I am hoping for a nice part in a play in spring when I won’t be so tied up to football.
“Let’s keep in touch. Mark.”
Karen smiled, realizing Mark still wanted to be friends. And then this line: “I don’t know where our friendship will take us.” What does that mean? It means he still cares for me, doesn’t it? Karen read and reread the letter several times over and then broke into tears. Oceans of tears. What else could a girl do?
*****
Karen never cared about sports, especially football. It was a crude, barbaric sport she thought, a belief she had reinforced during her Thanksgiving holiday when she sat down with her brother Sonny and watched parts of a few pro football games. It was the only way she could find time to be with her brother who was wrapped up in football and sports.
“They’re out to hurt each other, Sonny,” she exclaimed after viewing a particularly hard hit against a quarterback whose helmet flew off in the collision.
“Oh, sis, that’s the nature of the game,” Sonny said. “Besides they’re all getting millions of dollars to play.”
“But that’s gruesome.”
“Sis, you’re just a girl. You wouldn’t understand.”
That’s why Sonny found it weird a few weeks later, when Karen arrived home for the holidays, that his sister showed so much interest in the Iowa State Cyclones, particularly a player named Mark Hamilton.
“Why him, sis?” Sonny asked.
“I’m just interested, that’s all. Is he any good?”
“Mark Hamilton? Well, I’ve heard a little about him, and he’s supposed to be good, sis. He’s the reason why the Cyclones are going to a bowl game this year. Let me check him out a little more for you.”
Sonny began punching away on his laptop. After checking several screens, he looked up at Karen, his face weaving into a mischievous smile.
“I see he’s from Milwaukee and he’s a drama major,” Sonny began. “Wow, and his biography says he wants to go into acting after graduation. Unless, of course, he goes into the NFL.”
“Thanks, Sonny,” Karen said, her face hardly hiding a satisfied smile.
“Wait, Mark Hamilton? Isn’t that the name of the boy you met at camp last summer? I thought you were sweet on him then, which I thought was weird since you’re both boys.”
Karen blushed.
“It’s him,” Sonny said loudly. “You’re in love. I know it. My sister’s got a boyfriend.”
“Oh shut up, Sonny. I just wondered how he was doing that’s all. Thanks for checking for me.”
She turned to leave the room, but Sonny grabbed her arm. “Tell me, sis, how can you have a boyfriend? You’re still really a boy and you can’t have kids. I’ve been studying up on you and this trans stuff, sis.”
“Oh Sonny, you have to understand, dear,” she began, sitting down on a chair and pulling it up next to him. “I really have feelings like any girl would have. That’s all. We’ll take care of my anatomy later on, so I’ll be just like a real girl in just about every way, except babies. But I will be able to love a man.”
The two engaged in an earnest conversation about the subject for nearly 30 minutes, with Karen telling the boy the entire story, figuring that though he was now only 14, it was time he learned about life.
*****
The days leading up to Christmas were busy, tense and filled with anxiety. Karen, of course, took advantage of the fact that the Olympus needed waitresses due to the always heavy rush during the season, and she worked nearly every day from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m., or longer, depending upon the crowd. The tips were great, and she always put 20% of her tips aside to be eventually deposited in a special account she had set up to use for eventual sexual reassignment surgery, breast enhancement and perhaps some plastic surgery on her nose.
Then, there was the need to buy gifts for her mother, brother, Aunt Harriet and also her aunt and uncle, Gerianne and Frank, and a cousin, Ellen. Gerianne was Cecelia Hansson’s sister, and they had surprised Karen by being understanding and receptive to her transition into girlhood. Ellen, the cousin, was several years older than Karen, and was the epitome of the “girly girl,” seemingly always in dresses. She, too, welcomed Karen warmly during a brief Thanksgiving holiday.
Strangely, Karen’s social life had largely died. Angela had decided to spend most of the holidays skiing in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with Doreen and it appeared that Aaron would not renew their friendship.
“You oughta take some time off and have a little fun,” her mother said.
“Oh, mom, I’m enjoying my time at Olympus,” she said. “Besides, I’m making lots in tips. I’ll need the money.”
“Oh honey, I think I’ll be able to help you out in a couple of years when you go through all the operations,” Cecelia said. “Besides, with your scholarships and what you’ve earned, I’m not paying that much for your college, anyway.”
Karen smiled, pleased that she and her mother had been getting along so well. It’s like they were mother and daughter forever. And now, Sonny was calling her “sis.”
Actually, she was eager every night to get home so that she could sign onto the Internet and see if there were any messages from Mark. She was rarely disappointed; nearly every night, there was a chatty message from Mark, usually telling her how football practice was going. He made no overt expressions of love or promises of ever seeing her again.
Karen always responded with similarly chatty messages about her day. Hers were longer, going into much detail about gossip at work, her friendship with the senior waitress, Sharon, and her time with Aunt Harriet. She loved the old woman, and the two had spent a whole afternoon together shopping, having lunch and even stopping at the end of the day for a cocktail. She wrote:
“Aunt Harriet lied for me about my age and I had a cosmopolitan. It’s my first real drink of alcohol. Just think I was even a virgin at drinking. Guess I’m not a typical co-ed. LOL”
She wondered if Mark was bored with such details, but he seemed to want them. She always ended her messages with, “Your friend, Karen.” Every so often she wanted to sign off with “With deepest love, Karen,” but always resisted the urge. Yet, she felt she should: it was how she really felt.
*****
On Christmas Eve, the Olympus closed at 6 p.m., but it was nearly 7 p.m. before she was able to leave and rush home to get ready for the Hansson Christmas-sharing time, set to begin at 8 p.m. Aunt Harriet would join the three Hanssons, along with Aunt Gerianne, Uncle Frank and cousin Ellen.
Karen took a quick shower, protecting her hair with a shower cap, since time did not permit a shampoo. She tied her hair in a ponytail, powdered her face and applied a natural shade of lipstick, and grunted as she saw what she thought was a most ordinary face in the steamy bathroom mirror.
“It’s not like we’re having any company,” she mused, thinking that family — and the Hansson family always counted Aunt Harriet as family — wouldn’t care.
Since it was the family’s Christmas celebration, she wanted to wear something bright. She found a full skirt of cheerful greens and reds that ended below her knees. Despite general agreement from her friends and family that she should show her lovely legs, she loved the feel of full, long skirts. It just seemed more feminine.
She put on a white satin blouse with a collared neck and puffy long sleeves. Over the blouse, she wore a Christmassy vest of dark green materials embroidered with cherries, holly leaves and curlicues of gold thread. Since her mother maintained a cool house in winter, she felt she should wear stockings to cover her legs. She found a pair of white cotton knee socks, and sat down to pull them onto her smooth legs. Tired from more than eight hours on her feet at the restaurant, she decided to wear a pair of ballet-style flats. Karen looked at herself in the full-length mirror in her mother’s bedroom, and wondered if maybe she didn’t look too much like a middle-school girl. The fact that she had tiny breasts that were enhanced only minimally with stuffed A-cup bras would seem to confirm that image.
As she considered whether to change to something less school-girlish, she heard a rap on her door, and her brother’s voice, yelling: “Come on Karen, we’re all waiting. You girls are always so slow.”
It was enough to make her giggle, but she managed a “coming bro.’”
“Aren’t you the cutest thing!” exclaimed Aunt Harriet as Karen entered the living room where everyone had already gathered. Karen was about 15 minutes late, but her mother had explained that she had to work late.
“Oh cousin, you’re so darling,” gushed Ellen, running to hug her.
Sonny was sitting Indian-style before the family’s Christmas tree, a large double balsam that dominated the living room, fully decorated with what seemed thousands of tiny lights, strands of garlands and sparkling ornaments. Both Karen and her brother insisted, overriding their mother’s wishes, to continue having a traditional tree, even if it meant shopping in the ice cold winter at windy tree lots and hours of decorating.
“Gosh, sis, if you weren’t my sister, I’d ask you out for a date,” Sonny said.
“You’re too young for me, squirt,” she retorted playfully, even though her brother now had grown taller.
“Well, you look about 15,” Sonny said, laughing. “Just about right for me. But, wait, I’ll call my friend Winston over. He needs a date.”
She stuck her tongue out at her pesky brother, and everyone laughed.
Karen made the rounds, hugging everyone, and thanking them for coming. “Get yourself some egg nog,” her mother said. “Then join us Karen. We’ll begin opening gifts shortly.”
Everyone else had drinks, Karen noticed, and as she headed for the buffet table, the apartment doorbell buzzed.
“Now who could that be,” Cecelia Hansson muttered.
“And on Christmas eve,” Aunt Harriet echoed.
Karen, being closest to the door, said: “I’ll get it.”
She passed the small hallway mirror, glancing into it and scowling because she hadn’t taken more care with her makeup. She didn’t know there’d be other people showing up.
She almost fainted when she opened the door. As the cold air from the hallway pushed into the apartment, she looked at the figure standing before her, his strong handsome face smiling and his arms cradling a bouquet of white and red roses. She said nothing, astonished by the sight of the young man.
“Hi Karen,” the man’s voice said. “May I come in? It’s cold out here.”
Still saying nothing, too shocked to move, Karen moved back as if to beckon the person into the apartment’s small foyer.
“Who is it, Karen?” her mother said from the living room.
“Mother, mother, it’s Mark,” Karen squealed, her voice out of control with emotion.
She turned to hug Mark Hamilton, but he backed off. “Don’t crush the flowers,” he said. “And let me get my coat off.”
He found a bench where he laid the roses. He took off his coat, found room to deposit it and turned to hug her. It was a warm hug, and Karen immediately found comfort in his strong arms. She turned her face up and they kissed. It was a sweet, but too short, a moment and she led Mark into the living room, their arms around each other’s waist.
“Surprise!” The room resounded with cheers and laughter.
Karen was puzzled. She looked at Mark, questions forming in her mind.
Cecelia Hansson explained: “Mark called me a week ago and wondered whether you might like a visit from him on Christmas Eve. He wondered whether you still were interested in him.”
Mrs. Hansson paused, suppressing a giggle.
“Interested in you, I told him. That’s all she seems to care about, I told him. Well, he wasn’t sure he could get here, so he asked if he could come. I said yes, and invited him for tonight.”
“Oh mother,” Karen said. “Thank you, thank you. But why didn’t you tell me?”
“I told her not too, Karen,” Mark butted in. “First I wasn’t sure I could get here on time, since the coach is giving us only today and tomorrow off and I have to leave tomorrow night. And then I had to tell my parents everything about you, and feared they might make it difficult for me to get here tonight. But after I explained your situation, I guess they’re somewhat Ok about you. And I need their support, Karen. It’s a 90-mile drive and I needed dad’s car.”
“Mark, I love you,” she said, again turning to hug him.
As they hugged, she heard Sonny say, “God they’re mushy.”
“Yes, you two, it’s time to stop that and you should introduce Mark to the family, Karen,” her mother agreed.
It can be an embarrassing moment for a young woman to introduce her boyfriend to her family, both for herself and for the boyfriend. Both were fully aware that the family would examine the boy closely, looking for any pimples upon his looks, personality and demeanor.
Needless to say, Mark passed easily with the entire family; his good looks and strong masculine body was accompanied even more with a polished, friendly demeanor. While cousin Ellen gushed over him mercilessly (to Karen’s disgust, tinged perhaps with a bit of jealousy since Ellen, too, was a pretty girl), it was Aunt Harriet who came to the rescue:
“Come sit next to me and help an old woman’s heart come alive,” she said to Mark with a twinkle in her eye.
“You old flirt, Harriet,” Cecelia Hansson said, smiling.
“I’d be honored to join you, Miss Harriet,” Mark said, placing himself on the love seat next to the old lady. The young man’s action pleased the whole family, including Karen who loved both her Aunt Harriet and Mark. She wanted them to enjoy each other.
Karen squeezed onto the sofa between her mother and Sonny and the gift exchange began.
*****
“This is just like being at camp together,” Karen said as she nestled her nightie-clad body next to Mark, wearing only his boy briefs and a tee-shirt.
The two were cuddled together on Karen’s twin-bed, which easily provided room for a loving couple. There had been a brief debate about sleeping arrangements that night, with Sonny begin willing to sleep on a living room couch and giving up his bed to Mark. Cecelia Hansson thought that would be the best arrangement, but it was for Aunt Harriet to provide the answer that satisfied Karen and Mark.
“Posh, Cecelia,” Harriet said. “Both of these young people are 18 and they once were roommates. They got to know each other up in Camp.”
“But, Harriet, it’s just not proper for unmarried people to sleep together, and besides that’s just a twin bed,” her mother argued.
Mark interrupted the discussion: “Look, I don’t want to embarrass anyone. I’m sorry I’m putting any of you to an inconvenience. Maybe I’ll just drive home tonight. It’s not too late.”
“Mark, it’s 90 miles,” Karen said. “You won’t get home ‘til after 1 p.m.”
“I already said that Mark could sleep in Sonny’s room,” Cecelia said.
“Bullshit,” the old woman erupted. Harriet rarely spoke in such terms, but Karen knew she could cuss like a trooper when she had to. “Let them enjoy a night together, Cecelia.”
“It’s not like Karen’ll get pregnant, mom,” Sonny piped up.
Everyone laughed, and at midnight Karen and Mark found themselves together in bed.
“That was the happiest time in my life, Karen,” Mark said. “Those six weeks with you. Even when you were Kenny I felt a love for you.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, not a homosexual kind of love. You know. I have no desire to do what gay lovers do, honey. I just want to kiss and caress you. Someday, I hope, you’ll have a vagina and we can be complete lovers.”
“I want that, too, Mark. And I want you to be my first and only.”
“And I want you to be my first, too.”
Karen stiffened. Their legs were intertwined and she had felt Mark’s penis harden against her; her own tiny penis, too, was aroused.
“You’re a virgin?” she questioned.
Their faces were about three inches apart on the pillow, and they spoke in soft whispers. She saw his head nod affirmatively.
“I thought by now you would have slept with every Cyclone cheerleader, you handsome hunk,” she said, her eyes dancing mischievously.
“Oh Karen, you don’t know how hard being on a football team is; it seems we’re always in practice, or studying playbooks or working out. And then there’s the school work. There’s not much time for girls, especially when you have a girl like you waiting for you.”
She kissed him.
“I’m going to be a real girl before long, Mark,” she said. “I’m starting hormones next month, and will be hoping for my surgery within a year after I graduate. Mom is developing a fund for that, and I’m working lots. I make good money waitressing.”
“It can’t come too soon for me, Karen,” he said, smiling.
“But what about your family, Mark? I know how important they are to you.”
He hesitated, as if he didn’t want to answer.
“Well, first I need to tell you about me,” he said, finally.
“Ok.”
“It dawned on me that night of the play when we were kissing outside, that while I was kissing you as a boy would a girl that you were still a boy. Isn’t that strange? Of course, I knew you were a boy, but during the four or five weeks of play rehearsal as you began living as a girl, I don’t know, but I guess I just became comfortable thinking of you as Karen.
“Then in the garden, as we kissed, while our parents were inside, I realized that I couldn’t go through with it, since we were both boys. So I just walked away. That was so cruel I know, and I’m sorry.”
Karen watched as he confessed, her eyes filling with tears. She loved him so much.
“I couldn’t get you out of my mind, Karen. Every night, regardless how tired I was or how sore I was from all the hits I took as quarterback, I thought of you, my pretty, lovely, darling Karen. So I did research about transpeople like you, and then when you told me you were now living as Karen, I knew were could be together.”
“Mark, I love you,” Karen said, kissing him.
“Then, my parents and brother came to Ames for Homecoming weekend, and we visited together most of the weekend. On Sunday, we went to the Student Center and were having coffee while my brother was off playing video games and my father asked if I had any girl friends, even winking at me as if I should be sleeping with every girl on campus. He can be such a bore.
“Without thinking, I said I had one girl friend named Karen. And they asked if she was a student there, and I said, no, it’s Karen whom you met at camp this summer. And my mother said how nice that was. My dad, too. They both liked you and our two moms really hit it off, as did our brothers.”
“Oh, Mark,” she smiled.
He shifted his body, separating their two bodies, apparently to lessen the sexual stimulation.
“But then I told them there was one problem, and they asked what that was. And I said that Karen’s a boy. They were surprised and wouldn’t believe it at first. I quickly explained what I thought your situation was. My dad was, like, you know, no way, but mom kept asking questions. She was truly curious, so I gave her a bunch of information and links on the internet to look up stuff about transgendered woman. She’s good with the computer.
“And she studied up on it, too, and even dragged dad to the LGBT Center in town where they met a marvelous, older woman, a TG, who explained it even more. My dad’s still not happy about it and worries about what it’ll do to my football career. But mom’s in love with you.”
“Oh Mark,” Karen said, hugging him even more intensely now. Soon they were asleep in each other’s arms.
*****
“How sweet it is to wake up with you in my arms, Karen,” Mark said as the first light of dawn filtered into the room.
Karen had been awake for several moments before Mark opened his eyes, and she studied his face, relishing the slightly sour smell from his mouth and body and his rhythmical breathing as he slept. They had ejaculated before falling asleep, their cuddling too intense to resist, and the mixed odor of perfume and dried sperm created an oddly erotic scent.
Mark glanced at the glowing clock; it was just before 7 a.m.
“I have to get up since I have to leave by 9 a.m.,” Mark said. He explained that he had to get home by 11 a.m. on Christmas morning for the Hamilton family’s gift-giving time, and faced a nearly two-hour drive back. He could only spend a few hours with his family that day before having to fly back to Ames to prepare for the bowl game six days away.
“Let’s spend a few more minutes together, my darling,” Karen said. “Then, let me take quick shower before you shower and I’ll make us breakfast.”
“That’s sweet. Just like an old married couple.”
“Just like an old married couple, dear Mark,” she repeated, kissing him.
At that moment, Karen was the happiest girl in the world.
THE END
Author’s Note: In a few months it is the author’s intention to complete and publish another novel chronicling the life of Karen Hansson. Stay tuned.