Becoming Karen - The Novel
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Becoming Karen - Book 1: 'To Be or Not To Be'
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Chapter 1 — Just One of the Girls
The summer camp catalogue identified the course as “Number 40: Dramatizing Shakespeare,” and described it as a seminar for advanced English students. The entire seminar would be devoted to staging a Shakespearean play, from beginning casting and scripting to a final performance at the end of the six-week camp period, the catalogue said.
Kenny Hansson ran his long slender fingers down the page of the catalogue, resting on the listing and realized the course was tailor-made for him as a great way to spend his time at the St. Albert’s College Summer Theater Camp. “I can’t imagine there’s much homework in this course,” he told his roommate Mark Hamilton.
“Yeah, you don’t want a course with lots of work during the camp,” Mark agreed. He was a husky lad who became Kenny’s roommate by the luck of the draw; they had nothing in common, since Kenny had rather refined tastes running from ballet to clothes designing while Mark fashioned himself as a “macho” hero performing Chuck Norris type roles.
St. Albert’s once was an all-girls academy but became co-educational in the 1960s. Girls still outnumbered boys by a 2 to 1 margin on the campus, and that was true of the summer camp as well. But the camp had gained a significantly high reputation in theater circles, having a number of successful actors and stage managers running through its summer camp program for high school students. Mark prided himself on his physical strength, quite in contrast to Kenny, whose slender body almost could be described as dainty.
Yet, the two students seemed to mesh. “It must be a case of opposites attracting each other,” Kenny said one night after the two had been together for a week. They rarely did anything together, but seemed congenial whenever they were together in the room.
“I bench-pressed 350 pounds today,” Mark announced one day in late June.
“350 pounds, my god. I don’t think I could do 50,” Kenny said laughing.
“So what, Kenny. You’re going to be an English teacher or an actor. You don’t need to have muscles.”
Since Kenny hated sports and most physical activity, he took Mark’s comment without comment. His roommate was correct in his observation.
The campus was located atop the bluffs overlooking the cool, blue waters of Lake Michigan in the community of Havenwood, and its greatest strength was in the beauty of its campus with its tree-lined walks, broad green lawns and colonial style buildings of red brick and white trim. Much of the campus was located along the shores of a river that led into the lake; for about a mile the bluffs along the lake had eroded to leave an area of sandy dunes that had been turned into a popular swimming area within a pocket county park. Scholastically, it had gained renown in English Education and Business Management, while its drama program was beginning to blossom, due to the school’s placement about halfway between Chicago and Milwaukee — both cities loaded with professional and amateur theater groups.
Sessions for “Dramatizing Shakespeare” began on Monday a day after the campers arrived. It was mid-June, and the grounds were a lush green, still in their fresh emergence from spring. Kenny found sights and scents of the flowers that decorated the grounds exhilarating as he walked into Hodgson Hall, a century old building that housed the English and Drama Departments.
Kenny was a little early and was the third student to enter the seminar room. He nodded to Sally Winston, a wisp of a girl whom he had known from camp in a previous summer at St. Albert’s, and to Mary Lindstrom, who came to the college as a junior and who Kenny barely knew. Within three minutes, all 12 chairs in the seminar room were filled, and Kenny noted that there were only three other boys, including his roommate Mark. There was a buzz as the students chatted among themselves as they awaited the teacher.
Kenny sat next to Sally, one of the few girls he had befriended during his early time at St. Albert’s. They shared some gossip about several of the other girls that the two of them had been hanging around with, giggling a bit. Kenny hadn’t dated any of the girls, but found himself often in their company during the camp, joining them for coffee or tea occasionally at the Full Cup — a coffee house that catered to students. At other times, he often found himself among the same group of girls, usually as the only male in the group, but he seemed to fit in perfectly.
“Where are you going to college?” Sally asked. Like Kenny, she too had graduated high school that year, and both were approaching their 18th Birthday.
“Me?” he said. “Guess I’ll just go to a area tech school for my first two years, maybe transfer to college after that.”
“Oh, that should work, I guess,” she said, unenthusiastically.
“My grades were at the top, actually, but I have to work, too,” he said. “Mom’s pretty stretched now on money.”
“That’s right, Kenny,” she said, apologetically. “I forgot your mom’s a widow.”
“And she’s got to care for Sonny, my little brother, too,” he said.
“Where you going?”
“It looks like Minnesota,” she said.
“Cool.”
“Wish you could join me,” she said, her smile an openly flirtatious one.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Professor Stanton McIver, who whisked into the room, in a dramatic fashion, his long scarf flowing in the breeze that followed his light footsteps. The professor was a hit at the camp, having been a Broadway actor, where as a young man he starred in “Tea and Sympathy.”
“Hello, my thespians,” he thundered in his affected voice.
“This is going to be an exciting camp, I can tell,” he began. “But only if you all do your part. Now let’s introduce ourselves.”
Kenny watched closely as each student rose from his or her seat to tell their name, any credits they had in the theater. He listened particularly closely as one boy introduced him, a slender boy with a smooth, almost girlish face. The boy’s long brown hair was curled, as if he’d had a permanent, and he wore a shirt with vertical ruffles. Kenny had been fascinated whenever he’d seen this boy on campus, the boy’s mannerisms seeming very feminine, and wondered who the boy was.
Even as he arose, his movements took on a dainty quality and he flicked strands of his hair from his face with a light flick of his hand.
“I’m James Bailey, and this is my first year here,” he began, his voice sounding in a high register. “I’ve acted in both high school and community theater in the Pittsburgh area, and I’ve done some backstage work, too, particularly in costuming.”
Kenny watched as the boy sat down, crossing his legs, just as he’d notice the girls do. As if on cue, Kenny flicked his long brown hair from his face, using almost the same dainty movement as the other boy. Kenny realized, too, that his own legs were crossed in the same fashion. As Kenny watched the other boy, a feeling of embarrassment flooded his mind, as he wondered: Did he, too, look as openly girlish as this lovely boy from Pittsburgh?
*****
He awakened from a deep sleep to the muffled grunts of his roommate doing his morning pushups, hearing the count moving . . . “73, 74, 75” in a steady rhythm, continuing on.
“Oh hi, Mark,” Kenny said in a sleep-thickened voice. “What time is it?”
“79, 80 . . . ah . . . er . . . about 6:15 . . . 82, 83 . . . I tried not to wake you . . . 86, 87 . . . sorry, mate.”
“That’s OK, I gotta get up anyway,” Kenny said, laying his head back down for a last minute of rest before getting up.
When Kenny’s eyes cleared of his sleep, he watched his friend who was shirtless continuing his routine to hit “100,” intrigued by the rippling muscles of the boy’s back, the burgeoning biceps. He saw the tendons of his glistening back — moist with perspiration — move almost in an easy cadence, a body so firm and sweet to watch. Kenny suddenly felt a longing to run a hand along Mark’s firm, hard back and it was soon followed by a strange sensation: he wanted to be held by the strong other boy, to be hugged and protected.
His thoughts began racing, and just as quickly as this desire to be in the other boy’s arms came, it was replaced by a sobering thought: I am not interested in a boy for reasons of sex, which were abhorrent to his whole upbringing.
Mark had won the attention of many of the girls in the summer school. Moving into a conversation of a half dozen girls at the Full Cup, the campus coffee shop, he heard the new girl in the class, Mary Lindstrom, a solidly built tall girl with flowing blonde hair, exclaim: “Have you seen that Mark Hamilton? What a hunk!”
“He’s the only real man in this class this summer,” said one of the other girls.
“Why is it so many guys in this program are fags?” said another. Kenny recognized her as Carla Benson, a talkative girl who seemed to be ready to offer opinions on just about anything. She was a tall girl with a milky complexion and short-cropped blonde hair, reminding Kenny a bit of Meg Ryan, the actress.
“I don’t think they’re gay, they’re just not real men,” Mary responded. As she finished the statement, she noticed Kenny had appeared at their table and obviously had heard much of the conversation. She grew red in the face.
“Oh hi, Kenny, sit down,” she said, adding quickly, “We were just talking about whether it’ll be warm enough for us to swim at the beach Saturday.”
Kenny, who had also blushed in overhearing the girls’ talking, found an empty chair, putting his cup of scented tea down in front of him. Hoping not to offend the girls, he said coolly, “No I don’t think so, Mary. Lake Michigan doesn’t get warm enough to swim in until mid-July at least.”
“Would you join us girls if we went to the beach Saturday, Kenny?” said Carla, who had made the “fag” comment.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Well we can at least sunbathe on the beach,” Carla offered. “Let’s plan on it, girls. And Kenny you’re welcome, too. It’s not too far to walk.”
As he watched Mark complete his pushups, followed by some mean stretches, Kenny reflected to that coffee shop conversation: Why are the boys in theater apparently gay, “fags,” as Carla said? Aren’t they real men?
He continued to be awed by the flowing muscles of Mark’s back and his thick firm legs, wondering about his own slender, soft, smooth body, so totally void of such outward appearances of strength and muscle. He had always been inept in sports and in gym classes in his high school, just barely getting by; yet, he had been told many times by his sister and mother that he was a “handsome boy” that some girl some day would find appealing. Such a girl and time had yet to come; his times with girls seemed to be merely as “friends,” with only two highly unsatisfactory “dates” through his years in high school. Why couldn’t he have been as strong and masculine as Mark and so many other boys in school? Oh, how he hated disrobing and changing clothes for gym class, showering in the nude and exposing his puny frame to these other stronger boys. No wonder he was not good “date” material.
“OK if I shower first?” Mark asked. “We can go to breakfast at 7. OK?”
“Sure, Mark,” he said, smiling at his roommate. Kenny truly liked this muscular boy who was so unlike him. He feared his attraction to Mark was more than mere admiration for the boy’s remarkable body; he felt a desire to touch the boy and feel the motion of his tendons beneath his smooth skin. How would he feel being engulfed in the arms of the strong boy and to feel his own soft sweet body being caressed by the other’s large firm hands? He had never felt this way about another boy.
*****
Saturday class sessions ended at 11 a.m., giving the camp-goers a free afternoon. With nothing better to do for the day, Kenny agreed to go with the girls to the beach. Mark would be gone for the rest of the day, having been collected by his father for a drive to Milwaukee to attend a Milwaukee Brewers baseball game.
It was an unusually warm day for late June in Wisconsin. Missing were the usual cool breezes from the lake that kept St. Albert’s cool in the summer and a bit warmer than inland areas in the winter. Instead a gentle breeze came from the west, growing hot while moving across the warm fields of grain, much of the harvest going to feed the herds of cows that dotted the countryside. The sun was blistering. Kenny wore a pair of swimming trunks which reached nearly to his knees and a long sleeve shirt.
“Why the long sleeves, Kenny?” inquired Carla as Kenny joined the four girls.
“Need to protect against the sun,” he said. It was only a partial truth, since the main reason was he hoped not to take off his shirt to expose his sorry-looking body. And the long-sleeved shirt just gave him more comfort from the watchful eyes of the girls.
As the reached the beach, they could see it was already filling up, with a mixture of families with children, teenagers and a few couples of young adults. They laid down three blankets, lying down in a row, the four girls and Kenny, taking up the end spot, next to Carla.
“Can you help me put this suntan lotion on, Kenny?” Carla asked, just before settling down on the blanket.
The boy nodded and Carla give him the bottle of lotion, took off the pink terrycloth beach jacket she was wearing, and plopped face down on the blanket exposing her already tanned back. Kenny squirted a generous supply of lotion into one of his palms and turned to apply it on the girl before him. He was astonished by how firm and hard her back was, feeling the strength of her back as he massaged the lotion onto her skin, rubbing it around her shoulders and down her arms, also muscular.
“Do my legs, too, would you Kenny?” Carla said.
He found her thighs also sinuous as well as her calf; her fair skin was already well-tanned, and she finally glistened with the applied lotion in the bright sun.
“Thanks, honey,” Carla said when he finished, turning over and sitting up. “Now let me do you, Kenny. Take off that shirt. I can tell you must be a white as an Eskimo in winter.”
“Aww, you don’t have to,” Kenny protested.
“Come on you need some sun, doesn’t he girls?” she said, now addressing the others.
They all cheered in with an agreement and before the boy could respond Carla reached over, grabbed the bottom of the shirt and lifted it up, forcing the boy to raise his hands so that she could remove the shirt. Kenny grew red in embarrassment, so ashamed to be baring his puny body to the girls and a whole beach full of spectators.
Kenny quickly folded his arms over his chest, as if he was a girl covering her breasts; in his case, he felt he was merely covering his body from the prying eyes of others.
“Now lay down on your tummy, Kenny,” Carla ordered. And, obediently, he did as commanded.
Her hands were strong and kneaded the lotion onto his skin and he had the sensation that he was so fragile and weak under the strength of her hands. She massaged the backs of his thighs, her fingers caressing his soft flesh, so different from the sinews of her strong legs.
“Kenny has the prettiest legs,” he heard Mary Lindstrom’s voice exclaim as Carla applied the lotion.
“I wish I had his legs,” Carla said, adding in a voice aimed at Kenny, “You got legs like a girl, Kenny; they could win a beauty contest.”
The boy took the remark as a compliment. It had not been said with any malice, he thought, but with true admiration. It was not the first time he had been told he had pretty legs, or legs like a girl, but more often it had been said in derision. But, he was a boy, not a girl, and he should be more like a boy and play sports and be rough and tumble and his legs should be rippling in muscle, as his roommate’s legs were. Strangely, Kenny smiled at Carla’s comments and he began blushing. He blushed so easily. Wasn’t that evidence of his femininity?
Kenny looked over at his companions; all the girls had turned and were lying on their stomachs, soaking in the warm afternoon sun, made more brilliant by the reflection of sun rays off the sparkling blue waters of Lake Michigan. He turned over as well, letting the sub bake on his back, hoping he’d not fall asleep and end up getting badly burnt by the sun.
The girls were all quiet, just content to let the sun come down, their backs occasionally cooled by a waft of soft wind from the lake. No one talked and Kenny was about to doze off when he felt his body cool suddenly, realizing that someone was standing over him, casting a shadow across his back.
“Hey girls, you all sleeping?” said the voice.
Startled by the voice, Kenny raised his head to look, realizing the voice was that of Jimmie Bailey, the slender boy that was in the Shakespeare class.
“Oh it’s you Kenny,” Bailey said. “I just thought . . . oh, never mind.”
“Hi Jimmie, the girls invited me to join them on the beach. It’s too cold to swim, but it’s great for sun-bathing.”
“Can I join you? I saw the girls from the class here and thought I’d join them. I didn’t know you were with them.”
Kenny realized then that he, laying prone next to four girls on the beach and with his long hair and slender body that he must have looked just like another of the girls. The thought gave him a strange, almost comfortable feeling.
“Hi Jimmie,” said Carla, who was aroused by the talking and looked up. Soon the other three, too, were aroused and looked up
“Let’s scrunch up together girls, so we can make room for Jimmie,” Carla said.
The five of them, Kenny and the four girls, moved more closely together, freeing up a narrow space at the end, next to Kenny, for the newcomer.
Kenny watched Jimmie closely, his rather dainty style of walk shown as his sandaled feet gingerly stepped across the hot sand to join them on the blankets. His longish hair and slenderness, too, portrayed a lovely body, Kenny felt. The four girls and Kenny moved closer together, their bodies so close that he could sense the heat emanating from Carla’s tanned, muscled torso. Soon he was joined by Jimmie, whose legs touched his own as he settled into space.
The six youthful bodies, all face down on the blankets, produced symmetry of white flesh, legs and backs exposed to the bright June sun. One would assume there were six girls soaking up the sun at a cursory glance, judging from the contour of the bodies. Of course, two of those girlish forms were really two boys, Kenny and Jimmie.
The symmetry was broken soon as Carla turned over, and sat up, announcing to the group, “I need you all to tell me: who has the prettiest legs here. It’s not me, that much I know.”
“No you don’t,” agreed Mary Benson, the tallish Meg Ryan-looking girl. “Nor do I, my legs are too knobby.”
Kenny, recalling the earlier conversation about the supposed beauty of his own legs, continued to lay face down on the blanket, hoping the conversation would die. He looked over at Jimmie, who looked back at him, also still lying face down, and said quietly: “Ignore them, Jimmie.”
But it was impossible to ignore Carla and Mary, both talking louder and louder, and soon being joined by the other two girls.
“That’s easy,” Mary Benson said. “Jimmie’s got the prettiest legs.”
“No, it’s Kenny,” Carla insisted.
The debate continued with all four girls, sometimes talking at once, joining in, and finally taking a vote.
“It’s a tie,” Carla announced. “Two and two. Well one thing is certain these two girls, Jimmie and Kenny have the prettiest legs. None of us girls can match ‘em.”
Kenny and Jimmie continued to lay on their stomachs, looking at each other. Kenny grew red with humiliation and noticed Jimmie smiling back at him. “You like this?” he asked Jimmie in a whisper.
“Why not? What’s wrong with having pretty legs?”
“Well, we’re guys.”
Suddenly, Kenny felt a pair of hands gently touching his ankles and begin a slow, steady march up his calves and onto the soft inner part of his lower thighs. It was a strangely exciting feeling.
“What’s going on?” he said, turning over and sitting up, casting the hands of Mary aside.
The girl was taken aback, responding to Kenny defensively, “I didn’t think you’d mind, Kenny. Your legs feel so smooth and soft. I just had to touch them.”
“You can feel mine,” Jimmie said, having also turned over and sat up.
Kenny looked at the other boy. Was he out of his mind?
Mary, however, backed off, apparently realizing this display on a public beach could be a problem, since there occasionally sheriff’s deputies patrolling the area.
“That’s enough, I guess I shouldn’t have started this,” Carla said. “Let’s go put our feet in the water and see how cold it is.”
“Go ahead without me,” Jimmie said. “I think I’ll just sit here.”
“Me too,” Kenny said.
“Come on, you two sissies, afraid of a little cold water?” chided Carla.
“No, but you go,” Kenny said.
The two boys sat watching the girls proceed to the water, gently putting a toe in and quickly removing the foot, exclaiming with laughter how cold it was. Eventually they all ventured into the water to about ankle depth, and all along the lakeshore others were doing the same thing, the cold, frigid water the only respite from the burning sun. Swimming in the Great Lakes, particularly on the western shores, was always problematic since the waters didn’t even reach the high sixties in temperatures until August, except on rare occasions when winds from the East propelled warmer surface waters toward the shore.
“I think we do have prettiest legs,” Jimmie said.
“You bragging about that?”
“Why not? I love to see mine in hose and heels,” the boy said matter-of-factly.
“You what?” Kenny said.
“Don’t you ever put on your mom’s or sister’s stuff, Kenny?”
“Me? Never.”
“You should, Kenny, you’d look so cute as a girl.”
Kenny looked at his companion, realizing the boy moved so much like a girl, expressing himself with hand motions and using voice inflections that exaggerated various vowels.
“Haven’t you ever put on girl’s stuff, Kenny?” the boy asked.
“Well, no.”
“Really? Not even once.”
“Ah, once, I guess,” Kenny said. “At Halloween. My cousin had me wear a communion dress for a party.”
“Cool, how did you look?”
“Pretty good I guess. Everyone thought I really was a girl. I was only 12 then. I never did it again.”
“You should, ‘cause I think you’d make a pretty girl, even more than me, since you’re softer looking.”
“Why would I do that?”
Jimmie smiled and reach over and took Kenny’s hand, “Because I think you really want to do it.”
“No I don’t,” Kenny insisted.
“Well, I won’t argue, but I think you do.”
“Not.”
The girls were beginning to return to the blankets and the conversation ended. Kenny’s head was reeling as he wondered. Was Jimmie correct? Why wouldn’t he want to wear a dress and look pretty and be like a girl? Why not, indeed?
*****
The girls were giggling among themselves and several of them appeared to have impish grins on their faces as they approached the two boys, who quickly silenced their own conversation.
They all gathered around Kenny and Jimmie, squatting or sitting Indian-style encircling the boys.
“We think you two should join our girls’ club,” Mary announced.
“What girls’ club?” Kenny said.
“The club we just formed, calling ourselves the Bard’s Girls,” Carla added, giggling. “It’ll be a special club only for girls and with all special privileges.”
“Like what?” Jimmie asked.
“That’s a secret,” Mary said and the girls all laughed.
“Get off this,” Kenny said.
“No really, you two would easily be sweet girls, we can see that, Kenny,” Carla said.
“All we gotta do to start is give you girl’s names,” Mary said.
“Forget it,” Kenny said. “I think I’ll go back to the campus.”
“No you won’t,” Carla said, placing a firm hand on his leg, to hold him from rising.
“Come on, Carla, this is silly. We’re boys.”
“Not that I can see, Kenny. You’re both so pretty.”
“But . . .”
Jimmie reached over and grabbed Kenny’s shoulders. “Let’s have some fun, Kenny. Let’s see what they plan. Let’s stick it out.”
Kenny looked at the boy, whose eyes seemed to express a strong desire to stay.
“Ok, but I think this is nuts.”
“I can be called Jamie,” Jimmie announced, encouraging the situation to move forward.
“What shall we call the other girl?” Mary said. “Kenny can’t be a girl’s name.”
“Hmmm, what would you like, Kenny?” Carla asked him.
“You choose.”
“How about Kerry,” suggested one of the girls.
Kenny made a face at the suggestion and Carla seemed to agree, saying, “Let’s think of another . . .oh, how about Karen?”
“Yeah, Karen’s kinda cute,” said Jimmie, turning to Kenny and saying, “How do you like Karen?”
“That’s Ok, I guess,” he replied.
“Then Karen and Jamie it is,” announced Carla to the group. “We will hold an initiation for all the Bards Girls Sunday night in my room. All of us here today will take the oath of membership then.”
“What’ll we wear for the ceremony, Carla?” asked Mary.
“We’ll all have to wear dresses, as close to pink in color as we can,” Carla said, beginning to giggle.
“Will light purple do?” one of the other girls asked. “It’s all I’ve got.”
“Fine as long as it’s close to pink,” Carla ruled, acting like a dictator. No one disagreed.
“But we won’t have to wear dresses, Carla, since we don’t have any,” Kenny said.
“Yes you will, and Mary and I will make sure you two are properly attired.”
“No way,” Kenny protested.
“You have to, Karen. Otherwise you can’t be a Bards Girl and we’ll exclude you from our privileges.”
“Come on Karen,” Jimmie said. “This is all in fun. Let’s see how pretty we can be.”
“What’s with you, Jimmie?” Kenny argued.
“Awww, let’s do it, Karen,” the other boy said, still using Kenny’s new girl’s name. “Let’s have some fun with this.”
Reluctantly, Kenny nodded his approval, and the girls soon all clapped, yelling out loud, “We’re the Bard’s Girls,” attracting the attention of others on the beach, who likely wondered about what all the fuss was. As he worried about what he was getting himself roped into doing, Kenny felt a sensation growing within that signified great anticipation over how cute and pretty he would truly be dressed for the first time in his life as a girl.
'To Be Or Not to Be' -- Part 2
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Chapter 2 — The Charade
“Haven’t you ever wanted to put on a dress or a skirt, Kenny?” Jimmie said later that afternoon when the group returned to the dorm. The two boys had stopped in Jimmie’s room, with the girls splitting off to plan how and when they’d dressed the boys up.
“No why would I?”
“Never even thought about it? You must have, Kenny. Admit it. You almost look like a girl now.”
Kenny blushed. The fact was he thought about often, almost every night as he lay in bed trying to fall asleep. He always passed it off as an absurd idea; he was a boy and boys just didn’t wear girl’s stuff. It probably was a sin, maybe even a mortal sin in the eyes of the Church. He was raised in a strict Catholic family, with the fear that an all-knowing God would not approve and condemn him to some fiery hell. Even to have such a thought was dangerous.
“I bet you dressed at least once, Kenny,” Jimmie pressed on.
“Well, I guess. Once. I put on mom’s skirt one day just see how I looked,” he finally confessed.
“How did you look?”
“I took it off right away,” Kenny said quickly.
“I bet you looked hot. You got great legs.”
Kenny smiled.
“See,” Jimmie said. “This’ll be fun.”
Kenny looked at the slender boy next to him. He felt certain that the other boy would look really nice as a girl; Jimmie had the same delicate features as he did, though might have had a more bony and hard appearance. Kenny often noticed how soft his body looked, occasionally even picturing himself as a teenage girl.
“Have you ever dressed, Jimmie?”
“Oh yes, all the time, or whenever I can,” the boy admitted without hesitation.
Kenny was surprised, not so much that the other boy had dressed often as a girl, but that he admitted it so readily and with such directness. He could never see that he would ever admit to putting on girl’s clothes. Now that he was agreeing to try it out for an adventurous scheme, he wished intensely that his action would remain discreet.
*****
The two boys ventured over to Mary Lindstrom’s room after their evening dinner in the college cafeteria, where they were to be outfitted by the Bard’s girls and apparently to be accepted as one of them.
“We made bets on whether you two had the guts to show up,” commented Sally Winston, who was a tiny, petite, dark-haired girl with a swarthy complexion and a perpetual pout that somehow made her attractive.
“And I lost,” Emily Wald said. She was about Kenny’s height and slender, small-boned and quite pretty.
“Sally’s about your size, Jimmie, or should I say, Jamie,” Carla said. “So she brought over some of her things.”
“I’m about the same size as Karen,” announced Emily. “I got something here I think you’ll just adore, Karen.”
As Emily began referring to him as Karen, Kenny began to wonder if all this was such a good idea. The girls seemed to have too much fun in this game of “dress-up,” and it could only lead to terrible humiliation, he felt.
“I don’t know about doing this, now,” he protested. “I think I’ll go.”
He turned to leave the room, but Emily grabbed his arm, holding him firmly. Her grip was strong and Kenny felt pain in his arm, as it twisted a bit in his desire to wrest free. He realized he was not strong enough to break her grasp, and he collapsed onto one of the beds, defeated by this slender girl.
“Come on, Karen,” Emily said. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“Oh you didn’t,” he replied gamely. “I just am not sure I wanna go through this. It could be . . . ah . . . well, sort of embarrassing.”
Carla came over, sat down next to him, grabbing one of his hands, holding it gently in one hand and reaching over to lightly brush his long hair with her other hand. It was a friendly, warm action and Kenny looked up at her, finally offering a weak smile.
“That’s better, honey,” she said, leaning over and planting a sisterly kiss on his lips.
“Look what I brought over for you, Karen,” Emily said, holding up what appeared to be a summer dress in white gauzy material and blue trim and highlights.
“She’ll be so pretty in that, dress, Emily,” Mary said.
“Oh, and, Karen, that dress will go perfect with your sweet complexion and blue eyes,” Mary said.
Kenny looked at the dress before him; it was a great choice and suddenly he felt eager to put it on and parade in front of a mirror to see how he’d look. In his dreams, he had often pictured himself as a dainty lovely young lady, and now it was about to happen — at least for one night.
Sally, who had gathered some outfits for Jimmie, took him down to her room to change, while Kenny stayed with the other three girls, using Carla’s bathroom to change out of his boy’s clothes and into a pair of peach-colored satin panties. He was embarrassed to walk into the room with the three girls wearing only the panties, leaving his soft, smooth hairless body exposed.
“She has such a nice body,” Mary said upon seeing Kenny. “I should be so lucky.”
“Me too, I’m such a cow in comparison,” Carla answered.
“I borrowed one of Sally’s bras, since she’s a bit smaller than me around the chest, so that should fit you well, Karen,” Emily said.
She held up a simple, white bra with padding, inside of which had been pinned some wads of cloth to create breasts.
“Why Karen, you already have some cute little breasts,” commented Mary, reaching over to touch the one of the small mounds of flesh that had formed on his chest. Where some boys had developed strong chests, his looked more like that of a 12-year-old girl, just developing into being a young lady.
Kenny blushed, his embarrassment growing.
The bra hooked in place, the girls now lowered the dress on over his head, pulling it down and fastening narrow straps over his shoulders, leaving them and his arms exposed. The dress ended at about mid-thigh; it had a straight bodice, leaving his shoulders and upper body totally exposed. Several layers of ruffles, all trimmed in blue, fell down from his modest breasts, giving way to a white belt that gathered at the waist, with the dress flowing in pleats to accentuate the hips.
“Let me see how I look,” he asked, realizing he was now showing strong eagerness to view himself as a girl.
“Not yet, Karen,” Carla said. “We need to fix your hair.”
After much brushing, the strategic placement of some barrettes and the development of bangs, they were done. Emily produced also a pair of white pumps with short heels.
“Won’t I wear stockings?” he asked.
“No, it’s summertime, girls don’t usually wear stockings in summer,” Emily said.
They applied some lipstick and gloss, a bit of mascara and some eyeliner, but kept the application modest. “You don’t wanna look like a whore,” Emily said.
When they were done, the three girls applauded. “She’s a real beauty,” said Mary.
“But she looks 12 years old,” commented Carla.
“No she doesn’t,” argued Mary.
“Let me see,” Kenny begged.
They finally did let him look in the mirror. He stood shocked at the sight that greeted him from the mirror surface. Suddenly he remembered a phrase his grandma often used when seeing a pretty girl, “She’s cute as a button.” He had to admit the girl in the mirror certainly was “cute as a button.”
*****
“Who’s the prettiest of these two?” Mary asked the other girls once Jimmie returned. He wore a yellow, sleeveless print sundress with pastel greens and blue flowers. The dress hung straight and ended just at the top of his thighs, exposing shapely legs. He wore flats on his feet and shuffled along like a teen girl, using tiny, quick steps.
“Jamie’s just the tiniest thing, isn’t she?” Carla said.
The boy giggled and in a coy movement brought his hand up to his mouth in mock shock.
“But I think Karen makes a more striking girl of the two,” Emily said, obviously defending her handiwork in feminizing Kenny.
Kenny blushed, still not used to the attention he was getting now that he was a girl. Jimmie, it was obvious, loved the attention, probably because he had been acted outwardly so girlishly most of his life.
“She’s so cute when she blushes,” Carla said referring to Kenny. “I just don’t know which is the prettier; they’re both very lovely girls.”
“Let’s walk around the campus, maybe stop at the Full Cup, and see if anyone guesses who these girls are,” Mary said.
“Yeah, the Full Cup should be busy tonight, like most Saturday nights,” Carla said. “We can just say Jamie and Karen are visiting for the weekend if anyone asks.”
Kenny shook his head and said loudly, “No.”
“No, what?” Carla said.
“I’m not going out like this,” he said. “Somebody’s bound to notice.”
“Notice what? That you’re a boy? No way, Karen,” it was Carla responding.
“You’re more girly than I am,” Mary said. “And you, too, Jamie.”
“Yes, Karen, let’s do it,” Jimmie said. “Why not? It’ll be fun.”
*****
There was still plenty of daylight left, since it was the summer solstice and the sunset was just after 9 p.m. The six girls walked around the St. Albert’s campus, giggling, sometimes skipping and generally acting up. They deliberately walked toward the sports complex, where a summer basketball camp was in full session; hundreds of teen boys lounged around the steps to the sports dormitory, and sent catcalls and whistles toward the girls as they walked by.
Kenny blushed when he heard some boy yell out, “I want the blondie. She’s hot.” Since he had the blondest hair of the group, he was obviously the target of the remark.
“Look at the tiny one,” said another, referring without question to Jimmie.
“See you two girls really bring out the horny boys,” Mary said.
“We should be jealous, none of them talk about us real girls,” Carla said.
“Ah they’re still high school boys,” Sally said with a giggle. “What do they know about older women?”
The six girls, of course, all beginning their first or second year of college, were only a year or two older than the boys.
The Full Cup — a known student hangout and coffee shop — was nearly full, but just as the six Bard’s Girls entered a table near the entrance open up, and Carla quickly claimed it, commandeering an extra chair from an adjoining table. Their entrance attracted lots of looks, mainly from the boys in the room; there was a general rumble of conversation in the room, somewhat drowning out the folksinger whose voice and guitar riffs was coming through the shop’s sound system.
Kenny wanted to crawl under a table, but realized he and the other five were being examined by several sets of young male eyes; he wasn’t used to such scrutiny, since he usually tried to melt into the background, always afraid to attract attention for what he felt was a sorry, looking body. Carla and Mary — still quite attractive in spite of their tall and husky size — always drew attention, but now it seemed the two newest girls — Karen and Jamie — were being sized up.
Could anyone tell the two were boys underneath their feminine appearance, Kenny worried? The girls all said no one would give it a thought, that both were so clearly feminine. Kenny wasn’t sure.
Carla and Kenny went up first to place their order, leaving the others to hold the table; they’d order when the two returned. They stood in line awaiting the barista so they could place their order, when Kenny saw the front door open and felt a shudder as he saw that his roommate, Mark, had entered with another boy, a tallish boy, obviously from the basketball camp.
Kenny shuffled himself so that he could use Carla to shield himself from the eyes of Mark.
“What’s going on Karen?” Carla asked, wondering about his strange behavior.
“Mark just came in,” he whispered.
“So what,” she said.
“God he’s my roomie, he’ll know me. Oh this is awful.”
“He’ll never figure it out, Karen,” she said. “Don’t worry about it, and it’s time to order. The barista wants your order.”
Kenny wasn’t so sure Mark wouldn’t figure out the truth, but, faced with the barista waiting for his order, he went ahead and ordered a skinny vanilla latté, which he felt was really the kind of drink a pretty girl would order.
“Oh my God,” Kenny mumbled to Carla as they returned to the table with drinks. “Mark’s at the next table, next to where we’re sitting.”
“Trust me, he’ll never know, Karen,” she reassured him. “Be your sweet girly self, dear. Remember you’re my cousin from Milwaukee, just visiting for the weekend.”
“Hi Carla,” Mark said, as the two sat down. It turned out that Kenny, as Karen, found himself sitting almost butt-to-butt with Mark in the crowded coffee shop.
Carla leaned over in front of Kenny to reply.
“Hey Mark, who’s your friend?”
“Oh that’s my little brother, Jeremy,” the boy said with a smile, since the “little brother” towered over Mark by about six inches. “He’s still in high school and he’s here for the basketball camp. Dad just dropped us off from the Brewers game in Milwaukee today.”
Kenny tried to ignore the conversation going on in front of his face, but Mark then added, ‘Who’s this pretty girl with you?”
“That’s my cousin, Karen,” she said, smiling. “She’s just visiting for the weekend.”
“Nice meeting, you Karen,” Mark said smiling.
Kenny merely smiled back, saying nothing, afraid his voice — even though it had definite feminine characteristics — might give him away to his roommate.
“And who’s the other new girl with you?” Mark asked.
‘Oh that’s Jamie, a friend of Karen’s who came along.”
“Hi Jamie,” Mark said.
Jamie responded with an outlandish, overly feminine wave, exclaiming , “Hi there, honey, aren’t you a darling?”
Kenny wanted to slap his friend for such overtly demonstrative replies, but he realized Jamie loved being flamboyant and sometimes “over the top.” Yet, such demonstrations might draw attention and possibly expose the charade, since Mark is in the same class as both of them.
*****
Mark, however, seemed more attentive to Karen than to the more colorful Jamie, moving his chair and positioning it so that their legs almost touched. So determined to be as totally feminine as possible, Kenny sat with his hands in his lap, reaching up only to take his latté to take short sips. He looked down at his hands seeking to ignore Mark’s obvious interest in him, studying his own hands realizing how slender and smooth they were and how narrow and dainty his wrists were.
“Hope you’re enjoying you visit this weekend?” Mark questioned, aiming directly at Kenny.
“Yes, Carla’s been very nice to me,” Kenny replied, his voice soft and tentative. He did not look at Mark, but kept his head down.
“You in college there in Milwaukee?” he pressed.
“Home for the summer,” Kenny mumbled, keeping his answer curt, hoping the boy would leave.
“You in college?”
“Madison,” Kenny said, which was true. He was to start his freshman year at the University of Wisconsin’s main campus in fall.
“What you studying?”
“Boys and beer.”
“Oh,” Mark said triumphantly. “She has a sense of humor, too.”
Kenny turned to Carla, who sat silently during this exchange, pleading in a whisper. “Tell him to go away.”
“No, deal with it, girl,” she said softly, quickly adding out loud in a voice aimed at Mark. “Oh, Mark, she’s in pre-Arabic studies, but I think she’s got boys studying her.”
“Wow,” Mark said. “A brainy one and so pretty, too. Bet she’s got plenty of boys after her.”
Kenny scowled, wanting to kick Carla under the table. Arabic studies! He had trouble keeping track of who were the Sunnis and who were the Shiites.
“Come on, Karen, lighten up and talk to me,” Mark continued.
Kenny found it difficult not to smile at how hard Mark was trying to hit on him; he wondered what would happen should the boy tumble onto the fact that the lovely girl next to him was his own roommate. The results might not be so funny, a thought that sobered Kenny, realizing how close he might be to disaster.
“Thank you,” Kenny finally said. “You seem nice, but I got a boy friend.” It was a lie, of course, but somehow he had to get rid of Mark before he understood the truth.
Mark didn’t answer at first, looked more closely at Kenny, who could feel his gaze. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” the boy asked. “There’s something familiar about you.”
Kenny merely shook his head “no.”
“I must have. I’m sure I have. You waitress or something in Madison. I get there for Badger games.”
“No, we’ve never met,” Kenny said.
“I think we have. I’ll remember it soon, I’m sure.”
It was Mark’s younger brother who came to the rescue. “Come on, Mark, can’t you see she’s not interested?”
“I think she is, Jeremy. Look at her, I think she’s going to smile. Really.” Mark was adamant.
“Come on, let’s get out of here, Mark,” the younger boy repeated.
Mark found a pen in his pocket, grabbed a cocktail napkin, scribbled something on it and handed the napkin to Carla. “If she changes her mind, either you or she can call me,” he instructed Carla. “I’d love to talk with her some more.”
Carla nodded, and the two boys got up and readied themselves to leave. Before going, he tapped Kenny on the shoulder, saying, “Stay as pretty as you are, dear. Bye.”
Kenny let out a sigh of relief as the two left the Full Cup. All eyes were on Kenny as they walked out, and Kenny realized he was blushing profusively.
“Did you see that?” Mary Lindstrom asked. “He only had eyes for Karen.”
“And he dismissed all the real girls,” Carla added. “What does that say for us?”
“It’s our own fault,” Sally said. “We made these two so pretty.”
“No, Sally,” Emily said. “Those two were pretty to start with. I think Karen is more of a girl than most of us.”
Kenny grew flushed as they talked, still holding his head down, eyeing his hands at rest on his barren thighs, envisioning himself now as a complete young woman, soft, comely and so enticing for eager boys.
*****
Kenny tried to avoid returning to his room as long as possible that night, hoping Mark might be sound asleep if he stayed out late enough. Then, he wouldn’t have to confront the boy who had admired him so effusively as he masqueraded as Karen. He hung around with Carla as long as he could, changing back into his boy clothes.
“Have I got rid of all the makeup on my face?” he asked Carla.
“I think so,” she replied, “But I think you’re face looks smoother than before, and you can’t help seeing how we trimmed your brows a bit.”
He more closely in the mirror, wondering if his face still exposed its feminine traits, creamy skin and overall generally lovely complexion. He smiled, realizing he truly had a beautiful face; and his hair, which the girls had set a bit with conditioner, still held it curls, adding to the impression. He had showered, too, hoping to remove the scent of the sweet smelling soaps and lotions, as well as the light shot of perfume that the girls had put on him. Despite all his efforts, he thought he could still smell a whiff of the flowery scent from his body, but he hoped it was so faint no one else would notice.
“You should pass now to be acceptable on the boy’s floor,” Carla said, laughing.
“But will Mark notice anything?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. You were so totally convincing, Karen.”
“You better not slip and call me that around anyone else now,” he said. “I went along with your play-acting just for fun, but enough’s enough.”
“Awww, you loved it,” she said.
He blushed. Must he always blush so quickly?
*****
It was after 10 o’clock when Kenny returned to his room, far too early for his roommate to be sleeping, but Kenny couldn’t delay the return any longer. To his relief, the room was dark when he opened the door and his roomie was gone. He went quickly to the bathroom, examining himself again to assure that he had removed all traces of Karen. Satisfied, he returned to the room, put on a CD featuring legendary jazz pianist Oscar Peterson and lay down on his back on his bed, his hands folded behind his head.
His mind drifted into his role as Karen earlier in the day, reflecting how comfortable he felt with the other girls, how in effect both he and Jamie had become one of them, giggling alternately with some serious moments of reflections on the dreams that young ladies might have. He had to admit he felt so content in the role as Karen, and when Mark and his brother met them at the Full Cup, he had felt so fearful, yet excited and pleased that he attracted so much praise for his beauty and femininity.
“Am I not really a girl?” he asked himself. A silent question, to be sure, but it reverberated in his head like the rap of a forge hammer.
His reverie was interrupted as Mark entered the room, exclaiming: “Hey Kenny, how’s it hanging?”
“Hi Mark, you see a good ball game today?” he asked, more to make conversation than to care about the answer. He never did understand the fascination most guys seemed to feel about following the Brewers or any other baseball team.
“Oh, they won, Gallardo pitched a three-hitter, and Braun hit a homer,” Mark said. “It was exciting.”
“Good,” Kenny replied. “Do you want me to turn off the CD?”
“Oh I’m getting use to that jazz stuff. You can keep it on, and I kinda like this guy on the piano.”
“You mean Oscar Peterson? He’s the best.”
“Never heard of him, but then I bet you never heard of Fielder either.”
“Oh I heard the name, but don’t know anything about him,” Kenny admitted.
“Seems we both got lots to learn,” Mark said, removing his shirt, exposing his muscled body.
Mark left the room, obviously going to the bathroom, and Kenny’s thoughts turned to relive his day as Karen. It had gone smoothly, and no one obviously suspected his charade. His mind raced to Mark and how the boy had hit upon him as the most fetching and attractive girl at the table. Soon, his daydreaming had him nestled in the arms of a naked boy named Mark, his soft body wrapped in the hard, sinewy body of this gentle, sweet boy. Oh yes, Mark was so sweet and gentle, in spite of his obvious physical strength. How marvelous it would be to be kissing this boy, to feel his hot breath upon his neck and his hands caressing his smooth skin!
“Oh I met this really hot girl, too,” Mark said as he entered the room.
The boy wore only a pair of boxer briefs, and Kenny looked at him, marveling at his exquisite male frame.
“Oh?” Kenny responded simply, hoping his roommate wouldn’t notice how flushed his face had become.
“She was kinda shy, but so pretty,” he went on. “She’s a cousin of Carla’s, from Milwaukee. But she wouldn’t give me her number, but I told Carla to work on her, and maybe she’d relent someday. And I live in Milwaukee and maybe I could see her sometime.”
“Oh, what’s her name?”
“Kind of an ordinary name. Karen.”
“Oh that’s a pretty name,” Kenny replied. “Maybe a bit out of fashion now.”
“Doesn’t matter what her name is. She was so hot.”
“You must be in love.”
Mark laughed. “Well, it’s too early for that. For all I know she’s going to be a nun, but my brother Jeremy had to drag me out of the Full Cup.”
“Maybe she’ll show up again sometime.”
Mark sat down at his desk, pulling out a copy of the script for Hamlet and began to study it a bit. He had been planning to audition for the lead part and had trouble memorizing some of the longer soliloquies. Kenny pulled out his copy of the same script, ostensibly to read for the part of Laertes, but his mind wandered, reliving the moments — as he had done a few minutes earlier — of Mark’s unsuccessful flirtation with Karen.
“What’s that smell, Kenny?” Mark said suddenly.
“What smell?”
“Like perfume.”
Mark got up from his chair and wandered over toward Kenny. He sniffed the air.
“It’s stronger here,” he said. “Is that you? Are you wearing perfume, or what?”
“Me?” Kenny said, feigning innocence.
“Well, it’s not me. And, you know what. It smells like the same scent that girl had on.”
“Something’s wrong with your nose, Mark,” Kenny said.
“No, I know what I smell,” he said, bending down over Kenny, looking closely into Kenny’s face, his eyes then following down to Kenny’s legs, which lay naked, since he also wore boxer briefs.
Kenny looked at his roommate’s face, now showing great puzzlement, afraid of what the boy might be thinking and that if he suspected the truth he wondered what Mark might do to him.
“You’re that girl,” Mark said suddenly. “You’re Karen.”
“No I’m not,” Kenny said, turning onto his side, his back to Mark.
“You don’t fool me,” Mark said, and with his hand gripping Kenny’s shoulder pulled him into a sitting position. “Oh my God yes, look at your legs, just like Karen’s. And your eyes, I’ve never seen a girl with such sparkling eyes and yours are just like hers. You’re Karen, I know it.”
“No,” Kenny said, suddenly beginning to cry, his sobs growing and his body shaking, as he was not sure as to what lies ahead.
Soon Mark sat on the bed and put his arm around Kenny, firmly but gently drawing the sobbing boy next to him, patting his shoulder with affection. Kenny’s sobs for a few minutes seemed to rise with intensity, but soon subsided as he settled into the firm hold of the other boy.
Mark then did an unexpected move, taking Kenny’s head, gently raising it and kissing Kenny’s lips. It was a brief kiss, but so tender that Kenny melted back into the other’s arms, finding comfort in the loving embrace of the other boy.
“Oh Mark, you don’t think I’m a pervie or something like that?”
“No, dear, I know it sounds weird, but I’m so happy Karen is real.”
“But she’s not real, Mark. She was just an afternoon lark, cooked up by Carla and the other girls. One of the girls there was Jimmie, you know. They talked us into joining their club, called the ‘Bard’s Girls’ and we just kinda went along with the gag.”
“Oh the noisy one,” Mark said, with a laugh.
“Yes, her. I mean him.”
“Let me ask you something,” Mark began. “Do you want to be a girl? Are you like transgendered?”
“I don’t think so,” Kenny said, thinking. “This was the first time I ever dressed so fully. The girls insisted Jimmie and I dress up for them. When I was little, I did wear my sister’s stuff sometimes, but just around the house. Nothing serious.”
Mark released Kenny from his hold and stood up.
“Well, I like you as Kenny, my roommie, but I have to admit I think I liked Karen more. I’d like to see more of her.”
“Mark, are you sure? We’re not gay, are we?” Kenny said.
“No dear, when you were Karen, I was looking at you as only a girl,” he said. “And now, I still feel you’re like a girl. So how can we be gay?”
Kenny nodded. He had nothing against gays and didn’t think he liked boys, but every so often he dreamed he was a girl and it then he felt the need to be hugged and kissed by a boy like Mark. As Karen, he realized his dreams likely would be answered.
'To Be Or Not to Be' -- Part 3
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Chapter 3 — The Play’s the Thing
“Now my would-be thespians,” Stanton McIver said in his overly accented voice, “It’s time to start choosing our parts for ‘Hamlet.’”
The 15 class members looked at one another. It was the first day of the third week of the class, and they knew this day would be coming when they’d be chosen to play certain roles in the production. Some of them had already set their eyes upon certain parts.
Secretly, Kenny wondered if he’d not be a perfect choice for Hamlet, since he always considered Hamlet to be a rather confused and indecisive person; he toyed with the idea that he’d play him as a bit effeminate. In McIver’s sometimes over-the-top flaming mannerisms, he figured the professor might even agree with Kenny’s assessment of Hamlet. Then again, might not even the more flamboyant Jimmie not fulfill the role even more fittingly?
Suddenly, Kenny had a crazy thought: why not play Ophelia? Didn’t everyone say he made a perfect-looking girl? Even his voice carried feminine characteristics, and with a little coaching, he was sure he’d make a believable young lady. He almost laughed out loud as the thought entered his mind. How ridiculous!
“First of all,” McIver began, “We’ll not worry about gender in this play, since we’ve got 15 actors and only three of you are male. As we all know, in Shakespeare’s time, there were no women actors, with men taking the stage in the female parts. Many of you young ladies will be playing male roles, and I can see some of the young men in here might easily play female roles. What is critical now is who will do the best in each role.”
He paused and seemed to look directly at Kenny. He then continued:
“Now I have passed out several small pieces of paper to each of you, and I want you to write on the blue piece the part you think you would be best able to play. Don’t be shy. If you think you could be a good Hamlet, write it down. Also, put your name on the paper so I know who you are. All I do is to ask you to be realistic in what you think your capabilities are.”
He paused again.
“Then on the yellow piece of paper, write down the name of the persons in this class who you think might make the best Hamlet and the best Ophelia. Again, don’t worry about the sexes.”
“Can we confer among ourselves?” Mary Lindstrom asked.
“No way,” McIver replied. “I want you to do it privately and honestly. Give me your real feelings now. This is not a popularity contest, girls and boys. You’ve got ten minutes, and no talking among you. And you should not sign the yellow slip, since I want you to make your choices anonymously so you can be honest and fair. Understand?”
“May I ask another question?” asked Carla.
“Of course.”
“Why are you concerned only with Hamlet and Ophelia?” she asked. “Ophelia really doesn’t have as big a part as . . . ah . . . ah . . . say, Gertrude, Hamlet’s mother.”
“Very good question, Carla,” the professor began. “Because, dear actors, we’re not going to attempt to do the entire play. It’s far too long, and since we are inviting many high school students to see it, we want to give the story a twist that should interest them. That means we’ll concentrate on the broken love affair of Hamlet and Ophelia.”
“That’s cool,” Carla said.
“And also students, I’ll be narrating a story line for the audience as we go along. We want to show the audience just how exciting a Shakespeare play can be.”
“I suppose the boys from the basketball camp will be there?” Carla asked.
“Oh yes,” McIver said, with a smile. “That means we’ll need a particularly fetching girl play Ophelia.”
Kenny looked over at Mark, surprised to see his roommate had developed an impish grin; Mark nodded at Kenny and smiled a bit broadly, causing Kenny to wonder what was on the boy’s mind at the moment.
Finally, Kenny wrote on the blue paper, “Hamlet,” adding his name as the part he thought he could play.
On the yellow sheet, he wrote “Hamlet to be played by Mark” and “Ophelia to be played by Jimmie.”
He folded both sheets, and looked again at Mark, who again grinned conspiratorially back at him. Kenny still couldn’t figure out what was on Mark’s mind.
Professor McIver collected the sheets of paper from the students and he announced that he’d look at the papers, consider the recommendations of all the students and then make his own conclusions as to who would play what part. “I’ll look at the slips over the lunch hour and announced his decisions at the start of the afternoon session,” he said. The rest of the morning was spent with each student taking a turn at reading the famed “To Be or Not to Be” speech, with each presentation followed by an analysis of the performance.
*****
Wisconsin’s fields, trees and foliage turn a lush green in June, fueled by the cool spring rains of the climate, and this year was no exception. Stepping out from the school building at the lunch break, Kenny couldn’t help but be swept into the sparkle of the bright blue sky, the glimpses of the lake through the trees and the unexpected warmth of the day.
Mark joined him in the walk to the cafeteria for lunch.
“I just love this time of the year,” Kenny said. “It’s so incredibly pretty here.”
“You love beautiful things, don’t you?” Mark said, placing a hand on Kenny’s bare forearm as they walked.
“I guess,” Kenny replied, suddenly feeling a tinge of excitement as he felt the other’s hand, so light and gentle on his skin.
“It’s only natural for you, Karen,” Mark said softly, using his girl’s name. “You’re such a beautiful thing yourself.”
“Quiet, Mark. Don’t use that name here. Somebody’ll hear you.”
“Well, it’s true. I thought you were so pretty the other day so I suggested you could be Ophelia.”
“You what? Oh no, Mark. You’re teasing me now.”
“Why not? Men played the female parts in Shakespeare’s time and you’re just so pretty. You’d be perfect for the part.”
“I don’t know, Mark,” Kenny said, realizing that everything Mark said was true. Besides, hadn’t he secretly thought about playing the role, too?
“And I think Carla and Mary suggested you, too.”
“Oh my God,” Kenny said, his thoughts racing, picturing himself as a copy of the fragile beauty of Jean Simmons in the 1948 movie version of Hamlet. He saw himself wearing the diaphanous white frock that Simmons wore when she drowned near the play’s climax. He had seen the film dozens of time and had several times envisioned himself as Ophelia, a fact he never told anyone about.
“You’ll be perfect for the part, Karen,” Mark said, whispering the name this time.
Kenny blushed and then smiled at his companion, wanting badly to reach over and smother him with kisses. He didn’t do it, of course, since they were in the middle of campus with throngs of students wandering about. The thought warmed his heart and made this magnificent June day even more heavenly beautiful.
*****
At the cafeteria table, Mark and Kenny were joined by Mary and Carla and the four talked openly about how the parts should be cast. There was no question that Mark, as the only openly masculine boy in the class, should be Hamlet, although Carla wondered whether such a “hunk” could adequately portray the sometimes diffident and indecisive Hamlet.
“I think Mark can portray that weakness of character,” Mary said. “In fact, he’s perfect since Hamlet was renowned as a warrior. So you need a masculine guy, who can also be reflective and melancholy. It’ll take a good acting job to pull it off, and I think Mark can.”
“Yes, yes,” Carla added, enthusiastically.
Carla said she’d like to be Gertrude, Hamlet’s mother. “I wanna be sinister,” Carla said.
“That’ll be easy for you,” Mary said with a laugh.
Carla gave her friend a sharp, but playful jab in the arm.
Mary said she’d like to play Polonius, the pompous, old courtier who played a major role. They all agreed she’d do fine in the part.
“How about Kenny?” asked Mark.
“Oh that’s easy,” Carla said. “Ophelia.”
“Yes,” echoed Mary.
“I knew Karen would be perfect for the part when we first dressed her up for the beach,” Carla said.
“I couldn’t,” Kenny protested, though his protest seemed weak.
Kenny felt tense as the afternoon class session opened, half wishing he’d get a male part so that he’d be spared the attention of playing a female part.
“Let’s not keep you all waiting about my choices for the parts,” Professor McIver said. “First of all let me say this. You are all excellent actors and just because you may not be chosen for a certain part does not mean I value your skill any the less. Some of you will be disappointed and you’ll have to learn to live with that disappointment. Remember, it comes with the profession. You’ll have more disappointments than triumphs, but believe me the triumphs and the joy of participating in a successful performance in whatever part so makes up for the disappointments.
“Finally, I want you to know that I will not — that is no, n-o-t — tolerate anyone coming to me to say that they want a certain part. The only discussion I’ll have about this is any of you feel you are incapable of handling the part. Then I might consider changing your role, but you have to have a sound reason that will convince me to change my mind. Understood?”
The students replied almost in unison with a “yes.”
Kenny’s stomach began to growl and he felt light-headed, worried that he’d be named Ophelia and might face ridicule for the part. Alternately, he knew he desperately wanted the part. Why was life so confusing?
*****
“Let’s take care of the Hamlet part first,” Professor McIver said. “I don’t think there’s much debate about this assignment. All of you — except one person — said the part should be played by Mark. So Mark, you’ve got the part, and I know you can do it justice.”
The class applauded the selection, and Jimmie, sitting next to Kenny, whispered: “I wonder why no one named you or me.” He giggled in an exaggerated girlish manner. Kenny smiled and looked over to Mark, feeling the urge to run over and throw his arms around the boy.
The professor continued down, listing his choices for the parts. Mary was to play Polonius; Carla to play Gertrude, the mother of Hamlet, and Jimmie would be Laertes. Kenny’s name was yet to be called, and there was no mention of who’d play Ophelia.
“What’s he got in mind for you, I wonder?” Jimmie said to Kenny in a hushed voice.
Kenny’s stomach was in knots, as he waited for what he knew was coming; hadn’t everyone said he’d be a natural for the part?
“Now for other key role in this play, that of Ophelia,” Professor McIver began. “Again, all of you, except one, named this person to play the part.”
Kenny waited, holding his breath, for him to continue, but realized the professor was looking directly at him, as were the others in the classroom.
“In the traditions of the ancient theatre,” McIver began in a stentorian voice, “You all chose Kenny to be Ophelia, and I must say you all noticed something in our fair Kenny that told you he’ll make a lovely and beautiful Ophelia. And I agree. Kenny, you’ll be the doomed damsel in our little play.”
There was enthusiastic applause; Mark rose from his seat and several others followed with Jimmie rising and leaning over to give Kenny a flamboyant kiss on his cheek. Kenny sat, growing red-faced and finally stood offering a pronounced curtsey that brought even more applause. It was obvious he was a popular choice.
“So we’re going to be lovers,” Mark said to Kenny as the class ended and they walked back to their room.
“Sort of weird, isn’t it?” Kenny responded.
“Not to me, and I hope not really to you.”
Kenny was taken aback by this comment, which sounded like this masculine friend was looking forward to a relationship as lovers. Could he mean that Mark longed for such an affair, even though he, Kenny, was a boy, although a quite girlish boy?
“I find myself so attracted to you, Karen,” Mark said. The pair had stopped along the pathway which wound through a small wooded area. “You’re really so pretty and I’ve been dreaming about this for sometime.”
The boy took Kenny’s hands, engulfing Kenny’s slender soft hands into his large strong grip, and he drew Kenny forward, kissing him on the lips, and holding the kiss there. Kenny felt his penis grow hard, and he let himself fall into the other’s arms.
“Oops, someone’s coming,” Mark said, quickly releasing Kenny. The two continued to the room.
*****
Professor McIver told the actors that since time was short they’d have to begin to “act” their roles even outside of class or rehearsals.
“That means you ladies who have male parts will have to observe and pickup the mannerisms of men, and that’s something you must try to do 24/7,” he said the next day. “And Kenny, you should consider acting girlishly continually and I might even advise beginning to wear more female clothes so that you get comfortable with dresses and skirts.”
As the students had been told many times by the professor, actors had to become consumed into the roles they were playing, even if it meant affecting their daily lives. Kenny had looked up McIver’s background on the internet and learned he had been at the famed Actor’s Studio and was taught in the method acting style.
Carla, who was sitting next to him in class, leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry, Karen, I think we can outfit you and make you a pretty Ophelia.”
Kenny grew noticeably red in the face, feeling embarrassed at the attention he was getting, apparently due to his obvious natural femininity. Did everyone think he was some kind of weirdo or sissified boy? As he thought about it, the idea grew on him more and more and he began to realize that the female life was so natural for him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mark, sitting two rows away, seemed to signal to him, and Kenny took a quick glance. Did Mark just wink at him, he wondered? Yes, that’s what he did, accompanied by an impish smile.
At the lunch break, Mark and Kenny found a picnic table just outside the cafeteria; the college had set up an outdoor dining area that was used on pleasant days. The two boys carried their trays out, hurrying to claim the table before others; Mark quickly placed his tray on the table, and looked to Kenny.
“Here, let me help you,” he said softly, taking Kenny’s tray and placing it next his so that they’d sit next to each other.
To Kenny’s surprise, the other boy took his hand and helped him step over the bench in order to sit down, and Kenny realized Mark was treating him as he’d treat a girl friend.
“What are you doing?” Kenny asked, worried that others might be seeing this action and mark them as a homosexual couple.
“Just being a gentleman,” Mark replied.
“But, everyone’ll be looking . . . “
“Of course, but how else is a man to treat his woman? Remember, we’re lovers in a play.”
Kenny accepted the other’s gentle support and daintily stepped over the bench seat and found his place. Mark moved in right next to him, and soon the other places on the picnic table were occupied by others from the class, including all four girls who had accompanied Kenny to the beach on the previous Saturday.
“We’re all going to help you dress,” Carla announced as they settled into their lunches. “Both Emily and Sally will bring outfits to my room for you to wear and we’ll see that we can outfit you.”
“When do you want to do that?” Kenny asked.
“Right after class, so she can be dressed as Karen for dinner time,” Carla said.
“Boy I’d like to be there,” Mark said, “And see my love get even prettier.”
“No way,” Mary said sharply. “Only after we’re done can you see her.”
“Yeah, think of it like a wedding when the groom can’t see the bride until she walks down the aisle,” Sally chimed in.
“Oh I can’t wait,” Emily said. “I got just the outfit for her. She’ll look so stunning.”
Kenny was unused to getting such attention and wasn’t sure he enjoyed it.
“This is turning into a class project,” he said.
They all laughed, and Kenny felt a hand gently touch and caress his inner thigh, realizing that Mark was already feeling that he was sitting next to a pretty girl. Kenny wondered whether he should brush the other’s hand away, but suddenly felt warm and excited by the massaging fingers. He welcomed the touch. Wasn’t that the way a girl should feel?
*****
The four girls almost came to blows as they discussed what outfit would make Kenny the prettiest of girls.
Sally wanted Kenny to wear a yellow summer mini-dress with spaghetti straps that showed a lot of skin. She held it up against Kenny and announced: “Look how stunning it will be for her.”
“Oh my God no,” protested Emily. “That’s too . . .ah . . . provocative. It’s almost sinful, Sally.”
“Oh pooh,” Sally said. “You’re such a prude. You must realize that Karen has such lovely legs and they’re worth showing off.”
“They’ll also show her panties,” Sally argued.
“We got time. Let her try it on and we’ll see what we think,” Carla suggested.
Kenny listened as they argued, but found the idea of wearing such a revealing dress so exciting; most boys who would wear such a dress would just look ridiculous, he thought, but he knew how dainty and feminine his own body was. Maybe he should show it off.
“Don’t I have a say in all this?” he finally asked, as they continued to argue. “Let me try it on.”
He retreated to the bathroom, where he took off all of his clothes and put on a strap with a sanitary napkin to capture his penis, followed by a crá¨me-colored layered panty. Totally nude, except for the panty, he emerged from the bathroom.
“Such a lovely body,” Emily said.
“I’d kill for that body,” Carla said, whose own physique was larger and wider than Kenny’s.
“She has a cute butt, too, and even little girl breasts,” Sally said.
“Awww, come on,” Kenny protested. “Let’s get on with it.”
They fitted him with a bra that matched his panties, filling it was breast forms brought by Sally, herself a girl with tiny, almost adolescent breasts. “These’ll give you a nice b-cup size, Karen, which is big enough for a petite girl like you,” she said.
He blushed, realizing that all four of the girls were calling him Karen and referring to “her” and “she.” It was as if he ceased to be a boy in their presence. He had been so ashamed to take off his shirt in public — and particularly in gym locker rooms — because of his unmuscular frame, but for some reason he felt totally comfortable in being nearly nude in front of a bunch of girls. It was as if he fitted in as being one of them. He liked the idea.
The yellow dress fit him perfectly, and they all were excited at how he looked.
“Isn’t she luscious?” Carla said.
“Yeah, she’ll have every boy on campus lusting after her,” Sally said.
“Maybe it’s too hot for her,” Emily said. “Won’t that make her look sluttish?”
“What do you think, Karen?” Carla asked.
Examining himself in the mirror, he felt his own penis hardening within its restricted pouch. The girl Karen was indeed hot and seductive in the dress.
“I love it, but maybe it reveals too much,” he said. “But let’s call Mark over and see what he thinks. He can’t wait to see me.”
“Really? That’s so sweet,” Carla said. “I’ll call his cell.”
*****
“You’re a true princess, Karen,” Mark said, standing back and looking at the lovely girl in front of him.
Kenny, by now feeling totally feminine in the light, flowing dress, turned this way and that, flailing his skinny, soft arms with his skirt rising up his thighs in a most provocative manner. He flicked his hair gently and touched the sparkling clip-on earrings that dangled.
The four girls, by now proud of their creation, applauded, followed by some giggles.
Mark crossed the room and quickly captured Kenny in his arms, and drew the lovely girl firmly but gently close, placing a soft, lovely kiss on his lips. Kenny felt weak and grew limp in the strong boy’s arms, welcoming his caresses on his smooth skin.
“That’s enough now, Mark,” Carla warned. “You don’t want to ruin her lipstick or dress.”
“Isn’t she a dream?” Mark said, released Kenny from his grasp. “I need to show you off, Karen. All the guys’ll be so jealous of me.”
Kenny smiled at the prospect of being paraded before a bunch of testosterone-motivated boys; he truly felt he was now the epitome of girlhood. There was a lingering fear that someone might detect a bit of the old Kenny within the appearance of loveliness that he felt he presented and he’d get outed. Yet, being with Mark, easily one of the most athletic boys in the summer camp, he felt safe.
“No, you’ll not show her off, Mark,” Mary interrupted. “She’s our for tonight. We created her and we need to show her off.”
“Aww, come on!” Mark said. “She needs a escort. Let me be her escort tonight.”
“You mean come along with all us girls?” Carla asked.
“If it has to be, yes,” Mark said.
Quickly turning toward Kenny, he said: “Karen, dear, would you join me tonight. I’d like to take you out to that Summer Festival on the Lakefront and show you off.”
Kenny was troubled now. He owed so much to the four girls who had accepted him and created him into a lovely young girl, and making him so suitable to play Ophelia, that he didn’t want to disappoint them; yet, he yearned to walk into the festival arm-in-arm with a strong young man like Mark.
“Oh no you won’t, Mark,” Carla said. “We dressed her up because we’re going to have a girls’ night out. She’s coming with us.”
“But, wouldn’t she rather be with me?”
“Maybe, Mark, but you’ll have your time with her,” Carla said. “We dressed her, and we’re all going to Pizza Alley but it’s girl’s only.”
“She should change into something less sexy, I think,” Mark said.
“Crap, Mark,” it was Sally talking now. “We’re all dressed about the same. What makes her different?”
“Well, she’ll get hit on.”
“We’ll protect her,” Carla said.
“Why can’t I join you?” Mark pleaded.
Carla looked at her girl friends, finally agreeing. “Ok, come along, Mark. It’ll be fun.”
Karen shrugged, realizing her evening was planned for her.
(To Be Continued)
'To Be Or Not to Be' -- Part 4
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Chapter 4 — Karen Comes Alive
Karen put on flats for the evening, but stayed in the same dress after considerable debate over whether it was too fancy for the Festival; they all agreed that she looked stunning in the dress, and it would be a shame to change. To ward off the evening chill that usually came in from the cool waters of the lake, Sally found a light blue sweater with bunnies embroidered on the front that Karen carried on her arm.
To provide a cover story, it was decided that she would be Karen Dawson, a cousin of Sally’s from Chicago. Mark’s story would be that he became enamored at first sight with Karen when she appeared on the campus to meet Sally for a visit. Thus, it was that the six of them, five girls (including Karen) and Mark, decided to go to the Festival.
As they entered, Mark took Karen’s hand, and soon the two were separated by a few feet from the four girls. There were three band stages at the Festival, one that featured older style cover bands, another that headed into heavy metal and funk, and a final smaller one that booked a mixture of jazz, blues and folk groups.
“We’re going to hear Third Dimension,” Mary announced, referring to a covers band.
“Where you going?” Carla boomed, speaking loud over the crowd noise. “I don’t know where you two love birds will find love songs.”
Karen blushed, but she hadn’t realized how easily she had taken to being escorted by Mark, to feel her hand so tiny and soft, it seemed, in the firm but gentle grasp of the handsome boy at her side. The two hadn’t spoken of it, but they seemed to melt together as if one. Karen could be sure when Mark took her hand, it had been so natural a movement.
“I guess we’ll stay with you guys,” Mark announced, suddenly stopping and turning to Karen, with a questioning look in his eyes. “That’s if it’s OK with you honey?”
The six settled onto the boards that constituted the seats set up for the Festival, near the back of the huge gathering, but still seated close enough to hear the music from the stage.
“What d’ya want, honey?” Mark whispered gently into her ear.
“Just something diet, Mark,” Karen said, giving the boy a shy, sweet smile.
Mark stood up, addressing the others, announcing that he was going for drinks and asking if any of the others wanted anything. They all stated their preferences.
“You can’t carry them all, Mark,” Mary said. “Let me go along and help you.”
“Oh I can go with him,” Karen said.
“No, honey, you sit and relax here. Mary can help me,” he replied.
Mark leaned over and gave Karen a brief, but affectionate kiss on her cheek.
Karen shivered slightly with the touch of his lips, and a wave of excitement rushed throughout her body. The kiss was brief, but loaded with meaning. Could a girl ever feel happier?
Karen’s reaction must have shown; she knew she must have grown red in the face and Mark’s kiss had attracted the attention of many of the strangers sitting near the group. Out of the corner of her eye, Karen saw a group of college-age boys ogle the four girls, accompanied by the pointing of fingers, nods of the heads and conspiratorial smiles. The night was still warm, and Karen hadn’t put on the wrap she had brought, as she sat her pretty shoulders and slender arms exposed. She sat primly, her hands in her lap and her shapely legs crossed.
One thing Karen had come to recognize: Among the five girls, she was easily the prettiest, and she was embarrassed by the thought. She had always been so shy, afraid to show herself for others to judge: her body was so slight and unmuscular that she was ashamed to show it. Now, that same body was the subject of admiration. And, she liked the idea.
Sally, who was sitting next to Karen, leaned over and said: “What is it with you two?”
“What do ya’ mean?”
“We’re just practicing our roles as lovers for the play,” Karen said.
“You could fool us, Karen. There was real feeling in that kiss. I could sense it.”
“Oh Mark’s just a good actor is all.”
“Well then so are you, Karen,” Sally said.
Karen couldn’t help herself; she broke out in a smile, and she knew it was more than “acting” that went into Mark’s kiss and her reaction. Was there really love developing?
Emily leaned into the conversation, and said, “You’ve really become quite a convincing girl, Karen. In fact, I think you’re the girliest girl among us, right Sally?”
“Oh easily, she is also the prettiest,” Sally said. “It must come natural to her.”
“And we’re all getting jealous,” Emily added. “Those boys over there. They’re not looking at any of us, just her.”
Karen sat there, looking ahead, not replying. She suddenly realized: Yes, being a girl was indeed so natural and easy. Was she not always a girl, and never realized it? She loved the idea of being soft and dainty, of having the attention of boys and of having a lovely, curvy figure. Her reverie was interrupted with the return of Mark and Mary with the drinks, along with Jimmie, the other young man from their acting class.
“Look who we found all alone by the drink stand,” Mary announced.
Karen looked up to see Jimmie, smiling in his effeminate way, standing before her. A sudden shot of fear engulfed her: certainly he might detect her real identity.
Sally, sensing the situation, quickly stood up, and said to Jimmie: “This is Karen. She’s my cousin from Chicago.”
Karen and Jimmie nodded. Momentarily, the boy looked questioningly at Karen, as if he must have recognized, then, nodding and mumbling, “Nice to meet you,” turned away and took a seat in between Emily and Sally.
Mark sat next to Karen, handed her a soda and gave her another quick kiss. This one was no less electrifying than the earlier kiss and Karen shuddered with excitement. At the same time, Mark’s left hand caressed her slender arm, gently kneading the soft flesh, making the girl realize just how tender she was. Karen’s excitement grew.
How wonderful it felt to be a girl! Why couldn’t it be forever?
*****
“I bought you a present, Karen,” Mark said when hey returned to the room together.
“You did?” she said, enjoying her role now as a girl.
Mark opened a dresser drawer and removed a white box, tied artfully with a pink ribbon and a bow. There was a scent of lilac that seemed to emanate from the box, as he handed it to Karen.
“That’s for me?” she blushed as she took the box.
“Who else is so pretty? Of course it’s for you? I even wrapped it myself.”
“Oh Mark, you’re such a darling,” Karen said, playing the role to its maximum.
“Well, open it, Karen.”
Karen felt so flattered that she held the box in her lap for a long moment, gently caressing the bow with one hand.
“I hate to open it, Mark. You did such a pretty job tying it up.”
“God, you’re such a girl,” he said, smiling. “Just open it up.”
Karen carefully removed the ribbon, so as not to ruin it, her slender, pretty fingers moving gently. Finally, the ribbon removed, she carefully placed it on her bed, and she could see Mark’s anticipation was growing, eager to see this pretty girl open her gift.
Finally, she opened up the box, and slowly moved aside the white tissue paper, reaching in and removing a peach colored frock, full of ruffles and lace. She lifted it up, held it by two thin straps and smiled.
“Oh Mark, it’s lovely. For me?”
“For you,” he said. “I couldn’t have such a pretty girl in those ugly old PJs.”
Karen stood up, holding the nightie before her by the straps. She moved to the mirror and looked at it and a bright smile burst across her face.
“I can’t wait to try it on,” she said.
“Well go now,” he said in a commanding tone. “Take your shower and pretty yourself up and then come out and show me how you look. I can hardly wait.”
Karen looked at her friend, who was now standing next to her, several inches taller. She stood up on her toes, lifting one leg off the floor and put her arms around Mark, and kissed him.
“You’re so sweet, Mark,” she said, feeling very much a girl.
*****
Karen was eager to get showered and ready for Mark to be received warmly in his strong arms, but she also wanted to look soft, warm and sensuous for him. She donned a faintly scented body lotion, rubbing it all over, looking at herself in the mirror and marveling at how naturally feminine her body was. She detected some growth of beard on her face, even though she had shaved only that morning, and worried that it might chaff Mark in their hugs and kisses, she shaved again. It was a reminder again that she had been born a boy, and a momentary realization that when this acting charade was over she would no longer be Karen, but Kenny again, a pathetic example of boy soon to be a young man.
She puzzled over this dilemma as she shaved, examining her slender shoulders and thin arms that were so convincingly female.
“I’ll enjoy being Karen while I can,” she thought, looking into the mirror. “My oh my, I do look pretty, don’t I? I should have been a girl.”
As she mused, she realized her penis had grown hard and she was beginning to feel tense. She had a desire to play with it, to milk it into action, but quickly stifled the thought. She concentrated on completing her shave, and readying herself for Mark. The activity softened the offending member, silently cursing that she still had these male characteristics that somehow intruded upon her girlhood.
She was surprised when she returned to the room, wearing satin peach-colored panties, adorned with a light blue lace, under her new nightgown. She had let her hair flow freely and loose about her head, giving her a carefree appearance that belied her own tension at wondering how she would act being with a young man and being his lover. She was naíve about so much.
What surprised her was that Mark also had showered and shaved (he must have used another boy’s shower) and stood before her scented with a musky, fresh smell of male cologne. He wore a skimpy pair of shorts and a light nightshirt, unbuttoned that hung carelessly off his broad shoulders and exposed the muscular chest and flat, firm stomach. His thighs were hard and he looked warm and inviting.
“Oh Karen,” the boy said upon seeing her. He stood there gawking at her.
Karen didn’t know what to say. What a hunk! That came to her mind quickly, just picking up on what she heard her girl friends say often upon seeing a particularly sexy young man. She realized she was thinking like a girl.
“I love how you look,” the boy said. “So casual, and natural. What a girl!”
Karen blushed and rushed to him, reaching to hug him, while rising on her toes to kiss him. He tasted delicious and she felt herself suddenly engulfed into his body, smothered by his manliness. She smelled the cologne and with it his lovely male odor. She felt so weak and fragile in his arms, imagining that he could crush her without much effort.
His hands explored her body, moving under the nightgown and into her panties, carefully avoiding his tiny, but now hardened penis. Karen panted heavily, moaning softly as his caresses became more insistent. Soon they were on her bed, legs intertwined as they hugged and kissed, their lips exploring each other’s body, their bodies soon glistening with sweat as their embraces grew more intense.
Suddenly, Mark eased up on his caresses and moved away from Karen. She could hear his panting and heavy breathing and saw he had found a small towel that he must have had at the ready. He placed the towel over his crotch, letting out a big sigh and relaxing.
“You masturbated,” Karen said, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.
“I’m sorry,” he said slowly, as if trying to catch his thoughts. “I couldn’t help it. You’re just so . . . so . . . ah . . . sexy, I guess. What else can I say?”
“Oh Mark, I know. This is so weird.”
“You know you’re really all girl, darling,” he said. He had turned to lay on his back, and Karen was on her side, looking at him. (“What a hunk,” she thought again.)
“But I’m not, Mark,” she said, tears beginning to form in her eyes.
“You are to me,” he said.
“That’s sweet to hear,” Karen said, realizing how ridiculous it was. She was only “play-acting” as a girl and the play would be ending in 10 days. Then it would be back to being Kenny.
“You know, Karen,” Mark began, hesitating a bit. “I’ve never been with a girl like this before. I’m a virgin.”
“You can’t be right,” she protested. “You’re such a hunk (‘there’s that word again’) and I would have imagined you’d have girls every night of the week.”
“You’re cute,” he said. “But I’ve always been kind of afraid to be with a girl like this. Maybe I’m gay or something.”
“You didn’t act like that with me,” she said. “I only felt you were on me as if I were a girl.”
“I was.”
The two stopped a reflected for a while, Karen laying back on the bed, both looking into the ceiling. She imagined they made a lovely couple: a “hunk” and her pretty girl friend. It brought a smile to her face.
“I’m a virgin, too,” she said after a few moments. “In fact, Kenny never had a date. He was always so shy. Besides, who’d want to go out with him.”
“Well I know plenty of boys who’d wanna go out with Karen,” he said. “But they’ll have to beat me up first.”
She leaned over to kiss him; he responded and the two embraced quietly, content to lay together in each other’s arms, as the lovers they were.
*****
Karen awoke as the first morning light entered the room, brightening the room. She felt content and relaxed and soon the scent of her partner filled her senses, a slightly sour, but sweet scent, reflecting as she remembered an evening of sheer bliss. Never had she been so happy.
Mark snored lightly and regularly, and Karen found it just an adorable noise. She realized she had a leg linked with his leg and one of her arms was draped over his shoulder. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, trying not to awaken him. She needn’t have worried since he was in a deep sleep. Was this what married life was like, she wondered? To have a man close to her, and such a man, so strong and masculine, yet gentle and sweet and considerate.
She began imagining awakening each morning to such feelings, to getting up to make him a hearty breakfast and maybe even his lunch to take to work. She enjoyed the thought of laundering his clothes, of taking his underwear out of the hamper and smelling his masculine odors before placing them in the washer. She pictured herself ironing his clothes, her hair up in curlers while wearing an apron. Preparing his dinner and prettying herself up for his arrival home from work to receive his ravenous kisses. Is that what life has in store for her?
Karen wondered what it would be like to bear his children, to grow large with a child in her belly and then to give birth. Oh what a wonder!
Then she began to cry, sobbing softly so as not to disturb him. A profound sadness came over her. She could never bear a child; it’s against all science known to man. She was, alas, not a woman, not even a pretty girl. She was a boy! Karen quietly turned away from her lover.
*****
Karen decided that for the next ten days she’d enjoy being a girl. It may be the last time in her life that she could live such a role. Her strange behavior of being a boy acting as a girl could easily be explained since it was for an acting spot in a play that would be performed once in public on the night before graduation from the summer program. She was pleased to have been chosen for the part of Ophelia and began to believe in her own mind that she was the ideal girl to play the part of such a fragile, vulnerable young lady.
She took Professor McIver’s advice literally: she would live the part of Ophelia in the last ten days of the camp, dressing always as a girl, using primarily clothes from Sally along with some accessories from Mary and Carla. Karen had purchased a few sets of panties, two bras (size A) and three camisoles, along with several pairs of pantyhose and thigh highs.
Mary and Sally suggested to Karen that the trio should do some clothes shopping to fill out Karen’s closet, a trip that was proposed to happen after classes on Monday.
Karen was excited by the prospect of playing such a major role, but was fearful, too. It would be the first time her mother and younger brother — who would drive to the camp for the performance — would see her as a girl. She wanted to be totally believable in the role, and that would mean she’d have to erase any sign of masculinity from the performance. How shocked would his mother be? And, almost as worrying, was how mean and nasty would his brother be?
Many thoughts raced through Karen’s mind as she dressed for class that day, her memories of being a girl in the arms of her lover and the ecstasy of those sweet embraces coupled with the reality that she was after all boy with a mother and a brother who would hardly see her for what she was beginning to feel she really was.
Since the day was to be warm, maybe as high as 90, Karen chose to wear a pair of navy blue shorts that hardly reached mid-thigh and a light violet-colored tee-shirt. Underneath she wore a bra, to which she had inserted small foam pad to form tiny breasts, and panties. She wore white sandals and no stockings. She tied her hair into a high ponytail, fixed with light blue ribbons. In the mirror, she wondered: Do I look too young, like a middle school girl instead of the college age freshman she was?
“Aren’t you the cute one!” exclaimed Mark as she left the bathroom.
Karen couldn’t help but blush, since she felt that she did indeed look “cute.”
“But don’t I look too young in this, Mark?” she asked, giving a quick turn so that he could see her from all sides.
“Maybe, but you look too good to change, like real ‘jail-bait,’” he said with a smile.
“I could change,” she hastened.
“No way, besides we’ll be late for breakfast. Let’s just go. You look fine.”
The four girls, Carla, Mary, Sally and Emily, had already staked out a table in the cafeteria when Mark and Karen arrived. Jimmie had also found a seat at an adjoining table, and was saving the seats, Karen realized, for she and Mark. A pang of guilt and fear raced through her mind, realizing that just the night before she had been introduced to Jimmie as “Karen Dawson,” Sally’s cousin from Chicago.
Sure enough, Jimmie had a strange look on his face as the pair joined him after saying “hi” to the four girls. Karen felt everyone in the cafeteria was looking at her as she carried her tray of fruit and yogurt and coffee to the table.
Jimmie caught on right away.
“Damn,” Jimmie said in his high, overly feminine tone. “Aren’t you the cute one? And such a performance last night, too? A ‘cousin,’ eh?”
“I’m sorry, Jimmie, we didn’t know what to say when you showed up,” Karen said.
“Besides that was Sally’s idea,” Mark interjected.
“Well, you look adorable, dear,” Jimmie said. “I’ll be honored to be with you. Sit down both of you.”
“You’re a sweetheart, Jimmie dear,” Karen said, sitting next to him on the bench.
Conversation stalled for a few minutes while the three of them ate their breakfast, before Jimmie broke the silence.
“You really had me fooled, Kenny.”
“Darling, I’m Karen,” she said playing along.
“Of course, Karen, I so wanted that part, dear, and you stole it from me,” Jimmie said.
“No she won it fair and square,” Mark interjected.
“I thought I be a better girl,” Jimmie said. “But I have to admit you’re pretty convincing.”
“She’s more than convincing,” Mark said emphatically. “She’s all female. Well, nearly all.”
They all three laughed. Karen still wondered whether Jimmie was truly satisfied and might try something to sabotage her role. She felt his effusive gushing went over the top and may have been masking his true feelings of hurt and betrayal, feelings that could result in disaster.
*****
“Well, I see we have lost a classmate,” Professor Stanton McIver said as he opened the class. The windows were wide open but the slight breeze hardly did much to allieviate the stifling heat from the classroom. Since the school was located next to Lake Michigan and its usually cool waters helped to cool the buildings, only a few were air-conditioned. McIver like all of the class was in shorts and a tee shirt.
“Mr. Hansson has left us and I see Miss Hansson has joined us,” he said. “Would our new class member rise and introduce herself.”
Karen rose from her seat, gave a slight curtsey, and began:
“Good morning, I’m taking Mr. Hansson’s place. I’m Karen Hansson and I’m pleased to join the class and only hope I am worthy of the trust that Professor McIver has placed in me. I promise to be the best Ophelia I can be.”
Karen curtsied again, and as clapping filled the room, she sat down.
“I’m pleased to see Miss Hansson has understood an actor’s challenge,” McIver continued. “She has realized that she must be Ophelia for the next ten days, and that means she must be in the role 24/7. I applaud you Miss Hansson and to those others of you in this room who also have realized that they must ‘live’ a part in order to play it. Now let’s get to work.”
As class recessed for a break, Jimmie walked by Karen, whispering in her ear, “bitch.” He was gone before she could respond.
*****
“I’m feel bad about Jimmie,” Karen confessed to Carla, as the two sat on a bench during the lunch break.
Carla and Karen left their other friends, who stayed in the air-conditioned cafeteria, and went out into the hot summer heat for a “breath of fresh air,” in Carla’s word, persuading Karen to join her. Carla had noticed Karen’s mood changed after the first class and wondered whether it had anything to do with Jimmie’s comment. At first Karen demurred, saying it was nothing until finally admitting that Jimmie had called her a “bitch.”
“I’m not a bitch, Carla,” Karen said.
“No, you’re not, Karen,” Carla said, taking the other girl’s hand in hers. “You’re the sweetest, most generous person I know, honey.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel good.”
“Really, you are. How could anyone call you a bitch? You gained the part fair and square and if Jimmie doesn’t like it, he can lump it. Everyone thinks you’re perfect for the part. Did you hear the applause you got from the class?”
“That was so nice of everyone,” Karen nodded. “But Jimmie wanted it so bad. I don’t want him to hate me.”
“You’re foolish to think that way, Karen. If you’re going into the theater, you know most people don’t get picked at auditions and fail and fail and fail until finally clicking,” Carla said.
“Do you think he’ll try to hurt me in some way? He’s stronger than I am, I think.”
Carla laughed and said, “We’re all stronger than you are!”
Karen blushed. It was true, she realized, that she had always been so inadequate in sports or anything having to do with muscular strength.
“But don’t worry, Karen,” Carla continued. “You have lots of friends. We’ll look after you.”
That afternoon, Professor McIver announced that several parts would have understudies, adding that he didn’t think they’d be needed, but that it would make for reality and add to the student’s experiences. The one that shocked Karen was the word that Jimmie would understudy the part of Ophelia, meaning that he would be in all the rehearsals, watching Karen as she acted the part.
As the professor made the announcement, Karen looked in Jimmie’s direction, catching his eye and smiling in a friendly way, even though she was fearful of his appointment as understudy. The response she got from the effeminate boy shocked her further: his smile in return seemed to say: “I’ll get you yet.”
Was she right in giving the boy an evil intent through his smile only? Or was she right? She had always been taught to try to be friendly and open with everyone, since she firmly believed most people wanted to be kind and generous in response. In this case, however, she felt a pang of fear about what she saw in Jimmie’s look.
As Mark and she readied themselves for bed that night, she again wearing the lovely nightgown and he in his bikini briefs, she told him of her fears. They cuddled together on Karen’s bunk, which had already seemed to gain a feminine scent, since she had showered with a soft, caressing soap and applied a sweet smelling body lotion. They both lay on their sides, facing each other, trying intently not to escalate into a full-fledged groping and kissing session as they had the previous night. “We need to be professional about this,” Mark had said, and Karen agreed that to get too involved could lead to awful consequences in the future. Back in the minds of both of them, of course, was the fact the Karen was to revert to Kenny after the play, and that there could no longer be a Mark-Karen love relationship.
“That fag!” Mark said, upon hearing about the situation with Jimmie.
“Mark, don’t use that term,” Karen scolded. “You know better.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to get hurt, even by him.”
“Maybe he would have made a better Ophelia,” Karen ventured.
“Don’t be silly, my dear. He’s so over the top in his acting. You are so natural and so fitting of the part, too. Really, you are.”
He leaned over a kissed her gently on the forward, and she began crying, and moving her body tightly against his to receive his comforting hug. They fell asleep in each other’s arms again that night.
'To Be Or Not to Be' -- Part 5
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Chapter 5 — A Tense Situation
Karen thought often in the recent days about her mother, living in Manitowoc, an industrial and port city about 80 miles north of Milwaukee and over 100 miles from St. Albert’s where the summer camp was being held. She, her younger brother, Sonny (baptismal name was Samuel) and her mother lived in a row house on one of the working class neighborhoods. Karen’s father had deserted the family shortly after Sonny’s birth, and was never heard from again.
Her mother struggled to raise the two youngsters, going to nursing school over a six-year period while she worked, leaving the two children with their grandmother. Now, finally, Karen’s mother had found a modicum of prosperity with a regular shift assignment at a Manitowoc hospital, even to help Karen attend the University of Wisconsin. In spite of having no father in the household, Karen felt the family was very close and loving. When she became depressed over her lack of friends, she always knew her mother was around to hug and comfort her. How she hated to become a disappointment to her mother!
Karen called her mother the next day, and her mother was overjoyed to hear from her, but scolded her for not calling more often.
“Oh, mother, we’re so busy up here,” she explained. “It’s hard to find time to call, and I had to borrow one of the girl’s cell phones to call you.”
“It’s OK, darling, but you know your mother cares about you. Now, tell me about the play.”
“Oh mother,” Karen said, growing excited now, and her voice showing its nervousness by rising into a higher register. “It’s going good, and I did get the part of one of the principals.”
“Good, dear. You’re doing ‘Hamlet,’ right?”
“Yes, mother.”
“Don’t tell me you’re Hamlet?” she asked.
Karen giggled. “No, mother. I’m . . . ah . . . ah . . . Ophelia.”
“You’re who? Ophelia? That’s a girl, isn’t it?”
Karen laughed briefly, realizing her mother, who never went to college and — while a smart women in her own right — was unschooled about many things, and may not be aware that Shakespeare used only men as actors in his own plays, even in female parts.
“Well . . . ah . . . ah . . . yes, but as I think I told you in our last call, we’re replicating the old theater of Shakespeare’s time and men played all the parts, even the girl parts.”
The phone went silent for a few moments, and Karen broke the stillness, asking: “You still there, mother?”
“Yes, honey, I am, but I’m just absorbing this in my mind. Your brother will be mortified, I think, when he hears this.”
“Oh, mother, maybe he doesn’t need to know about this,” Karen pleaded.
“How’s he not to know? He’s coming to see the play with me. You know that, dear.”
“I guess, but he’ll just laugh and tease me, I know it. He already makes fun of me ‘cause I’m no good at sports, you know.”
“I’ll talk to him, honey, and prepare him for this,” her mother said. “Now, let me ask you something.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Is this something you really want to do?”
Karen thought for a minute, but she knew the answer right away in her heart. She wanted to be in the play, and she definitely wanted to play Ophelia. Then, she realized, too, that she also desired to be female — a girl — forever.
“Yes, mother, I really want to be in the play and it’ll be fun to play Ophelia.”
“Ok then, honey,” his mother said. “Go for it and as they say, ‘break a leg.’”
“Thanks, mother. I love you.”
“I love you, too, dear.”
“I better go now, mother.”
“Yes, I suppose so; it was so good to hear from you. And, you know you sound so different today on the phone. Every so often I got the distinct feeling that you sounded like a girl, or a young lady.”
Karen giggled audibly.
“What’s so funny, Kenny?” her mother asked, the use of her male name sounding shockingly foreign to her.
“Mother, it’s called ‘method acting,’ which is what Professor McIver is teaching us here. It means we must cultivate a part and actually ‘live in the part’ 24/7 in the rehearsal time leading up to the play. I’m just trying to sound female, that’s all.”
“Well, dear, I think you’re succeeding, but I hope it doesn’t stick with you after the play. I want my son back.”
“Bye mother,” Karen said.
“Ok honey, you be a good boy . . . or should I say good girl?”
“For now, mother, good girl,” Karen said, laughing.
His mother joined in the laughter, and the two ended the call, though Karen felt her mother’s laughter was a bit forced.
Karen breathed a sigh of relief. She was seated on her bed alone in her room, just before resuming afternoon classes, pondering over her mother’s closing comments that she “wants her son back.” She had been so invested in playing the girl’s role since learning of her being named to play Ophelia that she felt she had become indeed female. She loved the feeling; it came so natural to her, and she was so comfortable in the role. Was she not really a girl after all? Was it merely as joke of nature that gave her the physical parts of a boy?
*****
In the meantime, Mark had become consumed with the role of Hamlet and was forever practicing his lines, often working with Karen who would read the parts of the other characters during his recitations.
“You’re lucky, Karen,” he said as they practiced the lines in one of the vacant studios at the college’s music building. “Ophelia has so few lines to say.”
“I know, Mark, but that gives me more time to help you and be with you,” she said, her voice taking on a flirting tone.
“Now don’t distract me or I’ll have to ask Jimmie to read with me,” he said.
“No way. I’ll gouge his eyes out if he even tries it,” she said, giggling.
“Well let’s get started, I need to try that ‘To be or not to be’ soliloquy,” he said. “I’m not happy with it. I have to sound more wimpy I think.”
Karen nodded and added: “Just try it slower, maybe softer, but you’ll need to project your voice at the same time. That’s so hard.”
“You’re such a good helpmate, Karen,” he said smiling.
They spent the time before dinner hour on his lines. It helped Karen, too, since she was beginning to realize, as Professor McIver said in class, that the best actors were also the best listeners. “You have to hear and understand what the other actor is saying so that you can respond more naturally,” he had counseled.
“You know we’re just like an old married couple,” Mark said as the night of the play neared. “Like the great acting team of Lynn Fontanne and Alfred Lunt.”
“I love that image, Mark,” she said, giving him a light kiss on his cheek.
*****
As understudy, Jimmie was also fitted for Ophelia’s outfits; it turned out that he could wear the exact same sizes as Karen. That fact rankled Karen, who had grown to distrust the boy. She looked on with disdain, as she gave over her costume for the fitting, while she donned a pair of shorts and a tank top.
“You still look sexy as hell,” Mark whispered to her as they sat in the wings of the college’s Canterbury Hall auditorium watching Jimmie participate in the run-through for understudies. Their friend, Emily, was understudying Hamlet, which seemed weird, since she was short and diminutive. Fortunately, Jimmie was no taller, so the difference wasn’t noticeable and Emily did a really credible job at portraying the Danish prince.
“Look at her prance about,” Karen said, as they watched Jimmie, who had difficulty in holding back on his overly effeminate actions.
Mark smiled. “Now let’s not be catty!”
Karen blushed. She hated herself when she acted like that, with jealousy. In truth, Jimmie did a passable job as Ophelia, and Karen knew he could easily replace her should she be unable to go on.
“Well, you better hope I don’t get sick or something, or else you’ll have to kiss him, Mark,” she said.
“Hmmmm, that’s all the more reason to protect you, Karen,” Mark said with a smile.
*****
“I love you all,” Karen said exuberantly one evening as she and her four girl friends were gathered in Carla and Mary’s room.
She was totally sincere with her comments. She was totally accepted by all four of them as one of them. No longer was she an oddity, a weird creature, or even a sissy boy. She was a girl and they talked to her as a sister and she responded back, so happy with their company.
It was just two nights before the production would be on stage. As was typical with the summer camp, the community was invited, as were many parents and relatives of the acting company, if they were located within a day’s driving distance. Even so, some parents made cross country trips to see the show and on the following day (graduation) to pick their young gentlemen and ladies up for the return home.
Thus, there was already a tension in the air as the girls gathered, basically beginning to hash out the six-week session. Much of the time was spent discussing the boys the girls might have met; since Mark, Jimmie and Kenny (now Karen) were the only boys among the 12 girls, there wasn’t much to choose from. With Mark obviously becoming the boy friend of Karen, that only left Jimmie, who made no secret of being gay.
“Thank God for the basketball camp or we’d have no men to moon over,” said Mary.
“Yeah, how is it going with that tall blonde boy from Minneapolis?” queried Carla.
“He’s nice, but kinda naíve,” Mary said. “We did have coffee together one day in town, but I think he’s scared of girls.”
Sally giggled. “Maybe he’s just scared of you,” she said, teasing.
“Well, he’s so into basketball, that’s all he talked about. He said both Minnesota and Wisconsin are recruiting him, as well as Gonzaga.”
“So much for jocks,” Emily said. “And we made Karen here so pretty she stole the only man around.”
“Yeah, we’re jealous,” Sally echoed.
Karen reddened. “I really didn’t want that to happen, really. I just thank you all for making me who I am.”
“No, I think you naturally are a girl, Karen,” Carla said. “You just exude femininity. You didn’t need our makeup and clothes to make it come true.”
“I love you all so much,” Karen repeated.
Soon the conversation turned to Jimmie, and his implied threat to Karen.
“Has he done anything to hurt you, Karen?” Mary asked.
“Not yet, or not that I know of,” Karen answered. “I know he did a really good job doing the understudy role the other day.”
“Yeah, he really toned down his faggoty ways,” Mary said. “I didn’t think he could do it.”
“I see he’s been hanging around Janet and Alyssia a lot,” Carla said.
“Those two won’t talk to me,” Karen said. “They were the only ones who were not happy that I got the Ophelia role.”
“Maybe they’re cooking something up yet,” Carla ventured.
“There’s not much time left,” Mary said.
“Well, be careful Karen. I don’t trust him or those two hags he’s hanging around with,” Carla said.
The girls finished by brushing each other’s hair and giggling a bit more about boys. Karen enjoyed the chatter, but didn’t say much, content to muse over how sweet it was to be held by Mark, wondering what they’d do tonight when she returned to their room.
*****
The performance was to be on Friday night, with a simple graduation ceremony scheduled for 11 a.m. on Saturday, so scheduled to permit students to make plane connections or to get home (if driving) before dark that day.
There had been stories in the area newspapers in the days leading up to the event, carrying quotes by Professor McIver that this year’s cast promises to put on the “most exciting and compelling Hamlet” in the 12 years of the summer camp shows he presided over. Even Channel 11, from the nearby major city, came to interview McIver and show snippets from the dress rehearsal, concentrating on the “lovely Ophelia,” played by Kenny Hansson.
The dress rehearsal itself seemed to be full of false starts, accompanied by screaming and yelling from Professor McIver, as the play’s director. Yet, there had been electric scenes between Mark and Karen, as Hamlet and Ophelia, as well as some superb performances by Carla as Polonius and Mary as Gertrude. Karen thought both of the girls gave boffo performances, totally professional in their presentation.
Karen, however, floundered a few times, seeming to pause as if to catch her thoughts; she noticed it, but no one else seemed to. She was told by Professor McIver to constantly think about being a confused young lady and one who was infatuated with Hamlet. It wasn’t hard for her to follow his direction, since she indeed was a confused young lady, as well as being infatuated with Hamlet as played by her real life love, Mark.
Afterwards, belying his loud outbursts during the rehearsal, Professor McIver stood up and applauded the acting group. “You’ll do marvelously tomorrow night,” he said. “I’m proud of you all. Just don’t forget my little hints that I gave you and you’ll do fine.”
The dress rehearsal didn’t end until 10 p.m. and the cast was tired from the long day of work. Karen and Mark returned to their room and prepared for bed, too tired to do much more than take quick showers and get ready for bed.
In spite of her fatigue, Karen was tense and had trouble getting to sleep, worrying about flubbing her lines in the performance, and even more concerned about the reactions of her mother and brother, who would see her for the first time dressed as a girl. The fact that she had become such a convincing girl both pleased her and frightened her. How could she ever return to a boy’s life again?
“Mark,” she whispered after the two had turned off the lights and retired to their own bunks. “Are you still awake?”
“Yes. Can’t you sleep either?”
“No honey. Can I join you? I need to feel your arms around me.”
“Oh yes, I’d love that, but I thought we pledged not to get in bed together.”
“I know,” she said in a weak, soft voice. “But I need you. Let me snuggle up to you.”
“No,” he said. “Let me come and join you. I prefer the scent of your sheets, ‘cause they smell so much of you.”
Karen giggled, and soon the two were together, her tender slender body nestled tightly against his, looking into his face that was slightly illuminated by the campus lights from outside.
“Mark, I love you so,” she said.
“Oh Karen, I’ve never loved anyone as much, too.”
“Is this for real?”
“For now, my sweet girl, it’s for real,” he said.
“I wish it was forever,” she said.
“Me too, but let’s enjoy it now.”
“Can’t it be forever, Mark?”
“I wished it could, but Saturday we’ll separate and go our different ways, never to see each other.”
“We can still communicate, honey,” she said. “The Internet, the phone and mail.”
“It won’t be the same, since you’ll be Kenny again, and I’m in love with Karen.”
“I am Karen,” she said. But she knew it was over on Saturday; Karen would no longer exist. She began to cry.
He drew her more closely to him, and she buried her head onto his hard chest, and he gently patted her as her body began shaking slowly as she cried. He held her more tightly, letting her cry and soon his caresses brought comfort to her. She felt so safe and secure in his strong arms. The two soon fell asleep.
*****
Professor McIver told the cast to sleep in Friday morning; he got the cafeteria to schedule a brunch for them at 11 a.m., following a 10 a.m. “call,” in which he finished blocking out the stage and going over a few rough spots from the dress rehearsal.
He also scheduled a supper in the cafeteria for 5 p.m. for the cast, and said there would be room for parents or other guests, but he needed an indication of the numbers that would attend so that the food could be ready. Karen said her mother and brother could not be there in time for dinner, since her mother had to work and they promised to snack on the way to the school.
“Your guests will be able to eat as much as they like, but since you’re all going to be on stage, please don’t eat much,” Professor McIver said. “Just take enough to give yourself some energy and rid your hunger pangs. Ok?”
After the play, a reception was scheduled for the President’s Lounge for the cast and their guests.
The afternoon was free, he announced, although several of the girls, including Karen and Mary, were scheduled to visit a hair salon in town to get their hair fixed for the performance.
One thing bothered Karen; in the morning rehearsal, she saw Jimmie being fitted for a female wig, similar in the style that would match how Karen was to have her hair fixed. “What’s that for?” she asked Carla.
“Oh Jimmie convinced McIver that he needed to be fully prepared in case something would happen to you,” Carla said.
“What’s going to happen? I feel fine.”
“I heard Jimmie whining to McIver that he needed the wig, and since they had some wigs in the theater department I guess McIver said to go ahead and fit him. What a fag?”
Karen thought for a minute. “This is serious, Carla. I think he’s planning something.”
“Like what it’s just a few hours before the show.”
“I know, but . . .” Karen let the words fade away.
“Just watch your step, Karen,” Carla said. “Now let’s go get brunch.”
*****
The trip to the salon took Karen’s mind off the pre-play jitters she was having. She cursed herself for agreeing to be Ophelia, and wished she had only a minor part. “I’ll never do this again,” she muttered to herself several times that afternoon. “I’ll fail so badly on stage tonight,” she said, quickly countering that with a thought that said: “No I won’t, I’ll be a big hit.”
Mark tried to comfort her several times, but truth be told, he too was jittery, asking: “Do all actors go through this?”
“I’m told the good ones do, Mark.”
“Well the way we feel, we’ll be terrific.”
The two laughed, easing the tension for a while. They had entered the cafeteria for the scheduled late afternoon light meal for the student cast. As they entered, the other students stood up and applauded, hooting and whistling and clapping their hands.
Karen, taken aback, froze in her tracks, grabbing Mark’s hand to stop him from walking. He leaned over and whispered: “They’re cheering us, we better bow or something.”
Karen recovered her composure, and gave a long, sweet curtsey, while Mark, taking the cue, bowed. There was even more applause that followed. Professor McIver approached them leading them to a spot at his cafeteria table. He silenced the students finally, stating:
“Actors, now that our lead cast is here, we can all commence having our light supper.”
“It feels more like our last supper,” cracked Carla.
Nervous laughter broke out.
“Good,” Professor McIver said. “You should all be a bit tense. That’s only natural. Just eat lightly and I’m sure you’ll be rewarded with a great feast at the cast party afterward.”
At that moment, Karen saw Jimmie enter, apologizing for being late. He swished in, making what appeared to Karen to be a purposeful “late entrance” so as to be noticed. Flamboyant as usual, he was dressed in what appeared to be a light blouse with ruffles and girlish shorts, with ballet slippers. He had pink barrettes in his longish light brown hair. As he sashayed past Karen to a spot at an adjoining table, she swore she caught a whiff of perfume.
“I don’t know what he’s doing,” Mark whispered to Karen. “I hope he doesn’t think he’s still going to be Ophelia.”
“I feel like gouging his eyes out with my fingernails,” Karen said, drawing a light chuckle from Mark.
That the actors were nervous was obvious, for there was little conversation going on, each student toying with the supper of greens and cheeses and lunch meat and occupied with their own private terrors about the stage performance to begin in just about two hours. Meanwhile, several of the actors were joined by family members, who seemed to be as tense about the play as their actor children.
A young male student entered the cafeteria, in an obvious rush, and looked about the room, and finally settled his gaze upon Professor McIver. Karen watched as he rushed over to the professor, handed him a note and whispered something. She heard the professor say: “I’ll take care of it. Tell the dean I’ll send him right over.”
The professor motioned to Karen to leave the table and join him in the hall. “I have to tell you something privately.”
“Can Mark come to?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
The two followed the professor to the hallway and he said that the dean of the summer school program needed to see Kenny Hansson immediately, and that it was serious.
“My mother?” Karen asked spontaneously.
“He just said it was serious and Mark you can go. I know you two have become close friends. Do you know where the dean’s office is?”
Mark nodded and assured the professor that he’d get Karen over to the dean’s office immediately.
Karen felt a new tension, replacing the stage fright that had consumed her for the last several hours. Had something happened to her mother or her brother? Had there been a tragedy? Or, did the school think it was wrong to cast a boy to play Ophelia, that it had offended the area church people? What was so serious? She grabbed Mark’s hand, holding it even more tightly; he responded by placing his other hand on her arm, and gently massaging it, hoping to calm down her fears. She loved this man so much.
Only Mark’s presence provided any comfort, and Karen held more tightly onto the young man’s hand as they entered the administration, uncertain of what the nature of the important meeting with the dean.
The dean of summer school, Father Warren Fielding, was a Roman Catholic priest, who also was dressed casually reflecting the warmth of the day. He was a tall, graying man of about 50 and he wore light jogger’s pants and a green tee-shirt that proclaimed “Property of the Green Bay Packers.” Karen felt this man was out-of-place for a college dean; shouldn’t he be in a dark suit and string tie?
“Sit down both of you,” he ordered. The man also seemed tense and nervous.
Addressing Mark, he began: “Kenny, I have some bad news for you. I’m glad you brought your girl friend along. Is she you’re girl friend and do you want her here?”
Mark didn’t answer, too astounded to know what to say.
“I’m Kenny Hansson, father,” Karen finally said. “I’m acting like a girl just for this play. You know Professor McIver teaches the ‘method’ and we’re supposed to be in the role, even in our time off-stage.” She realized she was tripping over the words, so tense was she; she even recognized how high her voice had become, due as much to the fear she now carried within herself.
“Oh my, you fooled me my dear. You are a mighty fine actor, I must say.”
“Thank you sir, but Mark is my roommate here and we’ve become good friends. I’d like him to stay.”
It took Father Fielding a moment to regain his composure.
“Look dear,” he began, his tone seeming to indicate he was addressing a young lady. “There’s no easy way to say this, but we’ve just heard from the Racine County sheriff’s department that your mother and a young lad were injured in a traffic accident on I-94 and have been rushed to a Racine hospital.”
“What?” Karen sat dumbfounded.
“That’s all we know,” Father Fielding said. “But the call was taken by my office secretary just a few minutes ago and she said the deputy urged them to keep you close to the phone that he’d call back with details.”
“How badly hurt were they?” Mark said, taking a matter-of-the-fact tone of voice.
“I’m sorry the deputy didn’t say, but it must have been bad enough for them to require hospital care.”
Karen finally broke down and began sobbing, and Father Fielding nodded to Mark, adding, “It’s Ok if you want to hug her, young man.”
Mark got up and squeezed into the chair next to Karen, hugging her gently, stroking the hair on her head.
“Can I help you in anyway, dear?” Father Fielding said, having already seemed to accept the young person seated before him as a girl.
Karen felt comforted in Mark’s arms, and her sobs soon ended. She sensed his manly body odor as she laid her head against his chest, realizing the two of them soon had to ready themselves for the play; they both needed showers and a makeup session. Yes, what about the play? The play must go on!
After a few minutes, Professor McIver entered the room, having been briefed on the situation by Father Fielding in the hallway.
The professor kneeled before her, taking her hands in his. “Karen, you supposed to wait here for a call; it sounds as if they may want you to go up to Racine to see your mother and brother, and Father Fielding said he’d be glad to drive you there.”
“But the play . . .” Karen began.
“The play be damned,” McIver said. “Your family comes first, honey.”
“But who’ll be Ophelia?”
“Your understudy, Jimmie. He’s perfectly adequate.”
“But he’s so flamboyant,” Karen protested.
“I know, but he’ll be Ok for the night,” the professor assured her. “And Mark you better get yourself ready for the play, since I’m not sure your understudy can handle the part yet.”
Mark protested that Karen needed him (which she did!), but she responded that he should do the play. Father Fielding would help her if she needed anything. Mark finally agreed, arising, kissing Karen warmly and giving her a long hug before leaving with Professor McIver. She began to sob again, as he left the room. She felt so alone, but she knew it was the right thing to do.
'To Be Or Not to Be' -- Part 6
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Chapter 6 — The Curtain Call
Twenty minutes later, there still had been no return call from the Racine County sheriff’s department, and Father Fielding called the department directly, inquiring if they knew anything new.
Yes, the department told him, there had been a serious accident on I-94 and three people had been conveyed to Racine St. Luke’s Hospital. No, he couldn’t verify the names, but when Father Fielding asked if they were named “Hansson,” he said, “No, they were all either Hispanic or African-American, father, and none by the name of ‘Hansson.’”
“Really, but we had a call from your department.”
“No, I would have been the one who called, and it wasn’t me, father. I’m sorry.”
When the dean hung up, he said to Karen: “That’s odd. They said there was an accident on I-94, but the injured probably weren’t your mother or brother.”
“What? Why would they have called?” Karen asked.
“Who knows? Let me call my assistant in. She got the call, and she’s still here.”
Ms. Landingham was a tall, somber looking woman with short grey hair. She walked erect and purposefully into the office.
“Grace,” Father Fielding began, his voice soft and gently. “That call from Racine? Did it sound authentic to you?”
“I thought so,” she said. “He said his name was Deputy Wills and reported the accident in a very official manner. He was courteous and direct. Then he hung up after telling me to keep Mr. Hansson in your office for a return call.”
“Hmmm, did anything else strike you about the call, Grace?”
The woman thought for a moment and then said: “Yes, there was one thing. His voice was . . . ah . . . how should I say it? . . . well, it was effeminate, which I thought was weird for a sheriff’s deputy.”
“Effeminate? That is odd,” the priest said. “Thanks, Grace. You may leave now. And have a good weekend dear. I think it’ll be another hot one.”
“Thank you father,” she said. “I’ll be at mass Sunday with mother.”
“Bless you dear.”
“She’s a very loyal person and really very sweet,” the priest said to Karen after the assistant left. “Some people think she’d an old sourpuss, but even she cried a bit when she got the call earlier.”
Karen was silent, wondering whether to say anything. That the voice sounded “effeminate” seemed to indicate the caller might have been Jimmie. Was the whole thing a hoax, perpetrated by Jimmie just to play a part in a summer camp play? Even Jimmie wouldn’t do such a cruel thing.
“Well, I guess we better wait it out a bit,” the priest said finally. “Could I get you anything, dear?”
“Maybe just a diet coke, father.”
Father Fielding left the room, and while he was gone, she got up and began looking out the window. Her mind wandered as she looked out upon a lovely green, wooded campus. The rains in early June had been heavy, followed by unusual heat and everything had blossomed into lush, warm colors, which sparkled against a totally blue sky. Karen loved this time of the year: no wonder so many brides chose June for their wedding dates! She dreamed of a lovely June wedding, maybe at this same campus, presided over by Father Fielding with the groom being Mark Hamilton, of course. And she’d be Mrs. Mark Hamilton. It was an intoxicating feeling.
“Karen, you’re the most beautiful bride we’ve ever seen in the college chapel,” she dreamed hearing Father Fielding say at the ceremony.
As lovely thoughts filled her head, momentarily erasing the pain of what may be serious injury to her mother and brother (or even death), she continued to gaze out upon the campus. Cars were beginning to arrive and park at the auditorium lot in the distance.
She looked at the Father Fielding’s desk clock, which read 6:04, nearly an hour since she was summoned from her supper to the dean’s office. She realized that Jimmie right now would be in makeup, and soon would be wearing the same outfit she was supposed to wear that night. He would go on in her place, and he would be kissing Mark on stage, not herself. The thought depressed her.
A golden-colored car approached the school lot, appearing uncertain where to go. Karen looked closely at it. It was a Caliber, the same make and color as her mother’s car; there weren’t too many Calibers on the roads, especially of that gold color. Could that be her mother’s car? There appeared to be two people in the car, which soon found its way into the parking lot.
“It’s mother and Sonny,” she exclaimed outloud, using her 15-year-old brother’s name.
She bounded out of the room, bumping into Father Fielding, carrying two cans of Coke; he stopped her flight.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I think my mother and brother just drove in. They’re alive.”
“Hold on a minute,” he said. “I just talked with Professor McIver. We’re sure the call was a hoax and he still wants you to go on and play Ophelia. There’s time if you hurry. Describe your mother’s car to me and I’ll greet them and tell them the play may start a bit late, but that you’re going on and will be a star.”
“But, how do you know it’s a hoax, and maybe that car isn’t my mom’s but just looks like it?”
“Because when I told McIver that the caller was effeminate, he immediately felt it might have been your understudy, Jimmie.”
“Really?”
“Yes, dear, and when he confronted Jimmie, the boy eventually broke down and said he worked so hard to be Ophelia, he just felt the part should be his. The professor suspended Jimmie from the play and your friend Sally will portray Laertes. Now hurry, you need to get made up and costumed. I’ll look forward to seeing you, and I’m sure your mother and brother will be proud.”
Karen shook her head. “My mom might, but not my little brother. He’ll be shocked.”
“Go now Karen, and break a leg.”
*****
Karen rushed over to the auditorium, and as she approached the dressing rooms in the back of the thater, she heard the loud sobs coming from the room she had been assigned. She knew it must have been Jimmie lamenting that he was being denied the part he had worked so hard for.
“But I looked so pretty in the dress,” he wailed.
“Now finish up here, now,” came the insistent voice of Professor McIver. “You’re done in my class and the sooner you get off this campus the better.”
“But my mom and dad came all the way from Pittsburgh to see me,” he complained, obviously speaking through tears.
“You should have thought of that before pulling this cruel hoax. How could you do such a thing? Karen doesn’t deserve that.”
Karen stood outside the door, hearing this scene, almost beginning to feel sorry for Jimmie. He had worked hard to the part, Karen knew, and really was quite credible as Ophelia. It must be devastating for him, she thought.
Without thinking, she barged into the room, screaming, “Professor, professor, let him stay and play Laertes. Jimmie did work hard for the part. And his parents are here.”
Professor McIver looked at her incredulously.
“Are you serious, Karen?” he said. “After what he did to you. Putting you through all this pain and uncertainty.”
“Yes, professor. Jimmie shouldn’t have played this trick, but don’t deprive him now.”
“You’re sure Karen?” Professor McIver persisted.
“Sure, I am,” Karen said, her expression totally serious. “Besides, I’m not sure Sally knows all the Laertes lines anyway.”
“I can coach her from the wings,” he said. “My inclination is to throw Jimmie out right now.”
Jimmie’s sobbing grew louder. Karen thought he looked terribly pathetic, but wasn’t quite sure if he wasn’t play-acting a bit. He was also so over-the-top in his demeanor.
“Now get up, Jimmie,” Karen said, suddenly taking command of the situation. The boy’s whining sobs were beginning to get on Karen’s nerves; she had been the aggrieved party here and yet she was playing a forgiveness role.
The boy got up, and accepted Karen’s hugs, blubbering lines that sounded like an apology. Finally Karen said, “Jimmie, just get out of my outfit. I need to get dressed. And you need to become Laertes.”
“Oh Kenny,” Jimmie gushed, “You’re so sweet. I love you.”
“Remember, I’m Karen,” she said. “Now hurry.”
Jimmie’s sobbing stopped almost instantly, reinforcing Karen’s belief that the boy was merely play-acting and may not have been as apologetic for his actions as he pretended to be. Was she a fool for her easy forgiveness of his action? Probably, but she knew she rarely could hold a grudge. Mark had noticed the trait, teasing her that she was more a “lover than a fighter.”
*****
She loved the Ophelia costume they had found in the theater’s costume room. It was a full-length gown, with a cloth-belted waist from which flowed folds of light diaphanous cream colored material. The upper part included elbow-length sleeves of lace material and a halter design across the bosom, with a high neckline trimmed in lace.
“It makes me feel so much like a lady,” she said to the young high school girl who was helping her dress. The theater department had incorporated a summer camp program for high schoolers into the program.
“Oh Miss Karen,” the girl said. “You look so dainty and fragile in this outfit.”
“Thank you, honey. That’s how I’m supposed to look, dainty and fragile.”
The girl helped her brush her hair so that the blonde tresses flowed freely as she walked or turned her head. When the costuming was completed, Karen walked about, viewing herself in the full-length mirror.
“Are you really a boy?” the girl asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
“I can’t believe it, Miss Karen. You’re really so beautiful and, if you don’t mind me saying so, so feminine.”
“Underneath all this,” Karen replied. “I’m a boy, but right now I feel I really must be a girl.”
“Well, if my boy friend saw you, I think he’d fall in love. Even when you were dressed only in your undies you looked more like a girl,” the teenager said.
Karen blushed, and then gave the girl a quick kiss. “You’re a sweetheart, honey, and don’t worry, I already have a boy friend.”
Just then, the door burst open. It was Professor McIver.
“Good, you’re all set, and we’re only five minutes late,” he said.
“I’m coming then.”
“Break a leg Miss Karen,” the high school girl said.
*****
Though the part of Ophelia does not involve many scenes of the play, it is a difficult part, since Ophelia must be a love-struck teenage girl who slowly becomes crazed, depressed and ultimately suicidal. Karen had viewed the films as various great actresses — like Vivien Leigh and Jean Simmons -- had played the part, but still felt she had to express the role with her own feelings.
To be sure, she had her own depressions. She felt she was a girl; yet, she still had the body parts of a boy. And she often cried at night over this dichotomy. She was so confused. And she was lovestruck, as Ophelia was with Hamlet, whom had seemingly rejected her. Karen was love struck with Mark, the muscular boy with whom she had shared her bed but in reality could never truly become her lover.
She had indeed become Ophelia, young and tender, sweet and vulnerable, crazed and suicidal. And all of that came out on stage that night in the auditorium. It became so easy, too, she discovered as the play progressed because her partner, Mark, portrayed his part so terribly believably. She began thinking Mark’s growing disdain for her (in his part as Hamlet) was real, and it did indeed crazed her, helping her to put great feeling into her scenes.
Karen lost herself in her role, creating a tension that communicated itself to the audience that appeared to sit in rapt attention through the critical scenes. Even in the end, Karen as Ophelia could only be seen as a tragic symbol of feminine vulnerability.
The curtain went down to enthusiastic applause, and, of course, with a standing ovation. It was only as Karen was taking her bows that she finally saw her mother, smiling broadly from a 5th row seat, and her brother scowling from a seat next to her. She saw her mother blow her a kiss, and Karen ran off the stage beginning to cry. She was brought on for a second set of bows.
“You took their breath away, honey,” Professor McIver whispered in her ear as he ushered her out to the second bow. “You played that part with as much feeling as I’ve ever seen any actress play it.”
Tears ran down her face in the bow, which she cut short, by running to the wings and bringing Mark out to share the bows with her. After all, Karen realized, it was his firm acting that helped her be so realistic in the part. It was at this point one of the high school boy actors who had served the cast rushed out with a bouquet of flowers, handing them to Karen. She took them, holding them proudly to her breast, as she curtsied and tears of joy began to run down her face. Mark bowed to more applause, and then on impulse, Karen grabbed Mark and kissed him firmly and meaningfully on the lips. He accepted the kiss with passion and hugged her, partially crushing the flowers. Truth be told they held the kiss and hug longer than was warranted, but the audience loved it. Karen and Mark charged off the stage hand-in-hand, and the curtain went down for a final time, the applause finally ending. It had been a triumphant night for a lovely girl and her strong young lover.
*****
Since they were unable to meet before the performance, Karen was both anxious and fearful about meeting her mother and Sonny, her brother. They had never before seen her in female outfits, or made up as a girl. She wondered if she should return to her boy mode to greet them, but in fact she had no boy clothes handy; they were all back in the dormitory room. All she had to wear were the girly shorts, sandals, camisole and light wrap that she had on when she was summoned to the dean’s office.
“Well, that will have to do,” she told herself.
Karen shared the dressing room with several other girls and they were all hurrying to leave to greet their own families. Mark told her in the wings at one point that his parents and brother were there and were eager to meet Karen, since he had let out that he had grown fond of the girl. “Why don’t you and your mom and brother join us afterward at the reception?” he asked.
“I’ll see what mom wants to do,” she answered. Then realizing that Mark wanted her to remain as Karen. “You want me as Karen?”
“Yes, but don’t let on that we’re roommates or that you’re supposed to be a boy,” he said.
“What did you tell them?”
“They think we’re an item, a boy-girl thing.”
“Oh my God,” was Karen’s only reaction.
*****
She finally found her mother and brother on the steps of the auditorium, enjoying the coolness of a summer night in Wisconsin. There, all of the families of the cast members lingered before heading for the reception.
“Mother,” Karen said. “Here I am.”
Before her mother could say anything, Karen rushed up and hugged her, giving her a kiss; she tried to do the same to her brother, but her shied away as if it would be distasteful.
“Kenny?” his mother queried.
“Yes, but call me Karen for tonight.”
“What happened to my son? I thought you dressed up only for the play.”
“Well, I did, but Professor McIver wanted us to really live our parts for the weeks we were here, and since I had a girl’s role, I had to dress and be like a girl.”
Her mother shook her head, finally muttering, “The play’s over. Why not go back to being Kenny?”
“I always thought I had a fag brother,” Sonny said. “Now I know it.”
“Don’t say that word, Sonny,” their mother said. “That’s not nice and Kenny’s no fag.”
“Yeah, what’s with you anyway?” Sonny continued, looking at Karen. “You really do look like a girl now. God what will Brian and my friends say?” Sonny was referring to one of his roughneck friends.
“Don’t worry about that, Sonny,” their mother said. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I must say if I had a daughter, I’d sure want her to be as pretty as this girl standing before me.”
Just then, Jimmie and his parents came up, and Jimmie introduced them, saying, “Karen played that part with such passion, and she will always remain in my thoughts. She’s most special. I love her.”
The two families exchanged pleasantries, with Jimmie’s father commenting about Karen, “You were exceptional, my dear young lady. I wished Jimmie could have a girl friend like you.”
“Oh dad,” Jimmie protested. “Karen has a boy friend.”
Jimmie’s dad addressed Karen’s mother, “I wish Jimmie would find an interest in girls.”
“Come on, dad,” Jimmie said.
With that they turned to leave, but Jimmie spoke softly to Karen, “I’m so sorry for what I did to you, Karen. I didn’t know I could be so cruel. Thank you for forgiving me. I shall never forget it.”
“The incident is forgotten, Jimmie, but if you try, I know you can be a sweet and generous person,” Karen said, giving him a parting kiss on the cheek.
*****
Mark waved at Karen and her family as they entered the reception. He was seated at a round table with his family and it was obvious they were saving three seats at the table for Karen and her mother and brother.
“For some reason, Mark hasn’t told his family that I’m a boy, so don’t say anything,” Karen told her mother and brother as they approached the table.
“That’s sick,” said Sonny. “What are you? His girl friend?”
“Sort of,” Karen said.
“Sort of? What’s that mean?” Her mother seemed perplexed.
Karen didn’t have to answer, since Mark directed the family to the table, holding a spot next to his own for Karen, giving her a hug and kiss as she came near.
“Yucky,” said Sonny aloud.
“Yeh, yucky,” agreed a boy about Sonny’s middle school age sitting at the table. It was obviously Mark’s younger brother.
Mark held the chair in a gentlemanly fashion as Karen sat down.
“This is Karen and her mom and brother,” he announced to his family.
Greetings were exchanged all around. Mr. Hamilton was a burly man who had once worked in Milwaukee’s breweries and since had become a successful tavern owner and restaurateur. He had the same athletic body that Mark had, although he had developed a bit of a belly; his mother was a tallish blonde woman who maintained a curvy figure in spite of being a bit overweight.
“So this is the lovely lady we’ve been hearing about?” Mark’s father said.
Karen nodded in acceptance.
“You did a remarkable performance, young lady,” his mother said. “I felt tears coming to my eyes in the suicide scene.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton,” Karen said. “But lots of the credit should go to Mark for helping to bring the emotion out of me.”
“No dear, you did it all yourself, Karen,” Mark protested.
Karen looked over to see her brother whispering something conspiratorially to Mark’s younger brother. They both seemed to have a sour look on their faces. Karen’s mother noticed the same and suggested the two boys go off and find something to eat and drink. “It’s good they’re about the same age,” she said as they were gone.
“Yeah, we had to drag Billy to join us tonight, thinking he’d be bored,” Mrs. Hamilton said.
“I thought I’d be bored, too,” Mr. Hamilton said. “But I found the way they presented the play to make it so exciting and understandable.”
“Your daughter, Mrs. Hansson, was just terrific,” Mark’s mother said.
Cecelia Hansson smiled, nodded her head, and said, “Yes . . . ah . . . she was.”
It seemed to Karen that her mother struggled with the answer, as if the pronoun “she” was foreign to her lips.
“Is she going to study acting in college, Mrs. Hansson?” the other woman said.
“Call me Ceci, please,” Karen’s mother replied. “I’m not sure what Ke - - - Karen is going to finish up in; she’s got a partial scholarship and will just begin in liberal studies, I guess. How about your Mark?”
“Oh mother,” Karen interrupted. “You know I’m interested in teaching English or theater.”
“Yes, dear, but I also knew you had an interest in economics, and just think of all the money on Wall Street.”
“Mother,” Karen argued. “I am interested in economics, but not to work on Wall Street. I feel economics should be used to help ordinary people and the poor.”
“Oh dear, you’re such an idealist.”
“I think that’s commendable, Karen, either teaching or working for the poor,” Mrs. Hamilton said.
“As far as Mark,” the woman continued. “You’ve got a football scholarship awaiting at Iowa State, right, Mark?”
“Football,” Karen exploded, turning toward Mark. “You never told me about that!”
It was true, Karen had remarked upon Mark’s muscular body when the first met, and had asked then if he played football. All the boy had said then was, “I play a little. It’s not much.”
“I told you I played football,” he said.
“Not that you’re so good you’ve got a scholarship,” Karen said, showing a hurt expression. “And, you’re going to Iowa State. That’s a million miles away.”
“No it’s not,” Mark said. “It’s in Ames, about six hours from Milwaukee.”
“But still so far,” Karen said.
Mark’s father had been watching this exchange. Karen felt terribly uneasy under his gaze; it wasn’t that he suspected that Karen may not be the girl she appears. It was something, as if he disapproved of Mark having a girl friend, and perhaps even being in the summer camp.
“He’s going to play football, miss,” Mark’s father said. “And he’ll have no time for girl friends hundreds of miles away, no matter how cute they are.”
“Clarence, that’s enough,” Mark’s mother interceded.
“I didn’t like the idea of this acting business anyway,” the father said. “Just a bunch of fairies and fags.”
“Clarence! Stop it, you’re embarrassing us all.”
“Dad,” Mark said, raising his voice. “I know it’ll be all football at Ames, but I also love acting. You saw the way the audience liked it. Why can’t I do both?”
“Because it’ll distract you, son. If you’re going to be an All-American tight end, you’re going to have to work.”
“Dad, I’m not All-American material,” Mark said, with a hint of tears showing in his eye.
“You could be if you concentrated more on football, and less on this girly stuff, you could be. You got all the tools.”
“Now Clarence,” his wife said again. “I must really apologize Mrs. Hansson, Karen and your brother. Clarence doesn’t mean all this, he just wants the best for Mark.”
Mark’s father stood up and announced. “I’m going out for a smoke.” With that he left abruptly.
*****
As the evening wore on, Mark and Karen finally separated from the group, moving out onto a terrace where an already full moon had blanketed the mainly darkened campus. The pair sat on a stone balustrade, and Karen desperately wanted Mark to hold her hand, look into her eyes and tell her of his everlasting love. Yet, he sat strangely silent, almost preoccupied and as if he didn’t know she was seated next to him.
“What’s wrong, darling? Something’s bothering you,” she queried.
“Nothing,” he mumbled, refusing to look her into her eyes.
He shifted his body so that he no longer was facing her. Karen knew something was wrong.
“You were so marvelous tonight, Mark. You should be so happy.”
“Thank you,” he said flatly. “You were a real hit, too.”
“But what’s worrying you?”
“I’m fine. Just tired, I guess. We better get back inside.”
“Why? Our brothers seem to be having a great time and our parents are lingering over coffee.”
“Let’s just go back inside,” he said, arising but failing to take her hand and assist her down from their perch.
“Stop, Mark. Tell me what you’re thinking. This is our last night here,” she demanded.
“Stop nagging me. I’m going in with or without you.” His voice was stern, almost angry.
“Mark,” she yelled. “Stop now! I know what’s bothering you. You haven’t told your parents the truth about me, have you?” Karen asked.
He stopped in his tracks, looking back at her, saying: “Keep your voice down.”
“They’ll have to find out eventually. Didn’t they see the program? It lists Ophelia as being played by Kenny Hansson.”
Mark looked sheepish. “Oh that. I just told them it was a typo in the program.”
Karen was shocked. “Why did you do that? Didn’t they know that we were doing only what Shakespeare did in his time and sometimes boys played girl parts?”
“Oh it just happened.”
“Just happened? It’s a lie.”
Mark was silent for a moment, trying to change the subject by suggesting they go back to the food table for seconds in desserts. Karen refused to move.
Finally Mark explained. “Well it happened this way? Mom asked me if I had made any good friends at camp, and I told her yes and that it was the person who played Ophelia. She just assumed it would be a girl, I guess.”
“You could have set her straight.”
“Then they saw this lovely girl on stage and afterward my mother noticed how affectionate we were in taking our bows and said it looked like I had a girl friend. How could I tell them you’re a boy?”
“But what happens now?” Karen asked. “I’ll have to change into my boy stuff after tonight. And I’ll be Kenny again.”
At that moment, it dawned on her. Mark was planning never to see her again; they would return to their homes, Mark to Milwaukee and football and Karen to Manitowoc. They would be separated by about 80 miles and soon would be even further apart, as Mark would choose Iowa State and football, while she’d be at the University of Wisconsin. No doubt, they would lose touch with each other. As a football hero, he’d have lots of pretty girls.
Mark just treated her as a six-week fascination; certainly he didn’t view Karen as a real girl and a real lover. She was nothing but an oddity, a strange freak of nature. She began to cry, realizing that her days as Karen were ending … the happiest days of her life would be a memory and would live inside her like a Shakespearean tragedy. Also ending would be laying in the warm comfort of Mark’s strong, loving arms, of feeling his muscular chest beating as she laid her head upon it and of being a soft, sweet defenseless girl.
“I have to go now,” Mark said abruptly. “My parents are leaving and I have to say good bye. Maybe I’ll see you back in the room.”
“Oh Mark don’t leave me.”
Mark said nothing. He turned, said not a word more, and walked off to meet his parents. She stood with tears in her eyes, knowing that she wouldn’t even see Mark at the graduation ceremony, since his parents had to get back to Milwaukee.
She remembered the passion Mark had put into the famed “To be or not to be . . .” soliloquy, and how she had remained on stage during that scene in Act III, Scene 1, seated in adoring affection for the handsome young man. And then she recalled how convincingly Mark played what follows in the play: Hamlet’s cruel rejection of Ophelia’s love. Hamlet has blamed Ophelia’s beauty for undercutting “honesty,”
HAMLET. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness: this was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.
OPHELIA. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.
HAMLET. You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it: I loved you not.
OPHELIA. I was the more deceived.
HAMLET. Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?
Mark had played Hamlet to show outright cruelty, something she never thought he had the capability of showing. He had always been so kind and sweet. Was that the real Mark showing? She had tried to act out Ophelia’s depression at this rejection, and according to everyone she had succeeded.
“Get thee to a nunnery!” Such haunting words, such heartless utterances, such finality.
She had performed Ophelia’s depressed and crazed state on stage; she had drowned herself in despair in Shakespeare’s play. Karen knew how Ophelia could bring herself to pass into peaceful oblivion. Her Hamlet was gone! Karen wondered, was hers to be the fate of the crazed beauty Ophelia, or would her Hamlet once again welcome her into his arms?
Becoming Karen - Book 2: Becoming Karen
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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.
Becoming Karen - 2
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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.
Becoming Karen - 3
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Thus continues this story, which is a sequel to “To Be or Not To Be,” of a boy who finds a new life.)
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.”
Becoming Karen - 4
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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.
Becoming Karen - 5
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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.
Becoming Karen - 6
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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.
Becoming Karen - 7
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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!
Becoming Karen - 8
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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.
Becoming Karen - 9
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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)
Becoming Karen - 10
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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.
Becoming Karen - 11
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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.
Becoming Karen - 12
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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.
Becoming Karen - 13
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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.
Becoming Karen - 14
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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?
Becoming Karen - 15
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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.
Becoming Karen - 16
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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.
Becoming Karen - 17
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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.
Becoming Karen - 18
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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.
Becoming Karen - 19
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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.
Becoming Karen - Book 3: Karen's Magnificent Obsession
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By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2013)
(Karen Hansson begins her new life as a beautiful girl in love with a handsome, athletic, popular young man. Her transgendered status is just one of the factors she must overcome to fulfill her dreams not only to gain the love she desires, but also to save her future. This novel-length story is a sequel to two earlier stories about Karen, “To Be Or Not To Be,” and “Becoming Karen.” While the reader may enjoy reading the earlier stories first, this novel may be read on its own.)
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 1
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Chapter One: Renewal
Karen stared out the window of her mother’s apartment on Christmas morning, looking down an empty street to view piled snow along the curbs. Mark Hamilton, her beloved, had ventured down the street minutes before, driving his parent’s car headed for a Christmas morning with his family and out of her life in the weeks to come.
Her mind was filled with thoughts about the previous 15 hours in which Mark had surprisingly re-entered her life, hugged her, kissed her and repeatedly said how much he loved her. He had told her how he was able to tell his parents that she, the lovely Karen, was a boy anatomically, and not the beautiful girl they thought she was. It had been a bold step, and Karen knew it had been difficult for him, but he had taken it. His mother, he told her, had taken the revelation fairly easily, but his father was still not sure about it.
Karen knew, too, that by expressing his love for her he may be exposing his promising future in football in jeopardy. Yet, Mark Hamilton, the freshman quarterback phenom at Iowa State, had found the courage to share his love for her. The memories of the previous hours were still fresh in her mind and there were tears in her eyes — tears of joy mixed with sadness since she wasn’t certain when she’d see him again. He was to return to football practice for the New Years Day bowl game in Florida after celebrating Christmas with his family and then back to school in Iowa.
“He’s not coming back today, honey,” her mother said, moving next to Karen and hugging her closely.
“I know, mother. But, isn’t he wonderful?”
“Yes, darling, he’s nice and so good-looking, too,” Cecily Hansson said to her daughter.
Her little brother, Sonny, age 14, entered the room and, having overheard the conversation, spoke out: “Hey, sis, he’s really cool. He showed me how to grasp the football so I can throw better passes.”
Karen looked around at her brother, who actually now stood perhaps an inch taller than she was at 18 and had already developed a broad muscular body.
“I’m glad you liked him, Sonny, ‘cause he said he liked you, too,” Karen said.
“Yeah, just wait ‘til I tell my friends that Mark Hamilton, the Iowa State star, is my big sister’s girlfriend,” he said with a grin.
Karen smiled at her brother, his body already maturing in spite of his young age into a powerful, masculine presence. She was so pleased at the change in attitude from her younger brother who had so often teased her when she was still a boy named Kenny who had long displayed a natural femininity. Now, Sonny had seemed to take pride in having a sister who was so pretty that she was able to command the attention of a bona fide football hero.
“Think you’ll even be as good on the field as Mark?” she teased her brother.
“Of course, I will,” Sonny boasted with a typical teenage swagger. “But then, sis, you only have eyes for your precious Mark.”
It was true. While she had enjoyed the kisses and caresses of her college friend Gabe for a short time, and even the lesbian advances of her hometown friend Angela, her feelings focused on Mark Hamilton, the first boy who ever showed her any attention. For six months she had thought she’d lost him, and now he had returned into her life.
That morning, as the pair had awakened in each other’s arms on a shared twin bed (their sheets entangled and scented with the sweet sourness in the aftermath of mutual ejaculations), they had had to hurry so that Mark could leave for his home 90 miles away by 9 a.m. Their love-making has yet to be consummated since Karen still has her penis and neither was interested in performing anal sex; instead they had comforted themselves with long kisses, loving caresses and sweet cuddles. In the end, they both ejaculated, almost simultaneously, before falling asleep in each other’s arms.
That night in bed, Mark confessed to being a virgin and pledged to remain that way until Karen had her operation and was equipped with a vagina. Karen also was a virgin, having never been with a girl during her years as a boy.
“You promise you won’t be teased into bed by one of those pretty Cyclone cheerleaders?” Karen asked said as they cuddled.
“Darling, you’re prettier than any of those girls,” he replied quickly. “And I’d love you even if you weren’t.”
There was no hesitation in his reply and she kissed him voraciously in response.
Karen met Mark Hamilton at a Shakespeare Summer Camp at St. Albert’s College in the previous June, where Karen (then Kenny) had been selected to play Ophelia in “Hamlet” and Mark to play the title role. Karen had been chosen in the tradition of the ancient English theater in which men played all the parts (including the females) and she had played the pretty, but troubled, teenage Ophelia so convincingly that many viewed her as a genetically born girl. To prepare for the role, under the instruction of the director (who believed in “method” style of acting), she had lived fulltime as a girl.
Surprisingly, the life of a girl seemed natural to Karen; she had never before dressed in female clothing, but her life as a boy had been miserable and lonely. With a naturally nonathletic body, slender arms and lovely legs, she learned how quickly life changed for her. Suddenly, she had friends (girlfriends, of course) and the admiring looks of boys. It had been a life-changing experience, beginning but six months before. In November, she began living fulltime as a girl, and in January would begin hormonal treatment with eventual sexual reassignment surgery.
“When I learned you were living as a girl and would be transitioning, Karen, I knew I had to be with you,” Mark said that previous night. “I knew that the pretty girl I met in summer camp was not an apparition, but the real thing.”
Karen began crying with those words, even though she knew Mark meant them sincerely.
“Why are you crying, Karen?” he asked as he cradled her in his arms.
“Oh Mark, I’ll never be a total girl, a woman. I’ll have all the parts, but I’ll never be able to give you a baby. I can never be a mother.”
She recalled how gently Mark cuddled her, how softly his hands caressed her smooth skin. She remembered how she buried her head into his hard, muscled neck and took in his manly scent.
“Darling Karen,” Mark finally said. “You can be a mother. We can adopt and be a family like everybody else.”
“I know, but it’s not the same as you could have with a real girl. You’ll never be able to look at a child and say you helped to create him or her.”
She began to sob as she pressed hard his warm, toned body, and he responded by gently caressing her head as she sobbed.
“Oh sweet Karen, I’ll have you, and that’s all that counts,” he said at last.
She rose up so that their lips could meet and they kissed a long, warm, wet kiss. It had been a magical moment. She would never forget it. But, she wondered, did he really mean it? Could his love for an incomplete woman like herself ever last? Yes, yes, yes, she told herself. He loves me and I love him. What else counts?
These thoughts raced through her head as she stood looking longingly out the window hoping unrealistically for sight of Mark Hamilton to return up the frozen street and into her arms. Alas, she’d have to wait.
*****
The day after Christmas Karen went back to her regular holiday schedule, working from 11 a.m. to about 8 p.m. at the Olympus. Even though the work was grueling and tiring at the busy family restaurant, she enjoyed it, particularly now that she was able to be identified as “Karen.” She had become a popular waitress — both with her co-workers and the customers — known for her cheerful nature and efficient work habits.
In particular, Karen loved the waitress’s uniforms, the flowing, colorful print skirts with beige-colored blouses with their scooped peasant neck style. “I feel so feminine in them,” she confessed to Lucy Alexopolus, the hostess and daughter of the owner.
“You look just darling in it, Karen. No wonder all the men give you more than a glance,” Lucy said.
Karen blushed. Though she denied the fact, it was widely felt that Karen may have been the prettiest girl on the staff; what made her even more fetching was that she offered everyone a warm, welcoming smile.
The senior waitress, an attractive but hardened woman named Sharon, had become Karen’s closest friend among the girls who worked there and acted almost as an on-the-job mother toward her. Sharon, of course, had worked with Karen before she began living as a woman and had always been impressed with the young person’s hard work and sincere demeanor. During breaks and some after-work stops at places like pizza parlors or coffee spots, Karen found out quickly that Sharon — a single mother of two — could be a valuable confidant. In addition, Sharon constantly was protective of the younger woman, pointing out which of the male customers might be the most troublesome for a pretty girl.
“Believe me, Karen, I used to be quite a looker once myself,” Sharon said. “And you’re still learning to be a girl. I’ve been through what you’re going through now, trying to fend of wandering hands and leers.”
“Sharon, the men still look at you. You’re a pretty woman,” Karen said.
“Well maybe a little bit,” Sharon said with a smile. “But mainly the old pot-bellied guys with wives look at me. Everyone else follows you around.”
“They look at the other girls, too. Everyone of us is pretty, and even Beatrice would be if she smiled more.” Karen referred to a pretty, but always sour-faced waitress who had become even dourer when she learned the former Kenny was now living as Karen. “You’re blaspheming God,” Beatrice had warned Karen, initially refusing to use her feminine name, due to her fundamentalist religious views.
“Yes, George likes to hire pretty girls,” Sharon said, giving out with a giggle in her reference to George Alexopolous, the Olympus owner. “That’s why he was happy to have you return as Karen.”
The holiday season was always a busy one at the Olympus, often crowded with large family groups, many ranging from invalided grandparents to toddlers. Both high chairs and special tables for the disabled were constantly full; it required supreme patience on the part of the staff to work around crawling infants, scampering three-year-olds and wheelchairs.
As usual, Karen and Beatrice were teamed up; having adjacent sections to serve in the restaurant meant they often had to help each other out if one got overwhelmed. In spite of Beatrice’s hard feelings toward her, Karen always found the girl — who had long dark hair tied in a bun, naturally dark eye lashes and brows with a near tan complexion — to be a most cooperative workmate, and the two girls worked efficiently together.
During an afternoon break on the day after Christmas, Beatrice sat down next to Karen at the picnic table in the back of the restaurant, having retrieved her purse from a small locker that the Olympus had for the staff’s personal belongings.
“Wow, we were busy this noon. Thanks, Beatrice, for your help,” Karen said.
“I know. I’m bushed, and thank you, too, for your assistance. I didn’t think I’d ever finished up with that last family group. Those kids were terrors.” Beatrice forced a smile.
“Cute little Jamie,” Karen said sarcastically, referring to a 5-year-old who seemed to terrorize the entire restaurant at times.
“If I weren’t Christian, I’d have a word for that brat,” Beatrice said, displaying a rare bit of emotion.
“It’s Ok, Beatrice. You can think it, anyway,” Karen said with a laugh.
Beatrice smiled in response and Karen was impressed with how pretty and welcoming the girl’s face could become when she smiled. She watched as Beatrice opened her purse and extracted a colorful pamphlet.
“I hope you don’t mind, Karen, but I’ve got something for you,” Beatrice said, her demeanor growing a bit serious. She handed the pamphlet to Karen; it was a three-fold pamphlet with a picture of a young man, upon which had been superimposed a ghost-like figure of a woman whose face appeared to be a direct image of the young man’s.
Karen looked at it, seeing a headline that read:
“God’s Word about Gender Switching”
“Please read this, Karen,” Beatrice said, and Karen realized that for the first time Beatrice had quit using her male name.
“Beatrice,” Karen said, framing her words carefully. “I promise I’ll read this and take it to heart, but I want you to check out information on line, too, about why this has happened to me. Would you do that, please? For me?”
“I guess, but it won’t change what God thinks about people who play around with their natural sex.”
“Beatrice, please look it over for me, Ok?”
The other girl nodded, and Karen said she’d bring some information she’d print out from the Internet that might best explain why people feel compelled to change their gender.
“It’s a deal then,” Karen said, giving the other girl a fist bump.
Beatrice smiled. The girl could be very warm and welcoming, Karen realized, if she would only loosen up and not act as if she was angry with the world.
“Beatrice,” Karen said after a few moments. “I got an idea. We’re both off tomorrow and I’d like you to come with me to visit a friend of mine.”
“Really, Karen?” the girl responded with a surprised look, as if she couldn’t believe the lovely, popular Karen would include her in something.
“Yes, I’m going to the Sunset Days Nursing Home to visit Elsa Oppenheimer, my friend and also to spend time with some of the other ladies there. Come along, I’ll be going with a couple of girlfriends from high school. We used to go there every Saturday when I was in high school to visit the home.”
“And you’d like me to come with you?”
“Sure. You seem like you’re a caring person and God likes us to serve others. Don’t you do work like that, too, through your church?”
Beatrice nodded. “Sure, I’ve working at our food pantry sometimes and I helped distribute Thanksgiving baskets to the poor.”
“And you’ll love these old ladies. They can be so much fun. I play Scrabble with Elsa and she’s in her 90s and she sometimes beats me easily. She can be a crafty, old player.”
There was a giggle from Beatrice. “I’d like that, only I’m no good at Scrabble.”
“That’s Ok, there’s a Mrs. Eisenstein who loves backgammon and is always looking for players.”
Suddenly the look on the other girl’s face grew alarmed.
“What’s wrong, Beatrice?”
“Ah . . . nothing . . . but are all the people there Jewish?”
Oh my, Karen thought. This girl has serious problems with being terribly sheltered in her attitudes. She must have been raised in an anti-Semitic tradition.
“Does that bother you, Beatrice?”
“No, I’m not prejudiced,” she said, defensively.
“Well, then you’ll join us, dear,” Karen said, seeking to challenge the girl without a direct confrontation. She knew that if she could get Beatrice to join them, she’d be charmed by several of the old ladies there and would likely soon forget about them being Jews.
“Yes, of course,” Beatrice said, but Karen could sense a wariness in her response.
“Ok, we’ll pick you up at 1 p.m. tomorrow, and I’ll bring along my information then.”
Beatrice nodded: “And you’ll read what I gave you, right?”
George Alexopolous poked his head. “Get going, girls. The tables are filling up.”
Karen gave Beatrice a hug and the other girl stiffened initially before hugging back and whispering in Karen’s ear: “Thank you, Karen.”
*****
“Was Beatrice preaching again?” Sharon asked as she and Karen left work that night and settled into a booth at a pizza place where Sharon would have a beer and Karen a soft drink.
“Trying to, but I didn’t argue with her,” Karen said.
“That’s wise. I’ve been avoiding getting into conversations with her just because of that.”
Sharon, the senior waitress at the Olympus, and Karen had developed a sisterly friendship, even though Sharon, a single mother of two, was 15 years older.
“She could actually be a beautiful woman if she’d smile a bit more,” Karen said. “But I got her to loosen up today and I think she’ll join me and a couple of other girls when we visit the nursing home.”
“Did she like the idea?”
“Oh yes, ‘til she realized most of the ladies there were Jewish, but then I shamed her into coming anyway. She might learn something.”
Sharon laughed. “I doubt it, but then you always seem to be the ultimate optimist.”
“Why not?”
“I hope you’re right, Karen, but it seems I’ve had too many hard knocks to always be so hopeful.”
“By the way, how are you and your boyfriend doing?” Karen asked.
Sharon smiled. “Good, dear. Really good. Stanley’s such a fine man, I just don’t think I’m good enough for him. He’s such a smart guy. You know, he teaches English at the technical school, and what am I, nothing but a broken-down old waitress?”
Karen frowned at her friend: “You’re wrong on all counts, Sharon. You’re not broken-down, although I admit you may feel tired sometimes. Who wouldn’t with your schedule? And, besides you’re as smart a woman as any, probably smarter than his first wife.”
“Well, Stanley always says I am, but I usually think it’s just his Irish blarney coming out when he feels horny.”
“ Nuts. He’s a sweet man and he means it, Sharon.”
“Enough about me,” Sharon said. “How’s your love life doing? Heard from your Mark?”
“Every night,” Karen said, smiling. “Either he calls or he emails me or texts me. Depends on the team’s practice schedule, which is getting pretty intense.”
“Sounds like it’s for real between you two then?”
“At least for now, unless he gets lured away by some sweet young thing in Iowa.”
“Now it’s my turn to be optimistic, Karen,” Sharon said. “You’re likely the prettiest and sweetest girl he’ll ever have, even if he is a football hero.”
*****
“That boy Aaron called today,” Karen’s mother told her when she returned home.
Cecelia Hansson was seated in her favorite overstuffed chair, reading a novel. Even though she needed glasses to drive and work around the kitchen, she removed them while reading and it made Karen wonder if maybe she faced that fate as she grew older. She hadn’t even had time to remove her puffy, insulated coat and wool knit cap when her mother made the announcement.
“Oh, what did he want, mom?”
“He didn’t say, but I told him you might not be home ‘til after 10,” Cecelia replied. “Did you stop off somewhere with Sharon?”
“Yes, mom. She’s really become such a good friend. You’ll have to meet her.”
“I did once, dear. Remember, when I stopped by with a couple of the girls for lunch one day. You introduced her, dear.”
“Yes, of course.”
Her mother looked at her closely. “She’s such a hard-looking woman, dear, I hope she’s not going to get you buried into her kind of life style.”
“Mother, you don’t know her,” Karen said sharply. “She’s smart as a whip. She’s just been dealt some unfair cards in life, and she’s working hard to overcome them. Besides, she’s a good mother, and she has helped me a lot. I owe much, mother.”
“I’m sorry, Karen, but I just don’t want you to spend the rest of your life working as a waitress like Sharon,” Cecelia Hansson responded.
“Oh, mother, you don’t know her. She’s almost got her associate’s degree in accounting at the tech school, but frankly she makes good money waitressing and she’s good at it.”
Her mother abruptly turned her attention back to her book; it was the newest novel by Danielle Steele, not exactly challenging literature.
“What did you tell Aaron, mom?”
“To call tomorrow morning, dear, since I knew you’d be going to the nursing home,” her mother said. “Oh yes, Angela called and said she’d pick you up just before one o’clock.”
“Thanks mom,” Karen said, walking over to kiss her mother “good night.”
*****
Even before taking off her waitress outfit, Karen sat down at her laptop to check email messages. She hadn’t heard from Mark all day; usually he would send a brief text message several times a day, but there had been not one. Karen told herself that Mark must have been busy at football practice (the game was but four days off) and she knew his family had arrived in Florida for the game. He must be under terrible time pressures, she told herself. Yet, there was lingering fear that one of the many campus beauties who had followed the team from Ames, Iowa, might have weaved their charms and drawn his attention.
There were some 100 incoming messages awaiting her that night, but only one of them was worth looking at. It was from Angela:
Darling, looking forward to seeing u again. D and I had great fun skiing but we had a little fight, so I came home early.
If u want, let’s do something together, just u and I, after our visit to the nh. Luv to spend time with u. cya. Hugs and kisses, Angela.
Karen let out a gasp upon reading her message. Did Angela, who was a year ahead of her at the college and was her one true girlfriend in high school, want to rekindle their own personal lesbian affair? The thought of being in the arms of the muscular and tall Angela excited Karen; she remembered how the nipples on her breasts grew hard with the other girl’s caresses. She remembered how much Angela desired her — not as the boy she was originally, but as a soft, feminine girl. And she loved being Angela’s object of affection; although the other’s possessive and controlling nature scared Karen.
“I can’t go back to Angela again,” she told herself. Yet, she knew she now felt a longing to be nestled next to her, both totally naked. It made her tiny penis grow hard.
As she readied herself for bed, her mind raced between Angela and her renewed interest in Karen to Mark and his failure to contact with her that day and Aaron whose purpose in making a phone call to her was a mystery.
A girl’s life can be so complicated, she realized.
*****
She was still lounging around in her light pink flannel pajamas, robe and fluffy slippers and her hair still tied up when Aaron called the next morning. She was in the kitchen with her mother, sharing waffles, and Cecelia Hansson took the call, holding the phone with the mouthpiece covered.
“It’s Aaron, honey,” she said.
“Oh mother, I look like hell now,” she said without thinking.
Her mother laughed out loud and said: “Just like a girl.”
“Mother!”
“That’s all right, I was covering the mouthpiece,” she said, still laughing.
Besides the absurdity of her own comment, Karen was wary of the call, worrying about how she’d respond to whatever it was Aaron might want to say. She took the phone, looked at it a moment, and then spoke into it: “Hello.”
At first no one said anything, so she said again, “Hello. Is that you Aaron?”
“Ah . . . yes . . . ah . . . how are you?” came the stammering voice of Aaron. He hadn’t lost his shyness, it was obvious.
“I’m fine, Aaron, just a bit tired from a busy day at work yesterday. And how are you?” She realized that she’d have to carry on the conversation, since Aaron seemed to have reverted to his hesitant, halting ways.
“Oh, Ok, and I just wondered what you’re doing these days,” he said, the words beginning to come more freely.
“Oh, Aaron, just working almost every day. What did you have in mind?”
She realized he’d have to be coaxed into getting into the reason for his call, so she thought she’d get right to the point.
“Well, Karen, I wasn’t very nice to you the last time I talked to you,” he began.
“You were all right,” she said. “After all, I shocked you when I told you I was born as a boy. I understand, Aaron.”
“It was a shock, but I like you, Karen,” he said. “I’ve never met a . . . ah . . . ah . . . girl who I could talk to so easily like you. Or even another boy.”
Karen smiled. “I enjoyed our short time together, Aaron. You’re a very nice boy.”
At that point, Karen’s mother, apparently wishing to give her daughter privacy, got up and left the kitchen.
“Thank you, Karen, and I wondered . . . ah . . . ah . . . whether I could see you while you’re home on vacation. Maybe for coffee or a movie or something, or what are you doing News Years Eve?”
The last words came rushing out of the boy’s mouth, as if he had rehearsed these lines over and over before placing the call. Karen wondered if Aaron, even though he was a year older and in his second year of college, had ever before asked a girl out on a date.
“That’s nice of you, Aaron, and I’d like to see you, but the truth is I’m very busy this week,” she said, trying to be gentle and kind. She felt she’d truly like to spend time with Aaron, but the truth was she was busy.
“Not even for an hour or so, Karen?” the said, pleading his case.
“Aaron, I really am tied up,” she began. “I’m off today, but I’m spending the afternoon visiting a nursing home with some of my girlfriends. We began doing this as a project in high school, and I made some nice friends among the old ladies out there, and I promised I’d do something with my best friend, Angela, tonight. Then I’m working everyday, except New Year’s Day, until I go back the following Monday.”
“Oh. I guess you are busy.”
“Really, plus I need to spend some time on a paper I’m writing.”
“Karen, I’d like to talk with you . . . ah . . . you know . . . about your gender situation,” Aaron said. “I’ve been doing research and I think I understand. I still don’t want to lose you as a friend.”
“Nor I.”
“Maybe New Year’s Day we can do something?”
“I’m not sure, since I’ll be working late on New Year’s Eve, like ‘til 2 in the morning, and I’ll be tired, and then I want to watch a bowl game on New Year’s Day.”
“You like football? Really?”
“No not really, but my boyfriend is playing in one of the games,” she said. “It starts about one o’clock.”
“Boyfriend? You have a boyfriend?”
“Yes,” Karen said, her voice becoming hesitant. She still wasn’t sure she could call Mark her boyfriend, but the truth was that Mark seemed to act like a boyfriend. Yet, it had been more than a day-and-one-half since he’d contacted her.
“Oh, I didn’t know,” the boy said, his voice betraying his disappointment.
Karen was suddenly hit with remorse over causing this kind, gentle boy such obvious pain.
“But maybe we can still get together, Aaron,” she volunteered.
It was finally agreed that the two would have dinner together on New Year’s Day night.
“How about Angelo’s?” Aaron suggested.
“Oh, that’s so expensive, Aaron,” she said.
“Not for a pretty girl like you, Karen. I want to treat you,” he said.
“No we should go ‘dutch,’” she said.
“Really, I insist,” the boy said. “I promise I won’t demand anything from you. Just a nice evening out with conversation between the two of us.”
Karen agreed. She looked forward to spending time with Aaron, since he was interesting. Also, she liked the idea of putting on a nice dress for the occasion. That appealed to her.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 2
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Chapter Two: Complications
“I have to tell you something about Beatrice,” Karen said as she slipped into Angela’s Ford Focus, its side panels coated with the residues of salt that had been thrown down on the roadways during the winter. “She’s very religious, Angela, so we gotta watch our language.”
“Great,” Angela said sarcastically.
“But she’s got a good heart, and I’m trying to get her to open up a bit.”
“You mean we can’t tell her about our love-making,” Angela said, her eyes growing impish.
“You better not, I’m having trouble getting her to accept Karen, and don’t be surprised if she calls me Kenny every so often.”
Angela, who was wearing jeans and a sweat shirt under an insulated hooded coat along with men’s work boots, was looking less and less feminine, Karen noticed. Even her voice seemed to take on a harsher, masculine timbre.
“Why are you so eager to get her involved with us, then, Karen?”
“Well, she still thinks I’m sinning against God, and I’m trying to show her that her God also likes to serve people, like we do by going to Sunset Days.”
“Dammit, Karen, you’re always trying to save everybody.”
Angela had driven about a half mile, before stopping in front of a ranch style house, one of many sitting side-by-side in a subdivision developed perhaps 50 years before. Mature trees, their limbs standing barren and bleak in the grey cold of the day, lined the streets. She gave the horn a tap, emitting a short blast.
Patty Murray who if anything had grown more Irish-looking since Karen saw her last summer emerged from the neat ranch home. She was wearing slacks and a beige-colored heavy coat, with a wool scarf about her head. As she slid into the back seat, Angela turned to look back at the new arrival.
“Hey Patty, glad you could make it,” she said.
“Hi Angela and you too, Karen. I’m glad Angela told me you’re one of us now ‘cause I wouldn’t have known you.”
“Yes, I’m one of you now; at least I’m on the way.”
“I can’t say I was too surprised, Karen,” Patty said, and Karen looked back to see the girl’s round, freckled, pug-nosed face. As usual, her eyes shown in a bright blue, with strands of her light brown hair poking out of from under the scarf.
Angela started the car and said, “We’re going to pickup one more, Patty. One of Karen’s co-workers and we need to warn you that she’s a religious nut, so behave.”
Patty giggled. She loved to laugh, Karen recalled. “I always behave, and I go to mass every Sunday, too.”
“Beatrice is not religious like you, Patty,” Karen said. “She’s one of these Bible-thumpers.”
“Oh my God, one of those. How did you get mixed up with her Karen?” Patty asked.
Following Karen’s directions, Angela drove into a subdivision of over-built, ersatz-designed homes on large lots. She directed them to stop in front a multi-gabled monster of a home, complete with a widow’s walk turret and a huge Cadillac Escalade in the driveway. Even before Angela could honk the horn, the front door of the home opened and Beatrice ran out. She wore a dress under the coat she wore; it had a fur-lined hood attached. Beatrice said little on the way to the nursing home, acknowledging the introductions with tentative “Hi’s.”
*****
“My darling, how happy it makes me to see you, and looking so pretty, too,” Karen’s special friend, Elsa Oppenheimer, said.
“I was hoping you’d recognize me, Elsa,” Karen said.
When she had last visited the nursing home it had been in summer. At that time, she was still in her boy mode, although many of the patients there often called her “miss.”
“I was hoping you’d understand, Elsa that I am transitioning into womanhood. I’ve always felt something was wrong with me as a boy,” Karen said as she sat down next to the old woman. Elsa was now in a wheel chair most of the time, and it saddened Karen to see her so confined. Even though Elsa was in her early 90s, and had shrunken into a tiny gnome of a woman, she had always had been fairly agile.
“Darling, give Elsa a hug,” the old woman said, opening her arms.
The two hugged, their cheeks meeting and Elsa showing surprising strength in grasping Karen.
“Look, honey,” Elsa said. “I may be old but that doesn’t mean I don’t keep up with things. I always thought you had a female soul. You were always so warm and sensitive. I thought you were always very pretty, and now I can see how absolutely beautiful you are.”
“I’m so happy you understand, Elsa. I so hoped you would. You’ve always been one of my favorite friends.”
“You’re making an old woman cry,” Elsa said, grabbing a tissue and wiping her eye.
Karen wheeled Elsa out to the recreation area and found a vacant table; Karen found the Scrabble game in the cupboards that stood at one end of the room, flanking a sink and a coffeemaker. As they set up the board, Karen checked to see if all the tiles were still in the set, since in such communal settings tiles often did get lost as various players handled the game. They were all there, Karen found after checking it out. Soon, the pair became deeply engaged in their game, and Karen found herself rusty from several months of not playing the game. As usual, Elsa won. Nothing seemed to have dimmed the old woman’s brainpower, Karen realized, even though her recent bout with hip problems may have doomed her to the wheelchair.
“I’ll never beat you,” Karen cried out as the game ended.
So intense had been the competition that Karen hadn’t noticed several others had gathered around the two of them as they played the game. There was applause, and she heard an older male voice yell: “Way to go Elsa!”
Karen looked up to see a wizened older African-American man, with a full head of gray hair and a neat beard, standing next to Beatrice and one of the nursing assistants.
“Oh, Karen,” Elsa said. “Let me introduce Chester here. He also plays Scrabble with me. Keeps both of our minds sharp.”
“And she beats me, too, young lady,” Chester said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“Hi,” Beatrice said.
“Oh, let me introduce my friend, Beatrice, who joined us today for the visit,” Karen said.
“Chester why don’t you and your new friend sit down at our table?” the old woman suggested. Turning to Karen, she said, “I think there are some juice cartons in the cooler and popcorn, too.”
Karen nodded. She knew where the refreshments were, and went to get them. The three others were engaged in eager conversation when she returned.
“We’re talking about you, Karen,” Elsa explained.
“Should my ears have been burning?”
“Not really, dear, it was all good,” Elsa said, smiling. “I just was explaining a few things to Beatrice here. I think she understands your situation a bit better now.”
Karen looked at Beatrice, whose expression was hard to read. She said nothing, and it took Chester to break the silence.
“I like your girlfriend, Karen,” he said, referring obviously to Beatrice. “I introduced her to my grandson, Ellis, and I think they hit it off.”
Chester winked at her, and then reached over to pat Beatrice’s hand. Karen was astounded: she couldn’t imagine the narrow-minded Beatrice wanting to have anything to do with an African-American young man.
“I’ll visit you again, Chester,” Beatrice said. “I promise.”
“OK, young lady, I’ll hold you to that.”
*****
“I had fun today,” Beatrice said, as the four girls crowded into Angela’s Focus.
“I thought you would,” Karen said. “That’s why I suggested it. Those old people can be truly lots of fun if you give them a chance.”
“And that Chester, he’s such a clown,” Beatrice said. “So not everyone in there is Jewish then?”
“No, although it’s run by the Jewish Community Group,” Angela explained.
“Oh, I understand. . . ah . . . ah . . . not that it makes any difference,” Beatrice said.
Karen realized the girl had suddenly wished to hide any prejudice she might have shown in her remarks about the Jewish nature of the nursing facility, and she found herself wondering if the visit — along with Elsa’s comments — had convinced Beatrice that Karen’s sexual transition was not necessarily a blasphemy.
Patty intervened: “Say, Beatrice. Who was that handsome young man who also was visiting Chester? You two seemed to be hitting it off well.”
“Yes, you did,” Karen said, remembering how Beatrice had joined in laughter with the young African-American man she saw with Chester.
Beatrice reddened noticeably, Karen saw as she turned back to look at her. “Oh,” the girl said, faking nonchalance, “That was his grandson, Ellis.”
“He’s cute. Did you give him your phone number, Beatrice?” Angela teased, as she drove.
“No,” she answered, as if doing so would have been a grave sin.
Too bad, Karen mused. It appeared that Beatrice had some strict limits as to how wide open her attitudes might become. Miscegenation was out of the question for her, at least for now. Yet, it was obvious that Beatrice had opened her eyes at least for a day.
*****
That night, Karen and Angela went on their date: it consisted of going to the multiplex to watch “Lincoln,” followed by a stop at the pizza joint. In the movie, the two were able to find one of the love seats that the theater had scattered throughout the auditorium, and comfortably settle into it.
Angela took the role of a gentleman, assisting Karen with her coat, and holding arm as Karen sat down. They were in their seats just a few minutes when Karen felt Angela’s arm drape her thin shoulders and she gratefully settled in next to Angela. The gesture brought back memories of their love sessions months earlier, which began long before Karen’s life as a girl. Even then, when she was Kenny, Angela had treated her as the female in the date, as the submissive person who needed protection. Karen smelled the clean, soapy scent of her mate, recognizing that Angela never wore perfume and the realization thrilled her.
As the light dimmed in the theater for the start of the interminable previews, Karen reached over and grabbed Angela’s free hand, feeling its familiar strength and callousness. Instinctively, Angela covered Karen’s more dainty hand, using her fingers to caress the hand. Karen felt her male appendage harden as she surrendered herself to her strong, muscular friend.
“I’ve missed holding you, dear, dear Karen,” Angela whispered, her voice barely audible in competition with the noisy action being portrayed in the movie trailer that preceded the showing of the feature film.
“I know, this feels so good, Angela.”
“I just love how dainty you are.”
Karen let out a quiet giggle. She loved how weak and dependent she felt just then.
“You’re so cute,” Angela continued.
Their reveries were interrupted with a hissing “Shhhhhhhhhh.” A man in the row behind them whispered: “You two love birds should shut up. The movie’s about to begin.”
“Just a couple of lesbians, dear,” they heard a woman’s voice — obviously the man’s seat mate — say derisively.
“Sorry, sir,” Karen responded, and Angela removed her arm from Karen’s shoulders. The two held hands throughout the movie, and the tension of the movie soon drew their sole attention as President Lincoln worked to pass the Emancipation Proclamation while satisfying his troubled wife, Mary Todd.
“I wished my parents weren’t home,” Angela said later as they left the pizza place. “I’d love to be together with you Karen.”
Karen smiled, and reached over to pat the other girl’s thigh. Angela pulled the car onto the highway from the pizza joint’s parking lot, turning left, heading out into the countryside.
“Where you going, Angela?” Karen asked.
“I know a spot where we won’t get bothered,” the other girl said, patting Karen’s hand with her free hand.
The air was brisk, and while the highway itself was free of snow and ice, there were four- and five-foot piles of snow along the shoulders, where it had been piled by the plows. Periodically, rural mailboxes popped up out of the drifts. The car was quickly warming up as they drove along at a leisurely pace, and Karen began to feel warm and content; she loved being with Angela, even though in their earlier relationship she had felt that often the girl was too controlling.
Her thoughts soon turned to Mark Hamilton, and she began to feel guilty, realizing she was looking forward to the caresses and kisses that might be coming within a few minutes from Angela. She hated herself for feeling pleased by the kisses the two had shared earlier in the evening at the movie house. Shouldn’t she be saving herself for her beloved Mark?
Mark, Mark, her darling Mark. How much she loved caressing his smooth, muscular body, his hard, sinewy arms and his firm, but surprisingly slender thighs. How gentle the boy was as he massaged Karen’s own mushy arms and thighs and kneaded her soft tummy. She couldn’t betray him, she realized.
Just then, she felt the car slow down, almost to a stop, and she watched as Angela steered the car between two huge drifts into a narrow roadway encrusted with snow and lined with drifts from a plow. She could see only snowmobile tracks left on the snow; no auto tracks. Angela removed her hand from Karen’s and put both hands on the wheel as she navigated the roadway, occasionally swerving as they climbed or descended from the swales formed by the rugged forested countryside.
Eventually, they came to a clearing where the plow had created a turn-around. The headlights pickup a small, frame cabin tucked in among the trees. There were no footprints in the snow, indicating the cabin was not occupied during the winter. Angela pulled the car to a stop, put it in neutral and turned off the headlights, letting the motor to continue to run.
“We’ll be left alone here, Karen. This is my uncle’s hunting shack, and I don’t think anyone’ll bother us back here,” she said.
“Ok,” Karen said; her voice was soft, tentative. She wanted to tell Angela to take her home; she felt she was wronging Mark, but she feared for the other girl’s reaction. She had seen Angela’s temper at its worst, and she knew she couldn’t protect herself against Angela once she grew angry.
“Damn these bucket seats,” Angela said, trying lean across the center console to hug Karen.
“I know.”
“Let’s climb into the back, Karen. We’ll be more comfy there and we can take our coats off now, since the car has warmed up.”
Feeling she had no option, Karen did as Angela said; leaving her coat in the front seat and stepping out onto the snow, and into the back seat. She felt the momentary chill of the below zero winds and was astounded by how bright the woods seemed; there was a full moon and the beams painted spindly shadows from the trees upon the brilliant whiteness of the snow. She could clearly see Angela, already in the backseat, having removed her blouse; she sat there in only her bra on, her muscular, almost masculine body, clearly visible in the moonlight reflecting off the snow.
“Hurry up, Karen. Close the door and get it or you’ll freeze us to death,” she commanded.
Karen obeyed and sat down, leaving a few inches between the two.
“Now take off that sweater and move closer, dear,” Angela said.
Karen took the sweater off, lifting it over her head, revealing a silky camisole over her bra and exposing her narrow shoulders and lovely arms.
“Oh my God,” Angela said. “You’re everything I ever wanted, Karen.”
Karen felt herself being pulled by the other girl into her arms; suddenly firm hands dug into the softness of her upper arms, and Karen responded by grabbing the other girl around her firm shoulders. They hugged that way, with Angela’s face nestled into the neck of Karen, kissing the neck area. It was so stimulating and Karen felt her tiny penis growing hard.
Soon, they were kissing, their lips pressed firmly together and growing moist as their mouths pushed together moving together. Their tongues met and played together and their passions grew. Karen felt consumed with desire for the restraining hold by her friend, whose passion seemed to know no bounds.
Angela began screaming, accompanied by heavy panting, and Karen feared the noise might alert neighbors; but of course there were no homes within hundreds of yards. Angela guided Karen’s hand into her pants and under her panties, and her fingers found the hairy, wetness of her opening, soon entering as Angela’s screams and squeals continued. Suddenly, Karen felt her hand grow moist as Angela seemed to calm down and she soon moved into an exhausted breathing.
“Darling,” Angela said, breathlessly. “That was so marvelous, my dear.”
“I know,” Karen answered, but her words sounded empty to herself. For some reason, the whole experience, while stimulating, seemed wrong. Her small male appendage, which had grown hard and even into painfulness, had softened. Something within her made it seem so unsatisfying.
The two lay together; their love-making had found them scrunched awkwardly across the seat, Angela on the bottom, with Karen more precariously balanced atop her. They continued their embrace, saying nothing. With the motor of the Focus still running, the heater continued to do its work and the interior of the car felt almost hothouse warm. From a slightly lowered window the passenger door, there was a draft of cold air that wafted over Karen’s bare shoulders. The window had been opened up a crack to assure the two would not get overcome by carbon monoxide if a faulty exhaust system existed.
Karen caressed her friend indifferently, finding a desire to be released and to exit their love-making, but Angela continued to hold her tightly, occasionally kissing her and brushing her hair affectionately.
“Don’t you think we should go, Angela?” Karen asked.
“Darling, no, please, let’s do it again. Kiss me hard, dear,” Angela said, her hold on Karen growing more firm.
“Again?” Karen said incredulously, surprised that the girl wasn’t exhausted.
Suddenly Angela’s kisses grew hard and moist, and Karen found herself too weak to resist. She responded to the kisses and was surprised to feel her penis grow hard again. Knowing Angela would want it, Karen moved herself off the girl and into a kneeling position, squeezing into the narrow space behind the front seat. Greedily, she pulled Angela’s pants and panties down from to the girl’s knees and mounted her face onto Angela’s crotch area, her lips finding the bushy “v” and moist muskiness.
The pants restricted Angela’s thighs, keeping them together, making it impossible for Karen’s tongue to find the opening. Angela’s panting grew louder and more intense.
“Get off for a second, honey, and pull my pants off completely, dear,” Angela pleaded breathlessly.
Karen did as commanded, and Angela’s legs opened wide and she felt her head being propelled into the crotch between the muscular, smooth thighs of her friend. Karen eagerly placed her lips onto the lips of Angela’s vagina, already tasting the sour moisture from the girl’s earlier secretions. Almost without thinking, she thrust her tongue into the hole and let it play around, as the two girls rocked together in rhythm.
She heard a louder squeal and scream from Angela and suddenly more creamy liquid began to flow into Karen’s mouth and onto her face, which was still tightly squeezed onto the girl’s vagina. At the same instant, Karen felt her own ejaculation occur and she felt a warm wetness on her own thighs. Together, the two lovers seemed to relax, and Karen felt her friend open her legs to release her.
Karen climbed back onto her friend, and the two lay together in an embrace, kissing gently. Karen felt genuinely exhausted, and suddenly felt a need to be released. She felt a desire to clean herself up and put her clothes back on.
“Ready for more?” Angela said after a few minutes.
“Not really, I’m beat,” Karen said.
“You’re so hot a lover, Karen, even better than that bitch Doreen,” Angela said, referring to her lesbian friend with whom she had become estranged.
“Really, Angela? I think we should go.”
“No I need more, Karen. Please.”
“But I don’t feel I could again.”
Angela laughed. “That’s right. You’re still got your cock. And that thing is usually only good once a night. Just wait ‘til you get that cut off and you get a vagina, then you’ll get orgasms just like me.”
“That’s what I heard,” Karen said. “But I am tired, and it is getting late, Angela.”
“Oh darling,” Angela said, drawing Karen tightly against her. “I guess we should go. You’re a great girl at making love. And I can’t wait ‘til you’re all girl. You’ll be the hottest thing around.”
“I can’t wait either,” Karen said.
*****
Was the hot and satisfying evening in the backseat of Angela’s Ford Focus the renewal of a longer-term love affair with the girl? The prospect bothered Karen that night as she cuddled under the quilted, warming bed covers. Since her mother kept the apartment thermostat set at a cool 68 degrees during the winter heating season, Karen had learned to give up wearing one of her light, thin-strapped nighties and instead wore the two-piece “jammies,” as she liked to call them. She also wore bed socks.
“I’m such a cold bunny,” she explained to her brother, Sonny.
“If you were a bunny, the cold wouldn’t bother you, girl. Look how the bunnies romp in the snow now,” he brother argued back.
“Quit trying to be so macho,” she argued back at him.
“And you’re such a girl,” the boy said.
She had grown to love her younger brother, who had become wise beyond his age of 14. At first he had viewed Karen’s transition into a fulltime girl as a shame and blot, but he soon appreciated how much his older sibling had grown to like and love him. Raised by a single mother, the younger boy had often relied upon Karen (even in her days as a boy) for support and understanding.
In truth, his earlier reluctance to accept Karen for whom she was, Sonny had been more worried about teasing from his friends and classmates, and mainly about navigating the macho world of football that had become an obsession for the boy. Sonny was already — though only a freshman in high school — being looked upon as the future quarterback for the next season. He was truly a talented athlete; besides he constantly got top grades in his school work. Karen knew that the boy, if he kept up with his athletic and scholastic growth, would be a likely target for an athletic scholarship at one of the major universities.
“You have a date tonight, sis?” Sonny asked, as Karen entered the apartment after Angela had dropped her off.
“Huh,” Karen said, shocked to see her brother in the living room watching a horror movie on television. He usually could be found in his bedroom on his computer, either looking at football statistics, goofing around on Facebook or engaged in some other silly online business.
Still flushed from her steamy evening with Angela, Karen was taken aback at seeing him, and she worried that her disheveled appearance (perhaps even messed up lipstick) would betray the physical exercise of the love-making.
“No, I was with Angela,” she said.
“Oh, it’s just that you look so . . . oh . . . never mind,” Sonny said.
Karen knew he had apparently been shocked at seeing how she looked, but quickly sensed he had realized that it would raise too many issues if he pursued his questioning any further. She hurried into her bedroom, grateful for her brother’s sensitivity, something that he had only recently seemed to have acquired. She smiled as she thought about Sonny, wondering if the fact that he had recently had his first date and seemed to be excited about the girl, a cute, cuddly thing named, ironically, Karen.
“Where’s mom?” she asked Sonny when she emerged from her bedroom, having cleaned herself up and gotten herself readied for bed. She wore her light blue jammies with pinkish bunnies dancing across the fabric. She draped herself in a beige robe and wore fluffy pink slippers.
“Oh, she’s still not home from her date,” he said, his voice taking on a rather mean tone.
Karen was pleased her mother was dating again; as far as she could remember, their mother had not been with another man since their father fled the scene. Sonny, however, had a different view, and had even expressed to Karen that “mom’s awfully old to be catting around like that.”
“Oh, Sonny. Don’t be too hard on mom? She deserves a little fun, doesn’t she?”
“But, Karen . . . I can’t picture our mom with a man . . . ah . . . you know . . . doing all that sort of stuff . . . you know . . . like kissing and all.”
“Why not, Sonny?”
“Because she’s my mom . . . ah . . . our mom.”
“Honey, she’s also a woman,” Karen said, sitting on the sofa and hugging her little brother tightly.
“I know, Karen,” the boy said, nestling his head onto Karen’s shoulders.
The two sat together in each other’s arms, both with their eyes on the horror film unfolding on the smallish television screen, but probably not seeing the outlandish events of the movie. What was going on in the movie seemed remote to Karen, whose mind reflected back to her time in the car with Angela. She was troubled, she knew, by the events, worried that it was a betrayal of her love for Mark and also that she may again be put under the spell of the controlling, demanding Angela. The girl required so much attention, Karen knew.
It was obvious that her brother, Sonny, may have been thinking, too, about how their mother, their chubby, warm mother, may be wrapped in the clutches of her relatively new boyfriend, Michael Kelly, a tall, slender man with a pink complexion and unruly blonde hair.
Both were shocked out of their reveries when Cecelia Hansson opened the door, entering their room, shaking snow from her fur-lined parka.
“Oh hi, mom,” Sonny said, breaking away from Karen’s clutches.
“Hi, mom,” Karen echoed. She too moved into a more erect position.
Their mother greeting them with a cheery “hi,” and as she removed her coat commented:
“It’s nice to see my children have become so cozy together.”
“We were just watching a movie, mom,” Sonny said.
“How was your date, mom?” Karen asked.
“Fine,” she said.
“Is that all?” Sonny probed.
“What else is there to tell?” Cecelia Hansson, smiled as she answered.
Karen looked at her mother, and for the first time in a long time, she saw a bit of serenity and pleasure in her demeanor. It was apparent that their mother’s date had been much better than “fine.”
*****
Even with all the bed clothes covering her, Karen shivered as she tried to get to sleep, and her moments in the steamy car with Angela came back to her, haunting her with the reality of the frantic desires she experienced, along with a contrition that bothered her immensely. Yes, indeed, she realized, she was cheating on her budding love-affair with Mark Hamilton. Didn’t she want him more than anything? Hadn’t she been pining to feel herself in his arms again and again? Hadn’t the marvelous Christmas Eve they spent together not meant anything to her and she could dirty that memory by her lesbian love-making with Angela?
She knew the answers to those questions; yet, she knew she might continue to see Angela, her friend and one of the first people to acknowledge the girl who was growing out of that sissified boy she had once been. She cried silently, burying her face into her pillow, smelling the sweet scent of the light perfume called “Beautiful” that she put on each night as she went to bed. It was always just the tiniest dab, behind each ear, but it provided a lovely smell that permeated her room.
Finally, she was asleep into an evening of chaotic dreams, even one of Mark and Angela entangled in a wrestling match while she tried to separate them, jealously worried that the two would fall in love with each other, leaving her without either of them. Tugging at her in the dream were two people, Rami, her Indian transgendered roommate in college, and Aaron, the young man who wanted to date her. It was a nightmare that never seemed to end, and it didn’t, since the two continued to wrestle while Rami and Aaron tried unsuccessfully to pull her away. And all Karen did in the dream was to cry . . . . and . . . cry . . . and . . . cry.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 3
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Chapter Three: Girl Talk
She awoke the next morning, exhausted from her experiences the night before and the dreams that followed. It was already eight o’clock, more than an hour after her usual time for getting up. The house seemed cold, and Karen snuggled into a fetal position as she pondered how long she could lay there before rising and shivering as she got dressed.
Soon the memories of her love-making with Angela filled her mind, followed by concern that she hadn’t heard from Mark for nearly two days. Not even a text message or a cryptic email that might have at least ended with the words: “Love, Mark.” She knew he was busy practicing for the New Years’ Day bowl game, and that the practices had been intense and wearing. Certainly, he could have at least written a couple of words, like “miss you” or “love you” or even just “hi.”
Karen surrendered herself deeply under the covers, smelling the floral scents of Estee Lauder’s “Beautiful” scent, rising among the slightly sour smells of the bed clothes. She imagined Mark next to her; he always smelled of clean soap and a musky male deodorant, and she remembered how she thought his odor had scented her own bed clothes after only one night of sleeping together. It had been nearly a week since they were together, and yet she was convinced she could still find traces of his scent remaining.
How strong and protective he was! How safe and happy she felt in his arms, her weak, dainty body so soft and feminine nestled so sweetly into his muscular frame! Was it not heaven? Oh, Mark, my love, my sweetheart, my darling. Where oh where are you? Why don’t you let me know where you are?
A melancholy overtook her, weakening her and forcing her into a ball under the bedclothes, pondering that she may be doomed to a life of loneliness. Karen held that position for another 15 minutes, until she heard Sonny’s heavy footsteps bound down the hall outside her door. The sound of life beginning in the Hansson household finally awakened Karen from her depressed stupor, and she began chastising herself for her laziness of the morning. She had to be at work by 11 a.m., she knew, and it being New Years Eve it was expected to be a hectic busy day at the Olympus.
Her thoughts about Mark suddenly turned to anger. How dare he not message her? Well, she thought, the heck with him. Didn’t she have a date coming with Aaron? And maybe soon again with Angela? Why not enjoy life?
It was in that frame of mind that she showered, shaved the light fuzz under her arms and a little bit forming on her upper lip. Her chest, mercifully, was smooth and devoid of hair. Soft mounds of flesh formed her tiny breasts, and her slender shoulders and arms gave her the look of a young girl just emerging into womanhood. “My, I could pass for a 14-year-old,” she mused.
Putting on a bra, panties and a light pink sweat pants and top, she tied her hair into a hurried ponytail and put on white ankle socks with ballet flats. She hurried into the kitchen, hoping that her mother had prepared breakfast, like she always did on her days off. Only Sonny was in the kitchen, having helped himself to cereal and milk and seated at the table with the morning paper’s sport section spread out in front of him.
“Mom’s not up yet,” Sonny announced, clearly annoyed that he had to get his own breakfast. “Guess she had too much loving last night to care about us.”
“Now, Sonny, enough of that,” Karen scolded. “Mom works hard and she deserves a day off.”
“I think she cares more about that Harold than us,” he pouted.
Karen gave him a light slap on the head with the brushing of her hand, causing him to look up. “What’s that for?”
“For being an inconsiderate jerk,” she said.
For some reason, her little brother did not respond, and merely returned his attention to the sports page.
“I’ll make us something, Sonny,” Karen said, happy to assume the role as the “woman of the house,” at least for the morning. “How about bacon and eggs?”
“Will you, sis?”
“Sure, whaddya want?”
“Pancakes and sausage?”
“Sure, why not?” Karen said.
She went over and kissed her brother, pleased to be serving him. Sonny, however, in typical teen boy fashion, just brushed her away with a comment: “You’re always so mushy, Karen.”
“That’s the way we girls are, honey.”
She began preparing breakfast as Sonny finished his cereal and read his sports page.
“I see Mark’s team, Iowa State, is 13 point underdogs in that bowl game,” he said.
“Oh my.”
“I think they’re better than that, sis,” Sonny said. “They haven’t seen what Mark can do. He’s hot, sis.”
She smiled at his description of Mark being “hot.” Little did her brother know just how “hot.” But, why hadn’t Mark contacted her? Where was his message? Will he ever again contact her? Is he gone from her life? Was he hurt, or something?
After the two Hanssons finished their breakfast, Sonny looked at his sister and asked: “It looked like you and Angela had a hot time too last night.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Just the way you looked last night. You must have made love to her or something.”
Karen reddened, and merely answered: “No and it’s none of business anyway.”
Sonny looked at her and let out a sarcastic laugh. “You lie. You did, I know it, and you’re supposed to be a girl. Did your boy side take over?”
“Shut up Sonny,” she said angrily. “You don’t know anything about it.”
“Oh yeah? You’re a girl and she’s a girl. Having sex together. How sick is that?”
“None of your business.”
She ran from the room, beginning to cry, leaving the dirty dishes on the table.
*****
Karen lay on her bed, flat on her back, and looked upward. Her eyes were unseeing, as thoughts whirled about in her head. Sonny’s taunting words, “How sick is that?” bothered her; how “sick” indeed were her sexual encounters with Angela, she wondered. Intellectually she knew that lesbians existed — and that her friend Angela was among their number — but perhaps the puritan nature of her experiences in her short life made them seem perverse.
The fact was that she enjoyed her time with Angela, times of pure passion, yet mixed with a feeling of affection for the other. She found Angela to be strong, honest and outspoken, compared to her own hesitancies, equivocations and weaknesses. Karen loved being treated as a fragile person, in need of protection.
Was her renewed affection for Angela not just a substitution for Mark Hamilton, her absent boyfriend and supposed lover? Karen frankly was confused.
Her musings were interrupted by a gentle rap on her door. It was Sonny: “May I come in sis?”
“Yes,” she said, softly at first, and perhaps too soft for Sonny to hear.
“Can I sis? I’m sorry.”
“Yes, come in Sonny,” she said more loudly this time.
Sonny came in, and hesitantly walked over to his sister’s bed. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly on her lips. Instinctively, Karen grabbed her brother, forcing him to keep his head lowered and their lips together. After a brief moment of brotherly-sisterly kisses, she released him.
“I’m not mad at you, Sonny,” she said, as the boy sat down next to her on the bed. Karen took his hand, which had grown to be bigger than hers, despite their age differences.
“I shouldn’t have said those things,” he said.
“Maybe you should have, Sonny, even though, you should know, there’s nothing wrong for two girls — or even two boys — to love each other and to kiss and cuddle each other.”
“I know about gays and lesbians, sis,” the boy said, defensively.
“And you know Angela is a good friend, too, and has always supported your sister and helped her so much these days,” Karen continued.
“I know you have been friends with her for a long time, sis.”
“She’s a lesbian, but I think you suspected that.”
“Yes, I guessed that.”
“Well, I have made love with her, several times, and she’s treated me only like another girl, not a boy, and I enjoyed it, too,” Karen said.
“But what about your love with Mark?” Sonny said. “Aren’t you betraying him?”
Karen reddened. Her brother had hit the issue squarely. Her concerns with her relationships with Angela arose not because of lesbianism, but because of sharing her body with another person, thus betraying Mark Hamilton. Sonny must have recognized her troubled thinking, and he began affectionately brushing her hair; his touches were light and gentle, hardly in character with the brutish football player that he was developing into.
“Yes, Sonny,” she said, finally. “I am betraying him. I love him, dear.”
“I know you do, sis,” he said, leaning down and giving her another affectionate kiss, before getting up and leaving the room.
“I love you, little brother,” she yelled after him.
In a moment, she got herself up and into the shower, feeling better and eager to begin the day, realizing that she faced eight or more hours of work at the restaurant, a prospect that she actually welcomed, since she fit in so well at the Olympus, where she had become just one of the girls.
*****
Her cell phone sounded just as she was about to put on the skirt to her waitress uniform; she had showered, washed her hair, applied lotion to her body and put on her panties and bra. Struggling to the phone, as she pulled the skirt up to her waist, she got to it just before it hit the fourth ring and would go to voice mail.
“’lo,” she said breathlessly.
“Karen?” asked a hesitant voice.
“Yes, it’s me. Oh my God, it’s you, Mark.”
“Yes, it’s me. In the flesh.”
The words excited her, picturing him standing before her “in the flesh,” perhaps only in his boxer shorts while she stood in her bra, panties and skirt.
“Oh, darling,” she said in a rush. “I thought you forgot all about me.”
Immediately, she wished she could take the words back; she didn’t want to sound like a nagging girlfriend.
“I don’t blame you, Karen,” Mark reassured her.
“Couldn’t you call?”
“Not for two days. Coach took away all our cell phones and iPads and stuff. He said no outside communications for two days. He really drilled us, but he’s given us all six hours of freetime now, hoping we can relax before the big game tomorrow.”
“Oh Mark, I thought it might be something like that. I missed hearing from you.”
“I missed you, too, Karen, but coach really kept us busy. I couldn’t even see my family, and they’re here for the game. I’m so excited about the game tomorrow.”
“I’ll pray for you, Mark, but don’t get hurt, honey, please don’t get hurt.”
“Don’t worry,” he laughed. “I got a big, strong offensive line to protect me.”
“But you guys play so rough.”
“I’ll be all right, dear. Just pray for a win.”
“My brother and I’ll watch the game together, Mark,” she continued. “You’re his hero and he thinks you’ll surprise everyone there.”
“Give him a hug for me. I can see he’s a real gamer, just like his sister.”
The two conversed for nearly half an hour, when Karen had to break off, since she had to continue getting ready for work. She was all smiles as she dressed, fixed her hair and put on her makeup. She promised she’d call him during her break.
*****
Cecelia Hansson looked up as Karen entered the kitchen.
“That waitress outfit looks just so cute on you, dear,” she said.
Karen did a bit of a twirl, and replied: “Thanks, mom. I love it, too. I’m so happy they selected this style.”
“It makes you look so delightfully feminine.”
“It makes me feel that way, too, mom.”
Her mother reached out to grab Karen’s hand. “I know you’re on your way to work, dear, but can you spare a couple of minutes?”
“Sure, mom. In fact I got time for a cup of coffee with you.”
“Oh darling, I just love having a daughter to share girl talk with,” Cecelia said.
Karen kissed her mom and then got herself a cup of coffee, and brought the carafe over to fill her mother’s cup.
“I love being your daughter, mom,” Karen said as she sat at the corner of the table.
“Oh it’s not that I didn’t love Kenny, either, but I kinda like having mother-daughter closeness.”
Karen took a sip of her coffee; despite her mother’s apparent pleasure of the moment, Karen sensed there was something bothering her.
“Mom, what’s this all about? Are you really pleased with me, or has all this change bothered you?”
“Oh no, honey, not at all,” her mother said, patting her hand affectionately. “I can’t even look at you and ever think you were anything but my daughter now. It was a bit strange at first, but I love you so much, dear. Just so pretty a girl, too.”
“Thanks, mom, but I have a pretty mom that’s responsible for me.”
“Don’t lie to me, Karen. I’ll never be as pretty as you are. I’m just too fat.”
Karen giggled. “Mom, don’t be silly. I bet Michael likes you just as you are.”
Cecelia blushed. “As a matter of fact, he does.”
“See.”
“Oh honey,” her mother began, her voice getting a bit soft. “That’s just it. He seems to adore me, and he’s already talking about marrying me.”
Karen was shocked. Her mother and Michael had only been dating about a month, but they had known each other for years. Michael was a lawyer by occupation and a specialist in navigating federal Medicaid rules. Cecelia met him during their fairly frequent meetings, and soon developed a close working relationship. She found Michael to be a fierce negotiator for the hospital, but reasonable and honest in his efforts, rarely trying to use legal niceties to avoid the rulings of the government.
Cecelia realized after nearly a year that she was growing fond of her associate, even fantasizing to herself that she might like to go to bed with him. Apparently, the feeling was mutual, for after a year of awkwardness — in which both were secretly worried over a conflict of interest that might be developing due to their fondness for each other — Michael called her at home one night and announced he would no longer be representing the hospital.
“I suggested that the hospital should accept another lawyer from our firm, and they protested at first, but they finally did and I’ll no longer be representing them, Cecelia,” he announced.
Cecelia remembers how shocked she was at the call. “Oh, Michael, I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve always liked dealing with you,” she responded.
Michael told her the name of the new attorney and promised Cecelia that she (the new attorney was a woman) would be honest and fair in representing the hospital. “I think you two will be able to work together,” he said.
“I thought we had a pretty smooth relationship, even though you could be so pig-headed,” she told him with a slight chuckle.
“You, too,” he said. And they both laughed.
He suggested the two might have dinner some night together to celebrate their work together. Karen remembers how giddy and nervous her mother had been in preparing for that “first date,” having not been out with a man for more than 20 years. Cecelia called Karen at school to ask about what clothes to wear, whether to put on perfume and whether she should invite him in for a drink when they got home.
That first date occurred a week after Thanksgiving and the two dated at least once a week since; it became obvious by the time Karen got home for the Christmas holidays that her mother was in love. Karen met him only once, briefly, when he picked up her mother for a date on the Saturday night before Christmas and found him to be pleasant. He seemed to be such a quiet, respectful man that Karen could not picture him as being a tough legal advocate.
“He’s talking about marriage so soon, mom?” Karen asked.
“Oh, he doesn’t want to do it immediately, Karen. He just raised the issue last night, and just said he wondered what I thought about marrying again.”
“What did you say, mom? I knew you weren’t interested in the past.”
Cecelia smiled. “I didn’t give him an answer, if you’re worried about that, Karen. I told him I wasn’t sure, yet, and that a lot stood on what you kids thought. I love you both so much.”
Karen smiled. She figured that would be her mother’s major concern.
“Mom, I want you to be happy,” Karen said without hesitation. “Michael seems to be great and I’d like to spend more time with him. But if you are in love with him, I’d say go for it. And, Sonny should feel the same.”
“That’s just it, Karen,” Cecelia began. “I don’t think Sonny is happy with the idea of another man in our life.”
Karen nodded her head. “Yes, Sonny seems to have his nose a bit out of joint over your dating,” she said.
“I’ll love him just as much, married or not married, Karen.”
“I know mom, and Sonny should realize, too, that if you’re happy, then we’ll all be happier,” Karen said. “Sonny sounds just a bit jealous and probably not comfortable with his mother being in bed with another man and having sex together.”
Cecelia blushed.
“Look, mom, Sonny will come around, I’m sure. And I’m sure he’ll come to like Michael, too.”
“Would you talk to him, darling? I know Sonny really listens to you.”
Karen kissed her mother, and left for work. She and her mother had always been closer; yet Karen felt a more intense intimacy between the two of them as she began to live as a girl.
*****
The lunchtime at the Olympus was a bit less busy than usual, due likely to the fact that it was Dec. 31 and most companies were closed. After lunch, the day grew busier with larger groups of families coming, along with casual stops for late lunches or early dinners.
“Thanks, Karen,” Beatrice said as the two met at the computer to enter bills for customers.
“What for?”
“For taking me along to the nursing home. That was sweet of you.”
This was the second time that Beatrice had thanked her for including her on the trip to the nursing home. Karen felt, too, that Beatrice was totally sincere in her expressions of gratitude, and it got Karen to wonder. What happened to Beatrice’s single-minded interest in seeming to push her version of God’s word, particularly with the thought that Karen’s gender issues were sinful and blasphemy?
“I think the folks out there enjoyed having you visit, Beatrice,” Karen said. “You can go on your own now, if you wish.”
“Too bad you’re going back to school soon. We could have gone together.”
“That would be nice, Beatrice.”
Beatrice began to redden and Karen sensed the girl wanted to say something.
“What is it, Beatrice? What do you want to tell me?”
Just then, Lucy, the hostess came by, and said softly to Beatrice, “The folks at table six want their check, Beatrice.”
Karen put out her hand to hold Beatrice and asked again: “What is it, Beatrice?”
“Oh, nothing, Karen,” she said hurriedly, and ran off to table six.
Seeking later in the day to probe Beatrice, Karen asked during their afternoon break about whether she was going back to the nursing home to visit Mr. Freeman, the elderly African-American gentleman she had befriended.
“Oh yes, he was so sweet,” Beatrice said.
“Maybe his grandson will be there, too,” Karen said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Beatrice said, faking badly at being nonchalant.
“He really seemed nice, and so good-looking, too.”
“I guess so but I didn’t notice that.” With that Beatrice charged into the restroom, leaving Karen alone at the break table, where she was soon joined by Sharon, the restaurant’s senior waitress who had become Karen’s closest friend on the job.
“That girl seems to have loosened up the last few days, Karen,” Sharon offered.
“She has, hasn’t she?”
“I wonder what caused it. She even seems friendly with you, now.”
“She is, Sharon, and I think she accepts me for who I am now, too. It all seemed to change when I asked her to join several of us girls for a visit to the nursing home where she grew especially fond of a black man who was a patient. It may have opened up her mind a bit.”
“I think so and really Beatrice is a good soul underneath her stern exterior, Sharon,” Karen said. “I think she’s finally accepting me as a girl.”
Sharon smiled, placing her hand on Karen’s arm. “It’s hard not to accept you as a girl, dear.”
Later, fixing up her makeup in the restroom, Karen smiled as she looked at her image in the mirror. She loved how totally feminine she looked in the Olympus waitress outfit, the peasant blouse with its ruffled, scooped bodice and short puffed sleeves that exposed her slender, pretty arms and white slim neck. She just wished she had larger breasts to fill out her figure, thinking again that she looked like she had a body of the 14-year-old girl.
During the day, Karen realized she had attracted the attention of numerous young men, several of whom practiced some corny lines in attempting to flirt with her. “What time you get off tonight, dear?” asked one cocky, swarthy looking man with slicked back hair and a bushy mustache.
“Do you really want to know, sir?” she responded.
The man was momentarily stunned by a response that seemed to accept his potential invitation. “Oh yes, I’d love to see you then,” he said.
“Well about 10 o’clock,” she said in a teasing tone.
“Wow, I’ll be here then.”
“So will my boyfriend and he’s six feet, four inches tall. I know he’d like to meet you,” she said, putting the check down. “You may pay the cashier, sir.”
She walked away to hear the young man’s friends laughing out loud at the man’s obvious embarrassment.
“You’re getting good at heading off those advances, Karen,” Sharon whispered. “I thought Mark is not here, but down in Florida for a bowl game. It’s OK to lie in these situations.”
Karen smiled: “It was only a tiny lie. I am meeting this guy, Aaron, after work. Aaron is not a real boyfriend, and while he is tall, I’m sure he’s not much of a fighter. He’s pretty skinny, but he’s sweet.”
“I wondered, Karen, about this Aaron, since you’ve expressed real love for Mark.”
“Yes, Mark is number one in my heart and I’m so worried he’ll get hurt, Sharon. I wished he didn’t play football. I’ll probably not look at the screen tomorrow when he’s back to pass, worried about how hard he might get hit. My date with Aaron really isn’t a boy-girl thing; he just wants to be my friend, I guess.”
“You’re certainly a popular girl,” Sharon said, heading off to take an order.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 4
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Chapter Four: New Years Eve Party
Karen rushed home after work to change clothes and freshen up; Aaron suggested that perhaps Karen and he could go to a New Years Eve party being held by a youth group at his church, the First Presbyterian.
“There’ll be no liquor or beer then, Karen. I hope that’s OK,” he said.
“Of course,” she said. “I don’t drink, except maybe a glass of wine with mom or our neighbor, Harriet.”
Karen liked the idea of going to a youth group outing where she would be among other young people; it was so hard, she knew, for young people to party, since most places served liquor. And, she knew at being at a church function should protect her against untoward advances from Aaron. Even though he seemed unsure of himself with a woman, Karen still was worried that his normal sexual desires might cause him to put demands upon her.
Having been on her feet all day at the restaurant, Karen decided to wear flats, which she could carry in her purse. Since there was fresh snow on the ground, she had to wear boots to the dance, and she’d be able to change them when they get there. She dressed modestly, wearing black tights, a knee-length plaid skirt, white blouse and her colorful holiday-decorated vest. She draped a single strand of simple pearls about her neck, and brushed her hair so that it flowed freely. She put on a neutral-colored lipstick and no other makeup, other than a bit of foundation to take the sheen off her face.
Aaron was scheduled to pick her up at 11 p.m., and Karen finished dressing just a few minutes before; she joined her mother and brother as they watched the television coverage of the New Years Eve ball drop in Times Square. (New York was in another time zone.)
“Gosh, sis, you could be my date,” Sonny said. “You look like you belong in 9th Grade.”
“Now Sonny, quit teasing your sister,” their mother said. “I think she looks cute.”
“Yeah, like a little girl,” Sonny laughed. “Who is this guy, Karen? Is he old enough for a driver’s license?”
Karen blushed. “He’s a year old than me, Sonny, and it’s OK for a girl to look younger. Hah!”
*****
Just then the apartment alarm buzzer rang, and Karen spoke into the intercom and buzzed her date in. She hurriedly, put on her parka, boots and wool cap, so that Aaron would not have to spend too much time under the scrutiny of her family, particularly the prying Sonny, who seemed to be taking almost a prurient interest in her sister’s dating practices. Earlier Sonny had criticized her for accepting a date with Aaron, since he considered she was being disloyal to Mark; because of Mark’s football hero status, her brother had made the young quarterback his idol and felt his sister should “save herself” for him. Karen assured both her brother and her mother that she was totally in love with Mark and that the date with Aaron was merely platonic since the young man was truly “nice” and sort of lonely.
The basement meeting room at First Presbyterian was echoing with the noise of 1960s and 1970s era music when Karen and Aaron arrived. Perhaps 50 young people (most appearing to be in high school) stood around, some wearing the silly coned hats and leis that were typical of New Years’ Eve events; perhaps a dozen were dancing to the music supplied by a scruffy-looking young man who was handling DJ duties. The beige tiled floors and painted concrete block walls caused the music to bounce and echo back and forth, causing a terrible din forcing conversations to almost become mouth-to-ear.
As might be expected, there were more girls than boys present. About a dozen young people were dancing to a slower Led Zeppelin tune, with only two of them being boys. Most of the boys were gathered in a clump at the far side of the room.
“Hi Aaron,” a pretty, but obviously very young teenager, said as he entered, easily recognizable as perhaps the tallest person in the room.
“Hi Sherry,” he said, turning to Karen, adding, “Karen, this is my cousin Sherry.”
“And who’s your lovely girlfriend, Aaron?” the girl replied her voice taking on a teasing tone.
Aaron reddened, and stammered: “Ah . . . this is . . . ah . . . just a good friend, Sherry. Meet Karen.”
“Nice meeting you, and you have a real nice party going on here,” Karen said, hoping to put Aaron at ease.
“Yes, Sherry was co-chair of the youth committee that put this on, and she’s only 15,” Aaron said.
“Just following in your footsteps, cous’. Aaron ran this committee all through high school,” the girl smiled.
She wore no makeup as far as Karen could see, and wore a pleated dark skirt, topped off with a light blue cardigan sweater over a pink blouse with a high collar. Despite her simple attire, Karen saw a natural beauty in the child-like girl she saw before her. She was soon whisked away by a pimply-faced boy with short blonde hair to dance.
It was quickly apparent that Aaron was most popular among the young people as young person after young person stopped by to say “hi,” and, perhaps, Karen thought, to find out just who he was. Karen felt she and Aaron may have been the oldest persons in the room, except for about a half dozen older people who were either parents or chaperones or both.
“So glad you could make it, Aaron,” an authoritative male voice sounded.
Karen turned to see a pink-faced, roundish older man with a chubby women.
“Oh Pastor, I am, too, and we’re sorry we’re late, but my friend, Karen, didn’t get off work ‘til 10 tonight,” Aaron said.
“That’s fine, Aaron,” the pastor said, his eyes focusing closely upon Karen. “You need make no excuses, young man.”
“Karen, this is Pastor Wheeler and his wife, Madeline,” Aaron said.
The pastor took Karen’s offered hand, and looked for an instant as if he would bend over a kiss it; instead, the pastor gently held her hand and then passed it off to his wife. All the time, Karen could feel his eyes examining her, making her uneasy.
“Nice meeting you,” Karen said.
The pastor guided Aaron to the side, while Madeline Wheeler sought to engage Karen in conversation. Karen had to strain to listen to the woman as the music blared, all the time wondering what Aaron and the pastor were discussing. Their conversation appeared to be earnest, almost heated at moments.
“Where do you work, dear?” the pastor’s wife said, obviously asking the question to hopefully draw Karen’s attention away from her husband’s discussion with Aaron.
“Oh, I’m just home from college for the holidays, but I’ve been working at the Olympus since I was about 16, and I work there for extra money when I’m home,” she explained.
The woman continued to probe Karen about her studies, her family and even asking if she attended any church, suggesting that Karen consider attending the First Presbyterian. Finally, Aaron broke away from the pastor and returned to Karen.
“May I steal Karen from you for a dance Mrs. Wheeler?” he said, his voice tense.
The woman nodded an assent, which Aaron didn’t acknowledge, literally dragging Karen onto the dance floor to begin dancing to a rock tune.
*****
“I’m not much of a dancer, Karen, but I had to get away from that narrow-minded, old . . . ah . . . I’d like to use a cuss word now, but . . . damn . . . that ol’ bastard.”
Karen almost wanted to laugh at the boy’s discomfort; it was obvious that he was one of those rare young men who sought to behave gentlemanly and within Christian traditions. Yet, she sensed he was terribly angered by his conversations with the pastor.
“Aaron, what happened with him?” Karen asked, drawing close to him as they stumbled through the dance. It was apparent neither of them was particularly experienced on the dance floor.
“My sister, thinking the pastor would understand, told him about you, that you were a boy,” he said.
“What? Why would she do that?” Karen asked.
The music grew louder, and Aaron said, “I’ll tell you later. For now, let’s try to dance and I’m sorry I’m a lousy dancer, but I haven’t done much dancing.”
“That’s Ok,” she said. “I’m just as bad.”
They both got progressively more comfortable to the Pink Floyd piece with a moderately fast-tempo, adapting to the rhythm, perhaps indicating that both of them — even with their relative inexperience at dancing — may have some latent musical talent. While she was enjoying the dance, Karen couldn’t stop worrying about the pastor’s reaction.
*****
As they turned together, Karen was shocked to see the face of Hillary Ann Garland, who graduated from the same high school class that Karen had. Karen seemed to notice a momentary flash of recognition show on the other girl’s face; Hillary, a heavily built girl with thin light brown hair, was dancing with an overweight boy whom Karen didn’t know. Karen’s and Hillary’s eyes met, and both quickly diverted their glances.
Karen tried to steer her partner to move to the other side of the dance floor to avoid any further confrontation with Hillary. As they moved, Karen saw Hillary say something to her partner, which looked like “I think I know that girl” if Karen’s lip-reading skills were any indication. She worried that it would be only a few minutes before Hillary might realize that Karen might actually once had graduated as Kenny Hansson from high school. Then what?
The music ended, and the DJ announced, “It’s three minutes to countdown and the start of 2013. Everyone get your hats on and your kazoos ready to go.”
The music, “As Time Goes By,” a sentimental ballad from World War II days filled the room, and Aaron took Karen’s hand, leading her to their table, where they both donned the goofy coned hats and tested out their noise-makers.
“Can we join you here?” a boy’s voice sounded off, and Karen looked to see Hillary Ann and her dancing partner approach their table. Since there were empty chairs at the table, they could hardly refuse.
“Sure, Hillary,” Aaron said. “You and your friend are welcome.”
It was apparent Hillary must have been a member of the youth church group in which Aaron had long been a participant.
“Karen,” Aaron turned to her. “This is Hillary Ann Garland, who’s a member of the group here, and Hillary this is my friend, Karen Hansson.”
Hillary smiled, and introduced her friend as “Marty Evenson,” announcing that she and Marty met at the local community college where they both were studying nursing. Karen was struck by the similarity of the two, particularly the fact that each had a soft, smooth double-chin.
“Oh Hansson?” Hillary said eagerly. “I graduated from Lincoln a year ago with a Kenny Hansson. Are you any relation? You must be, dear, you look so much like him.”
“Yes, we are,” Karen said quickly, hoping to avoid any further discussion on the matter.
Aaron, sensing the awkwardness of the situation, interrupted. “You’re cousins, aren’t you, Karen?”
It was an apparent effort on his part to give Karen a chance for an escape; yet, Karen feared it might just prolong the discussion, and might eventually lead to Hillary learning the truth.
“We’re sort of related, yes,” Karen said finally. He didn’t think it was a lie, but in reality it was a misleading answer.
“I always liked Kenny,” Hillary continued. “He was kind of quiet and not at all like other boys, who could be rude and such. I often hoped he might have asked me out, but no luck. But now I have the sweetest boy in the world in Marty here.”
Marty hugged Hillary and the two looked at each other with fondness.
“Whatever happened to Kenny?” Hillary persisted.
Before Karen could answer, the light in the room dimmed, and the music stopped, with the DJ’s voice booming: “Fifteen seconds to midnight. Pastor Wheeler has announced that when midnight comes, some short hugs are permitted, but no kissing.”
A big moan came up from the youth, along with a girl squealing “That’s not fair!”
“10 — 9 — 8 — 7 — 6.” Karen felt Aaron put his arm around her and draw her to him. He was so tall, she stood only as high as his neck.
“5 — 4 — 3 — 2 — 1” The traditional “Auld Lang Syne” burst into the room, and shouts of “Happy New Year” filled the room, accompanied by the racket from kazoos, clickers, whistles and other noise-makers.
Aaron hugged her, but made no further move. Looking over his shoulder, she saw Hillary and Marty steal a quick kiss. Soon virtually every other couple joined in violating the pastor’s rule. She looked up, and put her lips upon Aaron’s lips; their kiss lingered a bit and Karen felt the boy’s tenseness end.
She looked over at Pastor Wheeler, who seemed to say “what the heck!” He soon was seen kissing his wife.
*****
Mercifully, the dancing resumed and Aaron and Karen became separated from Hillary and her friend, sparing Karen further questions about Kenny Hansson. As they danced, Karen noticed that Hillary continued to look at her, sometimes even shaking her head as if wondering: “I wonder where I know that girl from.”
Aaron refused to tell Karen what Pastor Wheeler had said, stating only, “I’ll tell you after we’re out of here.”
“Maybe we should go, Aaron,” Karen suggested when the second dance began.
“Why? Aren’t you enjoying it?”
“Aaron, I’m just uncomfortable here. I liked it at first, but I don’t like how the Pastor and his wife keep looking at me. They both seem like I disgust them.”
Aaron pulled her tightly toward him as they danced to a slow ballad. “Don’t worry about him, Karen. I asked him to respect my friendship to you, and I think he does. And he won’t tell anyone.”
She rested her head on Aaron’s chest as they danced; she enjoyed how quickly the two had become comfortable dancing together. And, the music — being almost ancient by most standards — was relatively mild and comforting, adding to Karen’s comfort.
The dance ended at 1 a.m., with many of the younger participants being herded home by parents who had returned to pick them up. Hillary, who had been on the committee for the dance, had been busy in the last hour working at the refreshment counter, assisted by her new boyfriend. Karen was impressed how much the two seemed to be enjoying the chore, chatting with the youthful customers and assisting each other in serving the food and beverages.
At one point, Aaron left Karen at their table alone to get drinks. She sat there, primly holding her hands in her lap, looking out at the young people moving wildly to an upbeat, loud sound banging in her ears creating a cacophony of sound that seemed to block out even the ability to think. She felt the presence of someone sit down next to her and she turned to see Madeline Wheeler, the pastor’s wife, looking at her.
A pang of fear gripped Karen as the woman put a soft hand on her arm and leaned in, speaking directly into her ear:
“You’re very lovely, my dear, and I know my husband is quite disturbed about you,” she began. “Jim is really very liberal, but he’s also very strict about scripture and its meaning. We’re still grappling with all this gay and gender business, you know. I just want you to know that we hope you feel welcome here.”
Karen looked at the woman, wondering what her motives were. Was she trying to defend her husband? Or, was she sincerely interested in making Karen feel welcome? Maybe a bit of both, she decided.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler, and I want you to know that Aaron and I are having a fine time.”
“I’m so glad, dear,” she said, her voice lowering in its volume as the music grew less intense. “Are you religious, dear?”
“I was raised Catholic, but must admit I don’t go to mass very other anymore.”
“That’s OK, dear. Aaron assured us that you’re a very caring and nice person and that you like to work with the elderly.”
Karen looked at the woman. She realized that as much as her transition from male to female had bothered Pastor Wheeler and his wife she was still regarded as “somewhat worthy” because of her own charitable and generous behaviors.
“I hope I am what Aaron says,” Karen said. “He’s such a sweet person.”
“Are you his girlfriend now?” Madeline Wheeler asked.
“Oh no, ma’am. We’re just friends. That’s all. I hope he eventually finds a nice girl.”
Mrs. Wheeler nodded her head, agreeably. Karen wondered if her acceptance of the situation meant the pastor’s wife was pleased that Aaron might not be committing a sin by having sex with Karen.
The music stopped just as Aaron returned with the drinks. “I’ve just been having a nice chat with Karen,” Madeline Wheeler explained, rising up to leave the table.
“Thank you, ma’am, for keeping her company. I was gone longer than I planned,” Aaron said.
*****
They sat together without speaking for a while, each sipping their Cokes and munching on peanuts that were placed on the tables.
“She figured out who you were, Karen,” Aaron said, his voice soft. He spoke with his mouth next to her left ear.
“What?” Karen turned to look at the boy.
“Yes, Hillary realized you were the Kenny she knew in high school.”
“Oh my God. That’s awful.”
Karen wanted to flea from the room. Aaron must have sensed her feelings since he instinctively placed a hand firmly on her arm.
“Don’t worry, Karen. She assured me it’s strictly a secret. She won’t tell anyone, not even her boyfriend.”
Karen sat stunned, forcing herself not to look in the direction of the refreshment stand to see Hillary.
“Let’s go, Aaron,” she said.
“No, not yet. I think we should have one last dance.” He arose taking the girl’s hand and leading her onto the dance floor.
Karen was momentarily angered with Aaron, but as they began to twirl about the floor, her comfort level grew. She was so pleased at the manner in which Aaron took command of the situation. As they danced, her eyes suddenly stared into the distant face of Hillary; the girl looked directly at Karen and gave her a smile and a thumbs-up.
Later as Aaron helped Karen on with her coat as they were about to leave, Hillary and Marty approached and said: “So nice meeting you, Karen. It’s been a pleasure.”
“Thank you, Hillary,” Karen said. “It’s nice seeing you again.”
With that Karen acknowledged her former role as Kenny. Hillary responded: “I think you’re very brave, dear. And, you’re so, so pretty, too.”
Karen nodded and then looked at Marty, saying: “I hope you appreciate what a nice girlfriend you have in Hillary.”
“I do,” he beamed.
Hillary said: “Karen, look, I’d like to see you again when you’re in town, if you’d like. You know, to do girl things together.”
“Sure, Hillary.”
The girl handed Karen a slip of paper. “Here’s my phone number and email address. Write me if you wish. Or text me, too.”
“I will,” Karen said, leaning over to kiss the other girl. It was a sisterly kiss.
*****
Later in the car, as Aaron dropped Karen off, the two talked for a bit.
“I hope you had a happy New Year’s Eve, Karen,” the boy said.
“The happiest ever,” she said, than added: “What was that conversation about between you and the pastor? He looked mad.”
“Oh don’t worry about it, Karen. Sometimes he can be pretty narrow-minded.”
“But why did your sister tell him about me?” she persisted.
“Claire gets some strange ideas sometimes,” he began. “She’s really quite liberal, you know, and is active in some gay rights group, even though she’s hardly gay.”
“I know she sounded that way when she drove me those times to and from the University. I like her, Aaron.”
He turned off the car’s motor, even though it was below zero that night. “We don’t want to get affxiated, you know.”
“You’re right, but it’s getting late and I should be getting in, but why tell him?”
“Well, Claire thought the pastor would understand, since he’s been outspoken on many liberal issues of the day, particularly in assisting the poor and in paying our fair share of taxes and all that. He was a leader in the civil rights movement in the 60s, too, and Claire must have thought he’d understand your situation.”
“Well, it’s obvious he didn’t,” Karen said. “It made for an uncomfortable night, you know.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry,” the boy said, his tone showing his sincerity. “I think Pastor Wheeler is moving up in the ranks of the church and is becoming more conservative in his old age.”
“What did he want you to do? Take me home?”
“No, he expressed disappointment in me and even pointed to the scriptures. He told me, ‘Aaron, if you’re going to be a minister some day you better know the Bible.’”
“Oh?” Karen said. “You want to be a minister?”
“Not really, though I have talked about it,” he said. “I like working with people and helping them out.”
“There are other ways, you know?” she said.
“I know, and I’m not sure what I want now.”
“You’re so sweet,” she said, “But I better go in now. Thanks for a lovely evening.”
“May I see you again, Karen?” he asked, almost in desperation.
“Aaron, you know I feel I have a boyfriend in Mark, but I want you as a friend. I really do.”
“He’s so lucky to have you, Karen. I hope he appreciates you.”
He finally kissed her in the lobby of the apartment building; it was a brief kiss, one between friends. It was a nice, sweet, soft kiss, one that expressed comfort, and Karen felt it was most satisfying.
*****
“Sis, he got right up. He wasn’t hurt. You can look now,” Sonny said to Karen.
She was curled up on the sofa on New Years Day afternoon watching Mark Hamilton and the Iowa State Cyclones in their major football bowl game.
On just about every play when Hamilton (who played quarterback) took the ball from the center, Karen covered her eyes, so worried that he’d get hit and hurt. He was an elusive quarterback, and easily the star of the team which had taken a surprising 21-10 lead over a heavily favored, top-ranked team. He had passed for two touchdowns and run for a third in the first half.
She felt a huge pang of fear when she heard the announcer exclaim: “Wow, did you see the hit that Hamilton took from Defensive End Gene Solokowski? That guy’s a monster. And there’s no flag. It was a legal hit, but Hamilton must have had his bell rung.”
“Yes,” the announcer’s sidekick said. “It’s obvious that the defense is keying on Hamilton after the young man hurt them so badly with his passes in the first half.”
“I can’t stand this, Sonny,” Karen said, beginning to cry. “He’ll be hurt for life. Why doesn’t he quit that awful sport?”
“Oh, sis. He’s strong and he’ll be OK. Look he’s huddling his team and calling the plays now. I have confidence he’ll win this game.”
She looked up, saw the camera focus momentarily on Mark’s face and recognized the boy’s strong determined expression. He developed that same expression in the Theater Summer Camp when things were going badly in rehearsals.
Karen watched as the team lined up for the next play. The Cyclones were in an almost hopeless third down and 18; yet the players ran to the line in a spirited way.
“Oh no!” Karen squealed, as she watched Mark get the ball again and fade out to the left, with three huge linemen in pursuit. She closed her eyes, hearing the crowd roar and the announcer said: “Hamilton lets it fly just as Solokowski hits him again.”
She covered her face as the crowd noise from the television set drowned out the announcers, finally hearing her brother Sonny yell, “Touchdown. Dammit, sis, you missed it all. What a play and what a pass from Mark.”
“How’s Mark?” was all she could say, still covering her eyes.
“I don’t know, sis. He’s still down and they’re looking at him.”
Karen buried her head and began crying. Her brother came over and comforted her as the television switched to a commercial.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 5
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Chapter Five: New Realities
“Mark, Mark, Mark,” Karen cried inconsolably as she watched the scene on the television screen, horrified at the prone figure of Quarterback Mark Hamilton — her lover — being quickly surrounding by teammates, coaches and emergency personnel
Her mother came in from the kitchen when she heard Karen’s terrifying cry and sat down on the couch, cradling her daughter in her arms. Karen’s body was shaking, as she snuck occasional looks at the television screens. The announcer described the scene:
“The coaching assistants, medical staffs and others have gathered around Mark Hamilton, providing a shield so that the people in the stands or the millions watching on television won’t be able to see what they’re doing. His parents and family are in the stands and they must be in terrible fear.”
The officials held up the game for more than 10 minutes, until an ambulance had been driven up along the sidelines and the boy had been strapped onto a board that would hold him rigid.
“We hope Mark Hamilton will be Ok,” the announcer continued. “I think I saw a leg move, Elliott, which is a good sign.”
Elliott, the announcer’s “color analyst,” added: “They’ll be taking him to University Hospitals here, but as of yet we have no indication of the extent of his injuries.”
“Mark Hamilton is a fine, young man, Elliott,” the announcer continued. “We talked with him yesterday and he struck me with his leadership qualities. He’s taking a strong academic load while playing football.”
“Yes, and he’s hoping to be an actor eventually,” Elliott said. “He told me he may get a lead part in a spring production at the University Theater group. I’ve been surprised at how his teammates have followed his lead, seeing that he’s only a freshman.”
“We’ll let you all know about Mark Hamilton’s situation as soon as we can,” the announcer said. “Meanwhile, we have these messages.”
The television cut again to commercials.
*****
Iowa State — perhaps motivated by concern for their injured player — held on to win the game over the highly-favored opponent. Without Mark Hamilton’s skills, the team was unable to score any more points, but their defense rose to head off the frantic play of the other team. The player who caused Mark’s injuries was not ejected from the game.
“It’s rough game, and the hit was legal, but the guy’s so strong that when his helmet cracked into Mark’s neck area, it must have done something,” Sonny explained.
“Why do they let such brutes play?” Karen said, red-eyed from crying.
“Because he’s good, Karen. Sokolowski is a probably All-American at defensive end.”
“I don’t care. He’s a brute. Why does Mark have to play such a game?”
The game ended without any word about Mark’s injuries, other than the announcer’s statement that he was “in the hospital for observation.”
As the game ended, the phone rang. Cecily Hansson picked it up and talked briefly with the caller. She came into the living room and approached Karen: “It’s Angela. She watched the game. She’d like to stop by and be with you. Would you like that, honey?”
At first Karen shook her head “no,” but Sonny intervened: “Why not let her come over, sis? She’s your best friend. It might help.”
She looked at her brother; what a sweet brother he had become. Maybe Sonny was right. “Yes, mom, tell her it’s Ok.”
*****
“You must be devastated,” Angela said, as she Karen opened the door to her friend about 30 minutes later.
Angela took off her parka and gathered Karen in her arms, gathering her tightly against her Green Bay Packer sweater shirt. Karen’s nostrils picked up the girl’s soapy, clean scent, so familiar from their love-making times together. Karen felt comfortable in the other girl’s strong arms, so protective and secure.
Even in this situation, Karen continued hold back on the sexual urge she felt for Angela. She also felt that Angela must have the same sentiments, but to the credit of both young women their hugs that day expressed nothing more than providing comfort for Karen’s obvious grief. Even the hint of a sexual desire for the other girl bothered Karen, smacking so strongly of a disloyalty toward Mark’s love.
“I know you love him so much, Karen,” she said. “I admit that even I cried as I saw him on the ground.”
“Thank you, Angela, you’re so sweet.”
They moved to the couch, sitting next to each other with Angela holding Karen’s hands. Sonny sat in a side chair, watching still another bowl football game with the set on “mute.”
“I been wondering if I should call his cell phone,” Karen said softly to her friend. “Mom says I should wait for a call.”
“They haven’t said anything about how badly he’s hurt on TV yet,” Sonny said.
“Mom says I shouldn’t call and that I should get word soon, if not from Mark, maybe from his mom,” Karen said.
“She’s probably right, but I don’t think it would be wrong to call in about an hour,” Angela said.
A few minutes later, Aaron called to express his sympathy to Karen; she began to cry again, even though she appreciated the call and his concern.
“I sure wish Aaron could get a good girlfriend,” she told Angela when the call ended. “He’s smart and caring.”
“Don’t look at me,” Angela said, with a laugh.
Karen smiled at her lesbian friend, and then burst out laughing. It was a momentary sweet moment among friends.
*****
Mark’s mother called shortly thereafter; it was obvious the woman was badly broken up. She had trouble talking, and the conversation was brief.
“Mark is conscious now, Karen, and the first words out of his mouth were to tell me to call you and tell you he’ll be all right and that he loves you, dear,” she said haltingly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. I’ve been so concerned.”
“Luckily Mark has your phone number on his cell phone and that’s what I’m using to call you. He’s got a strong spirit, Karen.”
“I know he does, and I love him so. Please tell him for me.”
Karen burst into tears and an uneasy silence continued on the phone.
“Oh honey,” his mother said finally. “But we don’t know yet how badly he’s hurt. He’s in an operating room now. There’s a question about his legs, but everything’s premature. Oh darling, I so wished he hadn’t played football, but he loved it so.”
“I know ma’am. I hated him playing that game, too.”
“Oh sweetie, he was so happy doing it, too. By the way, call me Patti.”
Mark’s mother said she’d call once they got further news, and Karen said to call regardless of the hour. She got Patti Hamilton’s cell phone number so that the two could keep in touch.
*****
Karen refused to look at repeated news clips showing the crushing hit that Sokolowski put onto Mark; it had become the most oft-seen television scene of the entire college football season. She nestled next to Angela for a while, crying off and on, trying to maintain a strong front, but her mind kept turning to Mark, his always warm and loving manner and his bright eyes. She imagined that he must be so disappointed, since it appeared that his promising football career may be at an end; there was even a possibility he might be injured for life, ruining his chance at an acting career — also one of his lifetime goals.
She wanted to rush down to the Florida hospital and hug and kiss the young man, telling him how much she loved him, as if that in itself would instantly restore him to his former self.
Karen mulled whether to call Patti Hamilton since she awoke from her fitful sleep early the next morning, but her mother counseled against it.
“Really dear,” Cecelia Hansson said. “There’s probably not any news yet, anyway. You know how many tests they like to do before telling you anything.”
Karen realized her mother was right; Patti Hamilton sounded sincere the previous night in promising she’d call when the family knew more about Mark’s condition.
Nonetheless, it was a nervous morning and early afternoon for Karen; she tried cleaning her room, only to realize that due to her always fastidious nature there wasn’t much cleaning that needed to be done. She sat down to crochet, but grew impatient, even uncharacteristically missing a few stitches, causing her to backtrack and unravel her work.
“Fuck,” she said, using a word that rarely crossed her lips.
Even a visit with Aunt Harriet across the hall failed to comfort her; the image of Mark in a hospital bed all trussed up and wired with tubes and cords haunted her.
“He’ll be flying back to Milwaukee in a day,” Patti Hamilton said, finally calling about mid-afternoon, just as Karen was readying herself to go to work.
“How is he, Mrs. Hamil . . . ah . . . Patti?”
“Not too bad, actually,” she said. “He’s a bit groggy from all the medication they’ve given him. So he’s not in much pain.”
“That’s good. I’m so worried about him,” she said, successfully holding back her crying.
“I know you are, dear, and he doesn’t want you to worry; he said he’ll be Ok.”
“Can he talk to me?”
“Maybe in a little while,” Patti Hamilton said. “I’m out in the lounge area, and Mark’s having more tests done. I won’t lie to you, dear. It appears the injuries are quite serious.”
“Oh no,” Karen screeched, causing her mother to come in from the other room.
“But his mind and head seem fine. Time will have to tell us how permanent his injuries are, it seems. Right now, he’s having trouble moving his legs, but that could be temporary trauma, the doctors have said. Once we get home we’ll be putting him in a top-rated hospital in Milwaukee that specializes in such injuries.”
“Poor Mark,” Karen said, realizing her crying wouldn’t help the situation.
Karen explained she was going to work, but suggested that Mrs. Hamilton call her on her cell phone once Mark was able to talk. “I’ll get someone to cover for me when you call,” she said.
*****
Mark Hamilton’s injuries in a nationally-televised football game became a topic of national discussion. Instantly there was speculation that the young football player would be crippled for life; there were calls from some to charge Sokolowski with assault while others even called for an end to college football. Still others, mainly football fans, who treated the affair with a “ho-hum” attitude, said that injuries were endemic to the game; players knew that when they put on the uniform, they said.
In the restaurant, Karen’s co-workers noticed the girl did not exhibit her usual up-beat spirit, though Karen had been determined to work as if nothing had happened, hoping that her work would relieve her grieving over Mark.
Only Sharon and Beatrice knew about Karen’s relationship with Mark and both expressed their sorrow over the incident, and diplomatically probed the girl no further.
“Would either of you watch my tables if I get a call from Mark or his mother?” she asked the two.
“Of course, dear,” Sharon said, hugging her. The three had just punched in to begin working as the lunch rush crowd was about to begin.
It was a moderately busy day, and Karen worked as if she were a robot, mechanically introducing herself to customers as “My name is Karen and I’ll be your server today. Are you ready to order? May I get you something to drink first?”
She worked mindlessly, hardly noticing her customers as they ordered. Several regulars sat down at her tables, but Karen greeted them like all the others, as if she had never seen them before. Karen had become a favorite of a number of the restaurant customers due to her always friendly and personal greetings. She had made a practice of learning her customers’ names and their likes and dislikes.
“What’s bothering you, dear?” pressed Mrs. Courtney, a silver-haired lady who ate several times a week with her husband, a bent, old man who required a walker.
“Oh?” Karen said, as if startled out of a trance. “Sorry, Mrs. Courtney. Guess I was day-dreaming.”
“Something’s troubling you, I can see,” the woman said gently.
Karen quickly recovered, and said: “I’m fine, ma’am, and it’s nice to see you on Mr. Courtney out on such a cold day.”
“Thank you, dear. Sam always likes coming here, particularly when you’re working,” she said with a mischievous wink.
The old man’s face grew red: “You always make an old man’s heart leap for joy,” Sam croaked.
“Now, Sam, quit that,” his wife said. “He still thinks he can excite pretty young ladies.”
Karen smiled: “He’s a charmer and I bet he broke many hearts when he was young until he met you, Mrs. Courtney.”
“Will you marry me, Karen?” the old man said.
“This is hardly the place to propose, sir,” Karen said. All three laughed.
“You folks want the usual?” she said.
They nodded, and Karen felt a bit comforted for the first time that day. How she loved older couples like the Courtneys who seemed to still be in love after many years; even a debilitating disability as the old man had seemed not to stifle their ability to enjoy life and each other. Would that happen eventually to herself and Mark, she wondered?
*****
Fortunately, Mrs. Hamilton called during Karen’s break; she had been sitting in the back at the employee’s table with Beatrice who was trying without much luck to comfort Karen in her worries over Mark’s injuries. Mercifully, the girl resisted quoting Scripture or using meaningless platitudes in her efforts.
Karen was grateful for Beatrice’s growing understanding that not all persons shared her passion for the Word of God, even though they may still be decent persons. Karen excused herself from the table and walked to a quiet corner of the backroom to talk.
“Mark wants to talk to you, dear,” Patti Hamilton said. “He’s pretty weak and not too coherent so he can’t talk long.”
“I understand, Mrs. Hamilton.”
There was a pause and Karen could hear that there was some fumbling with the phone; apparently Mrs. Hamilton had to hold the phone to Mark’s ear.
“Hi, Karen.” His voice was hardly audible.
“Hi, darling,” Karen responded, speaking slowly and directly, trying to hold back any of the emotion that she felt.
“I wish . . .” Mark paused.
“That’s Ok, Mark. I am so happy to hear your voice.”
There was a pause, and Karen could hear heavy breathing. “Wish you were here with me,” Mark said his words muffled and hardly understandable.
Karen fought back tears; she didn’t want Mark to hear her crying. “I love you, Mark, and know you’ll be strong.”
“I . . . luff . . . you, too,” he said.
There was a pause, and Mrs. Hamilton came back on the line. “I think that’s about all he has the strength for now, dear,” she said.
“I understand and don’t want to weaken him, Patti.”
Patti Hamilton said she’d call later when she could talk more openly and after they had more information as to the extent of his injuries.
Karen was devastated; she began crying in earnest as she closed her cell phone up, terminating the call. Beatrice, who had been watching from across the room, got up and hugged the girl, pulling her tightly against herself, permitting Karen to cry softly, her sobs muffled as she buried her head into Beatrice’s neck area.
“What’s happened to her?” It was the voice of George Alexopoulos, the Olympus owner.
“She’s had some bad news, George,” Beatrice replied. “I’m just comforting her.”
“Oh, does she want to go home?” he said sympathetically. “Did someone die or something?”
Hearing the restaurant owner’s concern, Karen shook her head and worked at stopping her tears.
“No, nothing like that,” Karen said, freeing herself from Beatrice’s clutches. “I can work, George.”
“You’re sure, Karen? I noticed you haven’t been your cheerful self here today.”
Karen took a tissue from Beatrice and wiped her eyes. “I’ll be fine, sir. I just need a few minutes. It’ll do me good to work.”
“Ok, Karen, but you can leave if you feel you want to, dear,” he said.
“Yes, Sharon and I can cover your tables, Karen,” Beatrice assured her.
“I’ll be Ok, George. I just need a few minutes. Thank you.”
*****
Mrs. Hamilton called about 9 p.m. that night, after Karen had gotten home and changed into her nightgown, robe and slippers. She was pinning her hair up when her cell phone rang. It was apparent Mark’s mother had been crying.
“Patti?” Karen said, using his mother’s first name. “It sounds bad.”
“It is, dear,” she said. “I feel I must be honest with you.”
“Is he . . . ah . . ?”
“Oh dear, yes, he’s alive, dear, but I’m afraid he may never walk again.”
“What?” Karen said, only to break into silence.
She could hear his mother begin to sob. Karen felt ready to cry as well, but she held it in, saying softly into the phone. “That’s Ok, Patti. Just take your time.”
“You’re so sweet, dear,” Mrs. Hamilton said finally.
“I love him so.”
“I know you do, dear. But we’ve just been told he’s had a terrible spinal injury, perhaps permanently damaging his nerves. The doctors seem pretty certain he’ll never walk again,” although his upper body seems strong.”
The seriousness of the injury finally hit Karen. Mark would never walk again! How could that be? He must be devastated, she thought. Oh, how she wished she were there to hug him and assure him of her love.
*****
Mark Hamilton was flown back to Milwaukee three days later; it was a dramatic flight, requiring a medical team to place him aboard a private plane, whose use was donated by a prominent Iowa State alumnus. A nurse accompanied Mark and his parents to Milwaukee, where an ambulance took him to the area’s renowned medical center.
“Football star returns home for treatment,” headlined the Milwaukee newspapers, complete with photos, including a picture of a smiling Mark, prone on the stretcher, giving a “thumbs up” for the photographer.
Later, during an interview in the hospital with two sportswriters, one from Milwaukee and the other from Des Moines, Mark was asked if he bore any ill will to Gene Sokolowski, the player who hit him so severely.
“I don’t wish him to be penalized for playing hard,” Mark was quoted as saying. “I’m just glad that Hayden [backup quarterback Ken Hayden] played so great in my absence and we won.”
Karen read the Milwaukee paper at the break table in the restaurant, and turned to Sharon commenting: “That’s my Mark. Always so forgiving and generous.”
“He says he thinks he’ll be able to play again,” Sharon commented, referring to a statement in the newspaper made by Mark.
“I know, but I hope he doesn’t,” Karen said. “I can’t bear to see him hurt again.”
“I think he’s too optimistic,” Sharon said. “The doctors right now are quoted as saying the first challenge will be to see if he will be able to ever walk again.”
Karen nodded, realizing her friend was correct. Mark always was optimistic about things, even when rehearsals were going badly in the Summer Camp play. It was his spirit, she felt, that helped her perform at the high level she did.
“He’ll be devastated if he can’t play football, I know,” Karen said. “But if anyone can rise above this injury, he can.”
“I know, honey,” Sharon said, putting an arm around Karen, hugging her warmly.
Mark sounded cheerful in the several phone calls he and Karen shared in the days after his return. Karen was pleased that she never cried while the two talked, but almost immediately she broke into tears after hanging up. What surprised her was that Mark spent most of the conversation asking questions about Karen, about her college life and her job at Olympus. He wondered about the process of her transition, encouraging her in the coming changes of life.
“Don’t worry about me, Karen,” he said whenever she asked questions about how he was doing.
Two days before she was due to return to the University, she informed Mark in their call that she planned to drive down to Milwaukee to visit him in the hospital.
“Don’t waste your time on me, Karen,” he said. “You’re a beautiful, talented and lovely girl and I’m just a broken up cripple.”
“Oh, Mark, don’t say that! You’re the sweetest man I ever met and I love you, Mark,” she said.
“Please don’t, Karen. I’m no good anymore,” he said. She could hear his voice beginning to crack, as if he was about to cry.
For the first time in their talks, she cried. The tears flowed so quickly, and the two young people said nothing, their sobbing filling the phone lines.
Finally, Karen said: “I have tomorrow off and mom said I could drive down to Milwaukee to see you. My brother Sonny is joining me and I’ll not take ‘no’ as an answer. I’m coming!”
“Wow. You’re a determined girl,” he said.
“Yes, and I’ll see you after lunch tomorrow, whether you want me or not.”
She heard Mark respond with a slight laugh. “Well, I guess I have no choice. I won’t look very nice in this bed, so don’t be disappointed.”
“Silly. How could I be disappointed in seeing you? I can’t wait.”
*****
Karen and Sonny reached the medical complex just after lunch, and after several wrong turns in the vast jungle of buildings, they found the parking garage adjacent to the hospital in which Mark was being treated.
“Sis, that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you drive,” Sonny said, using the teasing tone that had become his trademark in dealing with his sister.
“I’m getting better, Sonny,” she said.
“I guess being in love gives you some guts,” he said.
The drive down to Milwaukee had been a tricky one, since the highway ran alongside the shore of Lake Michigan and light snow flurries drifted across the highway threatening to settle into slippery spots. Karen’s growing skills at the wheel seemed to pay off and she was careful to be alert to any changes in the road surface and was still able to maintain a decent pace. Since she began transitioning, Karen and her brother seemed to have gotten closer, friendlier. Sonny seemed to be proud of the lovely person his older sister had become, even to the point of bragging about her to his friends. No longer was she the sissy Kenny that he had been ashamed of.
“I’m so glad you made it,” Patti Hamilton said, greeting them in the family lounge that served the neurological floor of the hospital. “Mark’s being given another MRI, but should be back soon.”
The two women hugged each other, and both began to cry; their sobs were silent ones and continued as they held each other. Karen found herself becoming fond of Patti Hamilton, of her profound concern for her injured son, as well as her worry over Karen’s feelings. Even Sonny, her cynical teenager brother, seemed affected by the emotion of the moment.
They sat together in the family lounge, Mrs. Hamilton holding Karen’s hands, as she described the treatments that Mark was receiving, as well as the gratitude she had for the administration of Iowa State University and the wealthy alumnus who provided the private plane to make Mark’s trip to Milwaukee more comfortable.
“Under college recruiting rules,” she explained, “it means Mark will lose his eligibility to play sports anymore at the college level.”
“Oh, that’s awful. Why?”
“Because he will have accepted something of value from an alumnus.”
“That seems unfair,” Sonny interjected. “My gosh, he was injured playing for the school. Wouldn’t his health have made that a necessity?”
“Possibly, and the ISU athletic director said he’d argue that if it appeared Mark would ever recover enough to play again,” Patti said.
Karen looked directly at Mrs. Hamilton. “But that doesn’t seem likely, does it?” she asked.
“Not really. He’s pretty badly injured.”
Just then a nurse popped her head into the lounge. “Your son’s back in his room, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“You go in alone, Karen,” his mother suggested as they neared Mark’s room. “You can have a few minutes with him by yourself, dear.”
Karen smiled at the woman; her kindness and consideration for Karen overwhelmed her.
Mark was flat on his back, an IV drip attached to his arm, while a traction rig was set up, with weights attached to both of his ankles.
Mark’s head was turned toward a window and Karen’s entrance was so quiet he had not heard her approach. He was startled by her voice, and turned to look at her, grimacing in pain as he tried to raise his head.
“My darling,” she said rushing to his side.
“Karen,” Mark said weakly, his voice hardly rising above a whisper.
His pale, weak look depressed her, but she noticed his eyes widen and gain a bit of sparkle as he looked at her.
Karen had dressed in a school girl outfit, a pleated below-the-knee plain navy blue skirt over black thick leggings, a light blue satin blouse and v-neck lavender fluffy sweater. A three-strand pearl necklace hung about her neck and she had let her light brown hair hang loosely about her shoulders, with bangs drifting to one side.
“Oh, you’re . . . lovely,” his voice faltered as he looked at her.
Karen felt she would burst into tears, but she knew she must be strong before Mark. It was hard; this once vigorous, active young man was totally helpless. Yet, she held back her tears. She could see, however, that Mark was beginning to cry, and she leaned over to kiss him gently on the cheek.
“I love you, Mark,” were the only words that came to her as she stood next to him. What else could she say?
“Don’t say that, Karen. Please don’t,” he said.
“But I do, my dear, dear Mark,” she continued.
He turned away from her, and said nothing. She could hear quiet sobbing coming from him, and it saddened her. She was mystified by his protest that she shouldn’t tell him she loved him; why did that bother him so? Hadn’t he expressed his love for her before the game, and even on the two brief phone calls the two had shared from his hospital bed in Florida?
She moved a chair next to Mark’s bed, sat down and took his large hand and held it, gently caressing it. The whirring of medical paraphernalia continued as a backdrop, while an occasional beep came at intervals from the drip in his arm. Mark continued to look away from her.
“Oh my brother Sonny is here with me, Mark. He’d like to say ‘hi’ to you,” she said finally, breaking the silence.
He turned his head, and his face showed a brief grimace as if a pain shot through his system. “Will he want to see me like this?” he asked, his voice still a near whisper.
“Yes, he idolizes you, Mark,” she said.
“Ok, let him in.”
Karen went to the door and summoned Sonny and Mrs. Hamilton to enter the room.
“Hi, kid,” Mark said, his voice growing stronger as Sonny approached his bed.
“You were great in that game, Mark,” Sonny said.
“Thank you, Sonny, but I guess that’s my last football game.”
“It can’t be,” Sonny said. “You were so dazzling. You’ll come back, I’m sure.”
Mark smiled; it was a weak smile, obviously meant more to comfort Sonny’s view that he would recover to again dominate a football game.
“We’ll have to see how he recovers, Sonny,” Mrs. Hamilton said.
“He will,” Sonny said with definiteness that no one else in the room shared.
Mark smiled, however, pleased with the eagerness of the teenage boy.
“I’m modeling my own play after you, Mark,” the boy continued. “I’m learning to block, too, since I’ve learned the really good quarterbacks must do more than just throw a football.”
“You’re right, kid,” Mark said, warming to the discussion.
“I loved that block you threw on Sokolowski on the flea-flicker play, Mark. The one that scored the touchdown,” Sonny said. “If you hadn’t made that block, I think Sokolowski would have gotten to the player who threw the pass.”
“Yeah, that was a good one,” Mark said. “I was more proud of that than either of the two touchdown passes I threw.”
The conversation between the two continued for another five minutes, but Karen could see Mark was tiring, as his replies to Sonny became more hesitant and weaker. Finally, she suggested they all leave the room to allow Mark to rest for a bit.
“He’s in pretty bad shape, isn’t he, Mrs. Hamilton?” Karen asked when the three settled back into the lounge.
“I’m afraid so, Karen,” she said. “He has no feeling in his legs at all right now the damage is so great to his nerves.”
“Oh dear,” she said.
“He rejected me in there, Patti,” Karen said.
“I know he’d do that, Karen. He even suggested you not come here to see him.”
“I know. That’s what he said to me when I said I’d be coming down.”
“Yes, ‘cause he knew it’d cause you pain. He really loves you so much, dear,” Patti said.
“I do, too. I love him, Patti.”
Mrs. Hamilton looked at Karen, patting her hand as she held it primly in her lap. Sonny excused himself, saying he was going to the hospital snack bar for something to drink, leaving the two women together.
“My husband and I tried to steer him away from you, dear, once we learned you are a boy underneath all this, but he was adamant in his love for you,” Patti said.
“I don’t blame you, Mrs. Hamilton,” she said. “I’ll never be a total woman, even after I have the operation. I’ll never be able to give you grandchildren.”
Patti Hamilton nodded, and the two fell silent for a few minutes.
“But, Mark persisted, saying he could only see you as a girl and that you were the best thing that ever happened to him,” his mother said, resuming the conversation. “And I must say, both my husband and I have fallen in love with you too and see you only as a pretty young lady.”
Karen reddened; she smiled at the woman.
“Mark thinks you should be free of him, that he’ll only be a cripple the rest of his life, and you’re so pretty dear,” Patti continued. “He wants you to find a nice young man, worthy of you. He thinks he’ll be a burden the rest of his life and wants to set you free.”
“Oh Mrs. Hamilton, I love him, regardless. I want to be with him.”
“You say that now, Karen, but months later as reality sets in, you may feel burdened and Mark will feel guilty because he’s caused you to be unhappy with the burden of caring for him.”
Karen considered the older woman.
“My love for Mark will never end, Mrs. Hamilton. If he’ll have me, I want to be his for life.”
*****
After an hour, Karen returned to Mark’s room, leaving Mrs. Hamilton and Sonny in the lounge. Mark was groggy, and merely grunted a “hi” at Karen as she kissed him lightly.
Despite what she could say, his mood remained cool toward her; he hardly looked at her, and stared out toward the window, responding only with brief “yes” or “no” to most of her comments. He showed some interest as she described that she was to return to the University the following day, and would be resuming her work with Professor Fenstrom, possibly even getting a part in the spring play.
He asked about Karen’s transitioning procedures, and she explained she’d have an early appointment with Dr. Bargmann to begin hormonal treatment.
“I wish you the best, Karen,” he said. His tone was perfunctory, as if he were addressing someone he barely knew.
“Thank you, Mark.”
“But you must forget me, Karen. Please forget me.”
“I can’t Mark. I’ll never forget you.”
“You must,” he said, turning his face away from her.
She tried to involve the boy with further conversation, but Mark grunted his answers, never turning his face to look at her. She felt her emotions rise, and bounce back and forth over whether to slap the injured boy to get some sort of response or burst out in tears and embrace him with all her strength.
“Just forget me, Karen,” he finally said, his eyes finally meeting hers. She could see they were red and moist as if he’d been crying.
“I can’t, Mark. Don’t you know that by now? I love you so.”
“I’ll never be any good, Karen. I’m damaged goods, damaged for life. Go find yourself a nice young man, somebody who’ll be a complete man.”
“Don’t give up, Mark. Please. The doctors haven’t given up on you yet and I never will.”
“Please go and let me be.” The words were deliberate and firm.
Karen burst out crying, feeling helpless in trying to comfort the injured young man. Mark merely turned his head away from her, and Karen sensed he might be crying as well. He was red-eyed a few minutes later, when he turned back to her and suggested she get Sonny so that he could say “good-bye” to her brother.
Mark seemed to recover his composure when Sonny entered. The two talked football for a few minutes, before Karen and Sonny said good bye, Karen giving Mark a light kiss on the cheek. Mark turned away at the kiss, and Karen heard his quiet sobs as she and Sonny left the room. It would be a sad drive home.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 6
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Chapter 6: Returning to College Life
She spent that night packing her clothes for the trip back to the University; her packing went slowly, since she kept reflecting back to Mark’s last words, “Please go and let me be.” How could he be so mean to her, she wondered? Hadn’t she offered him her unconditional love, her vow to stand beside him as he recovered from his injuries, even though he may never walk again?
“Honey, he cares about you and I think he truly loves you,” Cecelia Hansson said. She had been helping her daughter pack for the trip back to the campus, which she’d make on the bus.
“How would you know, mother?” she snapped. “You weren’t there. He turned his back to me.”
Her mother attempted to hug her, but Karen rudely shrugged her off. “Leave me alone.” She fell onto her bed, among the lingerie that had been stacked ready for packing and buried her head into a pillow.
Cecelia Hansson remained, however, and continued to try to comfort her daughter. “He does love you and he wants you to be free to live your life, to have a career and maybe even find a nice young man you can love and share your life with. He’s afraid you’ll sacrifice everything in your future to care for him.”
“Oh mother, that’s so unfair,” she cried into the pillow.
“Unfair for whom, dear? You? Isn’t he the injured person here?”
Karen said nothing, but her mother’s words bore into her mind. Yes, Mark was the injured person here, and she was being selfish and thinking only of herself and the loss of the young man’s love for her. She realized that she should stop her crying, resume her packing and get ready for the return to school, where she could begin to move forward in life, facing whatever fortune or ill-fortune that came her way.
“I guess you’re right, mom,” she said finally, rising to a sitting position.
“Mark will want you to thrive, I’m sure, dear. Keep in touch with him, letting him know how you’re doing. You can be his friend forever, and in this way help him to recover. Who knows, maybe there’s a miracle coming for him?”
“Oh mother,” Karen said, putting her arms around her mother and hugging her closely.
*****
Karen returned to the campus a good 10 days before the regular semester was to begin. Professor Eric Fenstrom — the head of the Theater Department in the School of Fine Arts — arranged for another semester of a work-study arrangement that would pay her a relatively decent salary, and help to reduce her student loan burden while also giving her a chance to add to her plan to continue saving for her transitional surgeries.
At first she turned the professor down, largely because she was concerned that he might try for a second time to press his sexual attentions upon her.
“Karen, please reconsider your decision,” he urged on her after she told him of her decision to not rejoin him in the second semester. “You really are the most efficient girl I’ve ever had in this position, and you also have an uncanny sense about what works in the theater. Your instincts are terrific.”
“Professor, I’d like to continue in the job, but after what happened, I don’t think I’m comfortable working with you.” She had chosen her words carefully; even so, she found it difficult to state them.
The conversation occurred a day before the Christmas Holiday season began, and the two were in the professor’s cramped office in the Fine Arts Building, surrounded by shelves crammed with scripts, books and papers. His desk was a hodge-podge of piled papers, a few dusty acting awards from the professor’s performing days and a bobble head figurine of Sir Lawrence Olivier.
The professor leaned back in his commodious executive’s chair, wearing jeans and a stained “I Love NYC” sweatshirt, his athletic-shoed feet propped upon the desk before him. Karen was dressed also informally and wore tight-fitting, low-riding jeans with a peach-colored camisole covered by a violet v-neck sweater that accentuated her tiny breasts. She had drawn her light brown hair into a pony tail that she tucked back through the hole in the back of her light blue baseball cap that was emblazoned with a block “W” in red, a symbol of the University’s athletic teams. Karen had made it a practice of dressing casually in her work with the Professor, making certain she did not uncover any skin that may have turned on her employer’s libido. Even so, Karen had the feeling that Fenstrom, his reputation for pushing his attention upon his prettier students, was still aroused by her presence.
“Karen, I want to promise you that what happened a couple of weeks ago will never happen again. And, if that’s the reason you’re rejecting my offer, please rest assured, I’ll never touch you again.”
Karen was not convinced, but the professor persisted: “Look, Karen, where else can you get such a good job at such a good rate?”
Finally, persuaded by the need for a job, Karen agreed to continue as his assistant in the work-study program. It was then that she understood how women so often were forced to endure all sorts of sexual harassment, particularly pretty young girls as she realized she had become.
*****
Her early return to campus had the added bonus of allowing her to schedule an early appointment with Dr. Bargmann at the Mary Ann Keyes Gender Clinic to begin her hormone treatment. In fact, she had been able to get the appointment for the morning after her arrival on campus.
On the long bus trip, prolonged by half a dozen stops at tiny towns and traffic on the two-lane highways that connected her hometown with the University community, she found herself reflecting on the quick changes in her life. Just seven months earlier, Karen had entered the Summer Camp program as Kenny, a shy, unassuming but bright boy with a tendency toward fantasy and romance. In a few weeks, encouraged by her roommate, an athletic, blonde-haired Adonis by the name of Mark Hamilton and a gaggle of girl friends, she had assumed the role of a girl named Karen. As an acting student, she starred (“a dazzling starlet was born,” said a reviewer) as Ophelia, the confused teen girl in Shakespeare’s “Hamlet.” For the part, Kenny was urged by the director who was a practitioner of “method acting,” to live for more than five weeks as a girl 24 hours a day, which she did. She found femininity came easily and naturally due to her dainty, soft body and within a few weeks she learned how exciting life could be as a girl.
Though she had enrolled in the fall semester as “Kenny Hansson,” her seeming femininity had become a reality and she was bullied and harassed into being hounded out of the boy’s floor of the college dormitory to find a home at Susan’s Place, a transitional shelter for transgendered girls on campus. With the assistance of the Gender Clinic, her university records were to be changed to enroll her in the second semester as “Karen Marie Hansson” with a gender listing of “F.” Since November 1st, she had lived outwardly as a girl.
Never a strong girl, Karen was breathing heavily as she dragged her large suitcase on wheels the two blocks from the bus station to Susan’s Place. Although there hadn’t been snow in several days, there were portions of the sidewalk which were still rutted with packed snow, making it hard to pull the heavy luggage, while managing a smaller briefcase in her other hand. It was a frigid late afternoon, already growing dark and the wind bit into her face.
She was within a block of the House when she felt she could go no further unless she rested. She stood on the corner, turning her back to the wind, when she heard a voice behind her.
“Need a hand, miss?”
She turned to see a tall, middle-aged man, wearing a leather coat and Russian-style fur hat, the ear flaps down as protection against the cold. He had a handsome, rugged square face, with slight lines emanating from his eyes, which sparkled as they looked directly at her.
“Oh, thanks, but I’m just catching my breath,” she said, the words coming out, accompanied by a cloud of frozen mist.
“Let me assist you across the street, young lady,” he said, his voice direct and commandeering. He took the heavy luggage from her grasp, snapped down the pulling mechanism and lifted it easily as he guided her, linking his other hand in her elbow, across the street.
“Now where are you headed?” he asked kindly.
“Just there,” she said, pointing to the transitional living center. Suddenly, she hated herself for offering such information to a strange man, even though he seemed so nice.
“I could see you were exhausted pulling this heavy case,” he said, as they stopped in front of the house.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, reaching for the suitcase.
“Let me take these up the stairs for you,” he said.
“No thanks, I can handle it from here,” she said, still struggling to get her hands on her suitcase.
“Don’t be silly,” he said, grabbing the case and moving quickly up the five steps onto the front porch of the old house.
Karen followed, cursing her own physical weakness that led her to become dependent upon this older man who moved with such directness and command. What did he have in mind?
Depositing the case at the front door, he turned to Karen and said, his smile widening, “I’m Paul, and what is your name, young lady?”
“Just call me Keisha,” Karen said, using the first false name that came to her mind.
“Keisha?” he said, mystified, apparently confused that a young lady of Karen’s appearance would have a name normally associated with African-American girls.
“Thank you, sir,” Karen said, using her own assertiveness, hoping the man would go away.
Just then, the front door opened and the tall, commanding figure of Sonja Peterson, the manager of Susan’s Place, appeared in the doorway. “Let me have your case, dear,” she said, walking out onto the cold porch. She was dressed in grey sweat pants and University sweat shirt, with a wool cap on her head.
“Thank you, Sonja,” Karen said, pleased to see the presence of Sonja, who had fastened a stern gaze upon the man standing next to Karen.
“I’ll get it from here sir,” Sonja said, eying the man directly. “Thank you for assisting her.”
She pulled Karen inside and slammed the door shut, leaving the man alone on the porch.
“Thank you, Sonja,” Karen said. “He just came along and grabbed my suitcase from me and insisted on carrying it right up to the door.”
“I’m glad I happened to look out of the window, Karen,” Sonja said, her voice husky, but lilting with feminine inflections. “I’ve seen him hanging around the neighborhood recently, and I’m worried he’s got his eyes on some of you girls. I guess I can look tough and nasty so he won’t monkey with me, but you on the other hand need to be wary of guys like him.”
“Well, he seemed nice enough,” Karen said. “And I was grateful for his help. I was worn out dragging it from the bus station.”
“You’ll have to learn, dear, that pretty girls like you are often prey to guys like him,” she said. “They come on all sweet and nice, but they only got sex on their mind, and it’s not going to be sex the way you’ll like it.”
“I know. I told him my name was Keisha, but I don’t think he believed me. Thank God you came to the door.”
“Keisha?” Sonja said, giggling. “That’s a good one.”
Suddenly, the two girls were laughing uncontrollably.
Sonja was required by her job as House manager to remain at the place during the Holidays, although she did find get home for two days at Christmas to visit her family.
“Now it’s only you and me here for a few days, before the others arrive,” she said. “I’m glad you’re back, Karen. It was getting lonely here.”
Karen went to get unpacked; later the two went to a nearby Pizza parlor for dinner, where Karen chose Italian salad and garlic bread.
“Guess you’re not planning on doing any kissing tonight, Keisha,” Sonja teased as they awaited their food.
“No,” Karen said, laughing at Sonja’s use of her fake name.
Realizing that the person she wanted to kiss was still flat on his back in a hospital room, Karen’s momentary joy turned sour. She felt tears forming in her eyes, picturing Mark Hamilton and remembering his last words ordering her to leave his room — and his life. She thought back to the last scene she and Mark had performed together in the summer camp performance of “Hamlet,” in which the crazed Hamlet dismissed the shy, uncertain Ophelia with the words: “Get thee to a nunnery.”
This was the third time that Mark had told her to leave his life, and on two of the occasions he had not been acting. She had been rejected by the love of her life again and again. Yet, she felt she still had a lock on Mark’s heart; he wanted her badly, she felt confident. Just give him time!
*****
Karen saw Dr. Bargmann the following morning. She chose to wear thick, black tights under a wool skirt, blouse and sweater for her visit to the MaryAnn Keyes Gender Clinic, even though the zero-degree temperatures probably would have made slacks a more sensible choice.
Sonja had queried her at a simple breakfast of dry cereal, skim milk and banana the two shared that morning, wondering if she was dressed warm enough.
“I just want to look feminine for the doctor,” Karen explained.
“Honey, you don’t need clothes to make you feminine,” Sonja said, smiling. “You’re all girl, even in a lumberjack’s outfit, dear.”
Karen blushed. Becoming girlish had been no struggle for her at all; it seemed natural.
She was grateful for the beige feather-stuffed parka and its hood as she walked the several blocks to the Gender Clinic; even so, her nose stung and cheeks seemed to freeze from the stiff, cold north wind. The fur-lined boots she wore made the walk laborious, but they were necessary to keep her feet warm. She carried an oversized fabric purse with brown leather trim in which she stuffed a pair of ballet slippers that she could slip on after arriving at the clinic. As she soon realized, the thick tights offered little protection against the cold and she feared that perhaps she might have gotten frost-bit during the walk.
“Migosh, Karen,” gushed Moira, the physician’s assistant at the Gender Clinic. “You look so cute and pretty this morning. It’s obvious you’re becoming quite a girl.”
“Thank you,” Karen said. The two gave each other warm, sisterly hugs.
Sitting in the outer lobby, Karen leaned over to remove her boots and put on the flats. She looked up at one point and realized Moira was watching her closely.
“What?” Karen asked.
“I was just noticing your legs, Karen. They’re just lovely, and those black tights really make you look so sexy.”
Karen smiled, and thrust her right leg up as she completed putting the flat on her foot, performing a little show for Moira.
“I’m envious, Karen,” Moira said. “I’d die for a nice pair of legs like yours.”
“I’m sure yours are fine, Moira,” Karen said. The physician’s assistant was in her early thirties and had a slightly chunky body; though Karen had never seen her in anything but slacks, she imagined the woman must have had heavy-framed legs. Karen had always thought Moira to be a pretty woman, perhaps because of the ever-cheerful demeanor and dancing dark eyes in a face framed by dark bangs.
Moira led Karen to an examining room, where she took Karen’s blood pressure, temperature, height and weight. The readings were 120/68 for blood pressure, 97.9 for temperature and 5’7” at 118 pounds.
“You’re a healthy girl, all right,” Moira said.
“I gained some over the holidays,” Karen said, her tone apologetic. “My tummy feels chubby.”
“A little chubbiness doesn’t hurt, Karen, but then maybe you should do a bit more exercise,” the physician’s assistant said.
“I don’t want to bulk up, Moira, or get those big, ol’ muscles.”
“You don’t need to lift weights, but maybe we can get you into some regular aerobics groups for women.”
Karen nodded. She realized Moira was correct; she had thought that her work as a waitress was exercise enough, and to be sure she was always physically exhausted after a day of hoisting dishes and trays and bustling too and fro from the kitchen to the customer’s tables.
“I’m not very strong,” Karen confessed.
“Well, I’ll see if I can find a nice program for you, and one that will fit into your schedule,” Moira said.
The physician’s assistant turned the conversation into a discussion about Karen’s progress in transitioning; eventually, Karen admitted to her concern over the injuries to Mark and his apparent rejection of her. The conversation ended when Karen could no longer control her emotions and began crying.
“There, there, Karen,” Moira said, hugging the girl.
She left Karen alone in the room, telling her that Dr. Bargmann would be in to see her soon.
*****
“So that young man is your boyfriend?” Dr. Bargmann said as he began his examination. The doctor referred to Mark, of course; most likely Moira had shared with him the incident in which Mark had been injured.
“Was my boyfriend,” Karen said, hoping her eyes were not so red as to betray her crying jag.
“Was? I watched that game and saw he was injured, Karen. That was so tragic; he had been playing spectacularly before that.”
“He says he wants me to leave him alone, that he doesn’t want me wasting my life caring for him, but Dr. Bargmann I can’t leave him like that. I don’t want to desert him.”
Dr. Bargmann’s face showed concern for the girl seated before him; he offered a faint frown and was silent for a moment, as if seeking to find a way to express himself.
“My dear child,” he said finally. “Your compassion is sweet and sincere, I’m sure, but your friend is certainly going through a tough period in his life. He needs understanding from his family and friends. Sometimes, he won’t act as you might like, because as I understand he’s facing the loss of a promising athletic career, and that must be devastating to him.”
Karen nodded. “I think he still loves me, doctor.”
“He likely does, but he sounds like a generous and caring boy, Karen, and I think he was being honest when he said he doesn’t want you to waste your own life, in case he will never be able to fully recover. I understand there’s a concern that he’ll never be able to walk again.”
“Yes, that’s still to be determined, I guess, but I want to be there to encourage him and to help him. Oh doctor, I love him so.”
Karen could no longer hold her emotions back, and she began to cry. Dr. Bargmann moved onto the sofa next to her and put and arm around her, drawing her to his chest. She buried her head onto his tweed sport coat and sobbed, her slender body shaking in sadness. He held her for several minutes, his hold being gentle and caring.
“Thank you, doctor,” she said when her sobbing quieted. She straightened up, and he released her, going back to the executive chair next to his desk.
“This isn’t my normal role, Karen, to comfort you like this, and I hoped I helped you a bit. I can suggest a therapist or two who you might like to visit for consultation in your current grief,” he said.
Karen look at him, still wiping her face dry from the tears with a tissue. “I know doctor and I’m sorry to have broken down like this.”
“Dear girl,” he said. “You needn’t apologize. You’re reacting as only a young lady in love would act.”
He paused for a moment, and then resumed talking:
“My job now with you is to determine whether you’re ready to begin hormonal treatment. What that means is do we consider you to be sufficiently motivated to live your life ahead as a woman, since once we begin treatment if will be hard to reverse the process and return you to a male life style.”
“I understand, doctor, and I assure you I feel real as a girl,” Karen said. “I can’t imagine ever living as a boy again.”
Dr. Bargmann said he’d like to turn on a tape recorder to keep a record of their conversation and to assist him in making his report later. “Do you object?” he asked.
“Not at all,” she said.
He asked her to sign a release, also signed by himself, in which he agreed the tape would be kept confidential and only become a part of her private medical record. He spent about 15 minutes, mainly asking her about her experiences since she had begun living fulltime as a girl; she became nervous at times, realizing she portrayed her tension by repeated dainty flicking of her hair as she talked.
At times, she tried to calm herself down by sitting primly, looking occasionally at her slender, pretty hands folded together in her lap, both feet planted squarely on the floor in front of her.
“You’ve only been living fulltime for a bit over two months, Karen,” Dr. Bargmann said when the interrogation ended. “Normally that’s not enough time for us to begin hormonal treatment, but I can see both by your physical appearance, your mannerisms and your experiences so far that you are ready. You certainly seem to have a dominance of female genes in your system, since you appear naturally female.”
“I’ve never been comfortable as a boy, doctor. That much I know,” she said.
“Frankly, I can hardly picture you as a boy, Karen,” he said, smiling.
“I was a pretty pathetic boy,” she said, letting out a giggle.
“Well, Karen, you are a very lovely girl, and most importantly you seem to be most generous and caring,” he said. “So often my patients here seem selfish in their quest to transition, but you seem to care about others. That may be your most marvelous and most feminine feature, dear.”
He gave her prescriptions for two medications, one as a testosterone blocker and the other as a female hormone, and said she could get them filled at the University pharmacy. After that, Karen was advised to begin participating in a support group of students that would begin meeting weekly in the living room at Susan’s Place once the spring semester began later in January. She would also have weekly meetings with Moira, the physician’s assistant.
“Thank you, doctor,” she said, bounding out of his office. Her spirits were lifted — at least for a while — as she returned to Susan’s Place.
*****
The walk back to Susan’s Place was a frigid one, since the temperature had already dipped to below zero as the sun dipped down to the horizon in the southwest, behind the ancient buildings of the old campus of the University. Karen reflected on the idyllic nature of the view, as she walked in the cold, her hood drawn tightly against her head, a colorful scarf wrapped about her neck, flowing in the breeze as she walked. Despite the weather, Karen’s spirits were high, and the wind out of the northwest was at her back. Momentarily, at least, Karen felt at peace; neither the concern over the unexpected loss of Mark’s love and his questionable chances of recovery, nor the challenges of the coming school year along with the complications of her transitioning seemed to intrude upon the comfort of the setting in which she walked, carefully avoiding the ice that formed periodically on the sidewalks.
The scent of baking burst into her nostrils as she stepped out of the cold and into the living room at Susan’s Place.
Taking off her parka and her boots, she wondered if Daphne had returned from her trip home; she knew Sonja rarely cooked anything, much less do any baking. The only girl in the residence who baked regularly was Daphne, the onetime football lineman who had become — at her own volition — the house’s resident baker.
“Welcome back, Daphne,” Karen said, entering the kitchen. “It smell’s great.”
“Ah, Karen, come give me a kiss, right here on my cheek,” the girl said, her voice husky but soft. “My hands are full of dough or else I’d give you a large hug.”
Karen almost had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss the tall young woman. She had a massive body that had grown soft with a combination of hormones and lack of regular exercise. Her large breasts strained against the full length pink, frilly apron she wore; her arms were exposed, her once massive muscular arms becoming a gelatin of flabby fat. Just two years before, Darren Zelich, had been all-conference tackle as a freshman on the football team and faced a potential future as a high-priced athlete.
Zelich surprised everyone by giving up his football scholarship; publicly the school announced that Zelich would leave the team for personal reasons. He dropped out of the University for the spring semester, returning the following year as Daphne Zale. Karen heard Daphne singing to herself as she entered the kitchen and she was cheered by the joyful demeanor of the girl as she baked. In the two months Karen had been living at Susan’s place, she had never seen Daphne with a frown or scowl. She seemed to be the happiest girl in the house; yet, Karen knew she had experienced a difficult transition.
“Making cinnamon rolls, Daphne?” Karen asked.
“Yes, and you and Sonja better help me eat them,” she said, with a giggle. “I shouldn’t be baking them at all. I gotta start losing weight.”
“I’m sure we’ll help,” Karen said.
“God, I envy you, Karen. I’d die to have a body just half as girlish as yours.”
“You’re look plenty girlish, Daphne.”
“Hah! Just big, old fat girl!”
Karen impulsively gave Daphne as quick kiss. “You’re the sweetest, kindest girl I know, Daphne.”
Daphne reddened. “Just get out of here and let me cook. I hope you’ll join Sonja and me for supper. I’m doing my special recipe for eggplant Creole.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“And we’re going to have a dress up meal, just the three of us girls, with candlelight and wine. Do you mind dressing up, Karen?”
“Great, I love it,” Karen said.
“We’ll have a few glasses of wine at 6:30 and serve about 7.”
Karen bounded up to her room, tickled with the idea of dressing up without the need for venturing out into the cold night air. The expectation of having a quiet evening with two such sweet girls excited her immensely and she wanted to look as pretty as ever for them. What a marvelous way to celebrate her beginning of a life as a woman!
*****
Her excitement was tempered with thoughts of Mark Hamilton, flat on his back in a hospital bed some 90 miles to the east. She wished she could magically fly to his side, to hold his hand and comfort him. Even if she could find such a magic carpet, she knew he’d reject her, not because he didn’t love her, but that he now felt he was not worthy for her love, and that his helplessness would make a lifelong relationship impossible. He did not want to become a burden to her.
Mark’s mother (Bless her soul!) had invited Karen to call her periodically for information on Mark’s progress.
“Call my cell phone, dear, but if I don’t answer just leave a message as to when’s best to return your call,” Patti Hamilton told Karen. “I won’t answer if I’m with Mark, dear. I hope you understand.”
“I do, Patti,” Karen said. “I just wish he’d let me talk to him.”
“Just give him time, dear. Mark’s going through a difficult time right now,” the woman said. Karen could hear Patti Hamilton’s voice breaking up, as if she were about to cry.
“I’ll try not to bother you too often, ma’am, but I really care about him.”
“I know you do, Karen, and I know Mark still cares about you.”
Karen had some time to herself before she had to get ready for the supper that Daphne was preparing for the three girls. She checked her emails, and was pleased to see that Ramini would be returning to school within a few days. The prospect of sharing time with the petite Indian girl pleased her, since the two had always been able to share their joys and sadness together. In a sense they had become girls together, since they first met during the first semester as a pair of petite boy roommates.
Patti Hamilton sent a brief email, saying Mark was continuing on a series of tests and had remained “stable.” The term bothered Karen. Wouldn’t remaining stable mean that nothing had changed, that there’d been no improvement in his condition? Did it mean that he was still unable to move his legs, or even to control his personal needs?
In her email, Mrs. Hamilton suggested that Karen check the Des Moines Register website, which had carried a story about Mark the she might find interesting. She also suggested to Karen that she might want to write Mark a letter (not an email, but a real pen-and-ink letter). Her message ended: “Don’t send him any gushy ‘Get-well’ card. Just tell him what you’re doing. A chatty letter would be great. Love, Patti.”
The suggestion brought a tingle of excitement to Karen; suddenly she imagined being a young lady in Victorian years, when poetry and handwritten letters were exchanged between lovers; she imagined herself, fully dressed in high-collar dresses, fully fluffed out with several petticoats, sitting at a desk in a heavily draped pinkish room writing by a quill pen onto a lace trimmed piece of stationery. And how sweet it would be to enclose a dainty handkerchief, scented with her perfume, into an envelop with the letter? Her room, she imagined, would be lit only by several kerosene lamps or perhaps even flickering candles.
To her dismay, however, she realized she had no stationery suitable for a young lady like herself to send to a boyfriend or lover. Perhaps one of the other girls in the House might have some she could borrow; otherwise, she’d have to get some the following day during her lunch hour. She was scheduled to work at Professor’s Fenstrom’s office then.
“Hamilton forgives tackler” headlined the sports page on the Des Moines Register website.
Accompanying was a photo of a smiling Mark in his heavily wired hospital bed, with a huge round-faced young man, similarly smiling. The caption read: “Mark Hamilton, the injured Cyclone quarterback, and Gene Sokolowski, the tackler whose hard hit took Hamilton out of the Bowl game, meet in Hamilton’s Milwaukee hospital room.”
In the accompanying story, Mark Hamilton was reported as saying in a brief interview after the meeting that he felt no anger toward Sokolowski. “From all I’ve seen and been told, it was a legal hit and all Gene was doing was his job in trying to tackle me. That’s football!”
Mark also was quoted as saying, “I feel sorry for him. He feels just devastated that he hurt me so badly, but I told him he wasn’t responsible. He’s really a sweet guy.”
Karen read the words, hardly believing them. How could Mark forgive Sokolowski? Wasn’t it just a brutish attack? Finally, she realized that everything Mark had said in the interview was correct; Gene Sokolowski was merely playing the game as he was taught. It was a revealing moment and it reminded her again of why she loved the boy so much. He was loaded with talent, brains, a lovely body and incredible good looks, but more importantly Mark Hamilton was a warm, honest and humble man.
*****
Karen wondered just how formal the other two girls were planning to be for their supper that evening. It seemed strange that Daphne and Sonja wanted to set up such a formal affair for just the three of them. Normally both girls seemed to be dressed in the most casual of outfits, normally jeans and sweats.
Karen had a black cocktail dress that she wore only once, and wondered about wearing it. She loved how she looked in the dress which exposed her pretty shoulders and arms; it had mid-thigh length and with coffee-colored hosiery and a pair of simple black pumps she knew she looked both stunning and sexy. The house, however, was a bit chilly as temperatures outside plunged well below zero and she’d like have to wear a sweater or jacket so as to avoid the shivers.
Putting aside the cocktail dress, she finally settled on a fitted, pencil shaped cotton textured skirt in grey, speckled with touches of light red and yellow pansies; she topped that off with a white camisole and a plain teal cardigan sweater with five large jeweled buttons adorning the front. She let her hair down, brushing it into smooth flows to her shoulders. Under the skirt she wore a pair of dark tights, with a pair of teal-colored sequined sandals with two-inch heels.
Karen rubbed a bit of foundation into her face which had become ruddy due to the walks she had been doing in the frigid, windy weather. She applied mascara and light touches of blush along with modest eyeliner and light, pink lipstick and gloss.
“Wow, we are three lovely girls,” exclaimed Sonja as the three gathered at the table.
“Are we celebrating anything?” Karen asked.
“Not really, but I just feel like dressing up and being beautiful, not that I’ll ever qualify for that description,” Daphne laughed.
“We both think you’re beautiful, don’t we Karen?” Sonja said.
“Yes, I do, I really do, Daphne,” Karen said.
“You’re both such convincing liars, although being raised on a farm, I know that some cows can be truly beautiful,” Daphne said with a smile, her sparkling eyes dancing as she spoke.
Karen looked at the other two and suddenly felt under-dressed; she realized that when the others wanted a “dress-up” dinner they really wanted it to be nearly formal in style. Daphne wore a full-length navy blue shift with a high neckline and puffy sleeves; she wore several strands of pearls that dangled down to her ample breasts. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail that exposed dangling hoop earrings. She wore flats, a concession to her 6 foot-plus height. The tall, slender, athletic Sonja wore a red jersey dress, with a drooping neckline. She made an elegant sight, and she, too, wore flats due to her 6 foot frame.
The three gathered at the dining room table where candles were already lit and the lights were low; someone had turned on a Pandora jazz link on their iPad which played through small speakers set up on the breakfront. The tinkling of a piano, the beat of the bass and light rifts from a drummer sounded in the background.
A bottle of chardonnay sat in the midst of the table, with three stemmed glasses.
“This is so elegant,” Karen said.
“Yes, all we’re missing is the men,” giggled Daphne.
“Maybe,” Sonja agreed, “But maybe this might be more fun.”
Karen nodded. She was right; the three girls were able now to enjoy the food, the wine and each other’s company without any stresses.
“Here’s to us girls,” Daphne offered, raising her glass, inviting the others to join her. In dainty, feminine motions they clinked their glasses in the toast.
“To us girls,” Karen and Sonja joined in.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 7
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Chapter 7: Troubled Relationships
Even though Karen had only two glasses of wine, she still felt a bit light-headed when she returned to her room. It had been an exhilarating evening, with all three girls exchanging stories about how their holidays had been.
“My mom is still wondering why I have no boyfriend,” Sonja said. “She thinks my job here with you girls is an abomination and that it’s a sin and I’m doomed to hell.” Sonja, of course, was the only genetic girl in the group, but still found that some family members and friends were shocked that she was working with girls in transition.
Daphne nodded: “My dad still chides me for no longer being out there on the field banging heads. A big guy like you shouldn’t be afraid of getting hurt, he says, usually calling me a coward.”
“You a coward? I saw you play, I’d hardly call you a coward,” Sonja said.
“I don’t think I was a coward, ‘cause I wasn’t worried about getting hurt,” the large girl said. “I just didn’t like all that macho stuff. Even as a kid, I enjoyed playing with my sister, but dad kept telling me I had to be playing football.”
“That hardly makes you a sinner,” Sonja said.
All three were into their second glasses of chardonnay and the thought that Daphne and Karen were sinning due to their transitioning caused them all to giggle.
“I don’t feel like I’m sinning,” Karen said, almost sneezing out the words in an effort to stop snickering.
“Well, I was raised in the Missouri Synod of the Lutheran Church,” Sonja said. “And mom was only 18 when she married, and 19 when I came into the world. She’s been stuck on the farm halfway up north raising all six of us. No wonder she doesn’t understand.”
Almost as an afterthought, Sonja added: “But I really love my mom. She means well and she loves me, I know it. But here I am only 25 years old, and mom’s already fearing I’ll be an old maid.”
“She’ll get over it, Sonja,” Daphne said. “And you’re hardly the old maid type; you’ve had a couple boyfriends since I’ve known you.”
Sonja laughed. “I wouldn’t want any of those guys as my future mate. They were so immature; aren’t any of these guys today grown up? Won’t they ever hang up their clothes?”
“Guys are no good,” Daphne giggled. “Let’s toast that.”
All three raised their glasses, they tipped them together to touch and then each sipped their wine. Karen’s giggling suddenly switched into sobs, drawing the attention of her mates.
“What’s the matter, darling? Did I say something wrong?” Daphne said.
Karen’s sobs became louder, and both girls surrounded her, enveloping her with their hugs.
“What caused this?” Sonja said, addressing no one in particular.
Karen continued her sobs for a few moments, finally composing herself and shaking herself free from the grasps of her two friends.
“Daphne, you didn’t know. My Mark is not like other guys; he’s smart and caring and he picks up his socks.”
Daphne’s large round face turned into a frown.
“I’m sorry, Karen,” Daphne said, placing a comforting hand on Karen’s smaller, daintier hand. “Tell me about this marvelous man of yours.”
“Oh Daphne, Sonja, you’d love him. Mark is so sweet and loving, but now he’s half-paralyzed in a hospital in Milwaukee,” Karen began.
“Why? What happened? Was he in an accident?” Sonja asked.
“Not quite,” Karen said. “Did you read about that player from Iowa State who was injured in a bowl game?”
Daphne looked astonished: “You mean Hamilton? That’s your Mark, boyfriend?”
Karen nodded, and she felt she’d begin crying again.
“I watched that game, Karen,” Daphne said. “That was a vicious hit, but apparently it was not illegal.”
“It wasn’t, and Mark doesn’t even blame the boy who hit him,” Karen said, sensing she had put a bit of pride into her voice.
“I saw that,” Daphne said, her own eyes beginning to tear up.
“He may never walk, much less play football again,” Karen said.
“Oh you poor girl,” Daphne said. “Now you know why I quit football. I remember giving hard hits to other players, and several times they lay flat on the ground after my hit. I was known as the ‘crusher’ by my teammates. Oh how I hated it, but the harder I hit other players the more the crowd roared and the bigger the ‘hi-fives’ from my teammates. I thought I wanted that, but after I knocked that Minnesota running back out of the game, I cried and cried. I hated myself.”
Tears flowed down Daphne’s round, pinkish cheeks as her voice trialed off.
“And Mark doesn’t want to see me anymore,” Karen continued.
Both Sonja and Daphne looked at Karen in momentary wonderment. Daphne dabbed at her moist face with a tissue, and her crying seemed to have ceased.
“Why, dear?” Sonja asked.
“He feels he’ll be a burden to me. Mark says he wants me to have a real man, not a cripple,” she answered, feeling ready to begin crying again.
“That just goes to show how sweet he is, Karen,” Daphne said, placing a huge, chubby hand over Karen’s.
“I know, Daphne. He’s really so generous.”
There was silence for a minute; finally Daphne picked up her glass, held it high and said, “Here’s a toast to a real gentleman and may he recover and bring joy into the life of our dear friend, Karen.”
Karen knew such a hope might be impossible to realize; yet, she felt comfort in the support of her two friends and joined in the toast.
“Do his parents accept you?” Sonja asked.
“Not at first, but now they do,” Karen said. “Well, maybe not his dad so much, but he’s Ok with it, I guess. But his mom’s a sweetheart and I think she likes me.”
“What’s not to like?” Daphne said, giggling.
“Right now,” Karen said, “I’m kind of lying low, seeing if he’ll change. Maybe I’ll write him a chatty letter. You know, a real letter on paper and with a pen. Like in the olden days.”
“That’s sweet,” Daphne said.
“Sounds like a girl from ‘Pride and Prejudice,’” Sonja joined in.
“I almost want to dress up in one of those early 18th Century dresses, all fluffed out with petticoats.”
“That would be so darling,” Daphne said.
*****
Dear Mark,
I want you to know that if this letter seems a bit disorganized, you can blame it on two things: first, I’m not too sure about whether you want to read this letter from me. But, Mark, I hope you do. Second, I’ve had two glasses of wine, and you know how giddy this girl becomes with just the slightest bit of alcohol.
I returned to school and to Susan’s Place yesterday. Today I met with Dr. Bargmann and began hormonal treatment. He’s satisfied that I’m more a girl than a boy, as if you didn’t know that already. (Smile)
The people here are sooooooooooo nice to me; the doctor’s PA is a woman named Moira, and she seems to understand me perfectly. The Gender Clinic here seems first-rate.
Oh, there are only two of us at the House here yet. The manager Sonja who is tall lovely woman (yes, she was born a girl!) and Daphne. You’d love Daphne, and you maybe heard of her from her former life. She was on football scholarship here at the University and made all-Conference in her freshman year as a hard-hitting lineman only to quit before the next season. She’s such a lovely, sweet girl and I dearly love her. Besides, she’s a marvelous baker, and I’m afraid I’ll be a chubby girl soon if I don’t watch out. (Ha! Ha!)
Tomorrow, I start work for Professor Fenstrom of the drama department. It’ a good-paying work-study situation and I’m lucky to have it.
It’s been real cold since I returned to school; haven’t seen a reading above zero, yet. It’s tough on a tender girl like me.
I think of you, Mark, and have great faith in you. I know so many people are supporting you and you deserve their backing. I love your family and am so glad you are now close to them. You’re sweet and generous.
Oh, but I’m so tired. (Must be the wine, Ha! Ha!). I hope you don’t mind me writing. You don’t need to respond.
Thinking of you,
Karen
She looked over the letter, and, while she was pleased with what she wrote, she wondered whether to send it on. Would he really want to read it? Would it make him sad? She didn’t want to bother him and slow his recovery.
Karen smiled, however, as she looked at the stationery that she had gotten from Daphne; how adorable it was! Light yellow, flimsy parchment-like paper adorned with blue, green and pink spring flowers in the upper right hand corner. She used an old-fashioned fountain pen (it was a gift from her grandfather when she was 14 years old) with a blue ink; the use of the pen made it possible for her to write in small dainty letters garnished with girlish flourishes.
She knew the post office had stamps with the word “love” emblazoned on a heart, and she wondered whether to take time the next day to purchase such stamps. No, it was best she not do that, she realized, partly since she was trying to keep her relationship with Mark a bit neutral, so as not to face rejection. Also, she knew she’d be working all day and would hardly find time to get to the post office.
She went to her purse, found a glassine envelope containing simple “Forever” stamps and affixed one of those to the envelope.
Karen slept peacefully that night.
*****
“Dress warm, dear,” Daphne advised, as Karen prepared to leave for her first day of work as Professor Fenstrom’s work-study assistant in the drama department. “The weather guy says it’s 18 below right now, and the coldest day of the year so far.”
Karen nodded at her large friend, who sat bundled in a heavy robe and fur-lined boots at the kitchen table.
“I wish we could get that old furnace in this place to work better,” Daphne continued. “I swear I could see my breath in my room this morning.”
Karen giggled; it was frigid in the house, and she had hurried in and out of the shower, careful to keep her hair dry. It was too cold to linger in the bathroom, even though the place steamed up from the hot water of the shower. She had shaved the light fuzz on her face, under her arms and in the modest cleavage in her breast.
The cold weather proved to be a salvation for Karen; she could dress in slacks, a blouse and heavy sweater, which would be standard for any girl on the job. It was really too cold to even think of wearing a skirt. She hoped her heavy clothing would keep her looking unattractive and dowdy to the professor.
“I got nearly a mile walk,” she informed Daphne.
“Cover your face, dear,” the girl said.
“Yes, mother,” Karen said, giggling.
*****
The University’s drama department was tucked into the back portion of the third floor of the Arts Building on campus. Karen had been astonished at the cramped conditions that professors had to endure in their offices; even the most renowned professors on campus, those who were celebrated authors and experts — some even Nobel Prize winners — were crammed into tiny rooms where their books and papers were untidily stacked into overburdened shelves, many filled to an extreme that Karen worried that the slightest bit of shock — such as a sonic boom — would send them into an avalanche of paper and cardboard and books.
Professor Eric Fenstrom’s office was no exception, and Karen knew that she’d likely be spending lots of time in the tiny room, forced into close proximity with the professor. The prospect frightened her, not because she felt fear of any physical assault but rather she worried that his constant flirting would force her into uncomfortable situations.
“He promised to behave,” she told her therapist, Moira, during her interview on the previous day.
Karen had related to Moira how she had been kissed and caressed by the professor after they finished the play in the previous semester. It was Moira who had armed Karen with advice and paraphernalia such as a whistle and pepper spray to ward off unwanted advances.
“Karen, dear, a pretty girl like yourself is going to have to be prepared,” Moira said with a warm smile. “Actually, all girls, not just the pretty ones like you, face that sometimes. Some men just can’t seem to help themselves.”
Karen recalled the attacks she faced when she lived in the dormitory, as well as the many advances she faced while waiting tables at the Olympus. It was to be a fact of life, she realized. Being so pretty was both a curse and a blessing, but then weren’t most things in life?
“I’m Karen Hansson,” she said, as she entered the front office of the drama department. “I’m the work-study student.”
She was ten minutes early; her start time was to be 9 a.m. A middle-aged woman, somewhat stocky and with a jovial demeanor was seated at one of the two desks crammed in the tiny outer office. She had a head of curled hair, apparently prematurely gray, and a smooth complexion.
“Welcome, Karen, you must be chilled to the bone,” the woman said.
“I had to walk over a mile to get here,” Karen said, taking off her parka and removing her wool cap, shaking her hair free as she did so.
“Oh you poor dear,” the woman said. “Hang your coat on that clothes tree.”
“Thank you, but the walk wasn’t too bad, I was dressed pretty warm,” Karen said.
“Good for you, but maybe we can arrange for a ride for you in this lousy weather.”
“That’s not necessary. The walk is good for my health,” Karen said, immediately suspicious that the ride the woman was suggesting would be given by Professor Fenstrom.
“I’m Debbie, Debbie Johannes, the drama department secretary, and you’ll be working both for Dr. Fenstrom and assisting in the department as a whole,” the woman said.
Karen was assigned to the other desk in the room; it was closest to the door, and Karen immediately felt comforted by the fact that there’d be a door between her and the professor, as well as another woman in the office. She was further comforted to notice that Debbie was dressed not too differently than herself; she wore dark blue slacks and a lavender woolen sweater along with comfortable shoes. Her graying hair was tied in a ponytail and she wore a minimum of makeup.
*****
Professor Fenstrom didn’t enter his office on Karen’s first day until after lunch; it was just as well, Karen thought, since Debbie had been shown to be a patient and pleasant mentor. As it soon appeared, Karen’s chores would be more secretarial than she originally expected. Fenstrom had indicated Karen’s role would be as his “assistant,” sort of a “Girl Friday” role, to use an ancient sexist term.
If Debbie had any idea that Karen was not what she appeared to be, a lovely young lady rather than a onetime boy in transition, she didn’t let on. Karen and Debbie engaged in short bursts of “girl talk” during the morning.
“That’s a lovely scent you’re wearing,” Debbie said at one point as she hovered over Karen’s shoulder to point out an item on the computer screen.
“Oh, I hope it’s not too strong a scent, Debbie,” Karen said quickly. She was so worried that the scent might be overwhelming in a small office. Yet, Karen rarely went without at least a touch of scent; it just made her feel dainty and feminine. That morning she had been particularly judicious in keeping the application modest.
“Not at all, I can hardly sense it, but it’s in good taste, dear.”
“It’s called Casual, by Paul Sebastian. My little brother got it for me for Christmas,” Karen volunteered.
“How sweet of him to buy such a nice gift for his sister,” Debbie said.
“It’s not much like him,” Karen giggled. “He considers himself a big, tough macho football player. I doubt very much that he bought it personally. Probably my mom bought it, and let him give it to me as a gift.”
“Well, it was still nice of him. You have any other brothers or sisters?”
“No, it’s just Sonny, my brother, and my mom. I hardly ever knew my dad; he left us when I was about 4.”
Debbie nodded, and then pointed to the spreadsheet that Karen had brought up onto the computer screen.
“You’ll want to add a column entitled something like ‘Source’ to indicate how the donation was made, whether it was made online, through the mail or other method,” Debbie said.
Karen’s job that morning was to create a database of donors to the Theater Program, which would be used to seek private donations needed to supplement University funds in order to stage regular theatrical productions. Fenstrom, as a former Broadway and Hollywood actor, had proven to be particularly adept at encouraging wealthier persons — usually women — to donate to the program.
As the morning went on, Karen began wondering about Debbie and her relationship with Professor Fenstrom. It was obvious that the woman must have begun working there as a young girl, directly after completing school. And, she apparently had been the departmental lead secretary when Fenstrom arrived at the school eight years earlier.
Her references about Fenstrom were always formal, calling him “Professor Fenstrom” or “the professor.” Never did she use the word “Eric” or indicate she had any kind of a personal relationship with the man.
Knowing Fenstrom’s proclivities to make advances to women, Karen wondered if Debbie had ever been so approached. Even though Debbie had taken on a middle-aged chubbiness, the woman had a lovely face and still retained a curvy and enticing body; her full breasts and round hips must certainly have excited the professor’s libido. And Karen thought Debbie must have been even more attractive in earlier years.
Karen felt she’d like the work in the office, and loved the idea of being an “office girl,” even though that nomenclature reeked of sexism. She had excellent typing skills, partly as a result of having taken secretarial classes in high school (one of two boys in her class) and her own slender fingers, already proven to be agile as she had became a crochet and knit expert. No, Karen thought, it’s best to be wary of Debbie, in spite of the woman’s apparent pleasant demeanor and her willingness to help Karen settle into her work in the office. She vowed not to get too personal with the woman, partly because Debbie might indeed have a closer relationship with Fenstrom than was apparent.
“Care to join me for lunch, Karen?” Debbie asked. “We close the office from noon to 12:45 each day when school’s not in session.”
The two bundled up and trundled a short block amid piled snow, their breath showing as they walked on the clear, sunny day.
“My how the sky sparkles,” Karen said, looking at the vast expanse of blue that was framed by the massive stands of the University’s nearby football stadium.
Both wore sunglasses, since the bright sun was intensified by reflections off the whiteness of the snow cover. The University’s streets, normally teeming with rushing students, cars and busses was eerily quiet and somber during these days before classes would begin for the semester.
“It’s such a picture-book setting,” Debbie agreed. “Maybe that’s why we can find winter bearable.”
Karen smiled. “This may sound goofy, but I like a cold, snowy winter.”
“Yes, it is goofy.” They both giggled.
Both women chose the salad bar at the student union’s cafeteria. Karen topped hers off with sliced chicken, shredded cheddar cheese and low-cal ranch dressing while Debbie skipped the cheese, but heaped on regular blue cheese dressing. The older woman also picked up a milk shake, while Karen chose herbal tea.
“No wonder you’re so slim,” Debbie said when she got to the table. “I can’t seem to resist good food. I’m getting so chubby.”
“Enjoy it, Debbie,” Karen said. “I never was much of a foodie.”
“You’re lucky, I guess, but I love the taste of good food,” the other woman said, laughing. “Can’t you tell?”
Karen smiled, but decided to change the subject. “Do you have a family, Debbie?”
Debbie was in the middle of chewing on the garlic bread she had taken to supplement the meal, and raised her hand to ask for a moment to answer.
“Yes, I have a son, Evan. He’s 20 and a junior here at the University,” Debbie said, taking a sip from her milk shake.
“What’s he studying?” Karen asked.
“English, though I don’t know why. How’s he going to get a job when he’s all done?”
Karen nodded. She loved English literature herself, but explained she was going into Social Work just because she knew she had to make a living. “I also like the theater, too,” she added.
“Keep your eye on social work, honey,” Debbie said. “You’ve got all the beauty in the world I can see, but the acting profession’s a lousy way to make a living, dear. I know I tried it myself. Believe it or not, I once was skinny and had a body like a model once myself.”
“I believe it, Debbie. You’re still a beautiful woman.”
“But a fat one, too,” she said, her eye twinkling with amusement. She lifted her milk shake as it in a toast.
Karen raised her tea cup and the two touched glasses, a moment of sisterly bonding.
*****
“Glad to see you joined us,” Professor Eric Fenstrom said, as he entered the office just minutes after she and Debbie had returned from lunch. He wore a puffy, expensive parka with a brightly colored scarf tied rakishly about his neck, topped off with fur hard with the ear flaps turned down.
Nothing like frigid weather to take the “Hollywood” out of a man’s desire for stylish clothing, Karen thought as she rose to greet the professor who still liked to indicate to the natives of this hinterland that he once had been a top star of great sophistication.
“I’m happy I did, sir,” Karen said dutifully.
“Take the professor’s coat, Karen,” Debbie said. “There’s a small closet in his office where you can hang it.”
“Damn Eskimo country this is!” the professor said. “I’ll never get used to this cold.”
Karen followed the professor into his office, and he pointed her to a narrow closet in a far corner of the cluttered room; she opened the door and hung up the coat and placed his hat and gloves on the top shelf. She closed the door.
“Wait, dear,” Fenstrom said. “Help me off with these boots.”
He plopped down on the office chair and held out one foot and Karen kneeled to wrestle the boot off his foot, exposing a woolen sock covered foot; she did the same to the other foot and moved to put both boots on the closet’s floor.
“Now you can help me on with those slip-ons,” he said, pointing to a pair of moccasin style shoes without laces.
Karen was about to ask: “Can’t you do this yourself?” but thought the best to obey the order.
As she finished the task, which was more difficult than she figured it would be because the woolen socks were thick, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“You’re as pretty as ever, Karen,” he said. She felt his hand give her shoulder a little massage, and she stiffened, feeling a tinge of both excitement and fear.
Karen said nothing, and continued to wrestle with the shoe, finally getting both of them fitted. She stood up and asked:
“Is that all, sir?”
“Sir? Please call me Eric, Karen. We need to be friends, dear.”
With that Karen stood up, mustering up courage she didn’t know she had, and looked Professor Eric Fenstrom — the big movie and Broadway star — directly in the eye, and said:
“I’d like to thank you for giving me the privilege of working here, sir. As you know I need the money and I hope I am worthy of your trust in me. I prefer to call you ‘sir’ or ‘professor,’ if you don’t mind.”
Fenstrom looked nonplused. He obviously was not used to people speaking up to him. “You may go now, I’ll call you if I need you for anything,” he said sarcastically, as if he’d ever call her again for anything. Karen thought his words sounded like those of pouty little boy who wasn’t to get the toy he wanted.
“By the way,” he said, suddenly, just as she was about to leave the room. “You think that by dressing down, by being in such drab peasant costume that you’ll be any less of a beauty. You can’t fool me. You did that just so I wouldn’t find you attractive, but you can’t hide it, dear.”
Karen turned red and was about to turn back and answer, but decided it was best to leave. Nonetheless, she was angered that the man would go back on his word to leave her untouched if she agreed to work in his office. A second feeling overwhelmed her: she was excited by his attention and she hated herself for feeling such excitement.
To her relief, Debbie was on the phone deep in her conversation as Karen returned to the front office and her desk. She appeared not to have heard the exchange between Karen and Fenstrom, and Karen grabbed the key to the staff ladies’ room, waved it toward Debbie to signify she was leaving for a moment. The older woman nodded and continued her conversation. Karen charged out of room, fighting back tears and entered the ladies’ room, found it empty and entered a stall. She sat down without downing her slacks and sobbed, stifling the noise by crying into gobs of toilet paper she had crumpled into her hands.
How could she be so enthralled with the intentions of a man three times her age? She knew it was wrong, that he was wrong and that she was wrong for considering it, even for a moment. Was she nothing better than a harem wife?
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 8
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Chapter 8: Challenges
Two days later, Karen was pleased to see an email message from Mark’s mother. It was warm and friendly. It was not written in the typical email shorthand, but as a personal note:
My dear Karen,
I know you must be dying for word about Mark. First of all, he’ll be in the hospital for several more days while they run tests. It’s expected then that he’ll be moved to a rehab facility, which Mark’s father and I had inspected and found to be first-rate.
He received your letter, and to be honest with you, I don’t think he read it. He wouldn’t tell me that he did, saying only that he’ll read it when he feels like it. All he said to me was to tell you to forget about him. “I’m not worth her time,” he said; I remember those words exactly, because he started crying right after he said them, and buried his face in the pillow.
I’ve never seen Mark like this, Karen. He’s always been so upbeat, but I guess it’s natural for him to be discouraged.
I can’t tell you to continue writing your letters since right now I’m not sure he’ll read them. Do as you wish, but I think it’s important that those of us who care for him need to try to reach out to him to let him know he’s not forgotten.
You’re a sweet girl, Karen. Mark always said you were special and even though you’re not the genetic girl his mother and father might have wished for him, you’re warm, kind and caring. None of us could have wished for more.
Love, Patti Hamilton
Oh how Karen cried after reading that email message, collapsing onto her bed and burying her head into her pillow. She wanted to hop the next bus to Milwaukee and rush into his hospital room and climb up next to him to place her slender, soft body next to his hard, muscular body, and become engulfed in his loving arms. She wanted to cover him with kisses and caresses. She wanted to massage his legs — still useless and growing weaker — in the fervent hope that her loving hands would revive them into their once sturdy life.
Her sobs slowly lost their intensity as she realized that Mark’s legs might never again be his to command. Yet, that reality didn’t stifle or lessen her desire to be with him and to live her life with him. Was that too much to ask for?
*****
Later that night, after she showered, put her hair up and stepped into her cotton pajamas (light blue with yellow and pink bunnies) she sat down at her desk and wrote her second note:
Dear Mark,
I hope the nurses and doctors are treating you OK! I know how pretty some of those nurses can be so don’t get too friendly with them or else I will get jealous (he! he!).
I started my job in the Drama Department and I love it. I work directly with an older woman named Debbie and she’s so nice and helpful. I love feeling like an “office girl.” So far the campus is quiet, since the next semester doesn’t begin for another ten days.
The only drawback is that I have to walk a mile to work and the campus buses aren’t running until the students return. And it’s soooo cold. You can imagine how I bundle up. (Brrrr!) But I know that if you and I were doing the walk together, I’d never feel the cold. (Hmmmmm!)
Anyway, I’ll be writing you several times a week. If you don’t want to read my letters, it’s OK. It makes me feel good to write you.
As ever, Karen
She had an exquisite dream that night. It was a cold day, and she and Mark were sitting together on a toboggan, she in front and leaning back into him. The hill was long and the toboggan course curved this way and that and as the two swept down the hill, Karen felt a chill as they approached a tree. As disaster was about to hit, Mark moved his body and the swift-moving toboggan swerved to miss the tree. And this happened over and over. A moment of terror followed by a sense of relief and joy! Suddenly she was awake, covered with sweat and a foreboding fear. But the fear seemed pointless; the trees were passed safely and Karen was safe in her bed. She should have felt comforted, but she wasn’t. She felt so alone!
*****
A week later, just as students began returning to the campus for the start of the semester in several days, Debbie and Karen worked quietly in the office, deeply wrapped into their computers when Professor Fenstrom asked Karen to come to his office. It was the first time he had asked her to enter his office since her statement that she wished their relationship to remain professional.
“Sit down,” he said coldly.
“Yes sir,” she said, careful not to cross her legs, since that day she had decided to wear a knee-length pleated plaid skirt. She wore black, heavy tights as protection against the cold, but she realized as she walked down the halls that some of the men sneaked glances at her, indicating that her legs must have aroused their male hormones.
Karen sat primly, her stenographer’s tablet poised on her lap.
“Miss Hansson, I’d like you to draft a letter for me,” he began.
“Yes, sir.”
“Each year about this time, we send a letter out for several hundred persons who are on our donors list, and I’d like to see a letter, no more than two pages long, that will compel these folks to cough up a few dollars,” he said. He did not look directly at Karen, his eyes seeming to be focused on the Tony award he got several years earlier for a role on Broadway. The trophy was seated prominently on a shelf behind Karen’s head, in a location where the professor could readily view it.
“And you want me to write it?” Karen asked. “I’ve never done anything like that before, sir,”
“Well, you’re a creative young lady, I know, and I’ve seen some of your writing, and unlike so many of my students you can at least construct a complete sentence with a verb and a noun,” Fenstrom said.
“I guess I was always good in English, sir,” she said, continuing the practice of addressing the professor in a formal manner.
“Well, see what you come up with and put it on my desk by 4:30 this afternoon,” he said, his voice crisp and flat. “Do you think you can handle that?”
Karen nodded, then asked: “Sir, can I see what you’ve written in the past?”
“No, you can’t. Just use your imagination. I know you’re good with words.”
“Is that all, sir?”
“What else would there be? Get out now.”
She was shocked at the coldness of his voice; it had been apparent in the days following her firm statement that she wanted their relationship to be nothing more than that of an employer to employee and that he had reverted into a pouty, almost resentful mode in his meetings with her. Thankfully, their contacts were few and far between, with Debbie directing Karen on her duties for the most part. The professor spent little time in the office, though the two women were kept busy tending to the day-to-day business of assisting a dozen professors, assistants and instructors of the department, plus a growing number of visits and inquiries by students, both by phone and by email.
Karen realized, too, that she loved being a part of the work of the drama department. She found out as well that the work of an “office girl” was critically important in the smooth functioning of any enterprise, whether it was a university department or a business. Not only Fenstrom, but all of the teaching staff relied upon Debbie — and even Karen to a growing extent — to answer questions about expense reports, university regulations, important contact persons and other matters.
Returning to her desk, Karen wondered what was in the professor’s mind. How could she possibly come up with something that would please him? Surely, she’d fail in satisfying him, giving him an excuse to fire her, and return her to the work-study pool for another job elsewhere, if there was even one still available. Why didn’t he give her a hint of what he wanted?
She had been through possibly a dozen opening paragraphs, only to discard them all, and was becoming more and more frustrated. She suddenly realized she had begun biting strands of her hair in desperation, a practice she had adopted when she was troubled or worried.
“You need a break,” Debbie said, interrupting her intense thoughts.
“What?” Karen said, as if being awakened from a dream.
“I can see you need a break,” Debbie said. “I’m going to get a coffee. You want a cup, too?
“Oh? That would be nice,” Karen said. “But I think I’ll have tea.”
Fenstrom was gone from the office, having stated that he’d return about four. As was permitted under Debbie’s union contract, she was permitted a 15-minute coffee break in the afternoon. The voice mail would pick up any calls; they put a sign on the door, “Back at 3:15,” and the two went down to the second floor employee lounge.
“I see you’re having problems with that letter, Karen,” Debbie said.
“Yes, he gave me no clue as to what he wanted, and I don’t know where to start, and he wants it on his desk at 4:30.”
“Sounds like him, always likes to make what seem impossible demands on his staff,” Debbie said.
“I could see that in the way he directed plays, too, but for some reason it seems to work,” Karen said.
“He does manage to get the best out of people, even when he’s acting like a bastard,” Debbie said. Karen was shocked; it was the first time she’d ever heard Debbie say anything remotely critical of her employer.
The comment put Karen at ease with her co-worker; perhaps, she felt, she could open up to Debbie about her own thoughts and ideas. Debbie had been so close-mouthed about her own life, her family and her own feelings that Karen wondered sometimes if the woman had any personal life at all.
“I just wished I had a sample of what was written in past letters,” she said, hoping Debbie might volunteer to show her one of the past letters which likely were still in the files somewhere.
“No, Karen, I think he wants you to use your own thoughts, your own ideas,” Debbie said. “He wants something fresh, and you should be flattered he’s giving you that chance.”
“You don’t think he wants me to fail so he can fire me?”
“No, honey, not at all, and don’t let that remote way he’s been with you fool you. He adores you and he really thinks you’ve got talent.”
“Oh? He doesn’t show it.”
“Oh, forget how he is now. That’s his way,” Debbie said. “I know what you told him on the first day. And you were right, dear.”
“You know that?”
“Well, not directly, but I know Fenstrom,” she said. “It’s apparent that you told him to keep his distance, right?”
Karen nodded.
“Every year, Fenstrom brings on some young honey for this work-study position, and they’re usually pretty hot-looking creatures, too. Most want acting careers, you know, and he uses that to try to get into their panties, the old letch.”
“Oh? What does his wife say about all this?”
“She could care less, dear. They have had a professional marriage and I think any real love they had for each other went out the window when the first young girl walked into his life after the wedding.”
“That’s so sad,” Karen said. “They’re always portrayed as having such a perfect marriage.”
“But, Karen, Professor Fenstrom values talent, and you’ve got it, so forget his habits and take advantage of the opportunities he may throw your way. And keep him at arm’s length.”
Karen smiled at Debbie, realizing that she had found a new friend; though she wondered what made Debbie tick. She rarely had opened up quite as much as she did during the break time.
“Thank you, Debbie,” Karen said. “That was helpful, now I’d better get back and finish up that letter. I don’t want to disappoint the good professor.”
Debbie smiled.
As they walked back, Debbie stopped suddenly, placing a hand on Karen’s arm to stop her, too.
“I got a thought for you,” she began. “Why not write about the student actors who are helped by the donations and the theater program? You already understand that, I’m sure. That’ll be something different.”
“Yes, Debbie, that sounds like a good idea. Thanks.”
Karen charged back to her computer, eager to compose the letter. Once she started the words flowed like a waterfall and she completed the draft by 4 p.m., giving her plenty of time to edit it carefully, assuring the grammar and spelling was accurate.
“You think you’ve got something, dear?” Debbie asked.
“I think so, yes. Care to check it over for me?”
“I’d rather not, since I want this to be totally your letter.”
“Please, Debbie, just read it to assure I haven’t made any dumb errors.”
Debbie finally agreed to read it, but said she’d make no comment on the content or the format itself; all she’d look for would be obvious errors. She gave it five minutes of intense attention, then handed it back to Karen with a warm smile.
“Just one thing, Karen,” she said. “Officially it’s called the ‘University Players,’ not the ‘University Theatre.’”
“Thanks, Debbie, I’ll change that. Did you like it?”
“That’s not for me to say. Fenstrom’s the person you need to please.”
Fenstrom breezed into the office at precisely 4:30 p.m. Without so much as a hello to either of them, he went directly to Karen’s desk and said in a firm, commanding voice.
“Gimme that letter, Miss Hansson.”
“Here you are, sir,” she said, handing him the two-page letter.
“Done already?”
“Yes sir.”
“Damn,” he said, as if displeased with the fact that Karen had completed. “Don’t leave until I’ve talked to you.”
“Sir, I have to leave at 5 p.m.,” she said firmly.
“What?” he said, obviously affronted.
“I need to catch the bus,” she said.
“Oh, all right,” he said, bounding into his room and slamming the door behind him.
Debbie seemed to suppress and tiny giggle. “You’re driving him nuts, Karen,” she said quietly. “He’s never had anyone stand up to him like that before.”
Karen nodded. “I’m not trying to fight him, Debbie, it’s just that us girls need to stand up for ourselves.”
“Amen,” Debbie said.
*****
Karen was in despair that night, partly because of the aftermath of her courageous stand against Fenstrom. Despite Debbie’s praise of Karen’s response to the professor, she was still shocked at the degree to which she had found the fortitude to refuse to work after 5 p.m. She shivered at the thought of it; she had never thought of herself as courageous and felt she was more of a coward than anything else. She wondered, too, if she might find herself without a job as a result. Certainly, she must have blown any chance she had of getting a part in the spring play.
Her despair was deepened, too, by the fact that Mark had yet to respond to any of her letters; not even a short email with a “hi” came from him. Certainly he must have access to email; hospitals these days were wired thoroughly for such communications.
Daphne consoled her that night at supper, saying that she understood Mark’s feelings; during her football playing days, she had been badly injured and faced the prospect of missing the last three games of the season. It had caused her deep depression, she said, and she even didn’t want to see her mother or her sisters.
“Besides he loves you, darling, I’m sure,” the big girl said, her round pink face showing concern. “He wants you to live a full, happy life, and right now he’s thinking the worst. Give him time.”
“Maybe you’re right, Daphne, but I can’t help thinking he’s finally realized I could never be a real wife for him, even if he did recover,” Karen said, bursting into tears.
“You’re wrong there, Karen,” Daphne said. “From what I can see you’d be a great wife.”
“I . . . want to . . . be that . . . Daphne,” she said, sobbing.
Daphne let the girl cry for a short while and then arose from her seat: “Let’s get these dishes done and the kitchen cleaned up, Karen.”
Her voice was stern and demanding, prompting Karen to stop her tears. She wiped her eyes and took the dirty plates to the sink to be washed. As the two young women cleaned up, they chatted about the weather, Karen’s response to Fenstrom and a discussion as to when the rest of the girls would be returning to begin the next semester. The conversation and activity took Karen out of her torpor, at least for a few moments.
Patti Hamilton called Karen that evening, well after 9 p.m.
“I hope it’s not too late for you, Karen,” she said.
“No this is fine. I’m up ‘til nearly eleven at night.”
“Good.”
“How’s Mark doing?”
“Well that’s what I wanted to tell you, dear,” Patti said.
Karen listened closely, trying to detect from the tone of Mrs. Hamilton’s voice whether the news was good or bad.
“He’s been moved to a rehab center to see if they can restore any feeling to his legs. That’s good news, since it means they’ve ruled out any damage to his brain or his upper body nerve structure. And he’s out of any danger of blood clots, as far as they can tell.”
“Oh, that’s good news, Patti. I’m so thrilled,” Karen said, her voice showing her joy.
“There’s still hope that he’ll be able to walk sometime in the future, dear,” Patti said, her voice showing a bit a caution. “He still feels nothing below the hips and that frankly worries us.”
“Poor Mark,” Karen said, her momentary joy suddenly ended.
“I want to be very honest with you, Karen. The odds are slim that he’ll ever walk again.”
Karen sobbed. She said nothing, not sure what she could say to Patti Hamilton, whose own grief must be as deep as her own. Certainly, a mother who saw her once vibrant, lively son headed toward the life of a cripple would be devastated. Patti, however, was obviously a strong women realizing that if she showed fortitude it would help not only her son’s attitudes, but also those of the rest of her family and Karen.
“Karen, you must be strong, dear,” Patti said finally, breaking the silence.
“I know, ma’am and I will be. It’s just such a shock. I can’t stand to see him like this, but Mark’s a strong boy, Patti, and I’m sure he’ll make the best of whatever is ahead for him.”
“That’s the spirit, Karen, and I agree with you.”
“Has he read any of my letters, Patti?”
“I don’t know, but thank you for writing him. You’ve been writing something every day, right?”
Karen smiled to herself. “Yes, I have. Fortunately I have time now before school starts, since I don’t have any homework. Just work during the day, and there’s only two of us here in the house so it’s quiet. I love writing him.”
“That’s sweet, honey. I asked Mark yesterday if he’d read your letters and he barked back at me telling it was none of my business.”
“Do you think I should stop writing? Is it causing him to be sad?”
“No, as long as you’re not getting writer’s cramp,” she said.
For some reason, Karen found that funny, and she let out a tiny giggle.
“It is slow writing by hand, Patti, but it feels so much more personal. I almost want to put on a Victorian style dress and write by candlelight with a quill pen on perfumed paper as girls did in the olden days.”
Patti let out a short giggle, too. “Oh Karen, that’s so sweet.”
“Mrs. Hamilton, I love him so much.”
“I know you do and I think he loves you just as strongly, but he truly doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“I know. Give him an extra sweet hug and kiss for me, and you don’t have to tell him it’s from me, but I’ll know he’ll feel it.”
“I will, dear Karen. I will. And you get a good night’s sleep now. We all love you, Karen.”
*****
Karen’s walk to work the next morning was in weather that felt almost balmy; yet the clock at the Capitol Bank read +17 (17 degrees above zero, Fahrenheit), still not warm by anyone’s calculations, but certainly a break from the constant below zero readings that had been standard since she had returned to the campus. The two flags on the pole in front of the bank hung limply, signifying there was little wind.
The sun was poking through clouds in the eastern sky, brightening up the day considerably. Karen’s spirits soared in spite of the apprehension over whether her boldness with Professor Fenstrom meant she was headed for greater confrontations with the famed actor and theater professor, perhaps even being fired from her job. Also, Mark’s fate and his rejection of her was a constant upon her mind.
She smiled at the concern that Daphne had shown her last night, the warm telephone conversation she had with Patti Hamilton, her growing friendship with Debbie as well as the love of her mother and brother. Karen realized she had gained so many friends, and they would soon be returning to the campus; her lovely and petite roommate, Rami, was due back in a day, and Jenny with her gaggle of girlfriends would likely be not far behind. Karen hadn’t realized it until just that moment as she walked in the quiet of the University campus morning that she was the most fortunate girl in the world!
She wanted to skip along the last few blocks to work, an impulse that she wisely stifled, realizing skipping would likely mean slipping on the frequent ice patches and falling flat upon her behind. Karen took no time to analyze the reasons for her good feelings; it was time to enjoy them. Such a change from her dour, sour life as Kenny!
*****
Debbie, too, must have been feeling great that morning, since she greeted Karen with a cheery “hi” as the girl entered the office right on the dot of nine o’clock.
“The second hand split the ‘12’ smack dab in the middle just as you walked in the door,” Debbie laughed. “One second later and I was going to report you to the good professor.”
“I’m strictly a nine-to-five girl,” Karen said, giving her co-worker a playful finger gesture.
Karen loved the teasing repartee she and Debbie had begun to practice, a sure sign that both respected the other.
“I got your donation letter from his majesty here,” Debbie said, once Karen had settled into her chair.
Karen’s heart sank; she knew she had taken a chance by writing the letter in the manner she did, but she felt that nonetheless her approach had been not only different but also effective. Debbie’s face showed no sign of whether the professor liked it or not and Karen feared the worst. To be rejected by the professor seemed almost unfair.
“Here, take a look at it,” Debbie said, handing her the two sheets of paper.
Karen took it and settled into her seat, hesitating to look at the papers, concerned it would be covered with red marks and nasty comments from the professor who was capable of the most snarky comments when he criticized anyone, whether if be the actors he was directly, the stage managers or the university administration.
Karen finally gazed upon the first page; she saw no red marks, none. As far as she could determine, the wording was just as she had written and given to him. Finally, she looked at the second page and saw two words encircled in red, “university players.” On the margin, a red squiggly note read: “capitalize the u and the p.” That was all!
Puzzled, she looked at Debbie.
The other woman smiled. “He must have liked it, Karen,” she said.
“Did he say he liked it?” Karen asked eagerly.
“Not in so many words. He’ll never give anyone any real praise, but if he doesn’t criticize your work then you know you did Ok in his mind.”
“Oh, I remember when he directed from last year’s play that he rarely said someone’s performance was good. If a scene went well, all he said was to let’s start the next scene.”
Debbie smiled: “That’s him. I’ve been with him all of his eight years here and I don’t recall he ever said ‘good job’ to me, but he’s always made sure I got good job evaluation ratings and has fought to keep me at the top rate in pay in my job. I can’t quarrel with that.”
Karen nodded her head. “Well, to be fair,” she said. “He did praise my acting and did tell me how valuable I would be to him if I took this work-study job. Of course, he was trying to persuade me to take the job then.”
“Whatever Fenstrom wants, Fenstrom gets, it seems,” Debbie said.
“Hmmmmm!” Karen worried about that, particularly if Fenstrom’s real goal was to seduce her all along. Time would tell, but Karen vowed to be ready for his advances, however and whenever they may come.
*****
By 5 p.m. in January on this university campus in the northern U. S. A., you might on a clear day view a sliver of light in the southwestern sky from the already retreated sun. Even though the temperatures continued frigid and the wind biting in its impact, Karen’s spirits were brightened by the faint hint that warmer weather and more sunshine was returning to the area.
She entered the front door of Susan’s Place, and was struck by the pleasant odor of Daphne’s baking exploits of the day. Coupled with the warmth of the place (a warmth only relative to the outside air since the economics of heating an old house called for the thermostat to be set at 68), Karen had an immediate feeling of coziness. As she took off her boots and coat, she realized that perhaps a girl would benefit from learning how to bake from Daphne. Even though Karen had become a good cook and passable baker in her own home as a teenager, she knew that Daphne had an unusual talent for baking.
She found herself day-dreaming about some day in the future in a kitchen, her hair pinned up with an apron covering the cute skirt and blouse she had put on to greet her husband (Mark Hamilton, of course) as he returned home at the end of a workday.
“You’re home, Karen?” yelled Daphne from the kitchen, interrupting her musings.
Jarred out of her lovely dream sequence, she yelled out, “ Yes, Daphne, what is that marvelous smell?”
“My sinful apple turnovers, dear,” Daphne giggled. “Baked them for you and Rami. Both you girls need some fat on your lovely bodies.”
“If I hang around here much longer and you keep baking, I’m sure I’ll be named Calorie Karen,” Karen said.
“Rami got back this afternoon, and she’s anxious to see you, dear,” Daphne said.
“Great,” Karen said and bounded up the stairs to greet her friend and roommate, Ramini Verma.
The two girls hugged each other intensely and Karen was struck by the almost desperate hold employed by her tiny friend; she sensed the girl’s body beginning to shake and realized Ramini was sobbing silently as she buried her head into the area just above Karen’s budding breasts.
“What’s the matter, Rami?” Karen said, trying to comfort the other girl, who clung onto her, seemingly for dear life.
“I’ve missed you so much Karen,” she said, her voice breaking up as she spoke.
“Me too,” Karen said. “But why are you so sad? Why are you crying so?”
The two finally separated and sat down on the old love seat that was typical of the furnishings in Susan’s Place that came from rummage sales, second hand stores and perhaps even junk piles. Karen held the other’s hand, a hand so dainty and soft that made even Karen’s hands look large.
Ramini stilled her tears and began: “I’ll have to move out of here. My father’s put his foot down; I’m supposed to live as a boy again, or else he’ll cut me off from the family and he’ll no longer pay for my schooling. Oh, Karen, what’s to happen to me?”
“What? I thought he and your mother accepted your transition?”
“Mother has, but you must remember in an Indian house, father is king,” Ramini said. “And I guess my father’s Indian friends found out about me and urged him to act like a real Indian man and take command of the house again. He was shamed into rejecting Ramini.”
“Oh, you poor girl,” Karen said.
“He’ll pay for one more semester on the condition I remain a boy and move back into the dorms as a boy by next week. He’s already got a place for me there. If I don’t quit this nonsense, as he calls me being a girl, I’ll be banished from the family. What’ll I do, Karen?”
Ramini began crying again and Karen held the sobbing girl in his arms. She knew that Ramini could never live again as a boy. Something had to be done to rescue this poor girl, Karen realized. But what?
*****
Sonja Peterson, the house manager at Susan’s Place and Daphne both joined Karen and Ramini to discuss Ramini’s situation.
“There’s no way that girl can go back into a boy’s dormitory again,” Karen said. “Those monsters will just eat her alive.”
“How do you know that?” Daphne said. “I never experienced that.”
Sonja laughed out loud: “Damn, Daphne, who would ever dare take you on?”
It brought out giggles from all four of them; as a football player, Daphne had been known for not only her size, but her athleticism and strength.
“Seriously,” Karen said. “I was beat up and nearly raped when I was in there, and Rami is even more vulnerable than I was. She just can’t return to the dorms.”
Rami had dried her tears, seeming to begin to look at her situation with less emotion.
“I just know I can’t stay here, and my dad will only pay for my tuition this semester and room and board if I go back into the boy’s dorms,” she said. “I can do it. I’ll survive.”
“You can’t do that, dear,” Karen said.
“What choice do I have?”
Sonja agreed. “She can’t stay here. The foundation that runs Susan’s Place can’t afford to provide free rent. We run on a shoestring now. And, we have a waiting list of other girls who want to be here.”
Rami looked at Sonja: “I’m not looking for charity.”
“Don’t you have a week before you have to move, Rami?” Karen asked.
She nodded.
“Well, let’s think about this and let’s do some checking. Maybe something will turn up,” Karen said.
The four agreed that was a good idea.
“Now, let’s celebrate our friendships,” Daphne said.
They toasted each other by raising their tea cups, filled with sweet-smelling herbal liquids. It was a totally girlish moment. Even Ramini smiled.
*****
Karen sat at her computer and watched Ramini, now curled up on her narrow bed, her head buried into her pillow. She was sobbing again, her tiny, fragile body shaking with her tears. She looked so helpless. She had wrapped her sari about her, but it failed to cover all of her body and Karen got an extra blanket she kept for warmth and carried it to Ramini’s side, gently placing it over her. Karen sat in a narrow space, next to Ramini, and placed her hand gently on the other girl’s shoulders, leaning over to kiss her gently. She followed that by gingerly running a tissue over the girl’s face, trying to dry her tears.
The scene was frozen for several minutes, a tableau of two pretty girls, one whose white Nordic hands contrasted with the dark bronze smooth face of the other.
“I’ve been spoiled all my life, Karen,” Ramini said finally, sitting up and looking at the other girl. “I never had even one job. Always lived off my father. It’s the way with upper class Indian families like mine.”
Karen moved tightly against the other girl, placing an arm around her shoulders.
“It’s not your fault, Rami. It’s how you were raised, but you’re smart and I think you got guts, honey.”
“I know, but what can I possibly do? I can’t go back to being a boy . . .I just can’t.”
Ramini started to sob again.
“Now, stop that crying, Rami,” Karen said, her voice becoming stern. “It won’t do any good.”
Ramini grabbed a tissue from a box and rubbed her eyes. “I know. I’ll settle down, it’s just that I feel so helpless.”
“Well, you’ve got me, at least, and I know Daphne will help too. And, more importantly, you are a strong girl. I know you are.”
Ramini looked at Karen, her eyes still moist with tears. “I love you, Karen. Can I be your sister?”
Karen smiled at the girl. “Rami. We are sisters.”
They hugged and soon were cuddled together on the bed. Even though it was not yet 10 o’clock, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, sisters together. Karen awoke, shivering and glanced over to the digital clock that said “2:11.” They had slept together for more than four hours. She got up, gently covered Ramini, kissed her lightly on the forehead (as you would a young child), turned off the light and prepared herself for the rest of the night’s sleep in her nightie in her own bed.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 9
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Chapter 9: Girl Friends
Ramini’s dilemma was still preying on Karen’s mind the next morning when her alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. She knew how much the Indian girl had valued her family, her mother and her sisters; she had also expressed great love and admiration for her father, even though it was his rigid sense of tradition that dictated Ramini might face eviction from her own family.
Karen accepted Ramini’s problem as her own, almost blotting out her own continual sadness over her troubled relationship with Mark Hamilton. Now concerns about Ramini were added to the continuing visions of her beloved lying flat and contributed to the overall depression that she felt.
It was a Friday, her last day of work for the week, and she had a new appreciation of the phrase, “T.G.I.F.” Her first week of work, coupled with the tensions of her new life, had exhausted her, and a break in work felt most welcome. Starting next week, as classes would begin, she’d be working four hours in the Drama Department most afternoons, along with possible Saturday hours once the University Players season began.
Finally, stirring herself to get out of bed, she looked over to the sleeping form of Ramini, hearing the girl’s nasal rhythmical gasps and wondering how such a cute, darling girl could have such a guttural, almost unpleasant snore. Karen loved the sight of her friend, and went over to her sleeping form to pull her blanket up tight, since the room still was a bit chilly. She bent down and kissed her lightly on the cheek; it was hardly more than a brush, since she didn’t want to awaken her. Karen had to ready herself for work, while Ramini had no urgent appointments that day, except to figure out her future.
*****
Karen took an hour off from her job for her regular therapy appointment with Moira at the Mary Ann Keyes Gender Clinic.
“It doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to see that something’s troubling you, dear,” Moira said as Karen settled into the chair in Moira’s office.
The office largely was occupied with lounge-style furniture, including a love seat, two side chairs, a side table and a coffee table. The only indication that it was an office, was a small desk, with a computer, a file cabinet and book shelves, tucked unobtrusively at one end of the room. Green plants and pictures of prairie flowers gave the room a warm, homey feeling.
Karen had been impressed how the therapist had come to know and understand her so completely, even though their meetings were restricted to 45 minutes several times a week; it was the woman’s ability to listen without making judgment that must have enabled Karen to open up to the therapist to tell her virtually everything on her mind.
“I’m so concerned about Mark,” Karen began. “He’s going into a depression, I think, since he fears he may never walk again, much less play football. He won’t even talk to me.”
“I understand, dear,” Moira said, after Karen had given the woman a full summary of Mark’s medical situation.
“You know, Karen,” Moira continued, “You should perhaps try to forget about Mark as a boyfriend. I know you must have been dreaming of someday being his wife, or at least his partner. Right now, he’s confused. You must give him time. You’re young and pretty.”
For the first time in their sessions, Karen was angered by Moira’s comments.
“You think I don’t know that?” Karen said, her voice rising, defiantly. “You think all I care about is my own feelings, about whether I need a hunk like him as a boyfriend?”
“Don’t you?”
“No, dammit, Moira. Maybe I do love him and want him, but I’ve known all along that might not be possible, just because I’m such a weirdo, that I’m not a real girl. No, Moira, I care about him, not me. I care about a talented, marvelous young man turning into a sour cripple with no hope in life. It would be such a waste.”
“Hmmmm,” Moira murmured, otherwise sitting silently, letting empty seconds roll by.
“Oh, Moira, I do love him, even if he’ll never walk again, but I recognize that I may never again feel his arms around me or his lips upon mine. I really care about him. I do. But I do miss him so.”
She began sobbing, a quiet slow sob, more in a gnawing sadness.
“There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there, Karen?”
Karen nodded her head. She stopped sobbing and related the plight of Ramini to the therapist.
“Her situation bothers you greatly, doesn’t it Karen?” Moira asked when Karen finished the story.
“Oh yes, Moira. She seems so defenseless. She’s not very strong.”
“Indian families are so steeped in tradition that girls like your friend face terrible turmoil,” Moira said. “Are you worried your friend . . .what’s her name? . . .”
“Ramini, which means ‘pretty woman,’ which she is.”
“Yes, Ramini. Are you worried that she might hurt herself?”
“I don’t know about that, but yes, I am. She’s so fragile, Moira.”
“You know Ramini is not your concern. She needs to find her own way.”
“But I can’t desert her,” Karen said. “I really care about her. She’s a friend. We’re girlfriends and we love to cuddle together. There’s no sex, we just like being together, enjoying our girliness together.”
Karen realized she must have portrayed a pleasured look on her face as she described she and Ramini’s relationship.
“Our 45 minutes is up,” Moira said suddenly. “Can you have Ramini contact me? I’ll try to see if we can help her. We’ve had several Indian girls come through the clinic and we have a volunteer Indian woman who is a medical student who might be able to help out.”
“We have to act fast, Moira, since next week she’s supposed to move into a boy’s dormitory. It’ll be a disaster there for her.”
“Ok, have her call me. Now,” Moira said.
Karen returned to her job, still not totally reassured that Ramini would be able to find a solution to her situation. She wondered, too, during the short walk back to her job whether her own feelings about Mark Hamilton were based more on her own fear of losing a boyfriend than on the concern she said she felt about Mark’s own future. Was she being selfish and self-centered? She wondered; if so, what kind of a girl was she?
*****
“Karen, you have adjusted surprisingly well as a young lady,” Sonja Peterson, the manager of Susan’s Place, said on Saturday morning, on the weekend before classes were to begin at the University.
“I like to think I have,” Karen replied.
She had asked Karen to step into the tiny office that Sonja maintained in what once had been a small middle bedroom on the first floor. The tall graduate student maintained a surprisingly neat office, with a desk tucked up against a wall and containing a flat screen computer, a stand-up file setup and a short stack of papers, neatly piled on one side. Atop a three drawer file cabinet, obviously rescued from some office that dumped it for a newer version, stood a trophy with a bronze statue of a female ice skater, with the words: “First Place. Midwest Speedskating Championships, 2008. West Allis, Wisconsin.” There was a large framed picture of a younger version of Sonja Peterson, ice skating in some tournament.
Karen had never before been in the office since the door had always been closed and locked; she only knew that Sonja, who was working on a doctoral dissertation, spent long hours in the room, apparently studying or reading.
She couldn’t keep her eyes from Sonja’s speedskating artifacts. “I didn’t know you were such a star, Sonja. Do you still compete?”
“Don’t have the time, Karen, but I must say I miss it, and I pop over to West Allis to the Olympic rink there when I can to take a few whirls around the ice, but my dissertation and the need to work just doesn’t leave time to practice.”
“That’s still quite an accomplishment,” Karen said. “Did you try for the Olympics ever?”
“I probably could have made it for the 2010 winter games, but blew a knee that year, and that ended that.” Karen could see that may have been a major disappointment for Sonja, as her eyes seemed to take on a sad, distant look.
“That must have been tough for you, Sonja.”
“I guess it was, dear, since I had been pointing to the 2010 games most of my life,” Sonja said. “We lived a few blocks from the West Allis rink and I got into skating when I was just a little girl. Some of my friends did figure skating, and I liked that, too, but I guess I wasn’t graceful enough. I liked the direct competition that speedskating offered. I really miss it, but that part of life is gone for me. Now, I skate for fun, and if I ever have kids I can’t wait to get them out of the ice.”
Karen nodded, recognizing that Mark Hamilton was in a similar situation.
“That’s a good lesson to learn, Sonja,” Karen said. “Life deals us all setbacks, and we must adjust and go on to new things. I’m just hoping Mark can resolve himself to that.”
Sonja smiled at the young lady sitting before her in the old-fashioned straight-backed oak kitchen chair.
“My dear Karen,” Sonja said, leaning forward and placing a gentle hand on Karen’s arm. “You can’t compare what happened to me to what your friend Mark is facing. He has far bigger hurdles to jump that I did. As I understand it he may never walk again.”
Karen felt her eyes well up in moisture. “I know, but there is hope. Still, your philosophy is so good. I’d love him to meet you sometime.”
“Well, we’ll see, dear. I’d like to meet him, if he’ll have me, but I’m not sure he’ll be in a mood for a lecture from me, either.”
Karen nodded, realizing that it might be best to let the matter rest.
“Now, for the reason I called you in here, Karen,” Sonja began. “You remember when you signed on here we told you it was not a permanent residence. Normally we like to see if we can move our girls out to another safe residence within 120 days — or four months. For you that means March 1, and that’s only about six weeks away. So I want you to begin searching for another place so you can move out by then.”
“Is my time going to be up so soon? I hadn’t really been keeping track,” she said.
“Yes, dear, I’m afraid it has. We don’t summarily kick the girls out at four months, particularly if they’re not adjusting well, but I must say you appear to be most comfortable as a girl and have been functioning well.”
“Thank you,” Karen said. “It’s been less than a year since I first began realizing that perhaps I was a girl all along.”
“You’re truly remarkable, Karen, in so many ways. I’m sure you have a promising future.”
“But, Sonja. Where can I go?”
Sonja reached into a file drawer and pulled out a two-page, stapled document and handed it to Karen. “Here’s a list of potential places that we feel may be safe for you. I’ve highlighted three or four that have been particularly friendly places for the girls.”
Karen looked at the list, but the names and addresses meant nothing to her. She had been happy at Susan’s Place, particularly since the girls themselves were friendly and could share so much of their life’s experiences with each other.
“You might want to check with Daphne to see where she’s going to room, dear. She’s supposed to be leaving by February 1st. And, you know Ramini’s situation, and perhaps you two can work something out together. I know you two get along well. Even though she can’t pay anymore, we’re going to let her stay free for February, but in March she has to go too.”
Karen felt like her whole world suddenly was pulled out from under her. She vowed she’d not begin to cry; she wanted to show how strong she was.
“I hate to do this to you, Karen,” Sonja said. “I’ve so enjoyed you as both a companion and resident. But, there’s quite a demand for our services by other girls just like you, and we have only so much funding to provide rooms.”
“Thank you, Sonja. I totally understand. I’ve loved it here, and particularly since I’ve met other girls and you, of course. I’ll do fine, I’m sure.”
Karen smiled, trying to show a confidence that she didn’t quite feel at the moment.
*****
Dear Mark,
I’m just dying to tell you about Sonja, our house manager here at Susan’s place. I didn’t know it before, but she’s a big speedskating star, and would have been on the US Olympic team in 2010 but she blew out a knee just before the Games. She can’t compete anymore, and she misses it so much.
But, she’s deeply into her doctoral dissertation and she runs the House here, too, and is so sweet and nice. I’d love to have you meet her.
Anyway, I was told I have to move from Susan’s Place. It seems that I have adjusted quite easily into being a girl. That must seem funny to you, since I think you always thought I was a girl. Didn’t you? (Giggle)
Maybe I’ll try to find a place with Ramini, my current roomie. Her dad wants her to live as a boy, but she really can’t. She’s so dainty and cute.
I’d love to hear from you. Bye bye.
Karen
(Lipstick kiss mark placed at the bottom of the note.)
*****
“Your skin has become so soft and smooth, Karen,” Angela said, as her hands slowly caressed her friend. The two were nestled together in Angela’s bed.
The girls had dropped their clothes in a frenzy of sexual excitement as they entered Angela’s room in the residence she shared with several other girls off campus. Both were down to their panties as they tumbled together on the bed, Karen’s slender, dainty body cradled into the sinewy, muscular arms of her friend. Both girls had hardly any breasts at all, but Karen’s nipples had hardened and hurt as her friend cupped them, fondling the teats.
“Those hormones seem to be working on you, dear,” Angela said.
The two lay in a spoon embrace, Angela behind Karen, her hands moving on the breasts as she gently kissed her friend’s neck. Both girls were panting heavily, both emitting occasional gasps and grunts. The musky odor of sweat fought with scent from Karen’s sweet-smelling perfumed body.
“That was heavenly, Karen,” Angela said, as the two nestled together after their frantic sexual encounter. “You always were the best girl I ever had in bed, dear.”
They kissed for a while and then repeated the sexual activity twice more, each time Angela’s orgasm reaching noisy crescendos, before the two collapsed into each other’s arms. Karen, for her part, found great comfort with Angela, finding the other girl’s admiration for her total girly body and actions as totally satisfying.
Karen wound up in Angela’s bed on that Saturday night — the same day she had been informed that she’d have to leave Susan’s Place — after receiving a text message from Angela that she had returned to the campus and would like to meet her that night. The two met for pizza and then returned to the house, which Karen knew from the previous semester housed six girls. Many appeared to be lesbians, Karen had thought from previous visits.
The two girls showered together after their sexual encounter, and then settled in the kitchen to share a bottle of light white wine; even though both were under 21, several of the older girls purchased wine and beer for the house, and shared it with the younger girls.
“Doreen’s moved out of here, and the bitch is with her new friend, an ugly old slut,” Angela said, as they settled down at the kitchen table.
“Oh, you getting another girl to take the room?”
“Not yet,” Angela said, smiling. “You interested?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Angela, but I do have to move by March First,” she said. “But I’m trying to get a place to share with Ramini who also has to move out by then.”
“Really? Doreen had the biggest room here. It could be a double,” she said.
Angela knew about Ramini, but had yet to meet her.
“That’s an idea,” Karen said. “Ramini’s being cut off by her family, and has no money for a room, unless she goes back to living as a boy and lives in the boys’ dorm.”
“Dear, that’s awful.”
“Yes, she’ll get really hassled back in a boys’ dorm. She’s even more fragile and dainty than I am. Those guys will literally emasculate her.”
That night, after Angela drove Karen back to Susan’s Place, Karen mulled over Angela’s proposal; the rent was affordable and the room was indeed big enough for two persons, even though it might be a little tight. Yet, she and Ramini had become compatible roommates and could probably handle the coziness of the place. She looked over at the tiny figure of Ramini, sleeping soundly in the bed across the room, wondering if living in the house with Angela and her five other large and muscular girls would be safe for Ramini; she was so weak and helpless. Then, too, she continued to wonder about her own sexual orientation, which seemed to welcome the embraces of both men and women.
*****
“Hey girlfriend.” Karen was jolted out of her reverie as she sat in the large classroom for the start of the second semester of Sociology 101, awaiting the arrival of Professor Emery Prowesczy (pronounced “Pro-vish”).
“Oh, Jenny,” Karen said, looking up to see her friend from the last semester.
“Must have been dreaming about some boy, I bet,” Jenny said, sitting down in the empty seat next to Karen.
Karen nodded. Jenny was correct; she had been wondering about Mark, musing about the fact that the boy was languishing in a rehab center in Milwaukee rather than beginning classes at Iowa State in Ames. She was so worried that the boy would become discouraged and depressed, even though Mark’s mother, Patti, who had been in almost daily e-mail correspondence with Karen indicated Mark was in “good spirits” and “eager to do more rehab.” Sadly, she still was awaiting a reply from Mark to her daily hand-written letters that she had mailed to him. Mark’s mother urged her to stay patient.
“Where’s Kevin?” Karen asked her friend.
“Oh, he’s around somewhere. I don’t know and don’t care.”
Karen looked at Jenny Hanready, and marveled at how this plain girl with a pale white freckled face and loosely flowing, somewhat unruly light brown hair could always look so fetching. Perhaps it was her bright blue eyes and a smile that formed cute crinkles about the eyes that brightened her look.
“You don’t care? What happened?”
“Damn men. You can’t trust ‘em,” she said.
Jenny’s face soured a bit and explained: “He stood me up on New Years’ Eve. The bastard. I think his old girlfriend from high school got her slutty hooks onto him over the holidays. And she’s a damned whore. He was too weak to resist her.”
“Jenny, I’m sorry. I never would have thought that of Kevin. He seemed so nice and so close to you,” Karen said, keeping her voice low so that the students who filled in the seats around the two could not hear them. She placed a gentle hand on Jenny’s arm.
“We were, Karen, but he always wanted sex with me, and I kept saying no,” Jenny said. “Do you think I should have gone to bed with him?”
“Not unless you wanted to, Jenny.”
The other girl’s eyes began to moisten and Karen could see she was about to cry.
“Perhaps if had let him fuck me he’d still be with me,” Jenny said.
“He might be, but he wouldn’t have been worth it in the long run, Jenny. If he was going to dump you for a girl who’s an easy lay now, who knows how long he’d have been loyal to you? You’re a special girl, Jenny, and he doesn’t know what he lost. Darling, he’s not worthy of you.”
“Oh Karen, you’re such a good friend. I love you, dear.”
Jenny put her hand over Karen’s, the two girls enjoying a moment of quiet sisterhood.
“But what about you, Karen? I’ve been so selfish thinking of my self.”
Just then a loud applause broke out among the students; it had become traditional at the University that students cheered Professor Prowesczy, whose lectures had become legendary on campus. They were filled with humor and graphic descriptions as well as remarks that bordered on being iconoclastic, shocking the mainly freshmen students, many of whom came from smaller communities throughout the state where such ideas were thought to be weird or even ungodly.
“We’ll talk later, Ok Jenny?” Karen whispered to her friend, as they joined in the applause.
*****
It turned out that because of class schedules, the usual morning get-together by the gaggle of girls — all friends of Jenny’s — would not be possible this semester; both Karen and Jenny had classes immediately after the morning Sociology lecture. They agreed to meet for lunch.
“You look lovely,” Jenny said as the two carried their lunches — purchased at the student union’s lunch counter — to an out-of-the-way alcove just off the hallway. There was one table in the alcove with three chairs.
“Thanks, Jenny. I’m on hormones now, and testosterone blockers. It’s irrevocable; I’ll be a girl forever now.”
“That’s so good to hear, and you look so happy, dear. I can tell it by just looking at you. I always thought you were a girl, anyway. Remember, I told you that when we first met in Professor Pro’s class.”
Just then a short, slender girl approached the table, carrying a lunch tray.
“Oh Tricia, wanna join us?” Jenny said.
Tricia was one of the girls who made up the morning coffee group in the Student Union; she could have been a lovely girl, except for her pock-marked face. Karen had always liked the girl, who said little, but when she did usually made great sense. She was bright and intelligent, and Karen felt certain that as she aged she’d become successful and likely a most striking woman.
“If I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all, we’re glad to see you, Trish,” Karen said, making room on the table for Tricia’s food tray.
The three girls giggled over the winter garb of many of the students they saw entering the Union; because of the below-zero cold, there were few girls that exhibited any form of high fashion. Most were bundled up in parkas, heavy slacks and boots, many with wool caps or varying sizes and color.
“Staying warm is a premium up here,” Jenny observed.
It was for Tricia to bring up Mark Hamilton. She turned to Karen and asked: “Was that your friend, Mark, who got hurt in that bowl game on New Years Day?”
Karen nodded.
Jenny looked at her, astonished. “What’s this all about? Your Mark was hurt, Karen?”
“Yes, Jenny and pretty badly, too,” Karen said.
“I understand he’s still in a hospital somewhere,” Tricia said. “I was watching the game with my dad and my brothers; it was awful when they pulled him off in an ambulance. I thought of you immediately, Karen.”
“Oh my God, I didn’t know, Karen,” Jenny said. “I don’t follow football at all. I’m so sorry Karen, and here I was prattling on about Kevin.”
Karen told the others about Mark’s visit to her on Christmas Eve and about how they were expecting to have a continuing relationship; she left out any mention of sleeping with him that night, feeling that they would consider it weird, since she still had her boy’s sexual organs.
“It sounds like love, dear,” Jenny said.
“It is, but he won’t see me now,” Karen said. “He says I’ll just be wasting my life with a cripple, but I really love him so much.”
“That is so tragic, Karen,” Tricia said.
Both girls seemed shocked by Karen’s narrative; they basically were left speechless, and Karen felt the need to bring up other matters. There was no need for the girls to have to share her grief; they both had their own lives to lead. She knew Tricia was probably starved for male companionship, while Jenny obviously had her own drama with Kevin.
“By the way, have either of you seen Tracy or Beverly?” Karen asked, referring to two other girls who had made up the morning coffee group.
“I saw Beverly,” Tricia said. “She’s in my dorm and was wondering if maybe most of us are free about 3 in the afternoon. That might be a good time to get together several days a week.”
“Ok by me,” Jenny said.
“I have to be at work at 4 p.m., but I think I could make it most days for a while,” Karen said. “What about Tracy?”
Jenny reddened. “I don’t know whether I should tell this,” she said.
“What?” both Karen and Tricia said at the same time.
“Well, I guess it’ll come out sooner or later,” Jenny said. “She called me between Christmas and New Years to say she’s not coming back this semester.”
“Not coming back? She’s a smart girl? Why?” Karen asked.
“Well she’s getting married in April.”
“That was sudden, who to?” Tricia asked.
“Remember Gabe?” Jenny said.
“Oh my God,” Karen shrieked. “Him?”
“Yes your old boyfriend, Karen,” Jenny said.
“That was quick,” Tricia said.
“Well, she’s pregnant and both her family and Gabe’s are church-going Catholics and she has no choice in the matter,” Jenny said. “I don’t think she’s happy about it, either.”
“The poor girl,” Tricia said.
Karen nodded. Yes, indeed, it was unfortunate for Tracy, whose whole future might be changed for the worst, thanks to her time with Gabe; Karen even felt responsible, since it was she who introduced the two. Both were seemingly amateurs at having love affairs, and thus may have blundered into a situation that would affect the rest of their lives. It was ironic; Karen felt that at least that was one fate that she might never have to face.
“I know, it’s probably tough on both of them to suddenly have a baby to support, but you know, isn’t having a baby the most wonderful thing in the world?” Karen said, her face breaking into a smile.
Both Jenny and Tricia nodded; as much as both were looking forward to careers — with babies only a distant thought in their minds — they too suddenly saw images of carrying newborn infants in their arms.
For some time, Karen had dreamed that she was a complete woman capable of providing babies and children for a loving partner. Often she had imagined giving birth to strong, handsome children as the wife of Mark Hamilton. A dream never to be realized!
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 10
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Chapter 10: The Image of Emma Bovary Arises
“We have a vacancy in the place where I live, Karen,” Jenny said, as the two headed back to class. “Do you know anyone who might be interested in a nice place to live? Our landlady said we girls should recruit someone we’d like to share with us.”
“Really? I didn’t tell you, but I need to leave Susan’s Place by March 1.”
“Great, Karen. You’d be perfect. You’ve met most of the girls in the place now and they all like you,” Jenny said, almost seeming ready to hug Karen right there on the walk up the hill to the Humanities Building.
“Just one thing,” Karen said, adjusting her scarf more tightly about her neck as the cold northwest wind seemed to leak in about her neck, causing her to shiver.
“What?”
“I’m still physically a guy.”
“Hah! No you’re not. No one would take you as anything but a girl. Aren’t you already on the campus records as ‘Karen’ and ‘female’?”
“Well, yes, but will all the other girls in your house accept me as such? And what about your landlady?”
Jenny continued walking and they had already reached the door of the building before she spOKe. “I don’t know. Mrs. Lewis, our landlady, is so nice, but we got a couple of girls who are kind of religious types, you know. They’re nice enough but they may not take kindly to you, once they found out.”
“Thanks, Jenny,” Karen said. “I’d love to join you there. It sounds like a place I’d love to be, but maybe we better not. Besides, another girl in the place has to move, too, and we’re trying maybe to move in together somewhere.”
“Oh that room’s big enough for two, Karen,” Jenny volunteered.
“I don’t know, Jenny.”
“Let me check, OK?”
Karen nodded, and the two entered the building and headed down crowded hallways to their afternoon class.
*****
Karen’s routine over the next few weeks of school gave her hardly any time to reflect on the status of her new life, that of a freshman college girl. She carried a full load of academic studies, followed by a schedule of working in the Drama Department office from 4 to 8 p.m. every afternoon, except Friday, and then from about 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. on Saturday. She was fortunate to occasionally find enough dead time in the office to do a little studying, but as the time for the spring play rehearsals began to draw near, she saw she’d be kept busy assisting the professor.
Her therapy sessions were rescheduled to Friday afternoons, to accommodate her work schedule; once a month, after meeting with Moira, she was to spend 15 minutes with Dr. Bargmann, mainly to assure that her medications were doing what they were prescribed to do.
Angela’s own schedule had become crowded as well, leaving little time for the two to get together. She had joined the women’s track team, performing in the shot put and javelin tosses, requiring her to spend several hours a day in the gym working out.
“You’re with me Saturday night,” Angela told Karen when they met for lunch on Thursday of the first week of classes.
She said it as a command, and Karen was taken aback. She began to have the same concerns about Angela as she had in the past: that Angela would become her old “bossy” self.
“I was kind of planning to do something with Rami on Saturday night,” Karen said. “She’s been so depressed.”
“She’s such a twit,” Angela said, almost with disgust.
“Oh Angela, she is not,” Karen said, alarmed at her friend’s description. “She’s having a tough time now. Her family has almost disowned her.”
Angela saw that she had offended her friend, and immediately responded. “I’m sorry, Karen, I shouldn’t have said that. I know you like her.”
“She’s a good person and she had to have a lot of guts to stand up against her family’s traditions.”
“I’m sorry,” Angela repeated. “Tell you what, why don’t the both of you come over Saturday night? Does Rami like to cook?”
“Yes, she does. She likes to make traditional Indian dishes. She always hung out in the kitchen with her mom, something that her father got mad about back when she was a boy. He told her that ‘the kitchen’s for girls, not boys.’”
“Well, maybe she’d like to coOK for us. We could all go grocery shopping Saturday and the house will pay for the food, if she’d like that.”
Karen smiled.
Angela kissed her friend and then said: “Good. This way I’ll get to know Rami better and you two can look at the vacant room and see if you’d like it.”
Later that day, and before even telling Ramini about the plans, Karen began to have second thoughts about the idea. She hated to get under the clutches of the demands of Angela, as much as she enjoyed being with her, not only as friends but as lovers. Angela was just so demanding a person.
Then, too, she felt that Angela might also be jealous of Karen’s fondness for Ramini, just as she had shown over Karen’s earlier friendships. Several times, Angela had told Karen that her love for Mark Hamilton was a “fool’s journey.” “He’ll never have you as a wife, dear. He’ll want a woman who can give him kids.” Now that Mark was facing permanent injury, Angela had backed off on her comments about Mark, perhaps knowing how Karen would respond to such callous statements.
Karen nonetheless felt trapped, since she had all but agreed to the Saturday date; and she knew Ramini would likely jump at the prospect of coOKing for a group of girls. It loOKed like a Saturday night date, after all.
*****
Karen and Ramini moved out of Susan’s Place in mid-February into their new “digs” at the house where Angela lived. It wasn’t Karen’s first choice, but the proposal by Angela became the only option after Karen found out there were objections to her moving in with the girls in Jenny’s place.
“I feel so bad about this, Karen,” Jenny told her as they were leaving class several days after she had made the offer. “I felt I had to be honest with all the girls, as well as the landlady, and I told them that you were transitioning.”
Karen nodded. “I wanted you to be honest, Jenny.”
“Tricia and Beverly both defended you, telling the others what a sweet person you are,” Jenny said. “Tricia offered to have you come to the house to meet all of them.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Jenny,” Karen said, hugging her friend.
“I would have loved to have you and Rami join us,” she said. “You’re both such cool girls.”
Karen smiled being described a “cool girl.”
One of the girls who was strongly religious in the house objected to Karen as a roommate, but the other one — a devout Catholic girl who attended mass at the student chapel nearly every day — supported Karen, saying all human “souls” are “God’s children.”
“Mrs. Lewis, our landlady, heard that several of the girls objected to you and decided that she reserved the place for ‘girls only,’ and that she had guaranteed parents that their girls would live in a place without boys around, even if the boy involved was headed into girlhood. Therefore, this place is for ‘girls only,’ she said. And that was that.”
“I understand, Jenny. I really do, and I don’t want to cause any trouble, so let’s leave it at that, OK?”
“I know, Karen, but it seems wrong,” Jenny said. “Isn’t there a campus rule that all approved student housing must not discriminate?”
“I suppose, but I’m not sure it covers my situation,” Karen said. “Besides, I don’t want to start a big fight. Just let it be. I have somewhere else to stay.”
As the two were about to split up to go to their respective classes, Jenny said, “By the way, Mary Catherine, that’s the Catholic girl, wants to meet you sometime.”
“Oh, that’s nice, but why?”
“I don’t know, but she’s very sweet. You might like her.”
“I suppose it’s OK, but I hope she doesn’t want to talk me into going back to mass again,” Karen said.
“I don’t think she knows you were born Catholic.”
Jenny said Mary Catherine might join the next three o’clock girls’ gab session at the Student Union, and Karen agreed that would be OK.
*****
There was one benefit in moving into a house in which most of the eight girls were athletic: most of them were strong and had no problem in moving the few possessions that both Karen and Ramini had. Maggie, a short, stocky young lady who wore boy jeans and a plaid shirt under her lumberjack-style coat, drove her aging diesel pickup truck to carry the materials from Susan’s Place.
Maggie swore like a sailor as she insisted on carrying the heavier stuff, telling Karen and Ramini in a firm deep voice, “I don’t want you girls to hurt yourselves lifting anything too heavy. Let me and Angela handle that heavy f-----g stuff.”
Ramini had a particularly heavy trunk, and Maggie lifted it like it was a feather pillow. As she worked, Maggie smiled and laughed, her broad face a picture of happiness and light. Karen instantly liked the girl.
The residence was an aging huge duplex, converted into student housing, much like the structure that housed Susan’s Place. The building was typical of those built in an area between the State Capitol building and the University campus during the early 20th Century. These were sturdy old places with large rooms, fine woodwork and several stained glass windows. Apparently, they were built for top level state workers or university professors, who used the upper duplex as rental units. As the University and state government grew after World War II, the owners moved out to fancier places on the outskirts or suburban areas, opening them up to be used to student housing.
Karen and Ramini’s room was located in what was one time the living room of the upper flat, surprisingly similar to the room they occupied together at Susan’s Place. It was large and comfortable, with three windows loOKing out over a second floor porch. The house faced west, promising afternoon sunlight would brighten the room.
“I told you that you’d love it,” Angela said as the two girls settled into the place.
“Oh we do,” cooed Ramini.
Karen looked at the tiny dark-complexioned girl, who suddenly gave a flirting loOK toward Angela. The glance was not missed by Angela whose sudden blush betrayed her.
Ramini’s actions disturbed Karen, who wasn’t convinced that Ramini fully understood how her flirtations might awaken more violent actions by some of the girls in the house. Ramini had grown particularly girlish in her mannerisms in recent weeks, and demonstrated that clearly during the time when they moved their stuff into the room. Ramini grew excited about the move after the night she and Karen had visited Angela at the house, and Ramini had cooked supper. Encouraged by several glasses of wine, Ramini flitted about Angela like a butterfly, daintily serving the tall, muscular girl; then when Maggie entered the kitchen as they were cleaning up after the meal, Ramini turned her girlish charms on the chunky girl.
*****
“Don’t you just love it here?” Ramini said to Karen as they prepared for bed on their first night in their new home.
“Yes, it looks like it’ll work out,” Karen said, keeping her voice flat and non-committal.
“All the girls are so nice,” Ramini said, bouncing down next to Karen as she lay on her bed. She leaned in and kissed Karen. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for finding this place,” she gushed.
“That’s OK, Rami, we needed a place to stay. This seemed to be a good place.”
“Karen, I love these girls. They’re all so strong and muscular. I wanted to run my hands all over that Maggie. She’s so luscious.”
She tightened her hug on Karen as she said these words, massaging her soft arms, as if to contrast Karen’s physical daintiness with the sinewy hardness of Maggie and the others.
“Come on, Rami, I’m tired tonight,” Karen said, releasing herself from her friend’s clutches, plunging flat onto her side on the bed and turning her back to Ramini.
“What’s the matter with you, Karen, don’t you want to cuddle with teensy-weensy li’l ol’ me, just like we always do?”
Karen continued to lie on her side, her back to Ramini, who tried ineffectually to roll Karen onto her back.
“Don’t you love me anymore, Karen?”
At that point, Karen turned over onto her back and sat up, so that she was facing Ramini.
“Yes, dear, I still love you. It’s just that I’m tired and I have a busy day tomorrow,” she explained.
Ramini pouted, her words coming out timidly, “Rami is sorry.”
Karen reached over and pulled her friend into a hug. The two hugged silently for several minutes; Karen could feel Ramini’s heart pounding and sensed the girl might be sobbing a bit.
“I don’t want to bother you, Karen,” Ramini said finally. “I love you so much.”
“I know, darling,” she said, kissing the other girl, softly at first and then with growing pressure until the two were in deep embrace, locked in each other’s arms together on the bed. They lay together, kissing intermittently and saying nothing.
Karen awOKe at one point, loOKed at the digital alarm clock next to her bed: “3:17.” She and Ramini were still entangled, their legs intertwined, and Karen listened to the rhythmical breathing of her friend, interspersed with an occasional gurgle. She toyed with Ramini’s braided hair, trying to figure out a way to extract herself from Ramini without waking her. Karen needed to relieve herself.
Eventually, Karen carefully moved away from Ramini and found her way to the bathroom where she opened the door and was surprised to see Angela sitting on the commode.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Angela,” Karen said. “I didn’t know . . .”
“That’s OK, Karen, I should have locked the door. Come in, dear.”
“I’ll wait, that’s OK.”
“No come in, silly, it’s not like we’ve never seen each other like this.”
Karen entered, closing the door behind her.
“If you can’t hold it dear, you’ve still got your plumbing. Just pee in the sink,” Angela teased.
“That’s gross, Angela!”
“Well there’s some advantage to being a boy, you know.”
“Don’t be funny. I sit just like you.”
“Doesn’t this turn you on? Seeing me on the pot?” Angela’s eyes toOK on a mischievous glint.
Karen set on the edge of the tub opposite the commode, her knees almost touching Angela’s. Erotic thoughts raged through Karen’s head as she watched her friend grab a hunk of toilet paper, fold it and reach in to dry herself.
Angela got up slowly, exposing her bushy front giving Karen the sudden desire to place her lips on the hairy crotch, her memory being stimulated from the times she had tasted and licked the girl. She loOKed away, wishing grimly to lose the desire to make love to the smoothly toned Amazon standing before her.
“Come to bed with me, Karen,” Angela said, placing her hands on Karen’s shoulders, moving her body close, bringing the tempting bush almost within licking distances.
“Not tonight, Angela. I have a busy day tomorrow.”
“You know you want to, dear.”
Karen could smell the mustiness of her friend’s privates, a smell that was simultaneously disgusting and yet tempting. Her own tiny penis grew hard; yet, the pain and the hardness of past encounters seemed to be weaker, not as surging and pressing. She had been on hormones for only a short time, and she wondered if they were already having an impact on her impulses.
Karen placed her hands on Angela’s narrow hips, and moved her face into the bush, relishing in the still moistness of the hair, the lingering smell of urine mixed with sexual secretions. She let her head rest into Angela, and the two remained stationary for a few moments, before Karen removed her head, and loOKed up at her friend.
“I’m sorry, Angela,” she said. She got up and moved around her friend to sit on the commode.
“If that’s what you want, OK,” Angela said angrily. “Go back to that Indian cunt if you wish.”
Karen tried to protest, yelling, “It’s not that, Angela. Believe me.” But Angela had fled the room, and didn’t hear Karen’s further words: “I really love you, Angela, but I’m so confused.”
On the commode, she cried as she relieved herself. She vowed not to return to sleep next to Ramini when she returned to her room. Karen slept the rest of the night in Ramini’s bed, leaving the other girl peacefully asleep in her own. Karen’s own sleep was not so peaceful; instead her mind raced back and forth, realizing she had been in the troubling practice of pledging her love to anyone who paid attention to her. Despite trying to avoid Angela’s attentions, she told her in their early morning encounter that “I love you,” and that was only a few after she made the same pledge to Ramini. Besides, there was Mark, whom she had repeatedly felt was her true love? What was going on with her? Where did her true love reside?
*****
“Love, she thought, must come suddenly, with great outbursts and lightning--a hurricane of the skies, which falls upon life, revolutionises it, roots up the will like a leaf, and sweeps the whole heart into the abyss.”
”• Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary
As she lay in bed, Karen wondered whether she’d suffer the same fate as Emma Bovary, a love-starved woman who had many lovers, but only found peace when she toOK arsenic to end it all. The novel had seriously affected her, even though she read it as a high school senior and was still living the life of a boy named Kenny. She remembered she had cried like a girl, as she considered the fate of the small town French girl. Her mother had recommended the book to her and perhaps it was then, as Kenny, that she began to have a clue that her own future might lead her into the womanhood she now enjoyed.
*****
It took her a long time to rid the cobwebs from her sleep-deprived brain the following morning, awakening to the cacophony of her alarm. She showered hurriedly, did a haphazard job fixing her hair and applying light makeup realizing she was running late. Yet, she took a minute to check her email.
Karen:
Mark has finally read your letters. You must thank his brother for that: He told Mark that he was foolish not to want to see what a pretty girl like you wrote. I think Mark’s brother is getting to the age where he’s interested in girls. I sometimes wish my boys had never grown up. LOL
Mark would not share what you wrote, but I think he must have liked it. He looked like he was going to cry, from what Peter said.
The doctors and physical therapists tell us Mark is improving, and only time will tell how this will all end.
Hope you are doing fine. Please continue to write.
Love, Patti
Karen typed out a quick reply, indicating she’d write more in reply to Patti later. In the busy time over her move, she had not written to Mark for two days. She vowed to remedy that situation.
*****
Several days later, Karen and her friend Jenny joined the girls for the 3 p.m. get-together in the Student Union. As promised, Mary Catherine was part of the group along with Tricia, Tracy and Beverly. It was the first time that Karen had seen the entire group in the new semester and there were sisterly hugs joined in by all. Tracy, however, was a bit distant and in her brief contact with Karen, her arms barely rose to the hug.
Sensing the girl’s hesitancy, she made a point of sitting down next to her and asking, quietly so as not to attract the attention of the others who were engaged in eager conversation: “How’s Gabe doing?”
Tracy blushed immediately, her fleshy face betraying her unease. “Oh, Gabe?” she asked, as if Karen had referred to some obscure person and not the girl’s boyfriend (who had been briefly a friend of Karen, and the first boy at college to show an attraction to her).
“Yes, our friend, Gabe.”
“Oh, he’s OK,” she said, non-commitally.
“That’s good,” Karen said. “Really Tracy, I am happy for both of you. You are seeing him still, aren’t you?”
Tracy loOKed at Karen, perhaps wondering if Karen was being ironic and a bit snarky, but she didn’t sense anything sinister in Karen’s questions.
“Oh yes, we are, Karen,” she said, her face brightening. “We were able to see each other several times over the holidays. He has a lovely family. I spent a day at their farm.”
“Great. Please tell him ‘hi’ for me.”
“I will Karen, and I’m sorry it all happened this way. You’re really very sweet.”
Karen smiled at her friend and soon the table became full of giggles and girl talk. How pleased Karen was to have become a part of it all.
*****
As Karen expected she might have, Mary Catherine Delaney had a gold cross dangling upon the dark red v-neck sweater, resting between her erect, prominent breasts. She had dark, straight and well-brushed hair that hung to her shoulders and made her pale face look almost white. Dark red lips and dark-rimmed glasses accentuated her paleness. There was a hint of awe in her otherwise wide eyes, and the girl said little, but listened intently as the others talked. Karen felt the Mary Catherine was examining her closely. For some reason, Karen did not feel threatened by the her constant attention.
“Which way you walking?” Mary Catherine asked grabbing Karen’s arm as the girls arose from the table to return to classes.
“Towards Humanities.”
“Me too. May I join you?” Mary Catherine asked as they proceeded out into the wintry day. “Do you like it here? I mean at this University?”
“Yes. Don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “It’s so different. I never met so many different people.”
Karen smiled. “I know, but that’s what I like about it the most. I’ve met so many different kids.”
The two continued on saying nothing, careful to dodge patches of ice that remained from a brief thaw that had occurred the day before, leaving melting snow to freeze up again. The wind was from the northwest, blowing unobstructed across the lake that bordered the University on the North. Karen knew something was on Mary Catherine’s mind, and it obviously had to do with Karen’s own gender switch.
“Does that bother you, Mary Catherine?” Karen asked.
“Oh you can just call me Mary. That’s what all my family and friends do. Yeah, I’m not used to it, so many different people.”
“You mean like me?” Karen said, deciding that it was time Mary Catherine stop beating around the bush and state her concerns.
“Well . . . ah . . . yes, I guess.”
Karen could see the girl’s face grow red instantly.
“That’s OK, Mary,” Karen said. “I’m not bothered by other people’s curiosity. I guess I am a bit different, but then isn’t everyone different in one way or the other?”
“I know, but you know what I mean. You’re supposed to be a boy.”
“No honey, I’m supposed to be a girl, and I think that’s how God intended me to be born, but somehow my genes got all mixed up.”
“No, don’t say God intended you to be a girl,” Mary Catherine’s voice rose, and the girl suddenly seem to lose her shyness. “You have intended to be a girl, even though God intended you to be a boy!”
Karen was taken aback by the girl’s sudden attack; she had seemed so shy and retiring, but the minute Karen mentioned God, she reacted angrily.
Mary Catherine’s voice returned to her previous soft tone: “I have prayed for you, ever since Jenny told us about you. I prayed that you’d change those girl outfits and return to be a boy. I love you as a sister would love her brother and as one human being must love another. You can’t alter God’s wishes. You were born a boy and you must remain a boy.”
“Thank you for your prayers, Mary, but I don’t pretend to know God’s mind. In this world there are many others like me who have felt they were born into the wrong gender. I’m not sure God would want me to return to my boy’s life, since it always felt so unnatural to me.”
Mary was quiet for a moment, and finally said in a quiet, hesitant voice: “God doesn't make mistakes. Your feelings do.”
Karen felt curious warmth to this caring, sweet young lady; she wanted to disagree with her and argue the point, but thought the better of it. Nothing would be gained by getting into an argument The two approached the bank of steps leading into the huge, multi-columned Humanities Building — a structure built in the 1890s as the showcase of the budding State University. Karen noticed the plaque that adorned a space between two entry ways.
“Did you ever read that sign?” Karen asked stopping and grabbing Mary Catherine to force her to stop as well.
“Whatever may be the limitations
which trammel inquiry elsewhere
we believe this great state University
should ever encourage
that continual and fearless sifting and winnowing
by which alone the truth can be found."
Statement of the Board of Regents, 1894
_________
Memorial: Class of 1910
Mary Catherine gazed at the plaque for what seemed an eternity, as heavily bundled up students passed by them, bound to classes that were about to begin.
“That’s what I really like about this University,” Karen said. “We’re here to get the truth, regardless where it leads us. I’m learning the truth about myself, I hope.”
Mary Catherine finally looked at Karen. She nodded: “I guess I’d better get to class.”
The girl bolted from Karen. It appeared Mary Catherine might have been about to cry.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 11
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Chapter 11: Hometown Folks
The winter continued to be colder than usual, and by mid-February there still was no sign that the deep drifts of snow that had piled up along the roadways and sidewalks were getting any lower; cars still were hidden by the huge drifts, causing many intersection accidents as drivers were unable to see around the piles. Many drivers tied flags of one type or the other — ranging from red bandannas or fluorescent pink ribbons to Green Bay Packer banners — to their radio antennas so that their cars would become visible over the piled snow.
The University continued to be a busy beehive of activity, the students and faculty having adjusted to the cold, many even walking with their coats open as temperatures might sometimes rise into the 20s, constituting a “warming trend” in the words of the television weather guys and girls.
Karen’s work for Professor Fenstrom increased in intensity as the call for auditions went out for the University Players spring production of William Inge’s “Picnic.” It was Karen’s job to assemble the applications for auditions and set up appointments and schedules.
Thankfully, Karen found the professor to be the model of decorum. Not once since her warning to him that she did not want his sexual attentions had he gone beyond normal professional behavior. Yet, she sensed his desires to hold her and perhaps even take her into his bed were still lurking, restrained most likely by her statement that she’d make his behavior public and thus ruin his career.
Her friend Heather, who had the lead part in last autumn’s play, confided to Karen that the professor had wanted sex with her and had even threatened at one point to replace her in the part. Karen remembered the time during rehearsals when Fenstrom had badgered Heather continually, reducing the girl to tears and so weakening her confidence that she became a bundle of nervous hesitation on stage. Karen had pleaded with Fenstrom at the time to loosen his heavy hand of direction on the girl, for the sake of the play. (Ironically, Karen would have been the likely replacement for Heather; yet, she knew it wasn’t time for her to be front stage, since her transition into girlhood was just beginning.)
Heather had learned of Karen’s intervention on her behalf and knew it had been critical; she thanked Karen and then confessed that the harassment began after she refused sex with the professor. “I thought he was going to hound me out of the part because I confronted him,” she told Karen. “But I think he realized that both the play and his job might be lost. You helped put some sense into the old lecher.”
“He was so unfair to you, Heather,” Karen said.
Professor Fenstrom, when he persuaded Karen to take the work-study assignment, told her that she’d still be in line for a key part in the spring production, perhaps even in the key part as Millie, the teenage sister. It was a part that seemed so attractive, and that Karen honestly felt she could do with great success. Even so, Karen was determined not to use her unique sexual situation to influence the professor’s decision-making.
She enjoyed the work of assisting the professor, who truly was a top-rate director and teacher. The man was a consummate professional, Karen felt, and she had begun to feel that he was relying more and more upon Karen to assist in his decisions involving the production.
“You have the keen sense of drama, dear,” he told her one day as they discussed possible staging ideas.
It was a moment when Karen felt like kissing the man. She realized that she relished his praise, and always wanted to please him. It was a dangerous attitude, she knew, since it could lead her to compromise her professionalism. Karen also wondered if she truly desired his sexual attention as well, even as she had refused him. Her own promiscuity was beginning to trouble her. Was she just another slut?
*****
“Mom, that’s great. I’m so happy you and Sonny are coming down for the tournament,” Karen said into the phone.
She had been following her high school alma mater basketball team’s progress, since it traditionally had been one of the better programs in the state, often qualifying as one of the eight finalists in the State Tournament. This year, while the team floundered early in the season, it picked up steam and qualified again.
Sonny was not on the team, but he had many friends among the basketball players, and he pleaded to be able to follow the team to the tournament.
“I didn’t want to send him down there with a bunch of classmates, Karen,” Cecilia Hansson told her daughter. “He’s still only 15, and I know what kind of mischief kids can get into on their own.”
Karen giggled. “I know, mom. I’ve heard you were no angel when you came down here in high school.”
“Now Karen, that’s only a rumor,” she said, also laughing.
“OK, mom, we know, do as I say, not as I do, right?”
“Right, and don’t forget it, Karen.”
The repartee was good-natured, but Karen knew in her heart that her mother was right. There was no reason why the kids had to repeat the mistakes of their parents; it was on just such a trip that she took — with no chaperons — to an earlier state basketball tournament that her mother met their father, resulting in the failed marriage, and pregnancy at an early age for Cecelia. Their mother never expressed resentment toward her children, whom she dearly loved and cared for; yet, the truth was it had stopped her from getting to college until far later in life.
Karen knew, too, that the conversation reflected upon her own behavior, which appeared to be leading her in the direction of promiscuity.
Cecelia Hansson and Sonny arrived on campus on a Thursday afternoon, in time for the three Hanssons to have an early supper at the restaurant within the nearby Capitol Hotel, where they were staying. Several other families from their city were also staying at the same hostelry, many of whom knew the Hansson’s. While Karen’s transition was not a secret, it had not be advertised, and Karen knew that many might wonder who that young lady was who was seated with Cecelia Hansson and her younger son.
“Oh my God, sis, you’re so pretty,” Sonny said, clearly impressed by his sister’s appearance.
Karen hugged both of them, though Sonny backed off quickly, no doubt worried that he might get teased by some of his friends. Karen smiled at his behavior, forgiving her brother for his abruptness, remembering how easily a teenager becomes worried about what his friends might think. Certainly a tough young footballer like Sonny shouldn’t be seen in public being too huggy, even with a sister.
“Thanks, Sonny, but I didn’t have time to change, since I came right from work. I got off an hour early,” she explained.
“Well you look pretty, dear,” her mother said. “You could probably be a ‘knock-out’ in a burlap sack, too.”
“Now, mom, don’t exaggerate.”
As they awaited their food, Cecelia Hansson ordered a glass of chardonnay for herself, while Sonny ordered a milkshake and Karen a pot of herbal tea. Karen was describing her work with the professor, when a woman approached the table. Karen thought she’d faint on the spot. The woman was Tiffany Thompson, whose husband Hank had operated the neighborhood pharmacy until selling out to one of the big drugstore chains; the families had become close through the years, particularly since Karen (when she was Kenny) often chummed with their son, Henry, Jr., known to his friends as “H. T.”
Tiffany was known as a No. 1 gossip, and Karen’s own identity change had occurred so recently, it was not generally known in the community.
“Cecelia, I thought that was you!” gushed Tiffany as she pounced upon them.
“Oh, hi Tiffany, down for the tournament?”
“What else? Our Melanie is one of the cheerleaders,” Tiffany said, keeping her eye focused on Karen as she talked.
“Of course, it should be a good game,” Cecelia said.
“I know Sonny, of course. Hi, Sonny,” she said, nodding to Karen’s brother, who looked like he’d like to bolt the table and this nosy woman.
“Let me introduce my daughter, Karen,” Cecelia said quickly, apparently hoping to head off the woman’s inquiry before it got too involved.
“Your daughter? I didn’t know you had a . . . ah . . . oh my God . . . it’s Kenny isn’t it? I thought I recognized the face. Oh my God.”
The woman’s voice grew in volume, drawing the attention of the nearby tables, and half of the wait staff.
Karen stood up, holding out her hand. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Thompson.”
The woman took her hand, still taken aback by Karen’s greeting, so outward and confident. Karen, however, was not feeling the same confidence, and instead was hiding her uneasiness at the situation.
Tiffany recovered quickly, saying: “Nice meeting you . . . ah . . . again. What is it, Karen?”
“Yes ma’am.”
The woman turned and beckoned to a man and a girl in a team jacket. She boomed out: “Oh, Hank, Melissa, come meet the Hansson’s and their daughter, Karen.”
She emphasized the “Karen” in her loud, raucous voice.
Hank and Melissa joined them and introductions were made; Sonny and Melissa knew each other, of course, and grunted “hi’s” to each other.
“Did you know, Hank that Karen here used to be Kenny? What do you think of that?” Her voice took on a critical tone.
“Oh mother,” Melissa interrupted. “The whole school heard of that. So what. I think she’s pretty, mom.”
“What? Why didn’t I know?”
“Oh, mom, it’s no big deal. Nice meeting you as Karen,” the girl said, moving to hug Karen.
Hank Thompson moved in to the table, clearly concerned over the fuss that his boisterous, nosey wife had made. He said: “Yes, Tiffany. Let’s let this nice family enjoy their dinner. Nice seeing you again Cecelia, and Sonny and you, Karen.”
Karen let out a sigh of relief when they finally left. She could see many at the nearby tables who had observed the conversation were now observing her closely, and buzzing among themselves; at least one older couple shook their heads in apparent disgust.
Sonny was also shaken by the public display and the “outing” of his sister. Once the food arrived, he wolfed down his double-sized cheeseburger, fries and milk shake, excused himself and went to join the students who were to sit together as a group at the game. Cecelia and Karen would arrive later, having purchased separate tickets.
Karen was pleased to have a few moments with her mother, hoping to spend some mother-daughter time together. Karen needed to unload her worries about her relationship with Mark. Whether she wanted to share her other sexual liaisons with her mother, however, was a different story. She was not sure that her mother would understand; her behavior was becoming a bit shameful, wasn’t it?
*****
“I’m not sure you can do much more than you can, Karen, other than to give the boy a chance to heal from his injuries, both physical and psychological,” her mother said when Karen finished telling her how Mark had rejected her and how she had responded.
“That’s what his mother told me, too.”
Both women had decided to violate their diets for the evening and each ordered a slice of the restaurant’s strawberry covered cheesecake, a specialty of the house. They both enjoyed it as a bit of guilty pleasure, giggling over their love of the “sinful creation,” as Cecelia called it.
“I think he still loves me though, mother,” Karen said.
“I know, honey, and you’ve told me that several times.”
“He says he just doesn’t me wasting my time on a cripple, like him,” Karen said, tears welling up in her eyes. “I just want to cry when he talks like that. It’s like he has no hope.”
“The early days after such an injury are so tough for a person, Karen,” Cecelia said. “I’ve seen it in the hospital many times. Patients just think they’ll never get any better, but in most cases, they soon start healing and soon those days of despair of almost gone from their memories.”
“But he may never walk again, mother.”
“Maybe, maybe not, Karen. Just keep writing those letters. I know they’ll help him through this, dear.”
“That’s what Mrs. Hamilton says, too.”
Cecelia Hansson smiled at her daughter: “She’s right, of course, darling. She is a wonderful person, isn’t she?”
“Yes, we’ve become very close during all this.”
Her mother paid the bill, and the two charged off to the basketball game; as they passed the table of the Thompson family, Karen paid a point of waving an almost brazen hand at them and saying: “Nice meeting you again, folks.”
She heard a mumbled reply, too garbled to understand. It made no difference; Karen felt she shouldn’t worry about folks like them and what they might think or say.
*****
As it turned out, the state tournament basketball game became the occasion of the “coming out” of Karen Hansson as a girl to many of her onetime high school friends and acquaintances, as well as to many adults in the community. Karen had been so excited about spending an evening with her mother — as well as the game — she had not realized until the two approached the gates to the huge basketball stadium that she’d be running into others from the community in which she grew up, and in which her mother — due to her growing status at the hospital — had gained more and more recognition.
There was still a chill in the air as Karen and her mother rounded a sidewalk amid a surge of young people, parents, grandparents and fans, as they all jostled to position themselves to squeeze through the entry gates.
“Oh Cece, is that you?” said a middle-aged woman, wearing a jacket in the black and gold colors of the high school team.
Karen and her mother turned to greet the woman and Karen was shocked to see Whitney Roberts, wearing a black-and-gold team jacket. Whitney had graduated with her from the high school, having won several letters in both basketball and football.
“Emily, how nice to see you? Coming to cheer the team to victory?” Cecelia replied, shouting over the noise of the crowd.
The crowd jostled them together, placing Karen tightly against Whitney.
“You bet, and Whitney’s team never made it to State so he’s eager to cheer the boys on,” the woman said. “Oh and who is the lovely girl with you?”
Karen began to blush. “My daughter, Karen. She’s a student here.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you had a daughter? Didn’t your son graduate with Whitney last year?”
The crowd’s pressure grew as the two family groups moved ahead to pit through the turnstiles. By now, Karen and Whitney were so close to each other she almost could feel the boy’s hot breath; Whitney eyed her closely.
“Yes, I did graduate with Whitney here,” Karen said loudly.
“You did?” Whitney said. “How could I miss you then?”
“You didn’t. I was Kenny then and we were in lots of classes . . .”
Suddenly, Karen was being pushed through the turnstile, and Whitney and his mother were lost in the crowd. Karen her mother rushed to their seats, which were in a section of others from their community, and Karen knew there’d be more encounters that night.
“I’m proud of you, darling,” Cecelia Hansson said, speaking directly into Karen’s ear to made herself heard over the din of the crowd. “You handled that well, honestly and directly.”
“Oh mom, that was awful. I didn’t know what to say. It just popped into my head without thinking.”
“I know, dear, but honesty is the best policy.”
“I wonder what Whitney might be thinking, mom. Even though he was a jock, he was always nice to me.”
“He seems like a nice young man. His mother is president of the nurses’ union at the hospital and she and I argue lots about issues at the hospital, but I’ve always liked her. She’s tough, but always tries to do the best for her members, while aware of the well-being of our patients. She’s an R.N. herself, and still works a few shifts, so she knows what it’s all about.”
They were surprised few minutes later to see Whitney and his mother take seats just two rows ahead of them and a bit to the left; because some of the seats were still empty as the crowd moved into their seats, Karen could see Whitney turn back to loOK at her. He gave Karen a wave accompanied by a smile. Karen waved back.
Before the game started, Karen found herself the subject of a few stares, some nodding of heads and even some lecherous views by young men; she knew some were speculating about the “pretty girl” with Mrs. Hansson. She saw two other former classmates, but neither of them seemed to recognize her as the former Kenny. Fortunately the game’s excitement soon became so overwhelming that the crowd’s interest was focused totally on the boys in black-and-gold and their soaring and then waning fortunes on the floor as the score see-sawed back and forth. Karen, too, was swept into the action.
At halftime, Karen left her mother and found her way to the ladies’ restroom, taking her place well-back in a quickly forming line into the facility. She looked at the nearby men’s room, seeing the constant flow of men in and out of their facility, while the women’s line moved ever so slowly that Karen began wondering whether she’d get back in time to see the start of the second half.
“This is the only time I wish I was a man,” a young woman, obviously a college student, said. She was standing just ahead of Karen.
Karen giggled. “Yes, being a man does have some benefits.”
“Yeah, like more pay besides being able to take a quick pee,” the woman said. She was clad in a team jacket from the opposing team, was about Karen’s height with dark eyes and long-flowing black hair.
“I know what you mean,” Karen said. “I’m studying sociology and I’ll never get rich that’s for sure.”
The girl laughed. “You’re right about that, and I’m not sure I’ll do much better. I’m in a business course, and I’ll maybe be lucky to get a receptionist job.”
“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” Karen said, enjoying the repartee. “I thought businesses were trying to put more women into management.”
“That’s what they’re telling us, but I’ll see if that really happens.”
“Hmmm,” Karen said.
The conversation ended as the two finally entered the busy, steamy restroom and waited their turn for a stall.
Karen and her mother were clearly exhausted from cheering and tension by the time the game ended with a three-point basket by Jeffrey Becker with less than five seconds to go, winning it by one-point for the black-and-gold clad team.
“Hey there,” Karen felt her arm being tugged as they joined the crowd surging for the exits.
“Oh hi, Whitney.”
“Mom and I are stopping at the Pancake House for something to eat now? Wanna join us?”
Karen looked at Whitney, wondering why he was so interested in inviting them. Emily Roberts soon joined up, stating: “Yes, we’d be honored to have you join us,” she said, addressing both Karen and her mother.
Engulfed by the crowd, the four said nothing until they were out onto the wide expanse of concrete that surrounded the stadium, and could stop and talk. Cecelia Hansson finally said, “That’s kind of you, Emily, but do you think union and management should be fraternizing?”
“Of course, Cece, we’ll just talk basketball and besides we can go ‘dutch.’”
“OK, is that OK with you, Karen?” her mother asked.
Karen felt trapped; she wasn’t sure just how the after-game snack session would go, particularly since Whitney had been eying her ever since they met. Was his constant examination of her due to curiosity, or did he have other ideas on his mind, she wondered.
“Of course, mother,” she said, forcing a smile.
*****
Whether by design or happenstance, it developed that Karen ended up seated on the window side of a booth at the Pancake House with Whitney piled in next to her, their thighs so close that Karen felt she could sense the heat from his legs. During the walk over, Whitney was the perfect gentleman, taking her arm to guide her safely across streets and opening the restaurant’s door for her. He toOK her coat and hung it up on the hooks that were set on poles at the end of the booth seats.
“Did you like the game, Karen?” the boy said once they were settled in the booth.
“Oh yes, I’m still out of breath from the way it ended. That was so emotional.”
“Me too, I was so afraid they might blow the game,” he said.
Remembering that Whitney had played on the school’s team last year, Karen said: “I bet you wished you’d have had a chance to play in the tournament.”
The boy smiled at her: “I don’t know, Karen. I think I’d be scared stiff to be out there on the floor in front of all those people.”
“Oh posh. You’d do fine, I’m sure. You were our starting guard and I thought the best player.”
“That’s kind of you to say, Karen, but we weren’t a very good team, and I could never have defended that guy on the other team tonight as well as Pete McCall did for our guys in this game. I wasn’t fast enough.”
“I thought you were pretty good, Whitney,” Karen said, patting the boy’s arm lightly.
“I did get invites to play at some smaller colleges, but I really wanted to come here to study economics and politics,” he said. “Besides those small places offered little or no scholarship aid to play basketball.”
Karen’s mother and Mrs. Roberts had been deep in conversation, but stopped long enough to overhear the exchange between the two young people.
“I think he wants to be a politician, dear,” Mrs. Roberts said, interrupting their discussion.
Karen eyed the boy closely, then said, “Well, I think he’d make a good politician. He’s so good-looking.”
“Good looks is one thing, dear,” Emily Roberts said. “He’ll need some brains to go with it, maybe even a law degree. So he’d better tend to his studies.”
“Oh ma, quit nagging,” Whitney said. “What else I need when I run for office is a pretty wife like . . . ah . . . ah . . . Karen here.”
All Karen could do was to laugh out loud at the comment, and her response seemed to tickle the other three who joined in the laughter.
“Sure what’s wrong with that? Isn’t she pretty?” Whitney said.
“She’s lovely,” his mother said.
Karen thought it wise to put an end to this absurd conversation. “Look people, I’m still not a girl yet. My drivers’ license still says ‘Kenny’ so a marriage proposal is a bit premature.”
Whitney was speechless for a moment, marveling at the openness of Karen’s comments about her own gender situation.
“Besides, I want to marry a Democrat,” Karen added.
“What else could I be?” Whitney said, leaning over to give Karen a quick kiss on the cheek.
Cecelia Hansson said: “That’s the one thing Whitney that your mother and I agree on, and that’s our politics.”
Emily Roberts nodded in agreement.
By then the waitress arrived with their food, which included an apple pie ala mode for Karen; pancakes and sausage for Whitney; cheesecake for his mother and strawberry schaum torte for Cecelia Hansson. Karen couldn’t help notice how nervously the waitress acted in serving the food, recalling her own first days on the job. The girl was obviously a college student who had never before waited tables, and her hair hung haphazardly down her round, chubby face. She had a stocky body whose curves challenged the tight-fitting waitress uniform. A slight cleavage showed above the bodice of her peasant blouse, accentuating her ample breasts. It was obvious that Whitney was looking intently at them as the girl leaned in to place the plates on the table.
“I saw you looking at her,” Karen teased Whitney, once the girl had left the table.
“Listen to her,” he said to the two mothers sitting across from them. “Nagging like a fish wife already.”
Karen gave the boy a playful punch in the arm.
“Now children,” Emily Roberts said.
The group was silent as they settled into eating their snacks, before Whitney said:
“I really can’t believe you’re the same person I knew in high school,” he said. “It’s just like you’ve always been a girl.”
Karen smiled. “Thank you, Whitney. I think I always was a girl inside, but somewhere along the way my genes got all mixed up.”
“You’re so dainty, but then you never were too husky, I guess.”
“No, Whitney, I wasn’t and I always felt so out of place as a boy, too. It was tough sometimes and I got teased a lot, but you were always nice to me.”
“That’s how we taught him to be, to be respectful of everyone, and to understand that every person is different,” Emily said.
“I’ve always enjoyed the few times we talked when you were Kenny,” Whitney said. “You weren’t boring like some of my friends. All they talked about was either sex or video games; I remember you and I got into an argument once in class about national health insurance. Remember that?”
“Yes, that was in the last semester of U. S. History with Mr. Rhodes,” Karen said clearly recalling the debate. “We had two groups put together and I represented the ‘no’ side and you the ‘pro’ side. And we both ended up doing most of the arguing.”
“I got so mad at you,” Whitney said.
“Yeah, I remember, we even continued the argument after class,” she said, beginning to giggle.
Whitney laughed. “We sure got hot at each other then, but I liked that. I told mom about that discussion and she excused you by saying you were just reflecting your mom’s thinking, since she was a hospital administrator.”
“That wasn’t it, but I just got wrapped up in the argument, and I got so mad, too,” she said. “You were insufferable.”
“I was? You were even worse.”
“Now children,” Cecelia interjected, hoping to head off a fight.
Karen and Whitney looked at each other, almost simultaneously beginning to laugh. She gave him another light punch in the arm, and he feigned being hurt.
“Actually,” Cecelia said, “I think we all four probably agree on the health issue, in spite of the debate you two had in class.”
“Yes, we do,” added Emily. “Even the hospital administrator here thinks a national health insurance plan is good.”
Later, as Karen walked her mother back to the hotel, they agreed it had been a fun night, that Emily and her son Whitney could become great friends.
“He wanted my phone number, mom,” Karen said.
“Did you give it to him?”
“Sure, why not? I said we could be friends, although I told him I already had a boyfriend. I think he was disappointed, but I think he’ll call me anyway. He’s smart and so much fun, although I do think we’d fight if we ever got together.”
“How do you know that, Karen?”
“Well don’t you and Mrs. Roberts argue all the time at work?” Karen asked.
“Yes, we do, but that’s the nature of our jobs. We still like and respect each other, though.”
“Well, Whit is much like his mother. He’s a fighter for what he believes in and that’s good, and I think I might be like that, too.”
Her mother smiled at her; they hugged each other at the hotel entrance, and Karen walked in quick steps to her new residence. Even though there was a heavy campus security presence, Karen realized she was a vulnerable girl walking alone in the dark; she had her pepper spray ready in her hand, though, just in case.
As she walked, her mind bounced around, thinking how nice Whit had been (she had begun calling him that as the evening had worn on.) She thought, too, about the fights they would have and the fights would likely be about politics, not so much over a basic philosophy, since they both seemed to have the same instincts, but rather about specifics. They both seemed to have, she thought, obsessive tendencies and they might sometimes conflict. Then she realized, too, how much fun it would be to make up. She was certain they’d have naughty times together, and it excited her. Yet, she suddenly berated herself for having dismissed from her thoughts her love and concern for Mark, struggling to walk again and perhaps lying depressed in the rehab center some 90 miles away. How could she betray him?
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 12
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Chapter 12: More Complications
Thanks to a fairly light class schedule on Friday, Karen was able to schedule lunch with her mother and brother. They agreed to meet about 11:30 a.m. at the Student Union, and Sonny was thrilled to enter the historic 100-year-old building that had become an icon of the State University. The building was built like a medieval castle at a time in the early 1900s when such architecture was popular throughout the country. Its four turrets pointed high in the sky and for years dominated the campus skyline; in more recent years, its outline had been dwarfed by several skyscrapers of nearby classroom buildings and offices, an occurrence that had brought criticism to the University’s lack of restraint.
Inside the Union, the most popular gathering spot for students and visitors was the huge lower level room that covered half of the building, containing a snack bar (even beer was served). Sturdy oak tables and chairs seemed always to be filled; all of the furniture so indestructible that you’d see carvings in the tables with such sayings as “M.K. — S.T . ’41,” “Steve Loves Mary, ’52,” and “Bill D. ’35.” For most of its 100 years, the place was affectionately called the “Dungeon” or “Dung,” even though the room was brightened up by light coming in from full-sized windows looking out on the lake. The din of noise was continual.
Luckily Karen and her family found a table near the windows; they put their trays down. Karen, still feeling stuffed from the snack they had the night before, chose a tomato salad and herbal tea, her mother had a tuna salad sandwich plus coffee and Sonny had two BBQ rib sandwiches (the “Dungeon Special”), a milkshake and fries.
His fingers dripping with barbeque sauce, Sonny announced: “Karen, I’m thinking of going down to visit Mark with a couple of friends from our football team. What d’ya think?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Samuel,” their mother scolded.
“Oh, ma,” he said, still chewing. No doubt he’d been told that thousands of times in his young life. “Would that be OK, Karen?”
“You want to visit him? Why, Sonny?” Karen asked.
“He was so nice to me when he visited you, and I know some of my friends were impressed that we knew him. He really was a star, Karen.”
Karen smiled. Yes, Mark had been friendly with Sonny, even to the point of spending much time with Sonny talking football, while Karen waited impatiently, worried that Mark was using too much of his short visit with Sonny instead of her.
“I don’t know, Sonny,” Karen said. “He’s not wanted to see too many people since he was injured.”
“Oh,” Sonny said, his face showing disappointment. “But mainly, sis, I thought maybe a visit by some of us players might cheer him up. What do you think, Karen?”
“Yes, dear,” Cecelia Hansson said. “It might just do that.”
Karen smiled. Her brother — who had teased her in her “Kenny” days for being “girly” — had shown continual kindness to her now, as well as displaying a caring nature that she never thought he had. The boy was even picking up some of the household chores that Karen had traditionally done when she lived at home, obviously to help his mother out due to her long and difficult work schedule.
“OK, Sonny, tell you what I’ll do. I’ll talk with Patti Hamilton to see if she thinks it’s a good idea and let you know,” Karen said.
“How will you get there, Sonny?” their mother asked.
“Jamie has his license. He can drive.”
“Oh no,” their mother protested. “I’ll drive you boys down if Karen can set it up. You’ll have to go on a weekend anyway.”
“Oh mom, Jamie’s a good driver,” Sonny protested.
“Good driver, ha!” Cecelia Hansson exclaimed. “He’s good at squealing his tires when he leaves the curb. No honey. I’ll drive, or one of the other parents can.”
“All right,” the boy said. “I really want to see Mark, mom, and that’s fine. He’d probably be glad to see you, too.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Karen said. “I don’t think he’ll refuse to see you boys.”
Karen leaned over and kissed her brother, an affectionate sisterly kiss. Sonny, however, stiffened at the show of affection. Karen smiled; he’s still a 15-year-old boy.
*****
Professor Fenstrom demanded that Karen stay overtime that day, forcing her to cancel her planned dinner with her mother and the Roberts. While she was disappointed to lose this opportunity to be with her mother, she was glad not to have to interact again with Whitney. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy him; she did. The truth was she was fearful of becoming fond of the boy, developing a friendship that would further complicate her life.
“Now Karen, I’m hoping you can keep up with me on this,” Fenstrom began. “I’m going to go through my scene directions, page-by-page, and I want you to take notes. Then I want you to type them up, as I’ve given them to you. OK?”
“I’ll try, sir,” Karen said. She knew it would be difficult to follow the professor, since like most creative people his mind raced a thousand miles an hour, sometimes stumbling around and even being contradictory.
“I’ll trust you’ll make sense out of my gibberish,” he said, smiling.
He reached over and gave Karen a light affectionate tap on her cheeks, bringing a flush to her face. The two were close together in his small office, the professor wandering back and forth as he talked, his steps reduced to two in each direction, each time coming so close to Karen she sometimes felt the cloth of his pant leg against her arm as she sat in a chair, a script on her knee. She wore tight-fitting jeans, a camisole that exposed her modest cleavage and two-inch high heeled boots. She had taken off her sweater due to the warmth of the room, exposing her bare arms and shoulders.
The professor completed discussing his directions for Act One of “Picnic” by five o’clock.
“Now I want you to stay and see if you can put these in the computer before you leave,” he said.
“But, sir,” Karen protested. “I need to get to the basketball game and meet my mother. We were going to have dinner together.”
“Well, that’ll have to wait, dear. I need these finished so I can go over them tonight. Tomorrow we need to do Act Two.”
“But . . .”
“No buts, Karen. I need this. I’ll order in for the both of us. Is Chinese OK?”
“I’ll try, but I will go when it’s game time, OK?”
“It’s a deal, I know you can do it. I know a good Chinese place that’ll deliver here.”
Karen nodded, and headed to her desk. She called her mother, gave her regrets about missing dinner. Her mother offered to stop by shortly and drop off Karen’s ticket so that they could meet at the game.
*****
“Karen, I’m happy you decided to work for me this semester,” the professor said. When the food arrived from the Chinese Palace, he cleared a spot on his desk for the food, and set up a folding chair for Karen.
The arrangement felt a bit too cozy for Karen, who already could sense the Professor was getting overly familiar, in spite of his pledges to treat her professionally.
“I know this red wine doesn’t necessarily go with Chinese,” he announced, producing a bottle and two glasses from somewhere beneath his desk. “Would you like some?”
“No thanks, sir,” Karen said when she was seated. “I need to keep my head clear.”
“Good thought. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered you any. But, would you mind if I had a glass?”
“Good right ahead, sir,” she said.
“No need to ‘sir’ me, dear. Just Eric is fine.”
“I think I’ll stick with ‘sir,’ sir,” Karen said, giving him a smile.
“Have it your way,” the professor said, turning to serve the food from the two paper containers.
The two ate in silence, Karen purposely concentrating on her food, with a desire to get back to her desk as soon as possible to continue transcribing Fenstrom’s notes. Besides, she wanted to return to her desk quickly, for fear that her mother would show up any minute with her ticket and find the two of them close together in the professor’s inner office.
As she bit into her first egg roll, she heard the outer door open and her mother’s voice from the outer office, “Karen, are you here.”
“Mother, I’m in here. Just stay there I’ll be out to greet you.”
The professor yelled out, however: “We’re in my office, just come in Mrs. Hansson.”
Karen tried to move back to distance herself from the professor, but it was too late; the door opened and her mother walked in, quickly surveying the small, cramped room.
“I’m sorry I had to ruin your dinner tonight with Karen,” the professor said, showing sincere contrition. “I really need to have Karen complete this project before she left tonight.”
“I understand,” Cecelia Hansson said. “I often have to ask my assistants to work extra even when it intrudes on their families.”
“That’s good of you to understand, Mrs. Hansson, but I have found your daughter to be a most valuable worker,” Fenstrom continued. “She understands drama and she has plenty of other skills that I need in the office here. She’s a joy to have around.”
Karen blushed as he spoke, wondering how much the professor said was what he truly believed, or whether he was using his acting skills to impress her mother.
“She loves the theater, though I’m wondering what other skills you’re referring to professor,” Cecelia said, looking sharply at Karen.
Fenstrom blushed and responded, “Oh, Mrs. Hansson, she has other office skills. That’s all I meant.”
She handed the ticket over to Karen and turned to go, but Fenstrom stopped her. “Why not stay and share some of this? I’m afraid I bought too much and we have lots. This’ll make up just a bit for spoiling your dinner plans.”
“Can’t stay, I’m planning to join another couple for dinner,” she explained.
“Surely you have time for a glass of wine?”
Karen saw her mother scowl; then she looked quickly at Karen as if inquiring whether Karen was drinking wine. Fenstrom sensed her critical eye, and said quickly: “Oh, I wouldn’t serve your daughter any wine, ma’am. I know she’s underage.”
Karen could see her mother grow more at ease with the assurance that the professor was not offering her any wine. Nonetheless, Karen was shocked by the ease with which the professor lied to her mother about the wine.
Her mother excused herself. Karen finished her egg roll, small portions of rice, and a curry dish with shrimp, noodles and sprouts. She said little as she wolfed down the food, leaving the room as soon as she was done. Fenstrom, too, finished his eating, and Karen took the remaining food and carried it out to a small refrigerator that was set in the outer office. She was about to leave for the women’s room, when Fenstrom yelled out at her: “Karen, would you come back in here and clean up the rest of these dirty plates all?”
Karen scowled, about to object to being his maid, but thought the better of it. Better to just do it, and not pick a fight. She found him examining a script as she cleaned up the desk area, picking up the dirty paper plates, napkins and plastic eating tools and carrying them out to a trash can in the hall. Neither spoke. Karen went to the women’s room, cleaned her hands, threw water on her face in an attempt to freshen up and returned to her desk to complete the transcribing.
She completed her work about 30 minutes before the game time, giving her plenty of time to get to the game.
“I just forwarded you a file with the transcription, sir,” Karen yelled to the professor. “Check your computer, sir.”
“OK, good. Karen, do you have time to print out the transcription?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, hitting the “print’ button.
A moment later, she plopped the dozen pages of the transcript on the professor’s desk. Surprisingly, the professor seemed little interested in the transcript; instead, he looked at Karen and said: “You know, dear, you’re a gem.”
“Thank you, sir. I must leave now. Hope you find the transcription to your liking?”
“If you did it, I’m sure I will.”
“Good-bye, sir. See you at 8:30 tomorrow morning, right?”
“Karen, look, I know you’re mad at me, but I couldn’t very well have told your mother I offered you wine, you know?” he said.
“Sometimes I wish you’d just be honest,” Karen said, her tone getting defiant. “Look, sir, I enjoy this work and this job immensely. You know how much I’m interested in the theater and I can learn lots from working with you, but I can’t trust you, sir. Perhaps this isn’t a good idea, and I should quit now.”
“Karen, dear, I haven’t touched you, have I?”
“Yes, you have several times, just little touches on the shoulder or arm and once on my thigh,” Karen said. “You acted like they were inadvertent, but I still felt them. Professor Fenstrom, you know I’m going through lots of stuff now with this transition and my boyfriend in the hospital. I just can’t deal with your advances. Really I can’t . . .”
Karen burst into tears and ran out of the office, hurrying to the women’s room. She dashed water on her face and reapplied some light makeup which had been damaged by her crying. The effort settled her nerves; she returned to the office to get her coat.
Professor Fenstrom stood at his inner office door, looking at Karen as she returned.
“That was quite a performance, Karen,” he said. “You’ve got the part.”
“What? You think that was a performance? Ohhhh, you make me so mad.”
She held back tears; she wouldn’t let him see her cry again. Turning her back on him, she put on her coat and hat and grabbed her purse. She headed to the door.
“See you here at 8:30 tomorrow, Karen. We’ve got lots to do then,” he yelled after her.
Karen said a soft “Yes sir,” and left the room.
As she walked in the crowd headed to the University’s monstrous basketball arena, she tried to settle down; she was still shaking from the tirade she had unleashed upon the professor. She was pleased he hadn’t fired her; yet she was wondering if she should quit the job, even though she loved the work. And was he serious about her getting “the part?” And what part would that be, that of the teenager in “Picnic” that the theater was to stage that spring? But was a part in a university theater production worth selling her body and soul to an unscrupulous professor, regardless of the talent the man had?
*****
“You two were awfully cozy in there,” Cecelia Hansson said to her daughter after Karen had settled into the seat at the game.
Karen arrived just after the University Jazz Ensemble played an unusually rousing version of the “Star Spangled Banner.” The music excited an already aroused crowd greatly enhancing the adrenaline of the packed audience. Since their high school team was considered an underdog — even being dubbed the “Cinderella” of the tourney — it had gathered the support of most of the crowd.
“Nothing was going on there, mother,” Karen said, almost having to yell into her mother’s ear in order to be heard.
“I hope not, but he looks like a player, dear. Watch out.”
“He is, mother, but I’ve got it under control. Don’t worry.”
“I didn’t like what he said about your ‘other skills,’ honey. You’re a very special girl, you know, and guys like him may be intrigued by that.”
“Oh, mother,” Karen said, with some exasperation. Yet, she realized her mother’s warnings were probably wise.
Though the two were yelling in each other’s ear, they were confident no bystanders could overhear the conversation. Later, during a timeout when the crowd noise was less oppressive, Karen described how she had withstood the professor’s advances, pointing out that she had been given instructions on how to deal with such men from both Moira, her counselor at the Gender Clinic, and Angela, her longtime girlfriend.
“I must say, Karen, you’ve picked up a lot of feminine common sense in a few months,” Cecelia Hansson said.
Karen smiled, whispering to her mother, “I think I’ve been a girl all my life, mother, so I think it came naturally.”
At halftime, Karen met Whitney Roberts; the two had waved at each other in the stands earlier, and Whitney through a combination of sign language and mouthing invited her to join him for a Coke. She had nodded “yes.”
The score was tied at halftime, and both teams were obviously keyed up for the game, both having played hard, scrabbling for balls and running helter-skelter up and down the floor that made for an entertaining game, if not exactly a model of sound basketball.
“You’re hoarse,” Karen said to Whitney as he handed her a diet drink.
“Too much cheering,” he said. “But I think I heard you squeal a few times too, Karen.”
She blushed.
“Maybe you and I could ditch our moms after the game and go somewhere together,” he proposed. “Would that be OK, you think?”
“Whit, I look like hell, and I promised mom I’d spend time with her,” she said. Actually she liked the idea of going off somewhere with this nice-looking boy who was also so friendly and easy to talk to.
“You look fine, Karen.”
She giggled. “You boys don’t know anything about how a girl feels, Whit. I had to work until just a half hour before the game and didn’t have time to change outfits or freshen up. A girl wants to both look and feel nice when she’s out.”
Karen still wore the tight, faded jeans, a camisole under the sweater and winter boots. In truth she felt grubby; she was convinced her body smelled and that her breath still sent out the residual hints of onion, garlic and spices from the Chinese food she ate. She felt, too, her hair was a mess. Also, she had not renewed her makeup all day long, having only had time to touch up her lipstick. Outside of a single strand of pearls, she wore only simple silver studs in her ears and no other jewelry.
“Well, you’re a pretty sight to me,” he said. “You see how the girls dress around here now? You could wear a garbage bag and still be the prettiest girl here.”
“Oh Whit!” she exclaimed, growing excited at the praise. Strangely, she felt the boy was sincere.
“Tell you what,” he said. “We’ll go someplace where it’s dark.”
“Hmmmmm. I don’t know about that,” she giggled.
“And don’t worry about our mothers,” Whitney said. “I already talked to mom, and she and your mom said they wouldn’t mind us leaving them. I think they’ll go get a drink together somewhere.”
Back in the stands, her mother asked her if Whitney had suggested the two go off together; Karen said “yes,” and her mother agreed she should do it.
“It’s probably best this way, anyway, Karen,” her mother explained.
“Emily and I shouldn’t be seen together so often, since her members and my bosses may think we’re undercutting our bargaining positions,” she said. “I think it’s OK for our children to be friends. So Emily and I will go off for a quick drink, somewhere.”
*****
The game ended badly for the team; it went into the last five minutes with a small lead and the fans cheered mightily for the “Cinderella” team; but soon the superiority in talent from the other school — a perennial favorite for the State Championship — whipped its game together to move ahead decisively.
“Our guys didn’t give up, though,” Whitney said, as he escorted Karen to the Java A-Go-Go, a popular hangout for students who were not old enough to drink. The coffee house had become even more crowded in the new semester, since the University began a crackdown on underage student drinking. The University had an undesireable reputation of being one of the top three “party schools” in the nation, largely due to a long tradition in the State of having loose laws regarding drinking. The new University rules had reached the point where an underage student faced expulsion if they were caught with a drink in their hand, not only in a public place, but even in private campus housing.
“I don’t drink alcohol,” Whitney said, when the settled into two chairs at a tiny table. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t either, Whit.”
Whitney had insisted on buying the drinks and several small fruit and nut treats that they could munch on.
It was inevitable that their knees touched due to the tight quarters and Karen smiled at Whitney as they two young people moved close to each other. Because of the crush of students in Java A-Go-Go, togetherness was actually forced upon them. Karen didn’t mind, since it meant they could sit close to each other to talk, though she was concerned as to whether her breath stunk.
“You know I’m not a complete girl, yet, Whitney,” Karen said. She sensed the boy was smitten by her femininity and felt she must set the record straight, both about caring about another boy and about the fact that she still had many steps to take before she’d be a woman.
“I know that, Karen, but I like you,” he said.
“And I like you, Whitney Roberts,” she said. Already her face was only inches away from his, and she resisted the temptation to kiss him.
“I must confess something to you, Karen,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Well . . . ah . . . ah . . . it’s kinda awkward, and I might hurt your feelings.”
“Oh? But I want you to be honest with me, Whit.”
The boy said nothing for a minute and then began speaking, his face moving even closer to hers and the words coming out softly, but clearly:
“Remember in high school when we were in lots of classes together?”
“Yes, you were always nice to me, when some other guys teased me. I think you even stood up for me a couple of times.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you remembered. I felt so badly for you. What had you done to bother them? It just wasn’t fair and my mom has always taught us to stand up against unfairness.”
“That was sweet of you.”
“I think I fell in love with you back then, Karen, back when you were Kenny,” he said quickly.
“You did?”
“Oh no, Karen, it wasn’t that I was thinking of you as a boy, even then. You had these cute little mannerisms, like the way you’d flick your hair back out of your eyes. It was just like the way the girls did it.”
“You mean like this?” Karen said, moving her hand daintily to move a strand of hair.
“That’s so cute how you do that,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I remember you in gym class too, how lovely your legs were, too. You had softness about you that was so nice, Karen. I couldn’t help but thinking: I wish you were a girl so I could hold you and hug you and kiss you. I never thought of you as a boy, but in all my dreams I never pictured you would be as pretty a girl as you are right now.”
Karen was shocked: “You thought of me as a girl back then?”
“Yes . . . isn’t that weird? And here you are!”
Whitney reached over and grabbed Karen’s hand, burying it into his calloused hardness, and she felt his fingers lightly caressing the inside area of her wrist. Karen seemed to melt into his touch.
Later that night as Whitney walked Karen back to her residence, Karen felt chilled; it was mid-March and the temperature had dropped well below freezing as the wind switched so it came from the north across the frozen lake. He noticed that Karen was shivering so he put his arm about her to keep her warm; the girl appeared to have welcomed the intimacy. Whitney wondered whether Karen’s acceptance of his closeness meant more than merely a need to warm herself. They stopped outside the house and Whitney drew Karen close, giving her a quick kiss.
“No, no, Whitney,” Karen said, breaking away from the comfort of his hug. “We can’t start this, please. I like you. I really do and I think you’re so nice, but I’m in love with Mark. And he needs me now. Please we can’t start anything.”
“I know Karen,” the boy said, his voice soft and sad.
“You’re crying, Whit,” she said, seeing his eyes grow moist in the direct light of a street lamp overhead.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. That’s so nice, Whitney. Boys can and should cry you know.”
She turned quickly. “Please call me again, Whit. I like talking with you and there’s nothing saying we can’t be friends.”
“I will, bye Karen,” he said, watching her bound up the porch steps and into the house.
Whitney Roberts smiled: she was all girl wasn’t she, he said to himself.
*****
“I thought you’d be home sooner,” Ramini said when Karen entered their bedroom. The room was dark, except for slivers of light that filtered in from the street. Karen could see that her petite roommate was curled up in Karen’s bed.
“I’ll change in the dark. I’m sorry I woke you, Rami.”
“That’s OK, I was waiting for you. I thought you’d be back sooner. The game ended hours ago.”
The tone was accusatory, and Karen felt guilty. As much as she loved being with the tiny Indian girl, she was finding Ramini to become more and more dependent. Perhaps it was to be expected, since Karen had sympathized with Ramini’s problems. In transitioning to womanhood, Ramini had become alienated not only from her family, but also from her former Indian acquaintances on campus. Traditions from her native India held a heavy sway, even among those educated Indians in the United States.
“I’m sorry, Rami, but we stopped at Java A-Go-Go for a while, and the time just sped away,” Karen said.
“Karen, give me a hug, please,” Ramini whined.
Karen knelt down beside the bed, and put a gentle hand on Rami, who was cuddled up in a fetal position on her side. Karen leaned in to kiss the girl, the scent of the other girl’s perfume permeating Karen’s nostrils. It was obvious Ramini had prepared herself to induce Karen to sleep with her that night.
“I’ll change into my nighty, Rami and join you soon,” Karen said after a moment, kissing the girl again.
Karen was troubled by Ramini’s advances, even if she felt attracted to the girl’s fragile body, her smooth skin and warm lips. It had indeed been an exhausting day and Karen was tired, while Ramini was as eager and alert as a squirrel on an oak tree.
“You’re the only person who cares about me,” Ramini said as she snuggled into Karen’s arms.
“Oh Rami, you have other friends and you’re a very pretty girl. All you will need is time to get reacquainted into a whole new life style,” Karen said, lightly kissing the other girl, and caressing her tender shoulders.
“I’m not so sure about that. None of my Indian friends will talk to me anymore, and my mom is forbidden to contact me, thanks to my dad.”
“I know, honey, but if it’s getting too hard on you now, maybe you should forget about transitioning for a while,” Karen said. “I’m sure both Dr. Bargmann and Moira told you that you’d have to develop a whole social life and it wouldn’t be easy.”
Ramini nodded her head.
“No, Karen, I’ve come too far. I’d still be the butt of jokes and snide remarks even if I tried to be a boy again and you know I’m not a boy or at least a real boy. Besides, I feel safer as a girl. You know how I faced getting beaten up. I’m so pathetic.”
“It was just a thought, and perhaps we could figure out some way to keep you safe,” Karen said.
“No, Karen. I’m a girl.”
Karen hugged her friend more tightly. “Let’s just hug now and try to get some sleep, dear,” she said.
Life was so unfair, Karen mused as the two girls huddled under the blanket in the chilly room. For Karen, the transition had not been without difficulties but she had a loving family and close friends to support her. By the circumstances of Ramini’s birth, however, it wasn’t going to be easy for her; the traditions of India bore heavily upon her, dooming such persons as Ramini to a life in the closet or rejection by the community of her birth and a life as a ‘she-male’ in the sex trafficking trade.
In Karen’s embrace, the other girl soon calmed down; soon both girls were breathing easily, and they fell asleep.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 13
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Karen carefully extricated herself from Ramini’s hold, having been awakened by the faint light of dawn in the frozen northland. She glanced at the digital clock; it was already 7:15 a.m., and only now getting light. The long summer days in this climate meant that short winter days were a certainty.
“Oh my, I gotta get going,” she said half aloud. She had to work a half-day on Saturday with Professor Fenstrom and had to be at work at 8:30 a.m., hardly enough time to shower, fix her hair, put on makeup and dress.
Hearing the “ding” indicating a text message, she turned to her cell phone and with sleep still encrusting her eyes, she saw the message from Aaron:
"Hi, Karen. Remember me? It's Aaron"
“Of course, I remember u. How r u?”
“Fine. Here for BB tourney. Stayed with sis. Like to c u.”
“Pretty busy.”
“Just for coffee, quick lunch?”
“Not sure. But like to c u 2”
“When”
“Four? Stadium area?”
“Sure. Where?”
“Let u know later. Not sure. This may change. Very busy.”
“OK. Luv to c u.”
“Bye.”
Karen contemplated the day ahead. Work ‘til about 1 p.m., meet her mother and Sonny for late lunch before they drive back to Manitowoc, see Aaron, and then back to her room, where she’d prepare for a night out with Angela. Somewhere in there she had to find time to begin a short paper for her mandatory English writing class. It would be exhausting.
She looked at Ramini, a cute little snore emanating about every third breath from the tiny form; why not bring Ramini along to meet Aaron and join in the conversation? Aaron would enjoy meeting her, since Ramini was intelligent, and it might help get the suffering young woman into a more positive frame of mind.
*****
Aaron gave Karen a gentle hug as they met, almost like one of those pro forma hugs that have become so common these days, supplanting a period when the hand-shake was the most intimate form of greeting between two individuals who were not lovers. After an exchange of text messages, they settled on the Java A-Go-Go; it would be the easiest for Aaron to locate since he was a stranger to the city.
“So happy you took time for me,” Aaron said. The boy’s humilty was obvious.
“This is my roommate, Ramini, but you can call her Rami for short,” Karen said, turning to introduce Ramini who looked up at the skinny boy. Aaron not only towered over Karen but seemingly dwarfed Ramini.
“Glad to meet you, Rami,” Aaron said, bending over and taking the girl’s hand.
“Too bad our team lost last night, but they put up a good fight,” Karen said.
“They’ve got spirit, that club does, but that other school was just too good,” Aaron said.
“How’s St. Albert’s?” Karen asked, inquiring about the college he attended.
“Oh, it’s OK, but it gets a bit stifling at times. Maybe I should have gone to a bigger place, like my sister does,” he said. “I have some good liberal teachers and a few friends who can think, but so many of the kids come from those suburban towns and don’t even try to think for themselves.”
“I know what you mean, Aaron,” Ramini interjected. “But we have kids like that here. Karen knows, since she’s seen those kids who come here just to party and hate anyone different.”
The conversation carried on in that fashion for a while, and Karen knew why she was always so comfortable with Aaron. His mind was always active, reflecting upon what was occurring not only around him, but elsewhere, throughout the world. He was a man of many interests, and was rarely boring.
Karen soon found herself almost left out of the conversation as Aaron began peppering Ramini with questions about India, the politics of that country and the life style; in truth, Ramini was not that well-informed about the country of her ancestors since she had been born in the United States and raised in a virtually all-white upper middle-class suburb. Nonetheless, Karen could see that Aaron was fascinated by this tiny girl.
“By the way, Aaron,” Ramini said after nearly an hour of intense conversations and a refill of coffee. “I must tell you that I’m a bit of a hybrid, too, just like Karen.”
“A hybrid?” Aaron asked, looking quizzically at Karen.
Karen nodded, “Yes, just like me.”
“Oh, what?” the boy said. “Oh my. You mean . . . ah . . . that you, too, are a . . .”
“Yes, I am in transition just like Karen here.”
Aaron was momentarily stunned that such a tiny, delicate person could have been born male, but he soon recovered his shock, listening closely to Ramini’s story of estrangement from her family.
“Look,” he said, as the group was about to break up. “I have an extra ticket to the game tonight. I know Karen is busy, but how’d you like to join me? Do you like basketball?”
“Oh yes,” Ramini said. “And I squeal like a girl when I get excited.”
“Yes, she does,” Karen said. “Put plugs in your ears Aaron.”
Ramini hit Karen with a playful tap on the arm. “Not THAT bad.”
*****
Angela and Karen ended up attending the State Championship basketball game together that night as well; as planned, Karen met her longtime girlfriend at a pizza parlor, where Angela announced she had been given two tickets to the game. It was an exciting game, as such championship high school games so often are, and the two girls enjoyed it, cheering for the underdog team from an impoverished inner city school against the perennial power that had beaten Karen’s team the night before.
Karen scanned the huge crowd, even though there was little chance she’d see Ramini and Aaron. Across the huge stadium, she spied what appeared to be a tiny, dark-complexioned girl next to a thin, tall boy. It must be them, she thought, but it was hard to tell for sure. The girl seemed to be pressed tightly against the boy, looking most cozy. Karen hoped the couple she saw was her two friends; she knew Ramini needed loving now more than ever.
The scrappy kids from the urban school darted back and forth in the game, interrupting the smooth-running mechanics of the other team, and eked out a three-point 62-59 victory. Angela and Karen hugged each other as the final whistle sounded.
Less than an hour later, Karen was in Angela’s room back at the house, taking off her sweater, camisole and slacks, stripping down to her bra and panties. In the faint light from a small bed lamp, Karen looked at herself and saw in her white, soft flesh a growing femininity. Now with barely three months of hormones, she felt softer and thought she saw her breasts growing puffy as the nipples seemed to widen. In the last week or so she had noticed pain in the chest area, and was pleased to see the hormones must be having their desired effect on her body.
“You look so luscious,” Angela said.
“You always say that,” Karen said with a laugh.
Angela had removed her bra and stood in her panties, her lanky, sinewy body appearing smooth and hard. Karen looked at Angela’s tiny breasts which stood as firm mounds of flesh, and Karen felt that Angela’s body was that of an athletic, slender boy, perhaps not much different from the bodies of the basketball players she watched that night at the game.
Angela moved next to Karen, put her hands around her and kneaded Karen’s slender, smooth back. As much as Karen had tried to resist the attentions of her friend, she could not, welcoming the other girl’s attentions with great eagerness. She yearned, she realized, for the other girl’s body, to run her hands down Angela’s muscular arms, to caress her powerful thighs and to eventually taste the girl’s hot juices.
Perhaps it was the sight of the sweating young athletes on the basketball floor that aroused her so much that night, Karen thought. The tickets that Angela received had been close to the floor, just several rows up from the players’ bench of the winning team, whose players tended to be shorter, but wiry and hard-bodied. She found herself wondering how it would feel to put her fleshy, feminine body next to the body of the player wearing No. 24, a multi-racial young man whose frame reminded her of what a younger President Obama might have looked like.
“You’re so much more of a girl now, Karen,” Angela said, as the two tumbled together on the bed, Angela’s hands removing Karen’s bra and moving to cup her tiny, fleshy mounds.
The words excited Karen, whose small penis slowly hardened as the other girl increased her embrace. Karen had begun to realize that her penis failed to arouse as much as it had in the past and that she hadn’t masturbated often. Obviously, the testosterone-blockers and hormones were having the desired effect.
“I love how strong you are, Angela,” Karen said.
The other girl’s biceps grew hard, as she hugged Karen even more tightly, and the two began kissing. Grunts and heavy breathing were accompanied by squeals as each girl reached orgasm, and they repeated the process several times before falling asleep together.
Karen awoke in the middle of the night. The room was dark, except for a sliver of light coming in from a gap between the shades and the window frame. At first Karen was unsure where she was, finally realizing from the scent of their love-making mixed with the sour odor of the bed clothes amid which she had spent hours of love-making with Angela.
“Damn,” she thought. “I wanted to resist this. I can’t do this if I’m to be loyal to Mark.”
She roused herself from bed, careful not to awaken Angela, grabbed her clothes and looked out the door to see if the hallway was vacant so that she could run down the hall to her own room without any of the other girls in the house seeing her. She wanted to get to her own room, put on her nighty and then run to the bathroom to clean up before returning to her own bed. She wore only her panties, and held her clothes tightly up against her breasts in a show of modesty.
*****
“I caught you,” the voice startled Karen just as she was about to enter her own room.
She was spun around by someone grabbing her arm, causing her to drop the clothes, exposing her tiny breasts and thin white body.
“Doreen, what are you doing? Leave me alone.”
Instead, Doreen, another muscular girl who had once been Angela’s lesbian girlfriend, tightened her firm grasp on Karen’s arm, drawing the two girls face-to-face.
“God, you smell like a cheap whore, Karen,” Doreen said.
“Let me go,” Karen pleaded, fearing what the girl might do to her.
“You turn me on, you girly bitch,” Doreen said, forcing her lips upon Karen, who tried mightily to avert the kiss.
Doreen was too strong and soon Karen could taste the foul juices of the other girl as Doreen’s pressure on her lips increased and Karen surrendered weakly into her arms. Doreen picked Karen up as if she were a doll and carried her to a bed in the room in which a night light provided only dim illumination to the room. Karen saw the bed covers were askew and clothes littered the floor, hung randomly on chairs and bed posts while books and papers were scattered about. The scent of unwashed clothes mixed with some faint sweetness of perfume brought a hint of nausea over Karen.
Placed flat on her back, Karen looked up to see the hulking form of the other girl hovering over her and she tried to scream out, but Doreen quickly placed her mouth upon Karen’s and pushed her tongue into Karen’s mouth. Karen froze in terror, powerless to resist.
She struggled to get her breath as the kiss lingered on; finally Doreen let up, but quickly covered Karen’s mouth with her hand.
“Don’t you dare scream, Karen, or you’ll hurt badly,” Doreen warned.
Karen shook her head, acknowledging the command.
“OK, I’ll take my hand off then, and you can speak softly to me,” Doreen said.
Karen nodded again, and Doreen removed her hand, and kneeled over Karen, looking intently at her.
“Don’t hurt me, Doreen,” Karen pleaded. She wanted to cry, but realized that her tears might make the situation even worse. How pathetic she felt to be so weak that she couldn’t resist the advances of the other girl.
“I don’t want to hurt you, darling,” Doreen said her voice soft, gentle, almost soothing.
Karen knew of Doreen’s infatuation for her, recalling when Angela first introduced Karen to the other girls in the house they all shared. It was obvious then that most, if not all, of the girls in the house were gay, or at least bisexual. The first meeting ended with Angela and Doreen fighting over Karen; it had been a rough fight between two girls who gave no quarter in the altercation. It resembled a barroom brawl that might have involved two muscular cowboys. The girls all knew that both Karen and Ramini (who had moved in on March 1) were transgendered girls; yet, they welcomed the two of them, and the two were easily among the most feminine residents of the house.
Doreen began caressing Karen, soon moving her lips onto Karen’s tiny, soft mounds of flesh, using her tongue to toy with the breasts and the nipples. The foul smell of residual juices from her session with Angela still lingered on Karen’s body, but Doreen’s eager tongue licked her, moving onto his tiny, slightly erect penis.
“I can smell Angela on you,” Doreen said bitterly. “Such a traitorous bitch.”
Karen was surprised; she had been told by Angela that Doreen had run out on their love affair and into the arms of another girl. Wasn’t Doreen the traitorous bitch? She realized she would be best off if she didn’t argue the point.
Soon they were locked in each other’s arms, kissing again.
“I can’t get enough of you, Karen,” Doreen said, her breathing growing hard.
Karen found herself also aroused by the attentions of the other girl, which had grown gentle. Doreen’s hands kneaded Karen’s soft fleshy body; she was a huskier girl than Angela, whose strength lay in a sinuous body. Doreen’s heavy biceps flexed with ripples of hardness as she embraced Karen’s slender soft body.
“You’re so dainty, darling. I want to protect you, dear,” Doreen continued. Her panting grew more intense, and she guided Karen’s hand into more sensitive areas, as Doreen gasped, entering a violent, but silent orgasm.
When it was over, both girls were exhausted. Even though Karen was free to get up, she lay next to Doreen for a minute, reflecting on how conflicted she was. She had feared Doreen; yet, she found comfort and satisfaction by the other girl’s violent — yet gentle and loving — attentions.
“I’d love to shower together with you, Karen,” Doreen said.
“Yes,” Karen said carefully.
“But we’d better not, since we might be found out, and then Angela and I’ll get in a fight.”
“I’d better tell you, I do have a boyfriend, and I shouldn’t be with either you or Angela,” Karen said. “It’s not fair to him.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, Doreen. I think you should leave me alone now.”
Karen was surprised at the firmness with which she addressed Doreen, who could easily hurt her badly.
“Karen, darling,” Doreen said gently. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I just saw red when I saw you come out of Angela’s room tonight. I didn’t know if I wanted to hurt you or Angela. You’re so hot, Karen. Really, you are!”
“I’d better clean up now and get to my own bed,” she said finally, running from the room and into the bathroom for a quick shower.
Karen was pleased that Ramini was sound asleep in her own bed, and that she’d be able to sleep alone the rest of the night, untroubled by the attentions of others. It was her sweet femininity that made her such an attraction, she realized, but while she was achieving what she had long desired she knew it would cause her both joy and tears in the future. She also suspected she had not felt the last of the voracious longings of both Angela and Doreen and worried about the conflagration that might ignite.
*****
For most of the next day, neither Angela nor Doreen was at the house, both having gone off to participate in a mini-marathon. Their absence helped to put Karen at ease; she was exhausted after a week of intense classes, work with Professor Fenstrom, her mother’s and Sonny’s visit and her complicated sexual liaisons.
“You look so darling in the morning,” Ramini said, interrupting Karen’s dream-like musings as she lay in bed contemplating whether to get up into the chilly room.
“I must look like hell,” Karen said. She felt like “hell,” her eyes encrusted with sleep, her hair tangled and her mouth foul-tasting. Even the shower she had taken before getting to bed had failed to satisfy her that she was clean. Her sexual encounters with the two girls left her feeling empty and pathetic; she had succumbed to both of them, not only due to her physical weakness but also to her lack of will to say “no.”
“You could never look like hell to me,” Ramini said, leaning down to kiss her friend. The Indian girl, still in her nightgown, was seated on Karen’s bed, her hands gently caressing Karen’s face.
Karen took Ramini’s hand in both of hers, brought the hand to her mouth and kissed it in a genuine sign of affection.
“Oh, Karen, Aaron is sooooooooo nice,” Ramini gushed after a moment. “Thank you for introducing us.”
With that, Ramini leaned down and kissed Karen, a lingering, warm kiss. Even the reeking scent of the two mouths — still stale from a night of sleep — failed to stanch the passions of the kiss. The two had become one, it seemed to Karen, a bit like identical twins; they were not lovers in any sense, but their natural femininity seemed to bond them together. They were girls, girls of a most dainty and feminine nature. Karen relished the idea.
“Have you anything planned today?” Ramini asked. “I feel like doing girl stuff with you today. Like going shopping, or something.”
“Not really,” she said. “I’ve got to complete my paper; that’ll take a couple of hours. Other than that, I’d love to.”
“Let’s get dressed up nice and go to mass,” Ramini said. “The Chapel has an 11 a.m. mass and then we can have brunch somewhere. Just like girlfriends.”
“I don’t know about the idea of mass, Rami. I haven’t been to church for a couple of years.”
“But you’re Catholic, right? So am I.”
“Not much of a Catholic anymore, besides I’m not sure how the Church would take to the two of us. They’re not exactly thrilled about girls like us, you know.”
Ramini smiled at her friend, her dark eyes sparkling. The girl was so pretty; her smooth, soft facial features was particularly fetching when framed by a sari that she’d often drape about her face. Karen had been surprised that Ramini was Roman Catholic, long believing that people from India tended usually to be Hindu, Buddhist or Muslim. Ramini’s ancestral family, however, had been converted by missionaries to Catholicism in the old country, before emigrating to the U.S.
“They won’t see us as anything but girls, Karen. It’s not like they do a background check as you enter the church.”
“No, I guess not, and maybe I do need a dose of reflection,” Karen said, holding back saying that she likely needed to do a bit of penance as well for the eagerness in which she was engaging her sexual passions.
“Let’s be real pretty this morning, Karen,” Ramini said. “Dresses and heels and stockings. I feel a bit like Scarlett O’Hara in all her finery.”
“You’re silly, Rami,” Karen said. “I’d love to dress up like Scarlett did in the first part of ‘Gone with the Wind’ too, except neither one of us has any petticoats like they wore then.”
“Wouldn’t that be fun to dress up like that sometime,” Ramini said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I can just see you in the white flowing gown like Vivien Leigh wore. You would be so lovely, honey.”
Karen loved the image; if she ever married, she’d love to be wed in something as extravagant and lovely as the wedding dress Scarlett wore when she married Frank.
Reverting to older customs of the Catholic mass, both girls placed silk scarves over their heads as they entered St. George’s Catholic Chapel for Students, dipping their hands daintily in the fount and crossing themselves as they walked down the aisle, taking a seat near the front of the church; the eyes of the other parishioners, mainly students and faculty none of whom were dressed as stylishly as Ramini and Karen, focused on the two of them as they genuflected daintily before moving into a pew. Both girls knew that their “dress-up” style was out-of-place in the modern church, particularly in one devoted mainly to students.
Ramini wore a white sari, embroidered with light grey designs with a few blue and gold highlights, along with white pumps with a three-inch heel. Her dark hair, having grown long fell down over her shoulders, her dangling silver earrings barely visible.
Karen chose a pale green shift with blue trim that ended at her knees and dramatized her model-like figure; she draped her shoulders with a white knit shawl — something she had knitted for herself — mainly because of the chill of the March morning. She wore two-inch heeled tan sandals and gold hoop earrings.
Father James Neuberger was a youngish, crewcut priest with an athletic body; Karen had heard he was liberal in his views, often at odds with the hidebound, conservative views of the Vatican Church hierarchy. To the regular parishioners, he was called “Father Jim,” and he was often seen around campus jogging in sweats carrying the logos of the University’s sports teams.
Karen rarely prayed, feeling it was a phony practice; she tried, oh, how she tried during her teen years to pray while at church, closing her eyes in the hope that a revelation would inspire her to pray to a God she wasn’t sure was listening. And, for that matter, she wondered often if the God that Father McGuire mentioned at Holy Assumption back home — a mean, demanding God who apparently showed his love for his children by loading their lives with all sorts of restrictions — even existed at all. No, she had not gotten anything like solace from the God that Father McGuire talked about.
Karen loved the beauty and majesty of the Catholic mass; she particularly liked the feel of St. George’s, a modest sized chapel with traditional stained glass windows, arches, alcoves and other trappings that mimicked the huge cathedrals in places like New York and Paris. The chorus at St. George’s, obviously made up of voice majors in the music department of the university, added to the magic of the morning, along with streams of sunlight, made colorful by shining through the windows that lined the east wall.
As she sat, kneeled and stood — following the mass routine — Karen looked about, viewing the others, most of whom were students. Her eyes suddenly focused on her new acquaintance, Mary Catherine, seated a row ahead and far to her left. She stared for a moment, and before she could turn away, Mary Catherine caught her eye. Karen could see the girl, wearing the traditional head scarf, following the practice of early generations of church women who always had their heads covered when entering a place of worship. In that way, Mary Catherine was like both Karen and Ramini in that they differed from virtually every other girl in the pews that morning, most of whom wore nothing on their heads.
Mary Catherine did a quick double-take, realized she was looking at Karen and gave a slight wave of her hand; Karen responded similarly and quickly looked away.
“Who was that?” Rami whispered in Karen’s ear.
“One of Jenny’s friends,” she whispered back.
“Don’t you like her, Karen?”
“I don’t know her that well, but I think she believes I’m a sinner. She knows about me.”
“Shhhhhhhhhhh! Be quiet girls in God’s house,” an older woman behind them cautioned.
Karen shouldn’t have been surprised at seeing Mary Catherine in the chapel; she knew the girl was a strong Catholic and would likely view Karen’s presence at mass as a blasphemy. It was a shame, Karen thought, that Mary Catherine was apparently so narrow-minded. Otherwise, the girl seemed to be kind and generous, as well as extremely wholesome and lovely. That morning, Mary Catherine wore a white knit wrap over a simple peasant blouse, a full skirt and the colorful scarf all of which made her a fetching sight.
Karen could not begin questioning her own self, as she lowered herself to the kneeler and made the sign of the cross as the preparation for communion to began. Here she was: still not a complete woman taking part in the Holy Catholic Mass. Was she not indeed sinning, was she not blaspheming? In donning women’s clothes was she not also violating the Bible?
Yet, Father Neuberger, in his colloquial way of speaking, was telling her from the pulpit of the 100-year-old chapel that “we are all God’s children,” even the thieves resting in jail and the prostitutes walking our streets. “Jesus embraced with His love the stoned and discredited Mary Magdelene, did He not?” Father Jim intoned from the pulpit.
“That was a marvelous sermon, Karen,” Ramini said as they walked from the church.
Karen nodded, taking Ramini’s hand as they went down the dozen or so steps that led from the chapel since she was afraid the girl would trip on her sari.
“I wonder what he’d say if he knew about us,” Ramini said.
“That’s a good question. Should we ask him now?”
“No, Karen, not now. What are you thinking about?”
Suddenly the priest appeared before them, having raced from the sanctuary after ending mass and taking a position to greet the parishioners as they left mass.
“Hi, girls, I haven’t seen you two here before,” Father Jim said, holding out his hand.
Both girls held their hands in a limp, feminine manner to accept the priests light grasp.
“First time for both of us,” Karen volunteered.
“Nice meeting you,” he said, smiling. “You both prettied up the chapel today. I wished more girls would dress up like that for church. You girls set a good example. Hope to see you here in the future.”
“Thank you, Father,” both girls said almost in unison. Karen wished to move away, but the priest had more to say, even though other parishioners were lining up, awaiting their chance to greet the popular priest.
“May I have your names, girls?” he asked.
They both complied.
“Well, please come back. Are you freshmen?”
They both nodded.
“Good, love to see you get active in the parish,” Father Jim said. He was still holding onto Karen’s hand. He gave it a gentle pat with his other hand, finally let go and turned his attention to the other waiting parishioners.
*****
Karen sensed many eyes examining the two as they walked down the street, one tiny, dark girl and a pale, taller girl, both walking with their arms waving as they talked. There was no doubt their tasteful attire had dazzled many of the parishioners, particularly the older ones.
“Hey, Karen, wait up?” a breathless female voice shouted as they moved down the sidewalk.
Karen turned to see Mary Catherine hurrying up behind them.
“Oh hi,” Karen said, as she and Ramini turned to face the girl.
“This is Mary Catherine Delaney,” Karen said, turning to Ramini before introducing the Indian girl to her.
Mary Catherine began in a rush of words: “Father Jim asked me if I knew you, Karen, and I said, ‘Yes.’ He wanted me to get you involved in the Newman Club.”
“Oh, what’s that?” Karen asked.
The girl explained it was a club for students interested in discussions about faith and other issues, as well as to perform volunteer social services for the campus community.
“It’s really fun and interesting, Karen, and your friend can join, too,” Mary Catherine said eagerly.
“But Mary Catherine, does Father Jim know about me? I’m not sure he’d want me there,” Karen protested.
“No, he doesn’t know about you,” the girl said sheepishly. “But he’s pretty liberal, and the club is open to all students, even Muslims or Hindus, if they wish to join.”
Mary Catherine looked at Ramini, suddenly realizing her remark about Hindus and Muslims might be offensive to the Indian girl. She blushed.
Karen recognized her discomfort, quickly putting her at ease by asking when the club met.
“Next Wednesday night at 7 p.m. in the church hall,” Mary Catherine said. “Enter in the side entrance of the chapel and go right downstairs.”
“We’ll think about it,” Karen said, and Ramini nodded in accord.
“Please, Karen. Thanks for coming to mass today. I’ve got to get back to work with the seniors club that is meeting now. Hope to see you Wednesday, and you too, Ramini.”
Mary Catherine turned on her heels (she was wearing short-heeled white sandals and white hose) and returned to the church.
“Wow, that was something,” Ramini said as the pair continued their walk.
“It surprised me, Rami. When I first met her, she was told I was in transition and she seemed most upset by it. She’s so religious, you know.”
“But she seems sweet.”
“I guess she is, but I don’t know about this Newman Club business. I don’t have the time and I still don’t think they’d like to have us there,” Karen said.
“Well, it’s an idea, anyway. But let’s splurge today,” Ramini said, changing the subject. “Let’s go to the Shoreside.”
“That’s really fancy, Rami. It’s too expensive.”
“I’ll treat,” Ramini said, surprising Karen, who thought the other girl was virtually destitute.
“How can you afford that?”
“I still have daddy’s credit card, which he said I could have for an emergency, just so I don’t make withdrawals of more than $100 a month.”
Karen was astounded. It didn’t sound like Ramini’s family had cut her off quite yet.
*****
“Would you young ladies enjoy a booth by the window?” the tuxedoed maitre d’ asked, as the entered the elegant, rococo dining room at the Shoreside.
Though the hotel and restaurant were located not far from the campus, Karen could see no sign of the campus in the room, particularly among the customers gathered around tables covered with white tablecloths, white flickering candles and the sparkling mini-chandeliers that hung down at regular intervals from the ceiling. A bank of windows looked out over the lake; the cream-colored walls and the arches that created shallow alcoves along the opposite side of the room were trimmed in gold.
Karen suddenly felt out of place, as she looked about the room, eying tables containing dark-suited balding or grey-headed men and many silver-haired, well-coiffured ladies. The only sign of students apparently involved several family groups, where parents and grandparents had lured their offspring from the campus dorms, fraternities and sororities to a brunch. There was a silent buzz about the room, an accumulation of dozens of table conversations. White-jacketed waiters, and a few similarly garbed waitresses bustled about efficiently.
The hotel was perched atop a cliff that overlooked the lake. The ice had receded a few days earlier, and now a light fog had settled over the lake, a result of a sudden flow of warm air over the cold water. Still, the trees that stood below the hotel windows remained barren
“Spring comes slowly to this part of the country, Rami,” Karen observed as she looked out upon what appeared to be a fairly desolate scene.
“I know it’ll come one of these days,” Ramini said wryly.
“Yeah, about July Fourth.” They both giggled.
“Yet, I feel good, Karen. Really. I feel spring in the air.”
Karen looked at her friend; how good it was to see Ramini happy. Only a day earlier, the girl had been so depressed. She had been largely dumped by her family as well as the entire Indian community, of which there was a goodly population in the state.
“Good morning, ladies my name is Whitney,” Karen’s musings were interrupted by the tall waiter that suddenly appeared at their table.
“Whit?” Karen said, shocked to see her companion of two nights earlier standing before her.
“Karen?”
“Yes, it’s me,” Whitney said, quickly softening his voice, but remaining erect and stiff, trying not to betray his surprise at seeing Karen.
Sensing his discomfort, Karen realized that Whitney must likely maintain a strictly professional appearance in this job; management, she was sure, wanted all the wait staff to be as spiffy and precise in their work as a Marine color guard.
Nonetheless, Karen couldn’t resist blushing at seeing the attractive Whitney Roberts again, but she soldiered on.
“”This is my roommate and good friend, Ramini,” she said, quickly adding, “And I’ll have black coffee.”
“And you, Ramini?”
“The same and nice to meet you, Whitney.”
“Would you ladies like orange juice, too?” Whitney looked directly at Karen as he spoke.
Karen thought she saw a quick wink in his eye as he spoke. They both nodded “yes.”
“That was your date at the basketball games?” Ramini asked when the waiter had left them. “Wow, he’s a hunk.”
“I know, and he’s a sweetie besides but we’re just friends, Rami. Actually, it’s our mothers who introduced us; mom as you know is in hospital management and Whitney’s mom is president of the nurses union there; they bargain with each other all the time. Even though they fight over the issues, the two like each other, and we just met by chance here because of the State Tournament.”
Karen and Ramini felt like queens — well, at least princesses — as they were treated to the first class service provided at the restaurant. As it developed, Whitney did not bring the coffee, the orange juice or the food; another white-jacketed waiter did. Whitney, however, showed up periodically as the lead waiter for their table, taking their orders, and brushing off crumbs from the flaky croissants that had dropped on the table. A third waiter refilled their coffee cups and water.
“I’m really impressed with you two young ladies,” a tall woman with straight, close-cropped graying hair said.
Karen and Ramini looked up into the cheerful green eyes of the woman, who had the healthy, weathered face of one who enjoyed the outdoors. The woman was dressed in a plain, dark suit with a knee-length skirt, all in good taste. A similarly tall, rugged faced gentleman in a dark blue suit stood by her, smiling and holding the woman’s hand.
“Thank you,” Karen said, wondering what prompted the compliment.
“I just enjoy seeing young ladies dress up these days, and you two are elegant. I had to come by and compliment you,” she said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Karen said.
“Are you two students?” the woman asked.
“Yes, just freshmen,” Ramini answered.
The woman smiled. “Best of luck here at the University, dears. Sorry to have bothered you.”
Before Karen or Ramini could reply, the woman turned away and followed the man — apparently her husband — out of the room.
Karen looked at Ramini as she finished up an order of crepes suzette; the girl moved daintily, taking tiny slices of the crepe and placing it in her mouth, closing her mouth to chew slowly. She was such a tiny, fragile figure, and Karen realized she, too, had similarly adjusted her eating style.
“Don’t you just love being called elegant, Karen?”
“I guess we’re the picture of femininity, Rami.”
Their conversation was interrupted when the maitre d’ approached their booth.
“Young ladies,” he said. “The woman who just stopped by your table wanted me to give you her card. She suggested that one of you should call her assistant because she’d like to interview one or both of you about something.”
“Oh?” Karen said, surprised, taking the card, reading it:
“My God,” Karen said, handing the card to Ramini as she spoke:
“That’s Dr. Thatcher, the University chancellor, Rami. She runs this whole institution.”
Rami read the card, turned it over, and said:
“She wrote on the back: ‘Please call Veronica at 555-6334 Monday. Thank you.’”
“Wonder what that’s all about,” Karen said.
“Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
A few minutes later, Whitney came by and asked if they were ready for the check. Ramini nodded, and said to give it to her. She quickly examined the bill, nodded, and presented her credit card and Whitney moved off to the cashier with it.
He returned soon, placing the leatherette folder containing the bill and the credit card before Ramini.
“It’s been a pleasure serving you two young ladies,” Whitney said, stiffly, aiming his remarks toward Karen.
“You’ve been a very good waiter, young man,” Karen said, giving the boy a teasing smile.
“Thank you ma’am,” he said, adding in a whisper, “I’ll call you tonight and explain all this, OK?”
“Sure,” Karen said, realizing how closely the boy must have been watched by the restaurant’s management.
The sun burst out suddenly, just as Karen and Ramini walked out of the door of the restaurant. For the first time that spring, Karen heard the joyous sounds of birds, including a pair of cardinals that seemed to be tweeting melodic love songs to each other.
She grabbed the other girl’s tiny hand, and the two moved rhythmically together down Shore Drive, back to their room.
“Thank you for the brunch,” Karen said.
“It was my pleasure,” Ramini answered. “Actually, it was thanks to my dad.”
“I’m sure he’ll wonder about it when he sees the credit card statement,” Karen said.
“Let him wonder,” Ramini said. “You know, Karen, I owe you so much. You’ve literally saved my life, first by letting me room with you and now by introducing me to Aaron. He’s really so nice, and I think he loves me. We’re going to stay in regular contact, at least by texting.”
Karen smiled. What a beautiful day!
Then her thoughts suddenly darkened. Yes, it was a beautiful day, and she wished she could be with Mark, enjoying a lovely walk, hand-in-hand down a park lane, perhaps by a quiet lake with the birds singing. Sadly, such an image could only exist in a dream, she felt. Poor Mark, she thought. Could he ever again be happy? And if he could never again be happy, what about her? Could she ever again be happy if she knew he could never again be happy? But, did he feel the same about her? What should she read into his reluctance to answer her letters, if he indeed was reading them? Did that mean he was still in shock from his injury that he’s unsure how to respond to Karen? Did he really mean it when he said he didn’t want her burdened with his crippled future? Or, did he truly not love her, perhaps coming to the realization that she still wasn’t a total woman?
Karen walked along lost in a morose reverie. She was largely oblivious to Ramini at her side, until her eyes seemed suddenly to awaken to her surroundings. What a lovely treat it was to see a bed of red and yellow tulips in a small park into which their walk had taken them. The melodic repartee of chirping cardinals crowded into Karen’s mind, temporarily lifting the cloud of her musings. The beauty of the moment took over!
“Such a lovely day, Rami,” she said, pulling the tiny girl into her embrace as they walked.
“Yes, it is,” Ramini said, looking very much like a girl in love.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 14
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Chapter 14: Returning to Mass
Patti Hamilton called Karen that evening; she didn’t have much new to say, except that Mark continued to be at the rehab center where he was mainly working on his upper body strength.
“They’re not even attempting to get him up to walk, but the weights he’s been lifting seem to have improved his demeanor a bit, Karen,” Patti said.
“It must have been tough for him not to workout with his legs.”
“Yes, he’s so worried about getting soft, and he’s terribly frustrated because he’s still unable to lift anything near like he used to. He says he’s lifting like a woman, now.”
Karen laughed at the thought. “I’m sure he’s lifting far more than I ever could.”
“By the way, in any of your letters did you tell him you saw some of the state basketball tournament games?” Mrs. Hamilton asked.
“Yes, I thought he’d like to hear about them.”
“Well, he let out a comment about you seeing those games and how loud you yelled,” Patti said. “And I’m sure no one else told him about that.”
“Really,” Karen said surprised.
“He must be looking at your letters now, Karen.”
“Oh, Mrs. Hamilton, that’s so good to hear,” Karen said. “I’ll keep writing, if it makes him happy.”
“I think it does, though he won’t admit it. I asked him the other day if he ever wonders about you, and he gave me a short ‘No,’ but then quickly turned away. A mother knows when a child is lying.”
Karen informed Mrs. Hamilton that her brother and a couple of his teammates were planning to visit Mark in the week after next, during the Easter break.
“Will you be home then, too, Karen?” Mrs. Hamilton asked.
“Yes, part of the week anyway. I’ll have to come back early to work.”
“If you can, Karen, I’d suggest you come down with the boys, and maybe we’ll set it up so you can step in and see him too,” Patti Hamilton said. “I think he’ll see you, but I think we’ll have to do a bit of conniving to pull it off.”
“Oh Mrs. Hamilton, really? But I don’t want to anger him or upset him.”
“On the contrary, darling, you might be just the medicine he needs now,” Patti said. “He’s sulked long enough now.”
When she finished the call, Karen felt so excited. Though she was tired, it seemed the call revived her and she sat down at her desk and wrote another letter to Mark; when she finished it was past midnight. The letter was the longest one she’d written yet, all of three full pages in her tiny, neat and precise script. She signed it, “All my love, Karen.” It was the first time she had used “love” in her letters.
*****
Whitney Roberts called Karen on Sunday night, as promised. He explained he worked most Sundays and a couple of nights a week at the Shoreside Hotel’s restaurant.
“It’s a unionized place and I get great pay with tips, but they demand a lot out of us,” he said. “I don’t mind since the money and benefits are so good. I knew you used to waitress back home at the Olympus. Maybe I could get you a job here.”
Karen laughed. “I’m not sure I’m up to working in such a fancy place. The Olympus isn’t exactly a five-star restaurant.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “You’d be a classy addition, I assure you. Plus you’d really pretty up the place.”
“I don’t know, Whit, you know, it’s really tough work, waitressing, besides I’ve got a good work-study job now.”
“I’m pretty sure I could get you a job there, particularly with your experience,” he said. “Mom had a good friend in the union there, so that helped, and I’ve worked out pretty well, I guess.
“That’s nice of you, Whit, but I have a good job now,” she said.
“Can we go out again, Karen?” he said suddenly. “I really enjoyed our time together.”
“I did, too, Whit, but you know I’m still committed to Mark,” she said.
“I know that, and how is he?”
“Recovering I guess, but it’s so slow, and I’m sure he’s pretty depressed.”
Finally she agreed to have coffee with him at the Java-a-Go-Go the following day.
*****
At Ramini’s urging, Karen made the call Monday to the University chancellor’s office, as suggested by the card the two had been handed at the restaurant.
“Oh yes,” said a stern voiced Veronica. “The chancellor said you might be calling.”
At Veronica’s request, Karen provided her with the names and contact information for both herself and Ramini and then asked, “What is this all about?”
“I’m not exactly, sure, miss,” Veronica replied, “But the chancellor is eager to see both of you soon. You two are probably free from your classes by four o’clock, I believe. How about 4 p.m. tomorrow, that’s Tuesday?”
“Oh I can’t, ma’am. I have a work-study job with Professor Fenstrom and we’re terribly busy now.”
“Well, I would hope that Miss Ramini Verma would make it then?”
Karen queried Ramini, who nodded “yes,” and the appointment was made.
“That’s so strange,” Ramini said. “Why would a chancellor of such a big school care so much about a couple of prospective interns or work-study students?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s anything bad.”
“I hope not.”
*****
“I feel like I’m on a treadmill that won’t stop,” Karen complained to her friend Jenny as the two left their morning sociology lecture.
“Won’t you have time to join the other girls for coffee, like you used to, Karen?” Jenny asked.
“I shouldn’t, but I miss all of the girls,” Karen said, remembering how the group of five girls, including Karen, met most mornings at the Student Union’s coffee shop during the first semester.
They continued down the steps of the Humanities Building, and Karen finally said, “Oh, why not?”
Moving to greet each of the girls with warm hugs and kisses as they entered the Union, Karen said eagerly, “It’s so great seeing you guys again.”
“I told Gabe I’d be likely seeing you today,” Tracy whispered into Karen’s ear as they hugged.
If anything, Tracy appeared fleshier and bigger than ever; yet, there was a clear sparkle in her eyes and Karen could see she was a happy and content young lady.
“Give him an extra kiss for me,” Karen said, truly pleased to see how well the couple was getting along.
“Thank you, Karen, that’s sweet of you,” Tracy said.
“I’m happy for you both,” she said, before moving to greet the tall, slender Beverly and then the tinier Tricia.
“Where’s your knitting, Karen?” Tricia asked when the girls were settled back into their chairs.
“Been so busy,” she replied, “But I am trying to find time to knit a sweater for Mark.”
“Oh poor Mark,” Jenny said. “How’s he doing?”
“Yes, Karen, how is he? That was so devastating,” Beverly chimed in.
“Well, he’s in rehab now, but whether he’ll be able to walk again is still a question,” Karen said honestly.
“Have you seen him?” Jenny asked.
“No, he doesn’t want to see me, but I talk to his mother regularly and I write him almost every day.”
“He won’t see you? I shouldn’t ask, but why? Did he find another girlfriend?”
Karen shook her head “no.”
“Don’t be silly, how could he find anyone as pretty as Karen?” Tracy said.
“Oh you know boys,” Jenny said. “They get goofy sometimes.”
“Yes, how about you and Kevin,” Karen asked.
Jenny scowled at the question. “Oh, he’s flown the coop. The asshole took up with a girl from his high school when he was home for the holidays.”
“Oh Jenny, I’m sorry to hear that,” Karen said. “You two looked so perfect for each other.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Jenny said. “But I guess he found that mini-skirted hairdresser more accessible.”
“Tell me about it,” Beverly echoed. She was a geeky-appearing girl, with a long face, narrow chin, long neck and sloping shoulders. Karen recalled from earlier conversations that she’d had but one serious boyfriend, a tall basketball player who ditched her for a cute, plump cheerleader.
“Where does a girl go to find a nice guy?” Tricia said. The girl had a pockmarked face that ruined an otherwise appealing appearance; she was tiny and could be cute. She had never had a boyfriend, and had only been on a few dates.
Karen suddenly felt guilty. She liked both girls, who were warm, friendly and smart; she was certain that the two would make ideal mates for the right young man. Yet, here she was, a girl for less than a year and already experiencing the magic of being admired or sought after by several boys.
“Trish,” Karen said. “Any guy would be lucky to have you as a girlfriend.”
“Right on,” echoed Jenny.
“And, as a matter of fact, any of the guys in this University would be lucky to have any of you as girlfriends,” Karen said, smiling broadly.
“Right on,” said Beverly, getting up from her chair and leaning over to give Jenny a high five. The girls also rose and gave each other “high-fives,” giggling as they did so.
Karen glowed with pleasure. It felt so good to be one of the girls again.
*****
Jenny and Karen left the group, returning to the Humanities Building; the morning had been hazy with little wind and temperatures almost hitting 30 degrees Fahrenheit, warm and balmy by the standards of winter in the northern community. But as the two walked out of the Union, the wind had picked up and the temperatures were beginning to fall, prompting both girls to put up the hoods of their parkas.
“What happened to our spring?” Jenny giggled.
“Guess it lasted 20 minutes,” Karen replied.
They turned to face the wind and Karen turned to her friend and asked: “Isn’t Mary Catherine going to join the group again?”
“I don’t think so, since she usually has a class at that time. She only came that day ‘cause the class was cancelled.”
“Oh.”
“But, she talked about you with me, Karen,” Jenny volunteered. “She likes you, but she doesn’t know if she should.”
Karen smiled. “Sounds like her. Actually, I like her, too, but I think she’s too puritanical and will never understand me.”
Jenny slipped suddenly, having hit an area of ice on the sidewalk, and Karen grabbed her arm to stop the girl from falling.
“Thanks, girlfriend, for catching me. I should watch where I’m going,” Jenny said. “But you know, Mary Catherine is trying to understand you; she’s been going on line a lot to learn about people like you.”
“But the Catholics seem so opposed to anything like gender change,” Karen said. “I’m not sure she’ll ever overcome that.”
Jenny nodded: “I suppose you’re right, but she’s not dumb either.”
*****
Each weekday at 4 p.m., regular as clockwork, Karen appeared at her job with Professor Fenstrom where the daily routine had become particularly tense as the professor, who demanded perfection and dedication, placed more and more responsibility upon Karen. Production for “Picnic,” the spring play, was in full progress and the professor concentrated almost totally upon the play itself, leaving to Deborah and Karen the work of the Drama Department’s day-to-day activities. To Karen, he entrusted such details as following through on fund-raising, even entrusting her to make person-to-person calls to potential donors. Karen arranged for the program to be printed, hustled some of the advertising and took constant notes from him as he made preparations for rehearsals to begin.
In truth, she loved the work, especially the fact that the professor seemed to have complete trust in her as she went through her work. His oversight became less and less apparent, and Karen soon felt that the professor no longer harbored sexual desires for her.
Most nights she didn’t end her work until 8 o’clock, usually without having any supper; as a result she had lost weight. She ate either a quick meal at a fast food place on the way home or scrounged something out of the refrigerator at the house after she got home; then she had to try to stay awake while studying. But, she never forgot to write a note to Mark.
Her trysts with Angela became more infrequent, largely due to Karen’s busy days. Karen, to be sure, had mixed feelings about this; she relished her moments of sexual encounters with the muscular girl, the scent of her sweating body and Angela’s intense caresses upon Karen’s own soft smooth skin. In Angela’s arms, Karen felt she was a tender girl, totally dominated by her strong friend. The thought of those moments excited Karen.
Yet, she felt those moments were wrong, that she was deceiving not only Mark Hamilton, the love of her life, but was deceiving herself.
*****
“What a meeting that was!” Ramini said on Monday night after Karen got home from work.
“What did the chancellor want?” Karen asked.
“Well she is looking for two students to do work-study in her office, answering phones and doing general entry work on computers and also reception work,” Ramini began. “And she likes the students to dress nicely, since often potential donors and state officials come in the office. She was especially attracted to us since we were dressed so nice.”
“Oh? But you know I have a position I like now.”
“That’s what I told Dr. Thatcher, Karen. She’s really nice, and I think she really wanted you because you’re so darn good-looking, but she settled for me as second-best.”
“Don’t be silly, darling. You’ll do her proud, I’m sure.”
“Anyway, I start next Monday, five afternoons a week, plus I’ll work weekends when she has a reception,” Ramini said. “I told her you’re an experienced waitress.”
“Oh?”
“And she said she might like to hire you for serving at receptions,” Ramini winked at Karen. “She didn’t say it, but I think she knows you’d be eye-candy for the bigwigs that she likes to impress.”
Karen blushed at the thought that she’d be hired solely on her good looks; yet she was beginning to believe that her feminine beauty would be leading her places where many other girls might never go; in addition that beauty was getting attention that Kenny would never have gotten. “Thanks, Rami, but you’ll know I’ll be busy until the play is ended,” she said, declining the offer.
“You’re such a good friend,” Ramini said, hugging Karen. “Just being around you has saved my life, Karen. You showed me that I could live the life of a girl, just as I was destined for, and you’ve introduced me to Aaron and now because I was with you at a brunch, I’ve got a job so I can survive without my dad.”
“I want you to be happy, Rami,” Karen said, kissing her friend. The two hugged for several minutes.
*****
“I’m so happy to see you girls joined us again today,” Father Neuberger said, as Karen and Ramini exited St. George’s Church the following Sunday.
Karen never expected to return to the church after their initial visit the previous Sunday, but when Ramini suggested it as they cuddled together in bed on Saturday night she realized she had found the experience refreshing.
Perhaps spending the time at mass would give her a chance to contemplate on the growing complications that she was having with her sexual desires. While she had always enjoyed the mass for its pomp and ceremony, she also recalled that when she was a regular churchgoer she would find her mind wandering into all manner of contemplations. Would she find answers to her tendencies to want the caresses and kisses of Angela or Ramini while she desired the arms of Mark Hamilton?
She agreed with Ramini that it might be nice to go to mass the next morning. “I enjoyed mass last week, and it gives us a chance to dress up, too.”
“Oh, goody,” Ramini giggled. “I have a bright new sari and it’s supposed to be a nice day tomorrow, warm and sunny.”
Karen wore a peach-colored sheath dress that had a curved bodice and moderately thick cloth strap over the shoulder straps, exposing her pretty arms and shoulders. The dress was tucked in at the waist, and that helped to shape her hips and give some form to her A-cup-sized breasts. It ended just above the knees, and she wore natural-colored thigh high stockings and a pair of light tan 2” heeled pumps. She found a silk scarf with peach and light blue designs to drape over her head.
Over the dress, she wore a white knit jacket sweater to protect against the lingering morning chill.
Ramini chose a light blue sari with a floral design in teal and yellow, along with a white shawl.
“I love dressing like the old ladies do for church, making sure they cover their heads,” Ramini said.
Karen smiled. For some strange reason, Karen also enjoyed the image of following the traditions of the church, many of which had been discarded among parishioners of the present day.
“I can’t imagine why I enjoy going to church so much,” Karen confessed to Ramini as they walked to church that morning. “I quit going at home when the church got so narrow-minded about things like gay marriage and abortion. And besides they were meddling in politics, but I always enjoyed the mass.”
“Me too,” Ramini said. “Were you ever an altar boy, Karen?”
“Yes, for a while, and I liked the garments.”
“Me too. They were like dresses.”
“Philip, he was a bully in my neighborhood, he told me I looked like a girl then.”
“Did that bother you?”
“Oh, a little bit, but I could hardly argue with him, could I, Rami?”
Father Neuberger’s sermon that morning concerned Lazarus, the young man whom Jesus raised from dead after four days in a hillside tomb in one of his miracles. Told by Lazarus’ sisters that the boy was dying, Jesus took four days to get to the boy, leaving the grieving sisters to mourn and to lament over Jesus’ tardy visit.
"I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die."
Father Neuberger intoned in his melodious voice.
“Was there really a miracle that day? I’ll leave that for the theologians and the scientists to wrestle over. It’s hard for us in the 21st Century to understand such miracles; I know many of you — now that you’re discovering the world in your college classes — may discount such tales as mere fiction or the product of story-telling run amuck. That’s OK, be skeptical as you like, but the lesson of the parable is real.
“Remember how the sisters mourned for four days, saddened by the death of their beloved brother. To be truthful, I’ve always wondered about this passage. Based on my own experience, I’m not sure all older sisters were so fond of a little brother. I was just such a little brother.”
The congregation tittered.
“The lesson is a crucial one: Often when life turns darkest upon us, we grow in despair, but this parable tells us to keep the faith, to believe in your God and to never give up.
“The lesson further goes that we must not be bystanders in this: Our faith alone will not save us, since God wants us to be moved to act positively on our own behalf; it means, too, that as children of God we will be generous and open and loving to others, since we will need the love and guidance of others to find new life, to be resurrected.
“Through our own saintliness, we will be resurrected, my children. That means we must keep an open mind and be aware of the needs of others. Whether the person is the smelly, dirty homeless person on the street, or the gay person, or the person of a different color, that person is our brother or sister, that person is a child of God, just as each of you are.
“In your generosity you will be rewarded. Remember God’s word: What you do for the least of us your do for me!”
Since arriving at the chapel, Karen had looked about trying to see if Mary Catherine was at the mass. She didn’t locate the girl until halfway through the homily; she was seated in a pew several rows to the front and to her far left. For some reason, Mary Catherine turned into Karen’s direction and their two eyes met; this time, Mary Catherine smiled warmly. Karen returned with a dainty wave of her hand.
Perhaps, Karen reasoned, the words of the priest that morning were resonating on Mary Catherine causing her to look at Karen’s situation more sympathetically.
After mass, Father Neuberger’s greeting to the two girls was warm and welcoming, as he took Karen’s hand in his right hand and Ramini’s in his left, holding both hands gently as they chatted briefly while other parishioners lined up behind them.
“Your sermon was so fitting,” Ramini told him.
“Thank you, Ramini,” the priest said, smiling. “Hoped you enjoyed the service, too, Karen?”
“I did, Father, and it’s so nice that you remembered our names,” Karen said.
Karen felt it was time to move on, but the priest continued to hold their hands.
“I’d really like to see the both of you get active in our Newman Club,” he said. “We missed you at our meeting last Wednesday. Won’t you try to join us next Wednesday at seven o’clock? You’ll meet some nice people there.”
“Thank you, father,” Karen said. “I work ‘til after eight o’clock on weeknights.”
“How about you, Ramini?”
“Maybe I can make it,” she said.
“Good, and Karen if you’d like stop by after work,” Father Neuberger said. “We socialize ‘til after 10 o’clock. Pizza and stuff. Love to see you both.”
Finally, the priest let go of their hands, turning to the next person in line.
The two moved off into the bright morning. Ramini spoke first: “Wow, that’s something, Karen. He remembered our names.”
“I know,” Karen said. “We must have left an impression.”
Ramini giggled. “Maybe because we’re so pretty.”
“I doubt that,” Karen said. “There were lots of pretty girls in church this morning. I think he’s just out hustling up new customers.”
“No, Karen, you, at least, were the prettiest girl in church. You can’t deny that! I think he has his eyes on you. You know about these priests, Karen?”
“I hope not, Rami. He seems sincere. He really does.”
“Let’s see how it goes,” Ramini said as the sauntered on. “Let’s go on Wednesday night. You can stop by after work.”
Karen truly liked Father Neuberger; his plea to open-minded thinking was most refreshing. Furthermore, she liked the idea of the lush ceremony of the Catholic mass, the music and the atmosphere of the 100-year-old campus chapel. She still struggled with the idea of believing in a particular God — as described in Catholic liturgy — as well as the growing narrow-mindedness of the Vatican Church. Yet, the word of God, as preached that morning in relating the story of Lazarus, felt comforting and warm to her.
Was her body not a temple in itself? Was it not to be treated with reverence and respect? And, had she in her promiscuity been betraying herself and her God, whoever that God might be?
*****
“Let’s begin with a moment of silent reflections,” the priest said, his voice soft and soothing.
On Wednesday night, Karen arrived in the room some 15 minutes after leaving her job at eight o’clock. She noticed 20 or so other students were already there, many seated on ancient overstuffed chairs and sofas, others on straight-backed wooden chairs with embroidered padded seats that had been dragged in from the dining room, and others — all girls — on the floor, their legs folded under themselves. Ramini was among those on the floor, and Karen joined her there.
Karen spied Mary Catherine on one of the sofas and gave the girl a nod, which was returned with a smile.
Ramini whispered to Karen: “We’re just beginning the meeting now, so you didn’t miss anything.”
“Oh, so late? What did you do?”
“Just ate and talked. It was nice.”
She was happy that the priest called for a “moment of silence” and did not call for the students to pray since Karen — even in her school days at Holy Assumption School — always found that she was being hypocritical in praying. Karen failed to see that prayer meant anything other than to “show-off” one’s own religiosity. Instead, she peered down at the aging, threadbare rug, its ornate designs of blues and greens and reds upon a brown background having long before lost their luster. Her thoughts drifted to Mark Hamilton, and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she might pray for his recovery; maybe there really was a God who could intervene to make him well enough to again thrown touchdown passes for the Iowa State Cyclones; maybe, too, this God would restore him into her loving arms.
“Thank you, friends,” Father Neuberger said to end the period of silence, bringing Karen back into the moment. “I’m pleased to see we have several new friends join us tonight. So those of you who are new to our circle, please take a moment to introduce yourselves, telling us your name, year in college, your major, your hometown and one significant fact about yourself. How about it? Who wants to begin? Don’t be shy we’re all brothers and sisters here.”
“Hi,” a round-faced boy with soft fat rippling from his double chin began. “I’m Jeremy Foster, I’m a junior in business, from Monroe and . . . ah . . . ah . . . the one significant fact is . . .”
The boy hesitated.
“That’s OK, Jeremy, take your time. Say anything that pops into your mind,” the priest said kindly.
“Well, it’s like this. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I like to design clothes,” he said, his face becoming red.
There was a short moment of silence, as everyone appeared stunned; the students all looked at this apparently clumsy, awkward boy in amazement. Most of the students were girls, as Jeremy was one of only four boys in the room, and suddenly applause began, at first hesitantly and then mounting into a crescendo. Karen saw the boy begin to smile, with a tear growing into his face.
“Designs clothes for girls or boys, Jeremy?” a fairly pretty, bland-faced blond girl asked.
“Girls . . . ummm . . . women, you know.”
“Cool,” someone said.
“Good for you Jeremy, I can see you’ve won a lot of friends here right off-the-bat,” Father Neuberger said. “Now, let’s move on and the rest of you newcomers please tell us about yourselves.”
After the blond girl introduced herself (she sounded rather uninteresting, Karen thought), the priest turned to look down at Karen and Ramini, as if to instruct them to introduce themselves, and Karen began.
“I’m Karen Hansson from Manitowoc, and I’m a freshman majoring in sociology and minoring in theater and I like to knit and I’ve done some acting on stage.”
There was light applause, as there was after Ramini introduced herself.
“Well thank you, and we welcome you and hope you’ll join us on a regular basis,” the priest said.
At that point, Father Neuberger got up, left the room and a large, husky girl announced that the meeting would begin. She introduced herself as Stephanie McCormick, who was the current chair of Newman Club. The girl was a born “A-personality,” Karen felt, as she took over the meeting, moving it forward.
There was the usual business, a reading of the minutes (which were mercifully brief and read by a slender boy with long dark hair and a scruffy short goatee), a financial report (showing $312.55 in the credit union account, summarized by a short, compact girl in a tight-fitting pink sweater) and a discussion of a proposed campus activity.
“How about a play?” someone suggested.
“Not a bad idea, we’ve got several drama students in this group, now that our new friend is here,” Stephanie said, looking directly at Karen.
“Yes,” said the short girl in the pink sweater. “I’m in drama, too, and also Jeremy here could design the costumes.”
The conversation continued on for several minutes, the group warming to the idea. Karen realized that they had no idea of how hard it would be to put together any kind of a production in the few weeks remaining of the semester. At first she said nothing.
“Look,” she said, finally. “I’ve been involved in plays and they’re lots of work, and no one wants to come see them unless they’re good. Maybe you should try something else.”
“Like what, Karen?” Stephanie said, her face showing some anger.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied. Then she continued on, believing she had to come up with an alternative. “How about a fashion show?”
“A fashion show?” someone queried.
“Sure, girls love those things,” Ramini said, coming to Karen’s support.
“They do,” agreed Jeremy.
“Where will we get the clothes to model?” Stephanie asked.
Someone suggested approaching some of the stores near campus; another suggestion was that each girl could pick out the favorite outfit they had to model.
“I got an idea,” Karen said. “Let’s model clothes turned in at the second hand stores, like Goodwill or St. Vincent de Paul’s.”
“Yes, it could be a benefit fashion show.”
“Even the boys could model clothes,” one of the girls suggested.
They called Father Neuberger back into the room as they finished the meeting, outlining the plan. He was most enthusiastic, and urged the group to appoint a committee to plan the event and report back on next Wednesday’s meeting.
“It’s your idea, Karen,” Stephanie said definitively. “Why don’t you lead the committee?’
“Me?” Karen said shocked. “I’m really too busy. I’m participating in the spring play by the University Players.”
“You really should be part of this, Karen,” Father Neuberger said.
“I’m really too busy to lead the committee,” Karen said.
“If you want, I’ll volunteer to lead the committee,” Jeremy said.
“You will?” Stephanie said, surprised.
“Why not? You have something against boys?” Jeremy said.
“No, no, no, it’s just that . . . never mind,” Stephanie said.
Eventually, the committee was formed with Jeremy as chair and the short girl in the sweater (named Melanie Flowers) as co-chair. Karen and Ramini were both appointed along with two other girls. It was agreed the six committee members would meet the following Saturday afternoon at the chapel’s lounge to make plans for the fashion show. Father Neuberger suggested a partnership with St. Vincent de Paul Services.
“I don’t know what got into me there to make that suggestion and then to volunteer,” Karen confessed to Ramini as they left the meeting.
“It was kind of a spur of the moment thought, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but I kind of like the idea, although I’m uncomfortable, since neither you nor I are girls just quite yet,” Karen said.
“I know.”
“Should we tell that ‘significant fact’ about ourselves?” Ramini asked.
“Wonder what Father Neuberger would say about that?”
“Hmmm, I don’t know, probably wished we hadn’t told him the truth about ourselves.”
“I know, Rami, but I feel uncomfortable not telling him.”
“I suppose, but who ever sees us as boys, anyway?”
Karen realized Ramini was right: both were feminine by all appearances. Yet, Karen felt she needed to tell the priest about her “significant fact.” In fact, Karen decided that she’d take to opportunity at their committee meeting on Saturday to ask Father Neuberger for an appointment to discuss a “personal situation.”
*****
Karen fretted over her sudden involvement with churchgoing; hadn’t she consciously given up on the Catholic Church several years earlier over the church’s reactionary positions on such matters as gay rights, a woman’s right to choose, female priests and the right for priests to marry? Yet, there was something refreshing about Father Neuberger and his open-mined approach to matters. She recalled that the program following the club’s business meeting involved a discussion of the paper “Catholic 2012,” a liberal pronouncement of principles drawn up by a host of prominent European Catholics; she was surprised at the opinions of several of the students, many of whom shared her own tendency to support the liberal view of matters.
In her own mind, Karen often wondered about the course in life she was taking; there were those pronouncements in the Bible, like those in Deuteronomy for instance, that would seem to make it sinful to don clothes of the opposite gender. Besides, she just wasn’t being “normal,” whatever that was. Was not her role in life to revert to manhood, to marry and to father children?
Being a girl made her so happy. Wouldn’t a caring God want a person to be happy, she wondered? Then, too, scripture also said that each individual is a child of God, entitled to respect and honor as every other child. Would not Jesus love Karen, the woman, as much as Kenny, the boy?
Karen wondered if Father Neuberger would have the answers.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 15
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Chapter 15: Rude Awakenings
“I want you to be understudy for the part of Madge Owens,” Professor Fenstrom informed Karen the following day at work, referring to the key role in “Picnic.” “Can you handle that?”
“I don’t know, professor,” Karen began, her voice faltering.
“Why, what’s the matter?” he asked, his voice gathering volume. “You wanted to play Madge as the lead, and now you don’t want to be an understudy? Such arrogance you have. You’re not ready for the lead, yet, you ungrateful wretch.”
“No, professor, that’s not it,” she said, starting to cry.
“Enough sniveling,” he demanded. “Will you or won’t you?”
The two were in the professor’s office, with Karen standing stiffly at the desk, while the professor leaned back in his executive chair, playing with his fingers. Karen tried to stop crying; he was so mean, she thought.
“It’s just that I’m so busy,” she said. It was a truthful answer, although she would have dropped everything to be the lead and play the role, instead of being an understudy.
“I’ll give you ‘til tomorrow to give me an answer, girl. Now get back to your desk.”
She wheeled on her heel, rushed from the office, away from this hateful, demanding man. She carefully avoided looking at Deborah, the secretary, who could not have helped but to have heard the interchange. She sat down at her desk, a mixture of anger and shame flooding her mind, trying mightily to stem the tears that continued to flow down her face.
Finally, without looking at Deborah, she rose from her chair, and said in a hurried voice: “I’m going to fix my makeup. Be right back!”
Karen sat on the commode, finding welcome privacy within the enclosed stall, prompting her to sit for a while after relieving herself. It gave her a few minutes to sort matters out; did she really want to continue pursuing acting as a future, even peripherally? It was such a demanding goal, requiring years of sacrifice and dedication. Even taking over an understudy’s position for a major part like that of Madge would mean hours of memorizing the lines and taking part in many of the rehearsals, she knew. She really was too busy, and the Professor’s demanding direction could place terrible stress upon her.
Ever since she had resisted his apparent sexual advances, he had largely left her alone, confident that she’d perform the office work admirably; Karen was proud that she had been able to fit into the demands of the “assistant’s role” so well. Why not just let it stay that way?
She heard the outer door to the women’s room open, followed by footsteps which stopped. “Are you in there, Karen?”
It was Deborah’s voice, and Karen froze for a minute.
“Yes,” she said faintly.
“If you’re done, come on out of there, please, Karen.”
“OK, just give me a minute.” Karen wiped her face with some toilet tissue, got up and pulled up her panties and jeans.
As she exited, Deborah stopped her, pulling her into a hug, and said softly into her ear, “He sent me after you, Karen. He was worried about you. He really cares about you, Karen.”
“Then why does he talk so mean to me?”
“Oh, that’s just him, Karen,” the older woman said, releasing Karen from her hold. “You know he’s that way with everyone when they don’t do exactly what he wants.”
Karen was aware of Fenstrom’s behavior with everyone; she had often wondered how a man who could show such empathy and sensitivity in his theater work could be so mean and insensitive with people.
As she began to repair her makeup, Karen looked at the secretary who was smiling back at her.
“You know you’re a naturally very beautiful young lady, Karen,” Deborah said. “And I mean you’re such a sincere and warm girl and that makes you even more beautiful. I think Fenstrom sees that, too, and he really wants you to grow as an actress. You’ve got it in you. I’ve never seen him so enthused about anyone as much as he is about you.”
“He’s got a funny way of showing it,” she said.
“He wants to test you, I think, and hopes to bring out the best in you,” Deborah said.
“Are you sure he doesn’t want to get into my panties? You know he’s made such approaches?”
Deborah nodded. She was well aware of the professor’s dalliances with the young ladies, and suspected that Karen had already faced such situations.
“I know, dear, but I know you’ve put up the ‘stop’ sign, and he’s easily dissuaded when a girl turns him down,” Deborah said. “Besides, he still loves his wife, and I think she’s about had enough of it.”
Karen smiled. “Let’s go back to work, Deborah. I need to finish up the letters to donors before I leave tonight.”
She was pleased to spend the next nearly two hours at the computer, printing out the form letters, merging them and printing envelopes and stuffing them. The work was rote but the physical activity seemed to be the antidote to her concerns. She finished just before eight o’clock; Deborah left at 6 p.m., leaving her alone in the office, while Professor Fenstrom remained in his office, behind closed doors, apparently working on massaging the script of “Picnic.”
Karen rapped lightly on Fenstrom’s office door when she finished, saying, “I’m finished, Professor Fenstrom and I’m going now.”
“Oh, Karen,” he replied. “Open the door and come in here a minute.”
“I’ve got to go, professor,” Karen protested, hesitating to open the door.
“Open the door, child.” His voice was gentle, almost kindly.
She did as he commanded, but stood stiffly at the door, not entering the inner office.
“I really think you should do the understudy part, Karen,” he said. “It would be good for you if you are serious about acting. You’ll learn a lot.”
She nodded, wondering if she should tell him she’d already made up her mind about the understudy role. She seriously considered letting him stew for another day.
“OK,” he said when he got no response from Karen. “Have a good night and let me know tomorrow about your decision. Right?”
“I’ve already made my decision, sir.”
“For God’s sake, tell me, girl.” She noted exasperation growing in his voice.
“I’ll do the understudy role, sir.”
With that she closed the door and left the office; she could hear the professor yell “Karen, Karen, stop.”
Karen kept on going, putting on her spring jacket and baseball cap. She exited the office quietly, closing the door gently behind her, suddenly feeling pleased with her decision.
*****
“You’re doing too much, darling,” Cecelia Hansson said.
“Oh, mother, I know it, but I just can’t seem to resist doing all these things,” Karen replied.
She and her mother usually set aside about an hour on Tuesday nights for a long phone conversation; it was always reassuring for Karen to talk with her mother, who seemed to understand her many issues. Karen realized her relationship with her mother was different from what she’d seen occur with many other college girls, who constantly seemed to resent their mothers’ interests in their activities, preferring to characterize their mothers’ comments as “interfering” or “nagging.”
Perhaps it was because she had been a girl for not much more than six months and had lots she needed to learn; perhaps, it was because her mother, too, was getting used to having a daughter for the first time. Maybe, the novelty of a mother-daughter relationship just hadn’t worn off, yet.
“Are you jealous of Heather getting the lead, Karen?” her mother asked.
“No, mom, she’s a friend and a good actress.”
“But not as good as you, you think?”
“Mom, I wouldn’t say that, but that’s what everyone else says. Heather’s a good actress, mom. But, I don’t know why Fenstrom didn’t pick me.”
Karen was lying; she believed strongly that Fenstrom denied her the part because she resisted his sexual advances, but she didn’t want to tell her mother about that, for fear she’d overreact.
“You know life isn’t always fair, dear,” Cecelia Hansson said. “I’m glad you agreed to the understudy role. It shows you’re a team player, and always try to do your best, and eventually you’ll shine. You’re far too pretty and too good an actress.”
“Thanks, mom, I will.”
“Love you, honey.”
“Kisses, mom. I love you. You’re the best mom ever.”
Karen hung up, grateful for the warm support from her mother. Even though she wasn’t sure there was a God to hear her voice, she prayed that night. She pictured herself as a little girl, in a babydoll nightdress, kneeling at the side of her pink-quilted bed in a daintily furnished little girl’s room, praying to God. She suddenly wanted to cry: she had never been a “little girl,” dainty and playful, and would never experience the joys of growing up as a cute feminine child.
*****
Karen’s contact with Patti Hamilton had become less frequent, now averaging once a week. Both were busy, of course, with Mark’s mother having to juggle a work schedule with maintaining a household and making daily visits to see her son in the rehabilitation center.
It wasn’t until Friday night — on the day before the committee meeting planning the fashion show — that Mrs. Hamilton called Karen.
“He’s not progressing much. He seems so depressed, Karen,” Patti said, her voice betraying her own feelings of depression over her son’s status.
“That doesn’t sound like Mark,” Karen said. “He was always such a fighter and so bold.”
“It’s like he doesn’t feel he has anything to live for.”
Karen pictured her lover, her athletic, ruddy-faced friend, now lying pale and shrinking in size in an institutional bed. Tears began to form in her eyes, and her voice thickened as she spoke.
“How did Sonny’s visit go?” Karen said, hoping to change the subject. Her brother had joined with several of his football-team buddies to go to Milwaukee to visit Mark, a trip that Karen had originally planned to make with them. She had to cancel due to demands of her job with Fenstrom who called for a Sunday work session.
“Oh, he seemed to brighten up when your brother and his friend arrived, Karen. They were so great, Karen, asking his advice about how they should play the game. Your brother, it appears, adores Mark and would like to be as good a quarterback.”
Karen giggled a bit, an image of her brother’s eager curiosity whenever the subject of football was raised as a topic of conversation.
“That sounds like Sonny.”
“You know, Karen that really was great therapy for him, since he must have felt he was helping the boys out in playing the game. It’s like he was coaching them.”
“It gave him a purpose, I guess,” Karen said, pleased that her brother and several of his teammates had followed up on their promise to visit Mark.
“That really was nice of them to take that 90-mile trip down to see Mark, honey, but within two days he was back into the doldrums again.”
“And he still hasn’t mentioned me?”
“No, honey, he hasn’t. I’m sure he’s read your letters, but he won’t talk about it. Every time I bring your name up he just tells me to ‘shut up’ about you. ‘Leave her out of this, mom, she doesn’t need me as her burden.’ That’s what he always says.”
Karen said nothing for a minute. What was there to say?
“Are you still there, Karen?” Patti Hamilton said to finally break the silence.
“Yes, Patti, and . . . ah . . .”
“What honey?”
“I've got nothing doing on Sunday, Patti. I’m coming to visit him that day, whether he wants me or not,” she said, making the decision in her mind at just that moment.
“Oh, I don’t know if you want to do that, Karen. It might be just a waste of time. He won’t see you.”
“I don’t care, Patti. I’m coming. Unless, of course, you would oppose me showing up. I would not want to go against your wishes.”
“No, not at all. I don’t think it would hurt him at all. At least, it can’t make him feel any worse.”
“That’s it. I’ll get there Sunday by one o’clock.”
The two talked for a while, with Karen explaining she’d arrive about noon on a bus from the University. She planned on going to early mass and catching the bus at 10:30 a.m.
“I’ll pick you up at the 84th Street stop,” Patti said.
By the time Karen and Patti finished their conversation, Karen’s heart was racing; she was excited at the prospect of seeing Mark.
*****
“I know he loves me, Rami,” she told her roommate about her plans later that night when Ramini returned from an evening date with Aaron, who had made a quick weekend trip to visit his sister at the University.
Ramini, who was still giddy over the evening she had enjoyed with her new-found boyfriend, smiled and said, “Of course, he still loves you, Karen. Isn’t it great to be in love? I’ve never felt so happy, and I owe it all to you, dear.”
Having stripped down to her panties and bra, Ramini sat down next to Karen on the bed and wrapped her arms about Karen. They kissed warmly, sisterly kisses. They soon were tumbling together on the bed, giggling and tickling each other.
“Isn’t it great being girls,” Ramini said.
“The best,” Karen replied, kissing her friend firmly on the lips.
*****
Jeremy Foster proved to be a worthy choice as chair of the committee planning the Newman Club’s fashion show. He took command of the meeting from the beginning with a firmness that seemed out of character with his soft, effeminate mannerisms. He had smallish, pudgy hands and spoke in a high voice that showed traces of girlish inflections.
Karen was surprised to see Mary Catherine attending the meeting as well; the girl had not volunteered for the committee at the Wednesday meeting. Mary Catherine beckoned to Karen to sit in the empty seat next to her, and Karen looked to Ramini who had accompanied her to the meeting. Ramini indicated to Karen to sit next to the girl, and she found a close-by empty seat.
“I thought this might sound interesting,” Mary Catherine said to Karen as she sat down.
“It could be,” Karen agreed. “Are you interested in fashions, Mary?”
“Not really, but I think it's time I learned, besides I think I can help publicize this. I’m a media major here.”
“Cool, we’ll need you then, Mary,” Karen said, continuing to use a shorter version of the girl’s name. Mary Catherine had told her most of her friends and family (except her mother, of course) simply called her “Mary.”
“I want to be your friend, Karen,” Mary Catherine said.
It was such a bald, direct statement that Karen was momentarily speechless.
“Yes, Karen, I can see you’re truly a fine Christian girl and that’s so important, although I’m still not sure about this trans stuff. It seems wrong to me.”
The frankness of the girl was both disturbing and welcoming. She could see that Mary Catherine truly was trying to be open-minded, but it was difficult for her.
Their conversation was interrupted by Jeremy, who commanded loudly:
“Let’s get right down to business. We have to get this done in three weeks. That’s not long.”
His firmness startled the girls, all five of them instantly stopping their giggling and talking.
Father Jim announced he had contacted St. Vincent de Paul, and found they were interested in the project. “They have plenty of lovely clothes, I’ve been told,” the priest said.
Mary Catherine agreed to do the publicity; she had done some already for high school events and for another Catholic youth group in which she participated. Jeremy and another girl would set things up with St. Vincent de Paul.
The girls agreed that they’d meet the following Saturday at St. Vincent de Paul’s store to select their outfits for the fashion show.
“We can all model,” Stephanie said.
“All of us, even Jeremy?” another girl asked.
The girls all giggled, but Jeremy seemed to take the suggestion seriously.
“Oh, I’d love to, maybe the plus sizes,” he said with exaggerated effeminacy.
“No I was kidding about that, Jeremy,” the girl said.
Jeremy smiled at her. “That’s OK, but I have modeled some of my own dresses when I made them. Plus sizes, of course.”
He laughed, and the girls looked at him in amazement.
“Yes, why not? I had to see how they fit. But I’ve got several dresses I made that would probably fit Karen here the best. Maybe she’d like to check them out and maybe she’d like to model them. I’ll donate them to the cause.”
The meeting ended within an hour, attesting to Jeremy’s skill in moving a meeting forward, and Mary Catherine asked Karen if she’d like to go for some coffee.
“No, I can’t just now, Mary,” she said. “Ramini and I need to talk to Father Jim about something. Maybe some other time. OK?”
The girl looked disappointed; yet, she smiled at Karen. “Yes, some other time.”
Karen and Ramini approached Father Jim as the others left the lounge of the rectory.
“We’d like to talk with you a minute, Ramini and I would, Father,” she said.
“What is it?” he said.
“It’s kind of private, father.”
“OK, follow me to the office here. I’ve got maybe 20 minutes before I have to get ready for Saturday afternoon mass.”
His office still retained the comfort of its old furnishings; dark stained wood paneling covered the lover half of the room, while two lead-stained glass windows filtered light into the room, splashing colors about his desk and the patterned carpeting.
His desk, an old-fashioned wood affair, held a scattering of papers, with a computer on one side; it was obvious the priest used this as a workplace. Karen had been impressed with the few of his sermons she’d heard, since he was including literary references to strengthen his points. His interest in good reading was confirmed by the presence of two large shelving units in the room, filled with books that were obviously well-thumbed through.
“Father,” Karen began hesitatingly. “Ramini and I need to inform you about something. It’s quite private and might be disturbing to you and some of the others.”
Father Neuberger moved forward on his executive’s chair, looking closely first at Karen and then at Ramini. He said nothing. He fiddled with a pen, tapping first one end of the pen on the desk and then slowly turning it over and tapping the other end, repeating the pattern in a steady rhythm.
“Maybe you two would like to go to confession to tell me?”
“No, father, it’s nothing like that,” Ramini said.
“We'd better not beat around the bush,” Karen said. “Father, you’ve heard about transgendered people?”
Father Jim’s demeanor became suddenly guarded.
“Hmmmm, . . . ah . . . yes, I have, and?”
“Well, I guess you could say both Ramini and I are what you call transgendered girls,” Karen said.
The priest looked at both of them. It appeared he quickly had surmised the purpose of their visit.
“What do you mean? You both can’t be boys underneath all that prettiness,” he asked.
“Yes, Father,” the two said almost in unison.
“It can’t be, you’re both so . . . ah . . . what can I say . . . you’re both so girly. Migosh, so sweet and feminine, both of you.”
Karen waited moment and then said, “Father we wanted to let you know about us before we got too involved here at church. Both Ramini and I were baptized Catholic and attended mass regularly until a year or so ago, but we’d like to return to the Church and enjoy the sacraments.”
“Oh, you would?” The priest’s tone was sarcastic, and Karen was taken aback.
She nodded hesitantly, indicating she would like to return to the Church. Ramini shook her head in agreement.
“You think you can just turn on and turn off your religiousness and turn on and off your gender just like you turn on and off a water faucet. Dear girls, you can’t just do that.”
“We didn’t just ‘turn on’ being girls, Father,” Ramini protested.
“Well, when did you begin identifying yourselves as girls?” he quizzed them.
Karen was becoming uneasy with the tenor of the conversation; Father Jim, whom she thought would be understanding and open-minded, was instead becoming rigid and doctrinaire. He obviously viewed both of them as pathetic, wrong-headed creatures and sinners.
“Well, it was last November, and the University now registers us as female, father,” Ramini said.
Father Jim laughed out loud, a derisive laugh, and it prompted Karen to rise from her seat. “This is ridiculous, Rami, let’s get out of here,” she exploded.
“Stay where you are, children,” the priest commanded.
Karen remained standing and stared directly at Father Jim. “Look here, Father, I never felt right as a boy — all my life, I didn’t, and now I’m comfortable with myself. I’m really a girl and have been all my life, even though all my parts don’t quite fit the description.”
Never before had Karen felt so angered; the priest had become a pompous, uncaring idiot, she thought. No wonder she had left the Church. This priest was no different than their old pastor back home.
“Father, you must understand our situation,” Karen continued to stand. She began, her voice now under control: “First of all, you invited us to join the Club and second, we came to you to tell you our situation as soon as it became apparent we might become more active. We have no reason to deceive anyone. You should understand that both Ramini and I have been under medical and psychological care and have both been diagnosed with gender dysphoria and are being evaluated right now for the possibility of a full gender reassignment.”
“And if we’re not welcome here, we’ll leave, Father,” Ramini added.
Father Neuberger sat back in his chair, saying nothing. He played with his pen again, tapping it once on its tip, then flipping it is his fingers as a baton twirler would and tapping it again on its other end. He kept a rhythmical tapping going for several seconds.
Karen stood above him, glaring down at the priest, and Ramini shifted uneasily in her seat.
“Will you sit down, Karen!” Father Jim said; it was obvious he had grown uneasy with the situation.
Karen did, finally.
“Look, girls, if that’s what you think you are,” the priest began. “I think the Catholic Church views what you are doing as a sin, perhaps even a mortal sin, particularly if you go through with changing your gender physically. Remember, your body is a gift from God; he created both of you as boys and for you to physically change your sex would amount to self-mutilation, and that’s a sin akin to suicide.”
“It looks like we don’t belong here, Ramini,” Karen said again.
“Shut up, Karen, and listen to me, I haven’t finished,” Father Jim said, his voice taking on a frustrated firmness. “Now, since we’re on campus here and the parish faces certain non-discrimination rules as a result of being located here we must make all of our activities open to persons of all races and creeds and genders. I can’t stop you two from participating in the club. However, I could bar both of you from attending mass or taking part in the Sacraments.”
“It just won’t work, Father,” Karen said, feeling that both she and Ramini would be treated like second class citizens or objects of curiosity.
“Karen, you are demanding, aren’t you?” the priest said, and not waiting for her to answer, he continued:
“First of all, both of you are welcome to continue with the full activities of the Newman Club, or any other activity at the chapel you’d like to. That’s a University policy that we will honor. Then, you’re both always welcome at mass; however, I will refuse to give you Communion or to permit you to participate in any Sacramental celebration. Is that clear?”
“I understand, Father,” Ramini said.
Karen said nothing; she finally sat down in her chair, continuing to glower at the priest whose ruddy face had reddened apparently due to the trauma of the meeting.
“So we’re still sinners, Father?” Karen said finally.
“Yes, Karen,” the priest said, his voice growing soft and tentative. “You’re a sinner in the eyes of the Church, dear.”
The realization that she was a sinner in the Church of her birth bothered her; it was surprising since she had quit attending mass more than a year earlier due to her profound opposition to the Church’s stand on such issues as a woman’s right to choose, the role of women in the Church and gay marriage. Now, the emotional response to the fact that she’d be deserting the traditions of her early life invaded her mind, if not her soul. She didn’t know what to believe.
“Doesn’t God care for all her children, father?” Ramini said.
“Yes, each of us has a soul, so we are all God’s children.”
“Remember the prodigal son, Father?” Ramini persisted. “Remember how the father welcomed the wayward son back into his household? Cannot the Church welcome us, too?”
Father Jim laughed at Ramini’s use of the Bible’s prodigal son metaphor, and countered: “Yes, Ramini, the Church can welcome you back, but only after you have quit your sinful behavior. Meanwhile, we will pray for you both to do so.”
Karen rose abruptly.
“Thank you Father for your time,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve just freed up my Sunday mornings for me. Let’s go, Rami.”
She grabbed Ramini’s hand, and guided her out of the office, but even before she could slam the door in the priest’s office, they both heard the priest yell out:
“May God go with you.”
Both girls said nothing as they left the chapel. “Guess that ends that,” Ramini finally said.
“Yes, but I can’t understand Father Neuberger,” Karen said. “He seemed so warm and friendly at first.”
“I know, but I guess he’s in a tough position there, trying to mix Church rules into a community like a college campus,” Ramini said.
“But, he laughed at us, remember, Rami?”
“Yes, that was shocking, and I guess to some people we must be a topic of hilarity.”
“Well, f–k ‘em,” Karen said.
“Oops, Karen. For that you must say ten ‘Our Fathers’ and ten ‘Hail Marys.’”
Both girls began laughing, even though the experience certainly was no laughing matter.
That night, as she lay in bed, having put her hair up after a warm, heavenly soak in the bathtub, she began to cry. She really loved the Church for its ceremonies and its regal beauty, for the sense of community and also for its message of humility and charity. Yet, she realized that she was really categorized in the Church along with murderers and charlatans of the meanest order. Even the lepers were treated with more kindness and understanding than girls like herself and Ramini.
*****
Karen skipped mass the next day — a chilly, windy April Sunday — and while it saddened her to give up on returning to the Church, it did give her more time to prepare for her visit to see Mark at the rehabilitation center in Milwaukee. She began to feel anxious about the whole adventure, not knowing how he would receive her, or even if he’d receive her at all and instead order her out of the room.
“Should I wear a nice dress, Rami? How about my teal blue spring dress? What do you think?”
“Oh Karen, you’re driving me nuts this morning with all these questions,” Ramini said. She was at her computer, trying to do research into John Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” a task that was becoming more difficult with Karen’s incessant quest to find the “perfect outfit” to wear for her Mark.
“You know the dress, Rami? Help me out on this, please.”
“Karen, darling, I know this is important for you, but, dear, you’ve probably changed clothes six times this morning.”
“No, it’s only five since I haven’t put on the spring dress yet.”
Ramini burst into laughter.
“You’re a trip, girl,” Ramini said. “OK, let me repeat what I said before.”
Karen nodded and then repeated her friend’s earlier advice: “It’s a cold day, too cold for a skirt. I shouldn’t dress too fancy and should wear something more casual, like any typical college girl would wear.”
“That’s right, and so the spring dress is wrong for you. Why not put on those new designer jeans you bought a week ago? They’re really chic, dear. And then that peach colored cami under the light green jacket? I thought you looked really nice in that, and it’s a bit cheery, too.”
“You really think so?” Karen asked. She still thought she should wear something pretty and sexy for the visit.
“If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t have said it, would I?”
Karen reddened. She knew her friend had become exasperated with her and her indecision about clothes.
Ramini turned completely away from the computer and looked Karen directly in the eye. “You’re naturally a pretty girl and it matters little what you wear. If he wants to see you, he’ll be glad to see you in a burlap bag. If he won’t see you, it won’t matter what you wear.”
“I guess you’re right, Rami,” Karen said, moving over to hug her friend. “You’ve always been so wise about these things, dear.”
When she finally left for the 11 a.m. bus, Karen wore what Ramini had recommended; because the temperature was still in the mid-30s, she decided to wear her puffy beige winter three-quarter-length coat with its hoodie. On her feet she wore a pair of stylish short-heeled brown boots, adorned with sequins.
She was caught at the door by her friend, Angela, who exclaimed: “Wow, where are you going looking so stylish, Karen?”
Karen was taken by surprise. “Oh Angela, hi. Going for a day trip to Milwaukee to visit Mark.”
“You are? I didn’t think he wanted to see you.”
“I’m hoping he will,” Karen said. “His mother said it was OK if I wanted to come. Maybe it’ll do him some good.”
“Oh, if he doesn’t get aroused by seeing you like this, there’s no hope for him, dear,” Angela said.
“He’s still hurting bad, Angela,” Karen said. “I’m not sure I’m all that hot.”
“You are, dear. You are, and I’ve missed you so much. Where have you been?”
“Angela, you know I’ve been busy, with my job and school and everything else.”
Angela suddenly grabbed her friend, and hugged her. “Oh Karen, I need you, please, come visit me one of these nights. Please, dear.”
Karen tried to wrest herself from the arms of her strong friend. “I need to catch my bus, Angela.”
“Oh Karen, don’t forget me, will you? Or are you Rami’s lover now? I should never have encouraged you two to move in together.”
“No Angela, she’s just a close friend, but we’re not making love together,” Karen said. In truth, she didn’t know if their practice of sleeping together, coupled with their kisses and hugs, constituted “making love” or not. The two had never reached the height of erotic explosions that she and Angela had reached.
“Come see me OK, Karen?”
Angela let her friend free, and Karen responded, “OK, Angela.”
Karen sped down the stairs of the old house porch and into the cold, adjusting her hoodie as she left. Just the thought of returning to the muscular arms of Angela, of feeling her hard body and smooth skin against her own softer flesh, of nestling her head into the tiny mounds on Angela’s chest, of feeling Angela’s strong hands kneading the softness of her inner thighs excited her immensely. It also confused her, as she found herself aroused thinking of being in the arms of Mark Hamilton as well.
As she waited to board the bus to Milwaukee, Karen began shivering; she knew it wasn’t only because of the chill of the morning, but rather from growing tenseness as she faced gnawing questions: Would Mark see her? And, if he did, how should she act? She wanted to run to his bed and hug him with all her might; yet, she knew that in her own trepidation she would be unable to move herself to do so. Oh Mark, please, dear Mark, accept me and let us come together for a wonderful life ahead! Or, would she be rejected?
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 16
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The St. Francis Rehabilitation Center was located in a heavily treed campus of mainly 100-year-old grey-stoned structures. The buildings originally housed the mother house, living areas and classrooms for an order of Catholic nuns that once scattered thousands of devout sisters to the far corners of the world to succor the poor while seeking to convert them to Romanism. The order was depleted and now occupied only one of the buildings, used partly as the mother house and as a residence for aging sisters.
The Center itself occupied what looked like it had originally housed a school; while the exterior retained its classicism, the inside had been modernized and it contained the latest in medical facilities. Karen had checked the Center out on-line and learned it was rated professionally as one of the best in the nation. She was so happy to learn that; it would mean that Mark would be getting the best of care.
What astonished her was that the corridors and rooms were surprisingly cheerful, helped by bright walls and ancient huge windows that let in plenty of light.
Karen was also astonished at the cheerfulness that Patti Hamilton displayed upon picking her up at the 84th Street bus stop.
“You’re a feast for sore eyes,” Patti exclaimed upon seeing Karen. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you, Karen.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton, but I hope Mark is as happy to see me as you are,” Karen said, as she settled herself into Patti’s Chrysler Town and Country minivan, a newer model that still retained the white residue of salt that was sprinkled liberally on the city’s streets when ice and snow hit during the winter.
“Karen, shame on you, you know better. You know to call me Patti.”
Karen giggled. “Of course, but mother always taught me to respect my elders.”
“Your elders? Me?” Patti replied in mock anger.
“You’re in a cheerful mood, Patti,” Karen probed.
Mrs. Hamilton quickly swerved the car, avoiding one of the many potholes that pockmarked the city’s streets after the long, cold and snowy winter.
“Hopefully I’ll stay that way as long as we don’t blow a tire on these streets.”
Mark appeared to be getting stronger, Patti explained as they drove on. He was able to use the parallel bars for a few minutes the previous day for the first time, the strength of his arms able to propel him upright as his useless legs dangled along the few feet of the parallel bars.
“He had been reluctant to try them out,” Patti said. “But he’s got a lovely therapist, who’s been a good motivator.”
“Oh?” Karen said, wondering if he was finding attraction in another girl.
Sensing Karen’s concern, Patti said: “Don’t get jealous on me now, Karen. She’s a pretty girl, but not as pretty as you, I assure you.”
“It wasn’t that. I’m just glad he’s got somebody working with him who’s nice,” Karen said, realizing that her comments were only partly truthful. She was a bit jealous, she knew.
*****
“Oh, hi, Mrs. Hamilton,” a fresh-faced young lady greeted the two as the walked down the corridor of Mark Hamilton’s third-floor ward.
“Oh Theresa, how is he today?”
“Seems a little less happy than he was yesterday, ma’am, but then he really was happy after his walk down the parallel bars,” the woman said. “I think he’s a bit sore from yesterday’s efforts.”
Theresa was an exceedingly cute girl, Karen noticed immediately. The girl kept her short brunette hair in bangs that framed her face; she wore a dark blue free-flowing skirt and a beige long-sleeved blouse covered by a white smock. The girl’s ruddy cheeks and twinkling eyes exuded warmth and friendliness; they almost danced as if the girl was laughing. She was indeed a captivating young woman. Karen wondered if this was the therapist serving Mark.
“Theresa, this is Karen Hansson,” Patti Hamilton said. “She’s a friend of Mark’s. And, Karen, meet Theresa, the therapist I was telling you about.”
The two shared greetings, but Karen stiffened when she realized this was the therapist that was guiding Mark in his recovery. The therapist certainly was a cute, lovely young woman, Karen noticed. It was an awkward moment that Patti obviously sensed as well.
“Theresa’s been doing a marvelous job in getting Mark motivated,” Patti said, apparently hoping to break through the tenseness.
“I know you told me that,” Karen said, realizing her reply may have sounded a bit dismissive. Quickly, she recovered, adding, “Yes, thank you for doing that.”
“Maybe you can add some brightness to his day, Karen,” Theresa said. Karen thought the young woman sounded sincere, but also wondered if the remark might have been also a bit sarcastic.
“How is he today, Theresa?”
“Looking forward to your visit, as always, Mrs. Hamilton. I’ve got him up in a chair and dressed him up a bit for his young lady friend,” Theresa said, offering a smile to Karen.
“I told Theresa yesterday that you’d be coming today, but she kept it a secret, didn’t you, Theresa?”
The therapist nodded. “Mrs. Hamilton said you were a beautiful girl, Karen,” Theresa said. “And I can see she wasn’t kidding. He’s lucky to have you.”
Karen felt embarrassed over how she handled the meeting; here was a person who was doing her job in helping her friend, Mark, recover from a devastating injury, and Karen was treating her like the devil incarnate. Jealousy is such a terrible human emotion, she realized.
*****
As the two approached Mark’s room, Karen shivered as tension rose inside of her; she immediately began wondering whether the visit was such a good idea after all, and she thought that maybe she should merely tell Mrs. Hamilton to continue on to visit Mark, while she turned back. What would she say? What would Mark do? Could she damage whatever progress he had made in his recovery? Shouldn’t she have dressed in a more alluring outfit? A thousand thoughts tumbled through her mind, adding to her sense in inadequacy.
“I’ll wait out here while you go in to see Mark,” Karen said, her voice accompanied by a weak tremor.
“No, girl, you’ll come with me,” Patti said, grabbing her arm. “Now take off that coat, let me brush your hair, dear.”
“Really, you want me to go in with you? Won’t that shock him?”
“Possibly, but if I give him a chance and ask for his OK for you to come in, he’ll just say ‘no.’ It’ll do him good to see you, I know it, Karen.”
Karen nodded her head, realizing that Patti Hamilton was right. Deep down, she agreed with Patti that Mark truly wanted to see Karen, that his refusal to contact her had been to free the girl from any obligation to serve him and tend to his disability. “He just doesn’t want to become a burden to you, darling,” Patti told her several times in the past.
“You look so darling,” Patti Hamilton said when she finished brushing Karen’s hair so that it hung smoothly.
“I should have dressed up more for him, Patti,” she protested.
“No, dear, you’re fine as you are, believe me.”
Patti Hamilton grabbed Karen’s hand and led her into Room 314.
“Mark, look who I brought to see you,” Patti announced as she moved over to hug her son. Mark was seated in a chair, a blanket over his legs. A wheelchair was folded up against a wall.
Karen stood stiffly just inside the door of the room, the brightness of the chilly April sun flooding the room with light. She examined her friend; his face was pale, and his robust body seemed reduced in size as she remembered it. She had trouble seeing the expression on his face, since he was framed against the window and her vision was clouded with the brightness of the sunlight.
“I told you not to let her come, mother,” Mark said. His voice was flat, absent of any emotion.
“Now, Mark,” his mother pleaded. “She took the bus in here just to see you. The least you can do is to be nice to her.”
He said nothing, turning away from both of them to gaze out the window.
Karen moved hesitantly into the room, and said tentatively, “Hello, Mark.”
He still said nothing.
“Turn around, Mark, and at least say hi,” his mother commanded.
He still said nothing; Karen stayed stiffly erect awaiting Mark’s response. She felt alienated, a stranger in the room.
“Maybe I’d better go, Patti,” she said finally. “I’ll wait in the lounge down the hall.”
“No, Karen, stay,” Patti said.
“Let her go, mother,” Mark said, his voice taking on a cruelty she had never heard before.
“Mark!” his mother said firmly in reprimand.
“She’s so successful now that all she wants to do is to gloat over me or to pity me,” he said. “Get her out of here, mother.”
Karen burst into tears, turned around, and fled from the room. Fighting back tears, she burst down the hall in search of a public women’s room. Halfway down the hall she encountered Theresa, who stopped Karen’s flight.
“Ladies’ room?” Karen struggled to get the words out.
“Just keep going, third door on your right,” Theresa said.
Karen tried to extricate herself from the therapist’s grasp. “Let me go,” she pleaded.
“What’s wrong darling?”
Through her watery eyes, Karen could sense others in the corridor were looking at her, but she cared little for their curiosity; she was devastated by Mark’s reaction.
“Just let me go,” she said.
Theresa released her and Karen ran down the hall, bursting into the ladies’ room and into an unoccupied stall. She sat down on the commode and cried.
*****
Karen had no idea how long she sat on the commode, never having removed her jeans. Finally, the tears subsided, and she began to consider why Mark had reacted so severely, why he had rejected her with such anger. She wondered first whether Mark had come to the conclusion that he could never love Karen because Karen was not born a girl. Did he now consider Karen an imposter who cloaked a pathetic male body with a female exterior? That had to be it, she thought. Maybe, too, he had become enamored with Theresa; it was logical since the young woman was indeed attractive and obviously a sweet, caring person. Or, was there another girl back at Iowa State for whom he pined, a girl he told neither his parents nor herself about? Oh yes, that must be it, she thought; it had to be a cute cheerleader.
The longer she sat there the more these negative thoughts cascaded through her mind. She finally stopped crying; instead, a severe depression descended upon her.
Karen heard the outer door of the ladies’ room open and light footsteps; they stopped before Karen’s stall, and she saw a pair of white sneakers protruding from nylon-clad ankles standing in front of the door to her stall.
There was a light rap on the stall door followed by the question: “Are you all right, Karen?”
It was the voice of the therapist.
“Yes, go away,” Karen said.
“Karen, don’t be silly,” Theresa said firmly. “You’re not all right. Come on out of there.”
“I am, too, just go away.” Karen knew the tentative, weak nature of her voice betrayed her own sense of fragility.
“Karen, I know Mark rejected you,” Theresa said, her voice now taking a neutral, matter-of-fact tone. “But, Karen, I do know he still loves you. He really does. Come on out of there and let’s talk it over, OK?”
Karen was silent for a moment and remained in the stall.
“Are you in love with him?” Karen asked abruptly.
“What?”
“I think he must have fallen for you,” Karen said. “You’re so pretty.”
Theresa let out a laugh.
“Now you are being silly. Come on out of there and we’ll talk it over.”
“Let me sit a bit longer here.”
“No, Karen, now. If you don’t come out, I’ll get security here to take you out. You want that?”
When Karen emerged from the stall perhaps a half minute later, she knew her face must be a mess due to all the crying. She saw Theresa standing near the sink, patiently awaiting her.
“I’d better fix my makeup, but I must have left my purse in Mark’s room,” Karen said.
“I brought it for you, dear,” Theresa said, handing it over to Karen.
“You think of everything, don’t you?” Karen said, almost immediately hating her words, since they must have sound snarky to the other girl.
“Now, now, dear, clean up your face, and then you and I can have a good chat, girl-to-girl.”
*****
Theresa led Karen to a family consulting room, a small enclosure with a small table and four comfortable boardroom style chairs. Bright pictures of ocean waves adorned the cream-colored walls and a few small potted plants added life to the room. It was obviously a room that must have been used regularly to tell families the bad news about their loved one’s medical prognosis.
Theresa brought two cans of diet soda and small bags of potato chips and corn chips.
Karen didn’t realize how hungry she was, not having had anything to eat since her light breakfast before leaving for the bus. She chose the corn chips, welcoming their salty taste.
Theresa said she had learned from Patti Hamilton about how mean Mark had been in dismissing Karen from the room.
“You’re right about one thing, Karen,” Theresa began. “I deeply care about Mark, but not in the way you imagine. I care, first of all, since he’s my patient, and I must say he is probably my favorite patient. He’s trying so hard to gain his strength back, but, Karen, his injury to his nerves is so severe, it’s doubtful he’ll even walk again. But, then you know that. That doesn’t stop him from trying.”
“I know,” Karen said. “He’s remarkable.”
“One thing else I know about Mark is that he is a generous young man,” Theresa continued. “He seems always to worry that he is bothering the staff whenever he buzzes for help. He’s always nice to me, even when I push him too hard.
“But, he truly does not want to be a burden to anyone else, not to his mother, not to me, even though it’s my job, and certainly not to you, Karen.”
Karen nodded. “That’s what his mother said in trying to explain to me why he won’t answer my letters. But I began thinking that was just an excuse to dump me for someone else, just because I may not be what he wants in a girlfriend.”
Theresa smiled, and leaned over, taking Karen’s hand.
“Look, dear,” she began. “Mark has told me all about you, all about your transition, about how you two met and played ‘Hamlet’ together. That was the happiest summer of his life, he told me. He truly loves you, dear, but he’s told me over and over that ‘Karen’s too pretty to be tied to a cripple like me.’”
Karen began to cry again.
“You know, Theresa, he helped me begin my transition,” Karen said, finally gathering her control. “He could have laughed at me or beat me up, but he embraced me and encouraged me. He helped me find myself.”
“I know honey, and we must give him time, dear, to open his heart to you again,” she said reassuringly. “I know he will.”
“Do you think maybe he’s had second-thoughts about our relationship, since I’m not a girl in the sense that I was born a girl?” Karen asked.
“I don’t see an indication of that, Karen, and besides you are about as much a girl as I am, plus being much prettier,” Theresa said with a smile.
“Oh I don’t know about that, Theresa. You’re pretty hot yourself.”
“Aren’t we a mutual admiration society?”
They both giggled.
“Part of my work as a therapist,” Theresa then explained, “Is to work with the patient’s state of mind; it’s so important when it comes to his recovery. So, we’ve talked lots about Mark’s feelings, and I think he’ll trust me. Mind if I have a go at it?”
“Not at all,” Karen said, “As long as his mother is OK with it.”
“By the way, Karen, just to set your mind at ease,” Theresa said. “I’d consider being in love with Mark if I was ten years younger. I’m older than I look.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, honey, and I have a seven-year-old son at home, too, and though there’s no man in my life now, I assure you it would not be a 19-year-old college freshman,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Theresa,” Karen said.
“No problem, dear. I understand.”
There seemed to be nothing more to be said. Karen and Theresa sat quietly together for a few minutes, before Theresa said she would return to talk to Mark; perhaps, she said, he might yet accept Karen into the room.
She excused herself, and Karen left the small counseling room and moved to the more comfortable lounge where a scruffy young, overweight man was watching a Milwaukee Brewers baseball game with the sound off. Karen had little interest in the game and tried to interest herself in a six-months old Time magazine, but found her thoughts filled with Theresa and her closeness to Mark. Karen couldn’t help liking the therapist, who seemed truly concerned not only about Mark’s recovery, but also about Karen’s own feelings. Yet, while Karen felt Theresa was telling the truth about not desiring to have any romantic interests in Mark (apparently due to the age difference), she could not help wondering if perhaps their closeness might grow into something more intense; affairs, and even marriages, between women ten years older than the man were not unheard of in the present-day world.
“Oh there you are,” Patti Hamilton said, interrupting Karen’s jealous musing.
“Hi, Patti, how’s Mark?”
The woman sat down in a green upholstered side chair, drawing it up next to Karen. “He’s OK, but Karen, I’m devastated as to how he treated you, dear. You deserved better. I’m sorry you had to make the trip, but I thought he’d welcome you.”
“That’s OK, Patti. I’m just glad I saw him, even if it was for just a moment. I truly hope my visit hasn’t caused him a setback.”
“No, of course not. He’s really pretty resilient, but he has his moments of depression now that he is realizing that he may never walk again.”
“But why does he resist me like this? Is it because I’m not a real girl, yet? I’m sure that must bother him.”
Patti shook her head in a negative fashion. “No, dear, that’s not it. I think he’s already had that battle in his own mind; you have no idea how hard he worked to convince both his father and me that you were a lovely, marvelous young woman. I know he’s right about that, and I even think his father understands that now. But you know Mark. He can be so stubborn, dear. I really think he still loves you, and really cares about you.”
“I hope and pray so,” Karen said.
“By the way, how’s school going for you, Karen?” Patti said, changing the subject.
Karen explained she was busy, since the pressure of preparing for the spring play was building. She said she’d also been chosen to be understudy for the lead in the play.
“Oh that must have been disappointing, Karen?” Patti said sympathetically.
“Not really, since I’m only a first year student. The part did go to another freshman, but she’s a friend of mine and she’s good, too.”
“Maybe, but I saw you act in ‘Hamlet,’ and I’d say you were pretty darn good.”
“Thank you, I loved that part, maybe it’s ‘cause I played opposite Mark,” Karen said with a smile. “I could read those lines of Ophelia and really mean it.”
Patti smiled. “I think that’s when Mark fell in love with you.”
Karen’s spirits soared for a moment, as she reflected to their summer camp time together; it was a heavenly time.
*****
“He’ll see you now,” Theresa announced, as she entered the lounge where the two women were seated.
“Really?” Karen asked, astonished.
“Yes, between Mrs. Hamilton and myself, I think we convinced him to let you visit for a few minutes, but I think he’ll put on a grouchy front, Karen. Don’t let it bother you,” the therapist said.
“Thank you, Theresa,” Patti said. “You’re a miracle worker.”
“It was both of us, myself and Mrs. Hamilton,” she protested.
Karen felt that it truly was Theresa who must have finally impacted Mark’s mind; she understood how sometimes young people shunned their parent’s advice, but would accept that of a friend or acquaintance or, Karen thought, of someone they wanted to impress. She immediately chastised herself for her jealous reactions to Theresa, who had spent time that afternoon to assist her in seeing Mark.
“You go in alone, dear,” Patti Hamilton said.
*****
Mark was sitting in a wheelchair; Karen noticed he had a fresh shirt on, a bright blue polo shirt, from which his arms protruded, their sinews defined and pronounced. His legs were covered with a blanket. His hair was neatly groomed, indicating that Theresa or another aide had dressed him up to look presentable.
“Hi, Mark,” Karen said simply. She stood at the foot of the bed, about six feet from him.
Mark turned his head away and stared out the window. He said nothing.
“May I sit down?”
“Suit yourself,” he grunted, still looking out the window.
Karen felt uneasy; she had no idea about what she should say. She hated saying all the usual clichés, that she was sorry (of course, she was), that everything will be OK in the end (when it was likely he’d never walk again), or that she was glad he was getting the best of care (which he was, of course).
“I miss you, Mark,” she said finally.
“Too bad,” he said.
“You miss me, too, don’t you, Mark?”
“Why should I?”
“Mark, why are you so mean? I miss you terribly.”
Finally he turned to face her:
“I’ll tell you why I’m so mean,” he said, his voice fierce and cruel. “You’re out there in school with lots of friends and I’ll bet you got lots of boyfriends, too, and they have two working legs, and I don’t. And now you’re going to be understudying the lead in that play. Soon you’ll be the lead in a play and you’ll be on your way to become a great actress, and what am I going to be? A hopeless cripple for the rest of my life. That’s all I’m going to be. Don’t waste your life on me. Just go.”
He turned his head away from her, and turned to the window again.
“Oh Mark,” she said, beginning to cry. “Don’t be so discouraged. You’re not a cripple. You’ve got a good mind and you can do so much in life. Who said I can’t love you? There’s lots to love, whether your legs work or not.”
She sensed he may also have begun to cry, and she rose from the chair, heading over to hug him, to comfort him, but he fought her off.
“Just go,” he said rudely.
“OK, Mark, but I love you and always will,” she said.
“Suit yourself, then, Karen.”
She rose, headed out of the room; as she reached the door, she turned back in time to see him sneak a look at her. There were tears streaming down his face.
“Get out of here,” he repeated loudly.
*****
Patti Hamilton drove Karen to meet her bus; the short visit she had with Mark enabled Karen to take an earlier bus than she had originally planned, which pleased her, since she had studying to do. In her disturbed state of mind, however, she wondered how well she would be able to concentrate. The two said little in the car, giving Karen time to reflect on Mark’s rude behavior toward her. Something bothered her about one thing Mark has said; he had indicated he knew about her being picked to understudy the lead in “Picnic.”
“Did you ever tell him, Patti, that I was picked to understudy the lead in our spring play?” Karen asked.
“No honey, I didn’t,” Mrs. Hamilton said, pausing in her comments as she carefully maneuvered the minivan through traffic in a heavy shopping area.
After a few moments, they had passed the congested traffic, and Patti Hamilton continued: “You know whenever I brought up your name, he told me to not mention you, so I told him nothing about you becoming understudy.”
“Well, how else would Mark have known that?”
“He did?”
Karen smiled. “Yes, he did, he mentioned that when he was telling me to leave him alone. That means, Patti, that he has been reading my letters. I mentioned the understudy role in my last letter.”
“I suspected he was reading your letters, Karen even though he keeps telling me he never reads your letters.”
“That means he cares about me, Patti. He does! He does!”
Karen couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice, almost laughing out loud. There was hope for them after all.
*****
“I’m in love, Karen. I’ve never been happier,” Ramini said, almost before Karen could take her backpack off.
“Aaron?” Karen asked, still a bit out of breath after her walk back from the bus depot.
“Who else, silly? Oh, I love you so much, Karen, for introducing us,” Ramini said, leaping up from her chair to wrap her arms about Karen.
Realizing that Ramini was still enthralled at having Aaron as a boyfriend, Karen forgave the girl for her repeated “thank yous” to Karen about introducing them. She took the tiny girl in her arms, feeling her tiny bone structure under the girl’s softness. Ramini’s dark eyes were sparkling.
“He’s invited me to go to St. Albert’s College as his date for the Spring Planting Dance, Karen,” Ramini continued.
“Wow, that’s nice, Rami. I’m happy for you and for Aaron. He really is a special guy, dear.”
“Yes, his sister will drive me there and back next weekend. I met her, and she’s nice, too.”
Karen nodded. “Yes, she is.”
“Tell me about your visit, Karen,” Ramini then said.
And Karen did, recalling Mark’s blistering words to her almost perfectly. Would she forever remember those horrible words?
“Oh, Karen, that’s so sad,” Ramini said, hugging her friend. “But at least you learned he’s reading your letters.”
“Yeah, maybe he still thinks about me, although I’m not so sure.”
“Oh, he does, Karen. How could he forget you?”
“You’re sweet, Rami.” And the two exchanged sisterly kisses.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 17
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The following week was a busy one. The demands placed upon her by Professor Fenstrom as the time for the spring play neared grew more intense even as Karen had to find time for her regular school work and to study her lines for the understudy role. She hardly had time to think about Mark, although she wrote two brief letters to him during the week, scribbled hurriedly just before she went to bed.
The cast rehearsed each afternoon from 4:30 to 7 p.m., and Karen had to sit with Fenstrom, taking notes as he made recommendations for the performers. As he had done for the play in the previous semester, he turned to Karen to discuss some of the changes; for some strange reason Fenstrom expressed more interest in her thoughts than those of his associate director, an accomplished graduate student.
Fenstrom had become particularly rough on Heather, who played the role of Madge, one of the two Owens sisters who were the focus of the male lead’s varied infatuations.
“You’re playing that too flat, Heather,” he yelled at the girl.
“Isn’t she supposed to be a selfish, naíve girl?” Heather shot back, growing defensive with the professor’s constant nagging.
“Outwardly she’s shallow, Heather. But Madge is also a sensitive girl, and even though she knows she may be prettiest girl in town, she inwardly feels inadequate, compared to her brainy younger sister. You’re just not showing enough depth.” His tone showed a growing frustration with the young actress.
Karen sat mortified; she liked Heather, considered her a friend. She knew directors often could be tough, but Fenstrom seemed to be going over the top in his criticism of the girl. Nonetheless, she felt that Fenstrom was accurate in his observation that Heather had failed to bring much feeling into the part; Karen understood the part was a difficult one, since it had to outwardly portray a shallow, brainless girl while inwardly conveying a deeper warmth and sensitivity.
The rehearsal continued for a few more minutes, until Fenstrom yelled out an angry: “Stop!” He followed that with loud shouts of “No, No, No. Dammit Heather! Can’t you do anything right? You don’t understand Madge at all.”
His eyes still flashing anger, Fenstrom turned toward Karen. “Do you know your lines for this section of the play, Karen.”
“Me?”
“Yes, do you know your lines?” he persisted, his voice rising.
“I think so,” Karen said, tentatively.
“Well get up there and show her how it’s done, Karen,” he demanded.
“I’m not sure I can do any better . . .”
“Go, you can’t do any worse, and take the script in case you get lost.”
Karen knew better than to say “no” to Fenstrom in his current frame of mind. She went on the stage, almost bumping into Heather as she assumed the position.
“I’m sorry, Heather,” she whispered.
“You must be sleeping with him, Karen,” the girl hissed at her, as Karen saw Heather’s tears.
“I’m not, Heather,” but Karen doubted Heather heard her, having run off the stage.
“Stay and watch this, Heather,” Fenstrom yelled after the girl.
Heather was caught by a stage manager, who held up the girl’s flight as Karen began her brief performance of the play.
“Brava! Brava!” Fenstrom said when the segment was completed.
“You’ve got it, Karen. You’ve got Madge down to a ‘T’. Did you see that, Heather? That’s how to do the part.”
The rehearsal continued, with Heather returning to do the part; Fenstrom’s criticisms seemed to have been reduced, but the rehearsal seemed to lack the life it had showed before. The acting was dull and half-hearted; Heather played her part almost as if she no longer cared.
As Karen packed up the materials at the end of the rehearsal, Fenstrom came over to her and said: “You’d better study that part very closely, dear. I’m afraid Heather’s not cut out for the part.”
“Oh, give her time, Professor. She’ll get it. Maybe you’re a little tough on her,” Karen said.
“No, she’ll never get. She doesn’t have the soul for it and you do!”
“But . . . but . . .” Karen protested.
“No buts, Karen. Just make sure you know the part.”
*****
Two days later, Fenstrom formally gave the part to Karen, assigning Heather to be the understudy; the professor surprised the cast, including Karen, by posting the announcement of the change on the cast call board.
Heather was standing near the board when Karen entered. Heather’s expression was a mix of anger and misery; her eyes were moist and red.
She looked at Karen, saying, “You bitch. I thought you were my friend.”
Karen was confused by the girl’s behavior. “Why, what do you mean?”
“Look at the board, bitch.”
Hearing the outburst, several other members of the stage crew and cast had turned their attention to the two girls. Karen spied the board, seeing a paper entitled “Cast Changes — Picnic”
Effective with today’s rehearsals and for the run of the play, the following cast changes will be in effect:
Karen Hansson will play “Madge.”
Heather Graham will be understudy to “Madge.”
No other changes will be made.
Heather is to be praised for her hard work in the role of Madge and she has a great future as an actress.
These changes were made to fit the nature of this play and do not reflect upon the skill and talents of the two actors.
Eric Fenstrom, director
“Oh my God,” Karen said, genuinely surprised.
“See there,” Heather persisted. “You must be sleeping with him, Karen.”
“No, Heather, that’s not it. I haven’t slept with him and never will.” Karen said.
“You lie,” Heather said, her voice rising. “He took me off the part just because I refused him, and now he’s adopted you and left me out of it.”
“Heather, listen to me. I tried to argue with him, to give you a chance with the part. Really, I did.”
Heather’s emotions continued to overwhelm her. “I studied so hard for the part,” she said. “I thought I was perfect for it, but then you came along.”
“Heather, I didn’t, I tried . . .”
“Don’t lie to me. And to think you’re not even a real girl. You’re just a sissy boy under all that pretty girl looks. You’re just an imposter. Maybe he just likes to play with girly boys like you.”
Heather began beating on Karen, using her fists like she was hammering nails. Karen just turned to the side to absorb the soft, ineffectual blows or her arms and back.
“Stop it,” another girl yelled, pulling Heather away from Karen.
Karen turned to see Janet Backus, a senior girl who played the part of Rosemary, the old maid schoolteacher in the play. She was a tall, angular girl whose superior strength easily subdued the attacking girl.
“Heather, you don’t know anything about the professor’s reasoning in the change,” Janet said. “I don’t think Karen had anything to do with it. I’ve worked with him for four years now, Heather, and he’s got his own mind about these things. With him, it’s all about the play.”
Janet’s words seemed to have a cooling effect on Heather. She followed Janet to a bench nearby where the two sat down together, and Heather began to cry in earnest.
Karen kneeled before the crying girl. “I didn’t want to do the part, really, Heather, since I’m so busy with other things, but Fenstrom persisted. Really, that’s it, and I would never sleep with him. I’ve already told him so.”
Heather looked up, and the two girls’ eyes became linked in a long gaze. Slowly, Heather’s expression softened and she nodded tentatively, as if she finally had heard Karen’s words and understood that Karen had not contrived to rob her of the lead.
“Oh, Karen, I’m sorry,” Heather said, reaching out to pull Karen into a hug.
“That’s all right, dear,” Karen said as the two hugged briefly.
Janet got up from the bench. “Here, Karen, you sit down next to her now.”
Karen joined Heather on the bench, and Heather reached over to hold Karen’s hand.
“Karen, can you ever forgive me for those awful things I said to you just now?”
Karen smiled. “Yes, I know how disappointed you were. I forgive you.”
“They were awful. I shouldn’t have called you that, Karen. You really are so much of a girl.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, letting out a brief giggle.
Their conversation was interrupted by Janet’s voice that boomed out:
“All right folks, there’s nothing to see here.”
Heather looked up at Janet and said: “Thank you for intervening.”
“It’s for the good of the play, after all,” Janet said, a twinkle in her eye, since the girl had used a phrase that often emitted from Fenstrom’s mouth.
“Heather, I’m sorry about all this,” Karen said.
“I know you are, Karen, and I should have realized I just didn’t understand what Fenstrom wanted. I never felt comfortable with the part.”
“I know and it’s probably the most difficult part in the play, since Madge is supposed to be a brainless, uncaring beauty queen on the outside, but an insecure, sensitive, loving girl inside. I’m just worried I won’t be able to handle the part.”
“You’ll do it, Karen, I know you will.”
Suddenly the stage manager’s voice sounded over the loudspeaker system. “Two minutes. Cast, get your places on stage. We’ll begin from the top. Two minutes.”
“You’d better go, Karen,” Heather said. “I’ll be cheering from the wings.”
Karen gave Heather a warm hug, and stood to await her time to enter, which would not be until about five minutes after the opening curtain. As she waited in the wings next to Janet who had a longer wait before entering, Karen felt a shiver. She was certain her legs were shaking; it finally dawned on her that she would soon be in the spotlight. Would she fail as Heather did? Her stomach was all in knots, and she felt her morning banana, orange and yogurt breakfast about to rise into her mouth as sick bile.
*****
Thankfully, Karen finished Act One without a stumble, though she wondered if she maybe said her lines a bit too woodenly. She had been so concentrated on not forgetting a line that she felt she didn’t capture Madge’s character at all.
“Not a misstep, Miss Hansson,” Fenstrom said after the rehearsal to Act One ended, his voice gaining in deep sarcasm. “You couldn’t have played that part any more flat and woodenly. Have you no more emotion in you than that? Can’t any of you girls do that part like human beings?”
Karen nodded, realizing the director was right.
“I hope you understand, Karen. I picked you just because I felt you understood Madge, not because you know your lines. A robot could have played it as you just did.”
“Yes, sir.” She acknowledged the professor’s criticism, grateful that his words were said in a gentler manner than they had been to Heather.
“Remember, Act One is the easy act for Madge; she’s supposed to be a bit flighty, supposed to be a clothes horse, but by Act Three, you’ve got to make Madge’s emotions come to life and to be real, and that means you must plant the seeds of that sensitivity in Act One.”
Karen nodded, realizing that she’d have to study her lines intensively over the next few days, since the rehearsal schedule called for doing Act Two the following day and Act Three on the day after that. Maybe Ramini would have time to help her, she thought.
*****
Ramini was more than helpful; when she had heard of Karen’s possible role in the play, she had gone to the University library to find a script of the play on her own and found a VHS copy of the movie, in which Kim Novak played Madge. She had studied both, plus an online discussion about the play.
“I can see why Fenstrom wants to do this play,” Ramini said. “It’ll really test the acting ability of all of you, since it has such a simple plot, requiring more than a superficial reading.”
Karen was impressed with her roommate’s interest in the play.
Thus, Karen’s task of reading the lines almost developed into Ramini being an acting coach; Karen found that they sometimes disagreed with how to interpret Madge, but Karen felt the discussion helped her to understand a girl like Madge. Karen at first believed that Madge — as the playwright had created her — was like so many other shallow, brainless girls who paid constant attention to looking pretty, wearing accessories and fussing over clothes. Karen found that uninteresting and tiresome in a girl. Karen felt she could be truly feminine without such concentration of externals; after all, wasn’t she a girl on the inside before she became a girl on the outside?
“That’s it, Karen,” Ramini exclaimed at the end of a nearly two-hour session. “You’ve made Madge sound real, and not just a clothes horse.”
“Thanks to you, Rami,” Karen said. “I hope Fenstrom agrees.”
“I hope so, too, dear. You’ve told me how he likes things done his way and his way only.”
“I’m dead tired, Rami,” Karen said. “It’s midnight.”
“Me too, but I’m so grungy I need a shower.”
“Me too,” Karen nodded. “You can go first.”
“No you can, Karen, you must be so tired.”
“We both are tired, honey.”
Ramini’s expression changed suddenly, a smile popping onto her face.
“Let’s shower together,” the small girl suggested.
Karen considered for a moment and then smiled: “Yes, let’s.”
Though the two had seen each other naked before, they both found the new experience in the shower to be particularly erotic as they took turns soaping each other up. Both girls bathed with a creamy soap made for soft, tender feminine skin, and Karen moved her hands over the slender, dainty body of her friend. She cupped the tiny mounds of flesh on Ramini’s chest, causing the girl’s nipples to harden in her fingers and moved her hands to Ramini’s tummy, which was soft and spongy.
“You’re getting a little tummy, Rami,” she said, kissing her friend as the warm water cascaded down them.
Ramini’s hands had found Karen’s burgeoning breasts, and cupped them gently, her fingers playing with the nipples. The two pressed together, each massaging the other, their lips touching as they kissed. Karen felt Ramini’s hands leave her breasts and move down, following the silhouette of her body.
“You have a most lovely feminine body, dear,” Ramini said. “Those pills must be working.”
“Yours, too.”
“But not as fast as yours; I bet you’ll be a b-cup soon.”
Slowly, Karen felt her penis grow hard; it rarely occurred anymore, she knew, obviously due to the testosterone blockers she was taking, along with the estrogen pills. She felt Ramini’s hands playing with her tiny penis.
“What a cute little thing, Karen,” Ramini said.
“It never was much, Rami. Pretty pathetic for a boy, eh?”
Ramini giggled as she tickled Karen’s penis, and in response Karen returned the favor; soon they were playing with each others and giggling together. The humor of the situation — two apparent genetic boys playing with each other’s sorry male appendages — overwhelmed their earlier erotic sensations.
“We’d better finish up, Rami,” Karen said finally.
Just then, there was a rapping on the door.
“What are you two doing in there?” It was the voice of Doreen sounding masculine and demanding.
“We’re finishing up, Doreen,” Karen said.
The two girls quickly rinsed, dried each other off and put on their nightgowns, leaving the bathroom with towels wrapped around their bosoms.
“It’s all yours, Doreen,” Karen announced.
“It’s about time,” Doreen said. “I could hear you two lovebirds down the hall. It’s good Angela isn’t here, Karen, or she’d beat you and your girlfriend here black and blue. You know how jealous she is.”
“Don’t tell her, Doreen.”
“Don’t worry, hon, but remember you owe me.”
“What?”
“Just remember,” was all Doreen said, before she entered the still steamy bathroom.
Ramini looked inquiringly at Karen: “Is she still hot for you, Karen?”
“Seems that way, even though she’s got a friend, Rami. She’s a tough one.”
Karen had plenty on her mind that night, but by the time she was done putting her hair up, she was so tired she plopped into bed and fell asleep.
*****
“Brava, brava,” Professor Fenstrom shouted excitedly as the cast finished the rehearsing the next day. “You guys aced it, especially you, Karen. You put more into Madge’s character.”
“No sir, it was all of us, particularly Jason. He picked up the feeling, too, sir,” Karen said from the stage, blinded by the stage lights so that she couldn’t see the professor at his director’s seat.
“Yes, you did, Jason. You two have developed the relationship between Madge and Hal so marvelously. And the whole cast! But girls and boys, we can’t rest on our laurels; tomorrow we do Act Three and that will be a challenge for all of you.”
The cast exchanged “high-five’s” as the spotlights slowly dimmed and the cast and crew exited the stage to leave the theater.
Back in their room that night, Karen gave Ramini a long kiss and the tiny girl looked puzzled: “What was that for, not that I didn’t like it?”
“We aced the rehearsal today, thanks to you,” Karen said. “Can we do Act Three tonight?”
“Sure, but in about an hour, I gotta complete a paper,” she said.
“I need to do about an hour of homework, too,” Karen said.
“Won’t we need a shower when we’re all finished tonight, Karen?” Ramini said, adding a wink.
“Of course, but maybe we’d better not Rami. The other girls might not like it.”
Ramini pouted in response.
“You’re so cute when you pout, darling,” Karen said.
Their line-reading exercise was intense, since Ramini felt Karen was overacting in showing her apparent lust for Hal; as the evening wore on, Karen also felt she was not handling the part properly. Part of the problem, Karen felt, was the question of whether, in the play, Madge was being tempted to leave her home for an uncertain life with the wastrel Hal because of her lust for him or because of a natural desire for freeing herself from the stifling life of a dusty prairie town. By the time they finished the reading, Karen was totally confused; their shower that evening was quick and sensible, despite Ramini’s pleading for intimacy. Karen slept only fitfully, worried about how to handle Madge in rehearsal the next day.
For the first time that night, Karen questioned why she wanted to endure the pain of becoming an actress; the desire to make Madge appear real on stage consumed her, and she felt inadequate to meet the need.
“I almost feel tonight like an imposter in doing Madge,” she told Ramini. “It’s like when I pretended to be a boy. I couldn’t do it.”
“Honey, becoming Madge will be much easier than being a boy for you,” Ramini said. “Believe me, you never were a boy.”
*****
When rehearsal ended the next day, Karen felt empty, as if she hadn’t delivered what was needed to show the depth of Madge’s decision-making; yet, she had been puzzled because Fenstrom that day rarely interrupted the rehearsal for instruction, as he so often did. When the actors ended, there was dead silence in the auditorium. There were no enthusiastic words from Fenstrom as there had been the previous day, but there were no nasty criticisms, as there often were.
Finally, Fenstrom arose from his seat and emerged from the darkness as he walked on the stage and into the stage lights.
“That was a very affecting job, boys and girls,” he said simply. “Just keep doing Act Three as you all delivered it tonight and you’ll have the audience with you. We’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll redo certain parts of Act One and Two. That’s 4:30 again, boys and girls.”
Karen was stunned by the matter-of-fact way in which Fenstrom dismissed them. In spite of his words indicating that the cast had handled Act Three appropriately, Karen felt dissatisfied with her own performance; she felt she had been too hesitant and tentative in the process.
“Karen, would you please stay her a minute? I need to talk to you.” Fenstrom asked as crew and cast began leaving the stage.
“Yes, sir,” she said, a knot forming in her stomach as she pondered over the reason for the request.
He beckoned her to follow him over to a small table and two chairs set up in the wings, away from the others, giving them a modicum of privacy.
“What is it, professor?” she asked once she was seated opposite him. As she had done since she resisted his advances months earlier, Karen was careful to keep their relationship impersonal.
“I’m really impressed with your acting in this part, Karen,” he began. “You handled the Third Act, which is a difficult one, with great feeling. I think the rest of the cast fed off you in this scene, and the Act just came so alive.”
“I did?” she said hardly believing his words.
He smiled; the professor could show a warm smile that captivated others at times, perhaps the reason why in his younger days as a “leading man” he seemed to win (and break) the hearts of so many women.
“Professor, I felt so . . . ah . . . how should I say it . . . ah . . . tentative out there tonight. I didn’t know how you wanted to play it, as a girl in deep desire for Hal or as one wanting bigger things in life than to live in a small Kansas town. You didn’t tell me, sir.”
His smile broadened. “Do you think Madge knew what her motivations were in the play? Did the playwright Inge tell us what they were?”
“No, sir. I just thought there was a particular way it should be played.”
“No, honey,” the professor said, his voice soft and gentle. “That’s the genius of a good playwright. He gets the audience wondering about the characters, and your own puzzlement over Madge’s motivations showed that marvelously; you were reflecting Madge as if she were real.”
“So I should keep playing Madge as I did tonight?”
“Yes, honey,” he said his voice growing intimate. “Since you’ve now officially been confirmed for the part, that’s how I want to play it on opening night and for the run of the play. You’re Madge.”
“Oh professor, really, for sure?” Karen said, at first unbelieving his words, but quickly realizing they were for real.
“Yes, now, go home and get a good night’s sleep,” he said, reaching over to touch her hands.
It was without thinking that Karen rose slightly up from her seat and leaned over the table and kissed the professor quickly on his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, quickly withdrawing herself, ashamed of the impulse that prompted her to kiss the professor for giving her the part. It was just the natural thing for a girl to do and it meant nothing romantic, but Karen wondered if the professor would read more into the kiss than that.
He smiled at her and said. “Now, Karen, that’s enough of that. Just practice up on the rough spots in Act One, OK?”
As she left the auditorium, Karen began thinking over how she felt while performing Act Three that day. She had truly been uncertain as to how to handle the role, and it was that uncertainty that brought life into her performance. She recalled that during the rehearsal her mind flashed to Mark, and his rejection of her. She found similarity in Madge’s feelings when it appeared she might never again see Hal, unless she acted to stay in his life. Perhaps as she acted she had substituted her real life Mark for the fictional Hal.
“You almost had me in tears tonight,” Heather said, surprising Karen and interrupting her thoughts.
“Oh hi, Heather,” she said. “I did?”
“Yes, Karen,” the girl said, as the two walked away from the auditorium along the dark sidewalk.
“Thank you, and I better tell you that he has now given me the part for sure, Heather. I’m sorry.”
“I figured he would, Karen. You deserve it,” Heather said. “Just don’t get sick on me and then I’ll have to do the part. I’ll never do it justice as you did.”
“You’ll do fine, Heather,” Karen said. “But I promise you, I’ll be there opening night.”
“You’d better.”
The two giggled briefly.
“You’re a true friend, Heather,” Karen said finally.
“What are friends for, dear?”
*****
Karen’s excitement over being made the lead in the play was beginning to overwhelm her thoughts, and she felt her heart racing as she hurried back to her room; she had an English paper to complete that night, and for the moment even that daunting chore (which might take her ‘til past midnight) didn’t seem to put her off. At the moment, she felt that she could do almost anything.
During the long walk in the dusk of an early May evening, Karen soon realized she faced two weeks of anxiety and horror as she prepared for the play. What if she suddenly froze on stage and forgot her lines? How would she react if one of the actors (perhaps the boy playing Hal) were to miss a cue? Then, an old horror filled her mind — her gender transition.
While she hadn’t kept her born gender a secret, few in the cast and crew knew that she was anatomically a boy. Her outward appearance was convincingly feminine, no question about it, but there still was the matter of her birth certificate, her driver’s license and the fact that in the first semester of school she was “Kenneth.” Professor Fenstrom knew, of course, as did Heather and perhaps one or two more; to them, she had become a lovely, talented young lady.
Still, she realized, the fact would eventually come out; someone might tell the local newspapers or write a blog about her; it was inevitable.
That thought bothered her as she walked into her room, a wrapped sub sandwich in her hand that she had picked up on the walk home. Her plan was to put on a pot of coffee, and turn to writing her English paper. Professor Jonathan Barry Highwater, an effeminate twig of a man who favored wearing silken scarves under his corduroy, light brown sport coat (with patches on the elbows), had assigned the students to write from 750 to 1,000 words on something they had observed, emphasizing the descriptions in the writing.
Karen loved to write, but she was a slow, careful constructor of sentences, and was concerned how quickly she’d be able to finish it; it had to be submitted for a 10:15 a.m. class the next day. She chastised herself for not beginning the essay days earlier. She’d had a week to do it.
Fortunately, Ramini was out for the evening, attending a Bollywood movie with a few Indian girls who were also students at the University. Karen was pleased her friend had found several girlfriends to share her life; it truly was important, she knew, for girls like her and Ramini to find friendships among other girls, to be accepted by them.
She racked her brain to think of a topic for her paper: should she describe the theater or the backstage crew at work? Finally, it dawned on her: she’d describe Ramini, but of course, she’d change the name of the person she was describing. In fact, why not leave out the name totally? It inspired her the more she thought about it, realizing that she could spend the entire essay telling of Ramini’s exquisite femininity, only at the end revealing she had been born a boy. In a sense, too, she’d be describing her own life, wouldn’t she?
Karen decided to take a quick shower to clear her head, and put on her flannel pajamas, since the room was cool due to the furnace being off for the season; the evenings were still cool, of course. She examined her nude body as she prepared for the shower, seeing in the full-length mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door a body of soft, smooth flesh, with slender undefined arms and tiny mounds of breasts displaying pointed nipples with growing areolas. Her body was that of a young lady, except for the tiny protrusion beneath her tummy.
She noticed that she could see ribs showing underneath the breasts; she knew she was losing weight, and that had bothered her doctor at the Gender Clinic. Normally, Dr. Bargmann told her, girls on estrogen gained weight and what was occurring with Karen went against most expectations.
“You’re working too hard, Miss Hansson,” the doctor had said. “And you’re under stress, too. Please take care of yourself, dear. You need energy.”
“Oh, well,” Karen told herself. “I’ll worry about my health after the play.”
She was pleased with how quickly her body was responding to the hormone treatment, how much more feminine she had become, as her hips filled out, her butt seemed to grow fleshy and her skin became smoother and softer.
She realized soon that time was a-wasting. She finished her shower, put up her hair quickly and emerged to begin her paper, eating the sub sandwich as she wrote on her laptop. The words describing Ramini came unusually quickly and she wrote with speed, finishing well before midnight, even before Ramini returned to the room that night.
It was only then that she checked her text messages; there had been several, since she had heard the tiny “dings” as they came in. The first one was from Whitney Roberts, and she clicked onto it.
“Karen: Can u see me at noon tomorrow in front of library? It’s URGENT. Your friend, Whit.”
Karen puzzled over the message, wondering what was so important that Whitney needed to see her; their friendship was rather casual and they saw each other only about once every other week, usually at a student hangout for a few cokes and pizza. Karen genuinely liked the boy, but felt no romantic interest in him. She suspected he felt the same toward her, and she had begun confiding in him about her puzzlement at her troubled relationship with Mark.
Whitney had been a sympathetic listener, and what Karen liked about him was that he tried not to offer any solutions to her dilemma and was content to let her vent her feelings. About his only advice to her had been to show patience with Mark and to continue to show that she cared about Mark.
She texted back that she’d be able to see him at the appointed hour since she had a free period then. As she completed answering her other text messages, Ramini finally returned to the room, her face absolutely aglow.
“I had so much fun tonight with the other girls,” Ramini said excitedly, her tinny voice rising to higher girlishness. “They were all excited over my date this weekend with Aaron, and I must have tried on a dozen saris for them.”
“You’re wearing a sari to the dance with Aaron?” Karen asked, surprised since Ramini rarely wore clothes of her ancestral land. Karen had considered Ramini a totally “American” girl, having been born into a wealthy family in a Milwaukee suburb and raised as any other girl would have been in her neighborhood.
“Yes. Aaron suggested it,” Ramini said. “I think he wants to shock his friends at St. Al’s.”
“Well, I think your beauty will do that by itself, Rami.”
“You’re a doll, Karen,” the girl said, hugging Karen. “I’m going to wear a white silky sari, Karen. It’s so lovely on me.”
Karen pictured Ramini, her dainty figure wrapped in the lace of the sari. “You’ll be like a lovely flower from India, my dear.”
Ramini giggled and the two hugged.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 18
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Karen re-read her paper before submitting it at the morning class and was surprised at how well it read, considering the fact that she had rushed through it so quickly the night before. She remembered what Professor Highwater had said about knowing your subject thoroughly before beginning to write. Perhaps because she knew Ramini so well, her writing of the paper had come so easily, she thought.
After her morning classes, as Karen rushed off to meet Whitney; she wondered what was so important. Whitney was such a calm, matter-of-fact guy that it was unlikely he’d say something was “urgent” unless it truly was.
The day was darkening and another springtime rain was in the offing as Karen hurried to meet Whitney, realizing that she might be a few minutes late. As she scooted along the sidewalks heavily populated with students rushing to and from classes, she began wondering what was so important that Whitney felt they had to meet.
“Oh, I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Whit,” Karen said, breathing heavily.
“That’s OK, I just hoped you’d get here before the rain,” he said, after giving her a perfunctory hug and quick kiss on the cheek. It was the kind of a greeting a brother might give to a sister. Suddenly there was a burst of thunder, and Whitney escorted her into the Library’s lounge where a snack bar served coffee and light snacks.
“I thought we’d meet here since it’s less crowded and noisy than the Union,” he explained.
After they were seated, Whitney got a skinny vanilla latté for Karen and a large coffee for himself. He also ordered a small cheese pizza for the two to share for their lunch.
“Karen, first I want to congratulate you on getting the lead. How great!”
“Thanks, Whitney, but I’m scared I’ll not live up to the role,” she said. “It’s a difficult role.”
“You’ll do it, honey.”
“Now, what’s so important, Whitney? Not that you needed to say it’s ‘urgent’ just to get me to meet you. You know I’m happy to be with you anytime.”
“I know, Karen, but I know how busy you are, and I think this is urgent,” he said, his tone becoming somber.
“Well?”
“I have this guy who’s on my floor in my dorm, and he’s a religious nut, always talking about the word of God,” Whitney began. “When the student daily announced yesterday that you were going to take the lead, he went berserk. Somehow, he found out you were transgendered and he started ranting about this ‘heathen university.’”
“Well I guess he’s entitled to his opinion, but how would he know about me?” Karen asked. There was no indication in the news story of Karen’s gender, and few persons knew of Karen’s early years as a boy.
“I think there must be a spy somewhere, because I understand the student Christian Evangelistic group may be planning some sort of demonstration against it,” Whitney said.
“Oh my gosh.”
“I know, Karen, but I just thought I ought to warn you,” the boy said. “I’m so sorry, Karen.”
Karen eyed her skinny vanilla latte; she had been looking forward to the drink, but suddenly lost interest in it. She felt a sick knot forming in her stomach. She thanked Whitney for the information, leaned over to peck him on the cheek and got up to leave, her drink still untouched on the table.
“Wait, Karen, you’ll need to eat something,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist.
“I’d better contact Fenstrom on this, Whit,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t stay, Whit.”
Just then the pizza was brought to the table, and Whitney continued to hold Karen’s hand.
“Just relax a minute,” he said. “Fenstrom is probably out to lunch now anyway. You need to settle down.”
Realizing Whitney was probably right, Karen settled back into her chair.
“You’re a dear, Whit,” she said when she had finished one piece of pizza, leaving the other three to Whitney. Despite his urging, she couldn’t eat any more.
Whitney tried to change the topic, bringing up the fact that his mother (as the nurses’ union president) and her mother (as the hospital administrator) were locked in contentious negotiations and a nurses’ strike was imminent. They both lamented the situation, since Karen and Whitney worried that the close friendship between the two mothers might be damaged by the conflict.
“I think they’ll work it out, Karen,” Whitney said. “They’re both sensible.”
“But they might be forced into a strike, I’m afraid,” Karen said.
Karen realized that she was wasn’t the only one with problems in life. She knew from past labor negotiations that her mother became terribly tense and she imagined how difficult things must be back at home. She resolved to call her mother that night. Perhaps the two could cry together over the phone.
Soon the conversation moved back to Karen’s problems. “I really worried about your safety, Karen,” Whitney said. “You’ll never know what these nuts will do.”
“I’ve dealt with this before,” Karen said, trying to show a brave front.
“I know you have, but this could be worse. Look, what time do you go to rehearsal today? Let me escort you. I don’t want you walking in all by yourself, Karen.”
They agreed to meet outside the Humanities Building at 3:45 p.m., after Karen’s last class.
*****
“Maybe I ought to step down from the lead, professor,” Karen said, when she reached Fenstrom on her cell phone that afternoon.
“No, you don’t, Karen. Those nuts are not going to dictate who plays what part in my play,” he said.
“But, professor, if my playing the part will hurt the play, I don’t want to do it,” Karen said. “You and the others have worked so hard that I don’t want to be the cause of it falling apart.”
“Listen to me, Karen,” he said, adopting his usual dictatorial tone. “You will not step down. You will play the part, and you’ll play it with the same depth of feeling that you have already shown us. The only way you can hurt the play is if you don’t do your best. Got that?”
“Yes, sir,” she stammered, still not convinced that she shouldn’t resign from the part.
“See you at four, Karen,” he said.
“But, sir, I’ll be the source of all sorts of distractions, and . . .”
She heard the phone click. He had hung up on her.
*****
The crowd outside of the theater building was larger and more chaotic than she had imagined it would be. A ring of several score neatly dressed young people, along with older persons, including two of them prominently wearing clerical collars, picketed the sidewalk around the building. Along the street were several hundred other students, all who seemed to be heckling the picketers.
“It looks like the whole LGBT community is out to support you, Karen,” Whitney said as they approached the crowd.
There were signs being carried both by the pickets and the counter-pickets. “An abomination!” “Put God back into University,” and “Boycott Picnic” read the signs of the pickets, countered by “Let Freedom Ring,” “We Shall Overcome,” and “Rah, Rah, Rah, Karen” signs. Both sides were separated by a phalanx of police, who thus far seemed to have the situation under control. Several television trucks were on the scene, cameramen perched atop their vans recording the scene for the evening news, while others roamed the crowd seeking one-on-one interviews.
Whitney led Karen to a police officer, whose trooper hat being covered with gold braid indicated he must be in charge. To avoid drawing attention, Karen had put on a hoodie that, she hoped, would hide her from identification. She saw that several cast and crew members had been led by police escort through the crowd, accompanied by both jeers and cheers.
“She’s in the cast, sir,” Whitney told the officer, who name tag identified him as Capt. Will Hart.
The officer looked at Karen, his gaze unfriendly and critical.
“Oh, you must be the cause of all this,” he said, his voice showing disgust.
“No, sir, she’s just acting a part, that’s all,” Whitney said.
“And she or he or whatever shouldn’t try to change nature,” the officer said.
Whitney shouted back at the officer: “Do your job. Escort her through, officer.”
“Oh, a wise guy, eh?” he said. “Shut up or I’ll place you in the van over there.”
Karen saw Whitney carefully look at the officer’s badge, a tactic that the officer noticed. It quieted the officer’s objections, since he obviously realized that his role was not to judge the situation, but to keep the peace and to escort Karen into the rehearsal. He ordered several officers to lead Karen through the crowd.
“Here comes another one,” she heard someone yell.
“This one’s covering her head,” yelled another.
“That must be her! Or him!” The voice was loud, nasty and sarcastic.
“Karen! Karen! Karen! I love you,” another voice said.
“Stone her,” an angry voice shouted.
Karen ducked her head, the officers pushed her roughly through the crowd and soon she was inside the theater, scared and exhausted from the ordeal, and hardly ready for rehearsal.
*****
“My God,” Morton, a scruffy, bearded stage manager, said as Karen entered the backstage. “You’re a guy? Really?”
Karen, still flustered from the ordeal of rushing through the crowd, didn’t answer, although she nodded a clear “yes” to the unbelieving stagehand.
“And with that body? A guy?” Morton shook his head as he asked.
Karen ran smack dab into the midst of the rest of the cast, which had been huddled around Professor Fenstrom; it was apparent they were talking about the fuss outside the theater’s doors over Karen’s gender.
“Oh Karen, I’m so sorry this has happened,” Heather said, guiding her into the group.
“Yes, Karen,” agreed another girl, a senior who played one of the school teachers in the play.
“Come here, Karen,” commanded Professor Fenstrom, beckoning her to his side. He put his left arm around her narrow shoulders, drawing her close to him, almost as a father might do with his daughter.
“I want to say something to both the cast and the crew,” Karen said firmly to the professor.
“Karen, you don’t have to say anything, dear,” he said. “We’re behind you all the way.”
“But, professor, I think they need both an apology and explanation from me,” she persisted.
The professor hesitated. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Please, professor, I must,” she said.
It took less than a minute to bring together the 30 or so young people in the cast and crew; Karen felt that most, if not all, of the cast knew her background since the actors had formed a tight bond. She doubted the stage crew knew, since there was an unfortunate gap between those that get on the stage and those that work behind it. She knew the people backstage were as important to the success of the play as those in front.
Karen stood on a platform, with the others grouped around her.
“My dear colleagues,” she began, her voice almost squeaking in anxiety. “I must apologize for the situation that I’ve created and that you all had to encounter today when coming here. It’s my fault. I feel it is a distraction to the success of our play, and I have told Professor Fenstrom that I wish to resign the lead right now so that you can all continue to make ‘Picnic’ the best show in town.”
“No, no, no,” Heather shouted, and a chorus of “no’s” followed.
Professor Fenstrom hopped up on the stage and ordered the group to quiet down. He turned to Karen and repeated what he had earlier. “I will not accept your resignation from this part, Karen,” he said. “You have created a believable, warm-hearted and complex Madge and for the good of the play, you will stay.”
The assembled cast and crew cheered, but Karen noticed Janet Backus — the tall severe-looking senior girl who played Rosemary, the old-maid school teacher — scowling. She was shaking her head “no.” Just a few days earlier, Janet had supported Karen when Heather had at first complained about being replaced for the lead.
The crowd quieted down, and Janet yelled out, “This is obscene, an abomination. It offends God. It’s a grave sin and we’re wrong to support her, or him.”
Several boos and hisses greeted the girl’s comments, but Karen held up her hand. She knew Janet to be a serious-minded girl who was interested in doing Christian theater work.
“Janet’s got a right to her opinion,” Karen said. “And I think I owe all of you an explanation.”
Karen began slowly, tracing her story from her troubled years as a boy to the revelation that she gained when she assumed the part of Ophelia in the play at the summer camp.
“I found that in living as a girl I had finally found the true me,” she said. “It’s nothing I desired to start with. As a girl I felt natural, real, if you know what I mean. Now, I am a patient at the gender clinic, where I am on a track to become a woman in virtually every sense of the word. To answer my friend Janet, let me simply say that being a girl, being female, is truly my natural self. The boy I was pretending to be was an imposter.
“But my dear colleagues, I in no way want to cause disruption in our play. Heather can handle the part just as well as I can. So it you prefer, let me resign . . .”
“No, no, no,” the group protested. As Karen looked around, she saw nearly everyone was shouting, except for Janet, who turned her back and walked off the stage.
Professor Fenstrom moved Karen aside. “OK cast, get your places for the beginning of Act Two,” he announced firmly. “Rehearsal starts in five minutes.”
“I think Janet’s leaving,” someone yelled.
“What? Who’ll play Rosemary?” Heather said.
Karen knew no one had been assigned to understudy the part, and she bounded off the stage, running into the wings, catching Janet just as she was about to reach the exit.
“You can’t let the others down, Janet,” Karen pleaded.
“Oh Karen,” the other girl said. She was crying profusely. “I don’t want to let them down Karen, but this seems to wrong to me. Really, it does and it goes against everything I’ve been taught. How can I pray to God knowing what I know about you?”
Karen looked at the girl, wondering what to say. Finally she said, “Do I look like a devil to you?”
“No,” Janet said, fighting back tears. “And you’ve always been sweet and generous and I love acting with you. This is such a shock. I can’t believe you’re a boy.”
“That’s what I’m trying to say, dear, I’m not a boy. I never have been. Maybe I’m not a one hundred percent girl, either, so why would it matter about what clothes I wear?”
The other girl suddenly took Karen into her arms; she was a strong girl and easily embraced the more fragile Karen.
“I’m so confused, Karen,” she said finally.
The rehearsal was a few minutes late in getting started, since Karen had to lead Rosemary into the dressing room to dry the girl’s tears and help her compose herself for her role in Act Two. The rehearsal for the act ended with Fenstrom announcing: “OK cast, you’ve done well on this act.”
As they walked back to the dressing room after the rehearsal, Janet whispered to Karen: “I still can’t believe you were once a boy.”
“I thought I told you I never really was,” Karen said.
“That’s right,” Janet said, beginning to laugh. Soon they both were giggling uncontrollably.
*****
The fuss wasn’t over, however. The Christian Students’ Organization continued its daily picketing outside the theater, but it was clearly noticeable that the individuals marching around the theater appeared to include a majority of non-students. The publicity hit the local newspapers, and soon became national news after the Republican-controlled Legislature announced it would hold an investigation into the University for what some lawmakers said amounted to an encouragement of non-Christian practices. Editorials appeared, both pro and con, in newspapers throughout the state, with most of them supporting the use of a transgendered woman in a University play.
Karen, in the meantime, was besieged by emails and phone calls, from both supporters and others, some expletive-laced calls threatening potential violence against her; a day later, pickets showed up in front of the home where she and Ramini and the other girls lived, accompanied by police and an equal or larger group of counter-pickets. The scene there became so disruptive that Angela snuck Karen out of the house and drove her to stay with Jenny during the demonstrations.
When Karen had called Jenny wondering if she had room for her, the girl had responded: “Sure, Karen, come on over. One of the girls has dropped out, and there’s an extra room here right now.”
Her mother and Patti Hamilton called several times, both expressing concern for Karen’s safety. “Maybe you ought to quit the play, darling,” her mother said. It was apparent that would not be possible, as the opening night was fast approaching.
“Mark has seen the reports on the TV news here,” Patti told her. “He’s mad as hell and frankly I’ve never seen him so upset.”
“Mrs. Hamilton, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt his recovery,” Karen said.
“Oh dear, you aren’t,” Patti was quick to reassure her. “He’s finally become interested in something. It’s been good for him, and he’s so sorry to see what you’re going through. He has always cared for you, Karen. You must know that.”
“I do, Patti.”
Karen finished the call with a smile on her face.
*****
The story about a transgendered girl taking the lead role in the University-sponsored theater performance continued to dominate the news. With conservatives in control of State government, key political leaders of the ruling party had been empowered to continually raise issues they said were unpatriotic, irreligious or immoral. That Karen Hansson, born a boy, would play a role as a girl, one state senator contended, was “un-American, anti-Christian and a blot on the morals of the state and its citizens.” He called upon the State Arts Council to withdraw its funding from the play and threatened to seriously cut its budget in the future.
“We’re sticking with Karen Hansson for the part of Madge,” Professor Fenstrom declared in a press conference. “She is clearly the best girl for the part and she has the support of the cast to continue in the role. Miss Hansson is a dedicated and hard-working actor who will help make this play most successful on the stage. I invite all of you to join us at the performances. I think you’ll be glad you did.”
Dr. Larissa Thatcher, the University chancellor, sent out a press release supporting Fenstrom’s decision to cast Karen on the grounds of protecting “academic freedom,” as well as the University’s commitment to non-discrimination. She noted, too, that she was employing a transgendered girl on the work-study program for her administrative staff, an obvious reference to Ramini Verma, though she didn’t use the name. “This University is committed in its employment policies to hire the best person for the job regardless of that person’s race, gender, sexual orientation or other such factors.”
Rather than stifling the criticism aimed at Karen’s role, the strong support by Thatcher and other University leaders seemed to stoke the fire of the most fervent and extreme nature; soon demands were raised to fire Thatcher, dismiss Fenstrom and purge the University of its “immoral and non-Christian leaders.” The demonstrations outside the theater building grew even more noisy and raucous, so much so that the University’s own chief of police intervened, suggesting the cancellation of the play on the grounds of preserving the peace.
“The play will go on with Miss Karen Hansson in the role of Madge,” Fenstrom announced simply when interviewed on a local television news show on the second morning of the uproar.
Thus far, Karen Hansson had been successfully avoiding the news media. The local newspaper and the campus daily, along with their online entities, displayed a picture of “Kenneth Hansson” taken from her senior picture as published in the high school yearbook, alongside a publicity shot of Karen dressed for the part of Madge.
“You really could see the girl in you in the yearbook, Karen,” Ramini said, as the two examined the online views.
“I was called pretty then, but usually to harass me for being so . . . oh, I don’t know how to say it . . . for being such a sissy, I guess,” Karen remembered. The memories were not happy ones.
The other photo showed a soft, lovely girl with flowing brown hair in a light blue summer dress, her slender pretty arms and thin neck giving her a fragile appearance. The face that looked out from both photos displayed the same, high cheekbones, blue sparkling eyes and full sensuous lips.
“It’ll only be a matter of time before the media tracks you down,” Fenstrom warned Karen on a call to her cell phone. “You should be prepared to respond properly, Karen.”
“I will tell them ‘no comment,’ but that I’ll be happy to meet with them after the last performance of the play. I’ll ask them to respect my privacy and that of all of my friends, particularly those on the cast and crew of ‘Picnic.’”
Professor Fenstrom agreed that would be a good way to handle the situation and after a few encouraging words said he was arranging for police to be present to guide the actors safely into rehearsal the next day.
*****
Karen’s cell phone buzzed about 10 p.m., just as she was about to get ready for bed. The phone number was not one she recognized and she hesitated about answering it. Finally, realizing that few people knew her cell phone number, she touched the button that activated it.
“Hello,” she said cautiously.
“Is this Karen Hansson?” the voice asked. It was obviously that of a young man, an African-American.
“Who is this?” she replied.
“I’m sorry,” the caller began. “I should have introduced myself. I’m Merritt King.”
He said the name as if Karen should recognize the name immediately.
“Merritt King?” she answered aloud, still not recognizing the name.
Ramini who had been sitting nearby heard Karen sound out the name.
“That’s the football player, Karen,” she said quietly.
It dawned on Karen finally: Merritt King was the star running back on the football team; though only a freshman, he was already being touted as a potential Heisman Trophy candidate.
“I play football,” the voice said, becoming more questioning. It was a modest, seemingly shy voice.
“Of course,” Karen said, quickly recovering her senses. “My brother thinks you’re the hottest player around.”
“Thank him for me, but we still didn’t win the Rose Bowl this year, so I don’t think I’m as good as all that,” the voice replied.
“My brother’s pretty up on this stuff, but I’m afraid I don’t follow football too much,” she said, realizing that was only partly true since her eyes had been glued on the fortunes of the Iowa State football team and its star quarterback, Mark Hamilton.
Karen grew wary about the caller.
“How do I know you are really Merritt King? You could be a hoax. I have to be careful.”
“How do you think I got your phone number?” he asked.
“You figured out a way to find it out on the internet, probably.”
“No, I’m not that clever,” the boy laughed. “I got it from Mrs. Hamilton.”
“From Patti?”
“Yes, I visited Mark in Milwaukee yesterday, and he told me all about you and how upset he was that you were in the middle of all this attention.”
“You saw Mark?”
“He and I were roommates at a football camp two summers ago, and we became really good friends. I was devastated when he got hurt. I didn’t know about it until after our bowl game was ended, but I admit I think I cried.”
“How was he when you saw him, Merritt?”
“Energized, Karen, and it was all about you and what you’re going through. He knows how all actors have butterflies before going on stage and then to have to face all this fuss. It’s just not fair.”
“But how was he?” she persisted.
“Despite how difficult this is for him, Karen, his spirits were up, since he feels so bad for you. He really loves you, he told me, and he even cried talking about you and what a marvelous summer the two of you had in the theater camp.”
Karen felt like crying and laughing, almost at the same time. She recalled the wonderful six weeks the two had shared and the short Christmas visit, placing it in the context of her current tense situation and Mark’s unfortunate injury.
“Karen, I think all this stuff you’re facing now is so unfair,” Merritt said. “I know something about discrimination, and it’s so wrong. We’re going to come out and support you.”
“We?”
“Yes, I have talked to the entire starting backfield on the football team, as well as our all-America center and we’ve decided to escort you through the pickets tomorrow, in full view of the press and everyone.”
“You are? For me? Oh Merritt, that’s wonderful. How can I ever thank you and the others on the team?
“You can thank us by putting on an ‘all-America’ performance in the play,” he said. “We’ll be there to cheer you on.”
Karen hung up, stunned. Ramini hugged her after Karen related the contents of the call.
“How great to have such support, Karen! With the football guys on your side, wow!”
“Yes, that’s marvelous, but Rami, just think, Mark must still love me.”
Ramini hugged her friend tightly, letting her cry onto her shoulder. What is more marvelous than a prolonged crying session when the tears are tears of joy?
*****
Merritt King proved to be as good as his word the next afternoon when Karen arrived at the University Library, the spot chosen for her rendezvous with King and his teammates since it was near to the Theater, but hidden from view by a group of trees. Her friend Whitney Roberts volunteered to accompany Karen to the appointed spot.
“Karen, it looks like the whole team is here,” Whitney said as they rounded a corner to see a large group of husky young men, along with a sprinkling of girls, all wearing the red and white colors of the University.
Karen was speechless by the sight before her and walked toward the group when a handsome African-American young man, obviously the leader, walked forward to greet her.
“Miss Hansson, I presume. I’m Merritt,” he said, extending his hand. He wore a broad, warm smile.
“Yes, I’m Karen, and who are all these people? I can’t believe this.”
“Well this is most of the football team, plus some of the cheerleaders,” he said. “I couldn’t round them all up, since some were busy or I couldn’t find them, but most of us are on your side. We wouldn’t stand for discrimination on the team and the theater group shouldn’t either.”
“This is incredible. I don’t know how I can thank you enough,” Karen said, so taken by the generosity of King and his friends that she felt she’d begin crying again.
“Let’s get going. You don’t want to be late for rehearsal. I understand your director is as tough on you folks as our coach is on us.”
With that, King took Karen’s hand and led her toward the group. He yelled out: “OK, hit it team!”
Suddenly she heard the horns and drums of a brass band burst out with the team’s fight song; hidden among the mass of red and white was a small group of band players — apparently the brass and percussions — who led the way, followed by the cheerleaders. Merritt King, still holding Karen’s hand, moved to the front, just behind the cheerleaders, and the entire entourage moved through the small wooded area toward the theater, singing the fight song, doing a few cheers and then returning to other songs familiar to the students. It was a festive sight and belied the potential altercation that might develop.
The effect was electrifying; the pickets who had gathered to either jeer or cheer Karen quickly moved aside to open a lane for the marchers. Television cameramen focused on the marching group, their camera lens spending lots of time focusing on Karen and the handsome, muscular young man holding her hand.
As they reached the steps of the Theater Building’s entrance, King raised his hand to bring the group to a stop. He mounted on a stone pedestal at the foot of the stairs, and was handed a bullhorn from one of his teammates.
He signaled for quiet, and eventually the crowd became largely silent — except for a few hisses and boos from the protesting Christian group — so that the main sound breaking the warm spring afternoon was the whir of television cameras:
“I have a statement to read,” he began, his voice strong and eloquent, even for a still growing young man 19 years of age. There was a buzz in the crowd, and King paused briefly before continuing.
“All of what I have written and will say here are my words; no one else is responsible for what I say. However, I believe it represents the general feelings of all of the students you see here, and that includes players of the football team, a few members of the basketball team and the track team, plus many cheerleaders and band members.
“We football players and others here are very much like Karen and her friends who are acting at the Theater. We’re all students and we all represent our University in a very public way. Karen tells me that she gets an anxious stomach before going on stage each time, and I know all of the players here get those same feelings as we enter the field before each game as we run out of the locker room in the stadium.
“Likewise, we feel that a student wanting to act in a play should have the same right as all other students do. We know Professor Fenstrom and his staff wish to stage the best play possible and therefore want to put the best performers on the stage, just as our coach wants the best and most dedicated players on the field. And from what I’ve been told, Karen does one heck of a job in portraying her character on stage.
“No one, regardless of race, ethnic origin, gender, age or sexual orientation should be denied the right of access to any activity on this campus, and that includes such transgendered persons as Karen Hansson. Please let Karen do her performing on stage, and I think you’ll see that she’ll give an All-American performance and make our University proud.”
Cheers followed, and the band struck up the fight song again. Karen waved to the crowd, gave Merritt King a quick kiss on his cheek, having to stand up on her toes to reach his face.
“Give ‘em hell, Karen,” the boy responded.
Karen bounded up the stairs and into the building for rehearsal, fighting back tears and fearing that she’d begin bawling profusely at the gratification of the support she received.
She realized she was five minutes late, and Professor Fenstrom who was standing in the midst of the cast and crew for the Act One rehearsal to start, met her with a scowl. “You’re five minutes late, Miss Hansson,” he said sternly. “One minute later and Heather would have been assigned to the part.”
“But, I was . . .”
Fenstrom ignored her, and ordered the cast to assemble for the start of Act One rehearsal. “Last time through on this act, you folks played it like you were dead,” he said, his voice still reflecting anger. “If you don’t put some life into your parts, you’ll have half the audience walk out when the act ends. Now get to work and forget all these other distractions.”
The rehearsal that day seemed to go well, Karen thought, although Fenstrom continued to break in with criticisms and sarcastic remarks; nearly every actor, plus some of the backstage crews’ actions, were subject to nitpicky comments (at least Karen felt they were minor and unnecessary but definitely reflecting Fenstrom’s characteristic direction).
At the end of the day, Karen bumped into Deborah, Fenstrom’s administrative assistant with whom Karen had worked when in his office. “What’s bugging him today, Deborah?” she asked the older woman.
“I don’t know Karen, but he’s been this way all day. It may just be the pressure of opening night coming up and he’s usually a bit ornery at such times. This time, however, he’s worse than ever.”
Karen shook her head in puzzlement.
“Does he want to get rid of me?” she asked. “Is he regretting his decision for me to play Madge? I volunteered to quit the part, you know.”
“I doubt that,” Deborah said. “I’ve heard him on the phone and he’s been arguing with someone about you though and every time he’s said that you’re best suited for the part and that he won’t replace you. I know he’s under tremendous pressure from some higher-ups in the administration to dump you, as well as some wealthy donors, but you should know Fenstrom by now. Once he gets his mind set, you’ll not change it.”
Karen nodded, realizing that Fenstrom could be terribly stubborn. Yet the feeling that she was causing such trouble bothered her. She said. “I am a distraction. I should have quit.”
“No dear, you shouldn’t have,” Deborah said, placing her hand on Karen’s shoulder. “Just do the best job you can, and you’ll easily prove him right. I’ve seen your rehearsals and you’re an excellent Madge, dear. I’m not sure either Janice Rule or Kim Novak did it better.” Ms. Rule performed the part in the original Broadway production and Ms. Novak starred in the movie.
Fenstrom said nothing to Karen before she left the theater to return to her room. Only four days to opening night, and already Karen felt a growing anxiety. She knew she had to be perfect; she had to justify Professor Fenstrom’s risk in naming her to the part. She mulled that expectation over in her mind that night, and it gnawed at her deeply, making it impossible to sleep. Her mind only began to calm when she began thinking of Mark and how he urged Merritt King to support Karen, along with the stirring display of solidarity from his teammates, the cheerleaders and the others. She realized she was not alone in her quest for womanhood, and she soon fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 19
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Because of the constant pursuit by the press, Karen stayed with Jenny and the seven other girls who occupied a private house on the other side of the campus. Thus far, her new home had not been discovered. Angela had been shown on local television in interviews in which she denied knowing where Karen was; she was clever enough to give the interviewers a few tidbits about Karen to satisfy their deadline needs, but not enough to reveal much personal information.
“Thanks Angela,” Karen said when the girl had brought some of Karen’s clothes, her laptop and a few other materials to her temporary residence. “You’ve been a real friend.”
“Darling, you know I love you,” she said, kissing Karen affectionately.
“I know, and I consider you my best friend, but you know I want to leave it that way. I just don’t want us to be lovers. I’m sorry about that.”
“I know, Karen. I respect that, since I know how much you love Mark.”
The two girls hugged. Karen knew they’d be girlfriends forever.
The media, however, was not to be stifled in its quest to delve into Karen’s life and to seek out sordid information that would make her a subject of tabloid speculation. Though stories about transgendered women had become commonplace, the public seemed fascinated by the story of this onetime boy who had become a ravishing beauty and a potential starlet.
A television reporter and camera crew had accosted Cecelia Hansson and Karen’s brother, Sonny, as they returned to their Manitowoc apartment the previous day, thrusting microphones before them. Cecelia was equal to the task and stopped, raised her hand and said: “I will have one simple statement to make and that’s it. When I’m done, I’ll say no more and ask that you respect our privacy.”
“But Mrs. Hansson . . .” a reporter yelled out.
“Now listen closely,” his mother began. “Karen was always a very special child in many ways. She has always been generous and loving. We’re looking forward to seeing her perform as Madge. Thank you for your interest.”
Yells from several reporters were heard, and Cecelia was about to turn about and enter the apartment building, when Sonny moved and grabbed a microphone.
“Mom, I’d like to say something,” he said, his voice already having changed into the deep baritone of an adult man.
“No Sonny,” she protested.
Sonny persisted:
“Look, let me say that I am very proud of my sister,” he said into the microphone. “She is a courageous girl, more courageous than anyone I’ve ever known. I’m very lucky to have an older sister like Karen.”
With that, he thrust the microphone back to the reporter, grabbed his mother by the arm and led her back through the crowd of media people and into the apartment.
When Karen saw the episode later from the television station’s website, she smiled. Turning to Jenny who watched it with her, Karen said: “I’m so proud of Sonny.” She had tears in her eyes.
*****
During her morning break, Karen got a phone call from Jeremy, the leader of the Catholic campus chapel group that was planning the fashion show.
“We missed you and Ramini at the meeting last night,” he said. “What happened?”
“Well, you know I’m kinda busy,” Karen said.
“We knew that, but Ramini at least said she’d be there, and that you would try to come after your rehearsal,” the boy said.
“Well, to tell the truth, we told Father Jim about our transition and he was shocked,” Karen said. “And, he said we weren’t welcome.”
“Hmmmmm,” Jeremy said. “Well, I was shocked, too. I could hardly believe it. You really are so beautiful and we’d love to have you and Ramini model at the show. Remember it was your idea, and a good one it was.”
“But Father Jim didn’t seem too pleased with either Ramini or myself, and it’s no fun being where you’re not welcome.”
“Forget about him, Karen. We’re a campus-sponsored club and that means all students are free to join us, and that includes you.”
“We didn’t want to cause you problems,” Karen said.
“But, please, Karen, come back. We need you and Ramini.”
“Maybe next week, after the play is ended,” Karen said, finally.
“Listen, Karen, I’m going to talk to Father Jim,” Jeremy said. “I know he’s open-minded. It’s just that he’s got to deal with the archbishop on this, and you know how conservative he is.”
“I know, Jeremy, but perhaps the Church is no longer for me, particularly if they can’t accept me for who I am.”
“We’ll see, Karen. We’ll see.”
The two exchanged good-byes and Karen hung up. She was truly puzzled, wondering whether she should hold onto the religion into which she had been born or walk away from it and seek spiritual guidance elsewhere. Where indeed did the truth about God lie? Could she find truth in a Church that was hidebound into unscientific and narrow thinking, or would she find truth only in her own sense of being?
*****
As Karen attended class in the days leading up to opening night, she found herself constantly the center of attention, thanks to the publicity generated over her role as Madge. Other students in her classes kept eyeing her, apparently looking for signs of the boy she had once been; many of them made positive statements, telling of their support or stating how absolutely gorgeous she was.
Several, however, were not so generous, and sent sneering looks in her direction, and occasionally accompanied them with nasty comments. She tried always to walk with friends to and from classes, although that was not always possible.
On the day of dress rehearsal, she left history class only to be accosted by several boys with scraggly beards and torn jeans. A tall chubby boy moved in front of her, and as she tried to dodge him, another boy crowded her, forcing her to stop.
“Let’s see your dick, honey,” the chubby boy said crudely.
“Let me through,” she said forcefully. She had been instructed at the Gender Clinic that the best defense was to show strength and remain calm, even when she was terrified.
“You’re a sick person,” another boy said, almost spitting in her face. She could smell his foul breath.
She let out a loud scream, startling the boys; even they were smart enough to realize that her screams would sound like a girl was facing a rape attack. They quickly scattered, and several other students came to Karen’s side to assist her.
“Are you all right, dear?” a girl asked, moving next to Karen and holding her.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“You did the right thing,” the girl said, her eyes closely examining Karen. “Oh, you’re that girl. That girl in the news.”
“Yes,” Karen nodded.
“Well, you reacted just how a girl should react, dear,” the girl said. “You screamed. You’re quite a girl, do you know that?”
*****
It took a while for Karen to compose herself and she was still shaking when she entered the next class, a lab session in sociology led by a young teaching assistant, who asked to be addressed as “Mr. Everett.” Finally, the realization came to her that the transition into becoming a prominent person — while transitioning from male to female — would take much courage; she knew she would face more incidents in the future as she had that day. Then, again, she recalled: Hadn’t she faced such frightening moments before, when she had been harassed and nearly raped while still acting as a boy on the boys’ floor of the dormitory in her first months on campus?
“Miss Hansson,” a voice sounded in her ear.
“What?” she said, awakening from her daydreaming over the horrors she had faced and would likely continue to face.
“Miss Hansson,” the teaching assistant said, a soft-spoken young man with a neatly trimmed goatee. “I asked you if you had any reaction to the reading on the effects of mandatory sentencing of drug offenders.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Everett,” she said, recovering from her reverie. “Yes, I did. It seems the author was wrong to conclude that the recent drop in the use of crack cocaine meant that the mandatory sentences were a success. It seems other drug use has increased while crack has dropped.”
“She’s all wet,” argued a male student sitting a row away. “Talk to my dad. He’s a cop in Chicago working vice and he’ll tell you it has been good to get those crackheads off the streets and into prison.”
The classroom was soon engulfed in a full-blown discussion as to the benefits of mandatory sentencing, and Karen found herself soon engaged in the argument, seeming to lead those who agreed such sentencing was wrongheaded. At one point she found herself standing up, almost nose-to-nose in arguing with the boy, a tall, wide-shouldered young man with his light brown hair trimmed in a tight crew cut.
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you, Karen?” the boy said. “Just calm down little girl.”
“Don’t patronize me, Mr. Polston. What makes you think you guys are any smarter than we girls are?” she said.
The boy — Adam Polston, by name — backed off, retreating from the accusation. “Look, Karen, first of all, let me say that I am aware of what you’re going through now, and I want to applaud you for your courage in the face of all this publicity. I hope you do a great job in the play, but you’re all wrong on this mandatory sentencing issue.”
At that point, the teaching assistant intervened, saying: “You two have engaged in an interesting discussion. So let’s leave it at that. Now class is about over, and I want to give my personal applause to Karen Hansson for her courageous decision to begin her transition and to take on an acting role. Anyone who cares to join me may clap for her right now.”
Everett raised his hands and began clapping, and within seconds the rest of the class stood and clapped as well, followed by a few whistles. The boy, Adam, moved over to Karen, took her in his arms and hugged her in a friendly manner.
He whispered in her ear: “You’re wrong about mandatory sentencing, Karen, but still, let me say, ‘break a leg.’”
*****
“Thank you, Adam,” Karen said as they left the classroom. “Your support means a lot.”
Adam smiled. Karen found his smile to reveal a sweet, warm-hearted boy, something that was not immediately apparent. Throughout the semester, Karen had viewed the large young man from Chicago as a sort of unthinking lout.
“Look,” he said, “When I came here I thought that girls like you . . . ah, what can I say.”
He began an awkward stutter.
“What, Adam? That we were immoral or something?”
“Well, I guess, yes, but knowing you just from class and seeing how real you are makes me wonder. I’ve looked into this transgenderism stuff, and I never realized what it involves,” he said. “You’re a strong girl, I can see now.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“And remind me never to get into another argument with you,” he said with a wink.
*****
Her brother, Sonny, sent a text message on the day of the opening night of the play to state that he and their mother would be unable to see her before the show and they would be arriving just in time for the opening curtain.
Leaving after mom’s work. Mom says “Break a Leg.” Not sure what that means. Hugs, Sonny
She met Ramini at a favored Indian restaurant at about 4 p.m., realizing that she’d need to eat something to keep her strength up for the performance.
“I’m so keyed up, Rami,” she said as the two girls settled down in the booth.
“I know, dear. That’s only natural, but you should eat something,” her friend said. Ramini was wearing a plain, grey colored sari trimmed in lavender, with a matching headpiece. She had been allowed to leave early from her job in the chancellor’s office, where she was employed as a work-study office assistant.
Karen finally, on the recommendation of Ramini, ordered a mildly spiced meat wrap and a small fruit salad. It was a modest meal, but Karen found it difficult to digest it; her stomach seemed in constant turmoil.
“The chancellor’s office is getting lots of heat from religious outfits and some right-wingers on your performance tonight,” Ramini said.
“I’m so sorry about that, Rami. I never wanted this to happen, and, in fact, that was why I didn’t care when Fenstrom originally chose Heather for the part. It took pressure off me.”
Ramini smiled, her dark eyes sparkling. It was the girl’s best feature; they literally danced when she was happy.
“The chancellor is standing up to them, Karen,” Ramini said. “I think she relishes the fight. She’s even had some big donors calling her about it, but I think she set them straight.”
Karen had been surprised by the support shown by Chancellor Thatcher, who had sometimes been portrayed as a university leader who was more interested in fund-raising than in academics or educational principles.
“I guess I misjudged her, Rami,” she confessed.
“Maybe you inspired her, Karen. You seem to inspire lots of people, including me.”
Karen was finally able to finish her meal, even topping it off with a mango sherbet that seemed to settle her stomach. Perhaps it had been Ramini’s gentle lilting voice that helped; the girl had been gushing with happiness since her weekend as Aaron’s date in the spring dance at St. Albert’s College.
“I can’t wait to see Aaron tonight,” Ramini said. “He’s coming in especially to see you perform tonight, Karen.”
“Really? All the way from St. Albert’s?”
“Yes, he’s staying with his sister, but we’ll spend much of the weekend together,” she said. “He sent me an email this morning, saying that he read online about you in the play and felt he wanted to come and support you, Karen.”
“That’s sweet of him. He’s such a thoughtful boy.”
“He is, Karen, and that’s just one of the reasons I’m falling in love with him,” she gushed.
“So soon, Rami? You’ve only known him a short while.”
“Oh Karen, I know him, and remember, you fell in love with Mark in just six weeks at that summer camp.”
Karen blushed. That was true, she realized.
“And, besides,” Ramini continued, “Aaron has already told me that he loves me, too.”
“Now, if I could only get Mark to say that to me,” Karen said.
“He does love you, Karen. I’m sure of it dear. But he’s confused now, perhaps still not sure of his own future and so worried about being a burden to you, or worrying that you want to be with him only out of pity, and a boy like him hates to be pitied.”
“I hope you’re right, Rami,” she said. “But, darling, I’m so happy for you.”
Karen rushed back to her room at Jenny’s place, showered and prepared herself to go to the theater for the performance. She was both frightened nearly into paralysis and eagerly excited, two emotions that set her heart to pound heavily.
*****
Besides the butterflies that tormented her stomach as she contemplated her opening night performance, Karen was still concerned about the demonstrations that might be staged outside the theater.
The leader of the hard-line conservative Christian group that seemed to be leading the picketing said he was disgusted with the reaction of the University administration (and Chancellor Thatcher in particular) for supporting the casting of Karen in the lead part. The Reverend Timothy Mitchell (though his own religious affiliation was sketchy) proclaimed: “This casting of a boy as a girl in a play by a public university is a slap in the face to all Christians in our great state. The decision by Chancellor Thatcher to support this casting is callous, anti-religious and immoral and is leading us into perdition.”
Mitchell promised renewed demonstrations for opening night.
Whitney Roberts volunteered to escort Karen to the play. When he showed up at Karen’s residence, he had a tall, muscular blondish young man with him.
“This is my friend, Tyler McHenry, and he’s going to join us to get you to the theater, Karen,” Whitney announced.
Karen held out her hand limply to greet McHenry, and was surprised with how gently the young man took her hand. In a soft voice, he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hansson.”
Flanked by the two men, Karen walked to the Theater. They were soon joined by Merritt King and about a dozen members of the football team, a few cheerleaders and scores of other supporters. They chanted out in unison “We love Karen.” In such a rousing style, Karen was led through the crowd of demonstrators and counter-demonstrators, assisted by the police, into the theater.
When she got to the top of the steps at the theater entrance, Karen turned and waved at the crowd, blowing the group a kiss. The crowd cheered loudly, easily drowning out the “boos” from the much smaller group led by the Rev. Mitchell.
Her eyes drifted briefly toward Whitney and his friend where she saw the two hugging each other and smiling. She gave them a discreet wave of “thanks.”
“I hope all those demonstrators won’t scare away the audience,” she said to a security guard that led her into the Theater.
“I don’t think they will, miss,” he said. “There really didn’t seem to be too many of them there to start and the police should be able to keep them at bay.”
“I’m so grateful for all the support,” she said, smiling.
“Break a leg, miss,” the guard said.
*****
“You were excellent, Karen,” Mary Ann Kelsey told her as she assisted Karen into a quick costume change during the second act.
“Thanks,” she said, struggling out of a simple print sundress she was wearing.
“Slow down, honey,” the costumer said, soothingly. “The more you hurry the behinder you get.”
Karen nodded, trying to get the panic out of her system. She loved the dress she was about to put on; in fact, it was more than a dress. The outfit could be described as a gown, elegant enough to be worn at a prom or other fancy dress function. In the play, the dress was described as having been bought by her mother in Kansas City to be used by Madge (the character that Karen was playing) for special occasions. The dress was of a light warm pink material and was cinched at the waist, with two-inch straps over the otherwise bare shoulders. The skirt portion flowed graceful down to the ankles.
“You’re lovely,” Mary Ann said, “You’re the picture of femininity.”
“I love this dress, Mary Ann,” Karen smiled.
“And you’re perfect for it, dear,” the costumer said.
Mary Ann was a graduate student in theater at the University and she specialized in costuming, having already been involved in several professional theatrical performances in the area. She even had her union card.
“Thank you, that means a lot,” Karen said, as she moved to the wings to await her cue.
*****
Karen’s performance that opening night would have been perfect, except for one flaw; she missed one line in a love scene with Trent Cole, a senior boy who played Madge’s lover, Hal. In the scene, Madge tries vainly to resist the charms of Hal — who is a ne’er-do-well, but captivating young man — only to fall passionately into his arms.
It was at this point where Karen, who had perfected an uncanny ability to move her emotions into the part she was playing, entered into an emotional reverie. She felt the muscular arms of the actor playing Hal, and began imagining that she was in the arms of Mark Hamilton; on stage, Karen burst out, “Oh Mark, I love you,” a mistake she realized immediately. The words caused Cole to tense up briefly, but Karen attacked his lips with greater passion, and in the drama of the moment the mistake seemed to pass almost unnoticed.
“That was quite a scene, Karen,” Cole said as the two left the stage at the end of the Act.
“I’m sorry, Trent. It’s just that I got caught up in the moment,” she said.
“I felt that. Who’s Mark? Your boyfriend?”
Before she could answer, she was accosted by Eric Fenstrom, anger flashing in his eyes. “What was that? If you can’t keep your men straight, you’ll be off the set, girl.”
“I’m sorry, I got caught up in the moment,” she said.
Seeing the backstage drama beginning, Karen saw Fenstrom’s wife, the onetime great actress Beatrice Peters, approach: “Eric, get off her back. She had the audience eating out of her hand in that scene,” she said to her husband.
“But to screw up like that,” Fenstrom said.
“I know she won’t ever do it again, Eric,” his wife said. “Besides, dear, I don’t think either Janice Rule or Kim Novak ever did that scene with more feeling.”
Fenstrom nodded his head, and turned to Karen: “She’s right, Karen,” referring to his wife’s comments. “Just continue with that passion in the next act, dear, but no more references to ‘Mark,’ OK?”
“I won’t sir,” she said.
The play ended with thunderous applause, with most of the audience rising to their feet in a standing ovation. For the second curtain call, director Fenstrom, along with two other backstage directors, joined the cast in their bows. Fenstrom gave Karen a warm hug as he came on stage to the joy of the audience.
The cast took their individual bows, with Karen and Trent holding hands to walk out in front of the crowd. Trent bowed to loud applause and when Karen curtsied the clapping became even more intense, accompanied by repeated hoots and whistles.
At the third curtain call, five grade school girls marched on stage with bouquets of flowers for the five young women who played major roles in the play. Karen plucked one of the roses from her bunch and presented it to Fenstrom, who gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“You’re a star, Karen,” he whispered as they parted.
*****
Karen found her mother and brother waiting along with other relatives and friends as she walked out of the stage door about 15 minutes later.
“Sis, you were magnificent,” Sonny said, hugging her.
“Yes, honey, I have to admit getting caught up in the play,” Cecelia Hansson said.
“Mom, Sonny, I’m so glad you were able to make it. Did you see the whole play?”
“Yes, we got in just before the curtain went up,” her mother said.
“We’d have gotten here sooner if mom didn’t drive so slow,” Sonny said.
“But you got here alive, Sonny,” Karen chided her brother, remembering how he always told Karen (when she was Kenny) that he drove like a “girl,” a thought that made her smile.
“Now, children, let’s not fight on this marvelous night,” their mother said.
As they stood there other members of the cast and various individuals came by to praise Karen for her acting; several made comments, meant to be compliments, that alluded to her onetime boyhood status, “You made a most convincing girl,” or “I could never believe you’re still a boy under all that.”
Karen wanted to respond, telling them that she never was a boy and that she always was a girl, but she had been advised by Moira, her counselor at the gender clinic, to accept such comments in the spirit in which they were given and smile girlishly back at the person.
“Let’s go get something to eat,” Cecelia Hansson suggested.
The three Hanssons began walking to the front of the theater, when a voice sounded out, “Karen, over here. We’re over here.”
Karen saw Patti Hamilton standing to the far right of the front entrance of the theater.
“Mom, Mrs. Hamilton is here,” Karen shrieked.
She led her mother and Sonny toward Mark’s mother, wending their way through the groups of people leaving the theater.
“Mark’s here!” Karen yelled out, bounding away from her mother pushing others aside to move alongside the husky young man in a wheelchair.
“Mark!” she screamed, dropping to her knees to hug the young man, covering him with kisses.
Mark drew Karen forward so that the two could kiss; it was awkward and uncomfortable for both, but they seemed not to notice as their passions took over.
“I’m so sorry, Karen,” Mark said when the two finally broke their embrace. “I have missed you so much, but it didn’t feel right to continue our affair. You’re so beautiful. You deserve a life of your own.”
“Mark, my life is with you,” she said, tears beginning to flow down her cheeks.
“But I’m such a cripple, and will be for life, it seems,” he said sadly. “I tried not to read your letters, trying to put you out of my mind. I wanted you to be free to have other boyfriends, boys who could be complete and not like me, half of a man.”
“Oh, Mark, you’re a complete man,” she said.
“You were so pretty on stage tonight,” Mark said, seeking to change the subject. “Did you mean it when you said on stage that ‘I love you, Mark?’”
“More than ever. More than ever.”
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 20
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Chapter 20: Summer Interlude
During the play performances, Karen continued to live at what could be considered a “safe house,” hidden away from the inquiring eyes of protesters and the media. Her friend Jenny found a room for Karen in the off-campus residence where she lived. The protests calmed, with only a token force of objectors picketing the theater, but Karen felt it would be safer to remain at the quarters, and that she would move back to her residence in the building with Angela and her friends after the play performances ended with a Sunday matinee.
She was in a deep sleep on the Sunday morning after the Saturday night performance of the play when she was awakened by the loud, excited voice of Angela.
“Karen, Karen, look at this.”
“What? What?” Karen said, awakening in total confusion as to where she was.
“Look here, Karen!”
Karen cleared the crusted gook from her eyes, finally seeing her friend Angela seated at the foot of her bed.
“Why are you here?” Karen asked.
“I saw the newspaper first thing this morning on my early run and had to show you,” Angela said.
Karen noticed that the girl was still in her running outfit, shorts and a skin-tight top. Angela was glistening with perspiration and for some reason the sight aroused Karen; she loved seeing the girl’s tanned, muscular thighs and strong tendons of her neck.
She sat up on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to appear less disheveled. She knew her face must look puffy and pale and that she must have exuded a musty, foul odor from the night of deep sleep.
“Here, Karen, read this. They loved you, dear,” Angela said, thrusting a section of the Sunday paper into Karen’s hands. It was folded to show a headline: “An unusual star is born.” The story read:
“All eyes were on Karen Hansson — AKA Kenneth Hansson — as she took the stage Friday night in the opening of William Inge’s ‘Picnic,’ as performed by the University Players.
“No doubt many of the patrons in this sold-out University Theater came curious about how a boy-turned-girl could perform the part of the beauteous Madge, the prettiest girl in this fictional Kansas town.
“Any hint that there was anything weird or strange about Ms. Hansson’s performance due to her gender confusion was dispelled long before Act One ended. She had the audience eating out of her hand by the time she donned the pretty dress her mother (in the play) had bought in Kansas City.
“Make no mistake about it: Karen Hansson is all girl and a downright fetchingly attractive one at that.
“Director Eric Fenstrom had maintained in the brouhaha that grew out of his selection of this transgendered girl that she was chosen as the ‘best girl for the part’ and not as some sort of gimmick to boost the attendance for the play. Karen Hansson’s performance certainly proved the point; she’s definitely a star in the making if this freshman student from Manitowoc chooses acting as a profession.
“In an after-play interview, Ms. Hansson said that her real interest lies in social work and that she hoped to finish her degree in those studies. ‘I love acting,’ she said, ‘but I find it so satisfying to help people resolve their difficulties in life.’ While this reviewer finds her motives commendable, he also knows that based on this performance the stage will lose a real talent if she follows through on her plans to concentrate on social work.
“Ms. Hansson was backed up by a strong cast, proof again that Fenstrom — the onetime star of stage and screen — can mold raw, young talent and create a moving, compelling performance of a play that is 60 years old. . .”
Karen looked up and saw her friend beaming.
“I thought you’d want to see this, Karen,” Angela said. “I’m sorry if I awakened you.”
“What time is it?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“No, that’s OK. I’ve got to get up anyway, since I have to be at the theater by one and am meeting mom and Sonny for brunch about eleven.”
Karen instinctively reached over and hugged the hot, moist Angela, kissing her and tasting the salt of her perspiration from her lips. She loved being held by her stronger girlfriend.
“I’ll leave you, dear,” Angela said. “When are you coming back to our place?”
“Tomorrow, I think.”
“I can hardly wait to see you,” Angela said with a smile.
“I’ll be happy to get back, even though Jenny and her friends here have been great. I was safe from all the media and protesters, thanks to their help.”
*****
The play was performed three times that weekend and it was sold out all three times. There were demands to extend the play into the following weekend, but the University Administration nixed the idea, noting that students would be deep into getting ready for final exams by then.
As exhilarating as the performances had been for Karen, she was totally exhausted when the actors took their closing bows as the Sunday matinee ended.
*****
The following day, she returned to the room she shared with Ramini in the residence with Angela, Doreen and others. She found that she had settled into her old room comfortably by dinner time; Ramini was studying for exams with some classmates and the residence appeared to be otherwise empty, leaving Karen alone for supper that evening.
It was an unusually warm day for May in the city, and like all the coeds Karen dressed skimpily. She wore abbreviated pink shorts, a teal-colored tank top, and sandals with her hair tied into two pigtails. She felt relaxed and comfortable now that the pressures of the play were completed; she still had finals for which to study, but those did not seem to concern her. She had done well in most of her classes.
Perhaps it was the birds singing in the trees, the hustle and bustle of the campus with its grassy spots showing a warm green where only a few weeks earlier they still showed the brown and stains of winter. The oak and maple trees were in full bloom and Karen felt like skipping as she walked down the sidewalk to the nearby deli for a take-home salad. For a few feet, she did just that, and with her pigtails bouncing behind her head, she looked just like a 12-year-old girl on her way to the playground to play hopscotch.
“What a pretty picture.”
Karen was surprised by the voice as she mounted the stairs into the residence carrying a plastic bag with her salad.
“Oh,” she said, looking at Doreen, sitting on a porch swing and somewhat hidden in the shadows. “I didn’t see you there, Doreen.”
“Come here and sit by me, Karen,” she said, her voice putting on a rare soft tone, replacing her usually tough, masculine speaking manners.
“No, thanks, Doreen,” she said. “I think I’ll eat in my room.”
“It’s hot up there, honey. Just sit by me and eat your salad. Remember, you owe me!”
Karen remembered that Doreen used that phrase (“You owe me”) after catching Ramini and Karen taking a shower together and promising not to tell Angela. She realized that Doreen hadn’t forgotten that promise and she started to bolt into the house, understanding that Doreen’s rare sweet tones were but an act and that the girl was likely planning to assault her. Karen had hardly reached the front door before Doreen, quick as a cat, was upon her. Doreen grabbed Karen, her hard, calloused hand wrapping around Karen’s slender wrist and easily pulling Karen into her arms and hugging her tightly. Karen was too weak to resist, even though she tried mightily, squirming and kicking as Doreen dragged her into the house.
Karen felt like she was a rag doll in the sinewy, hard arms of Doreen; the other girl was panting heavily and sweating profusely as she dragged Karen — still clutching the bag with her salad — up the stairs and onto the bed in Doreen’s own room, a room rank with lingering body odor. Karen became tangled in the dirty sheets on Doreen’s bed and the stench of the other girl’s moist, perspiration soaked body began to gag her. Doreen wrestled the plastic bag from Karen’s grasp, and Karen felt her shorts being removed. Try as she might, Karen could not overcome the strength of the other girl who used one hand to remove Karen’s clothes, while holding Karen down with the other hand.
Doreen said nothing as she attacked Karen until she had finally disrobed her; then she straddled Karen, looking down at her.
“You are luscious, Karen,” she said, suddenly covering Karen with kisses.
Karen squealed out, “Help me somebody.”
Her voice came out squeaky and whiney, but she suspected no one was around to hear anyway. She was terrified and did the only thing a girl could do: she cried.
Doreen seemed not to notice, but continued to run her rough hands over Karen’s satiny skin. “You’re so soft and smooth and so sweet. Just like a grade school girl.”
She closed her eyes and allowed Doreen to lick her and caress her; the girl ran her lips down Karen’s small, but growing breasts and onto her soft tummy, finally landing on Karen’s still remaining tiny penis, now soft from the effects of hormones. She could feel Doreen mouthing the flaccid organ, licking it, apparently in the vain hope she could make it grow hard.
Karen felt nothing but disgust at the activity and tried to squiggle away from the girl’s grasp. In the background, Karen heard a screen door slam shut. Perhaps someone was in the house, she hoped, and as Doreen concentrated on her penis, Karen found a chance to let out a loud: “Help me!”
“You bitch,” Doreen said, aroused from her activity by the scream. She slapped Karen hard across the face, clamping her hand down hard on Karen’s mouth.
Karen became terrified now; there was no way she could battle Doreen who would probably be a strong match in a fight with a football lineman. She looked in terror at Doreen’s flaring eyes.
“Doreen, got off that girl!” Karen heard the loud voice as someone entered the room.
“None of your business, Maggie,” Doreen said. “She’s all mine!”
“You’re hurting her Doreen,” the girl said. Karen recognized the voice of Maggie, one of the other girls in the house. Maggie was generally a cheerful girl who was the “clown” in the residence; she was chubby and good-natured, but Karen knew she was also deceptively strong, having seen her lift heavy items when she moved into the residence.
“Shut up, Maggie,” Doreen said.
Suddenly, Doreen’s pressure on Karen was reduced as Karen saw Maggie approach and push Doreen hard enough so that she lost her balance and fell to the floor, off Karen.
“Get out of here, Karen and lock yourself in your room,” Maggie commanded her voice firm and harsh.
Karen grabbed the bag with her salad and began to leave the room and ran into Angela bounding up the stairs, obviously just returning to the residence and hearing the commotion. It didn’t take long for Angela to size up the situation, and she joined Maggie in subduing the enraged but now somewhat chastened Doreen.
Karen stopped to watch the fracas and screamed when she saw Angela about to punch Doreen hard in the face as she lay on the floor.
“No Angela, don’t hurt her,” Karen yelled.
Angela stopped quickly, her fist poised to strike. “Why not? She tried to hurt you, dear.”
“Just don’t, Angela, please. It’s not right.”
Both Maggie and Angela looked at Karen in surprise.
“What? Did you like it?” Angela said, her voice taking an accusing, jealous tone.
“No . . . no . . . I was scared to death, but it’s not right, Angela. She’s down now.”
Angela shook her head. “Don’t that beat all!”
“Just make sure she’ll leave me alone now,” Karen said.
Angela raised the subdued Doreen into a standing position, and looked at Doreen: “What do you have to say now?”
Doreen began to cry, proving that even this Amazon of a girl could show tears. “I’m sorry, Karen,” she began haltingly. “It’s just that you’re . . . ah . . . so darned attractive to me. I really only wanted to make love with you, dear.”
Karen stood dumbfounded, and said nothing.
“That’s no excuse, Doreen, and you know that,” Angela said.
“Yes,” Maggie added. “And you know she has a boyfriend.”
Doreen nodded.
Angela led Karen to her room, gently holding her in guiding her down the hallway. “I don’t think she’ll bother you now,” Angela said.
“Will the other girls here kick her out of the house, Angela?” Karen asked.
“They should, but with just a week of school left, probably not. Doreen’s OK, she just needs to learn to restrain herself.”
“Thank you and Maggie,” Karen said, leaning over to give her friend and sisterly kiss on the cheek.
“You know you’re a pretty tempting item, Karen,” Angela smiled. “Your Mark is so lucky.”
“I know and I love him so much, Angela.”
*****
“Jeremy, we’re not wanted there,” Karen argued. “Father Neuberger was crystal clear that the Church condemns girls like Rami and myself.”
“I don’t care what the Church wants, Karen. This is also a university-authorized club and they can’t restrict participation in the club,” Jeremy replied, his eyes flashing with determination.
Jeremy had stopped Karen as she left class on Tuesday morning to plead with her to take part in the fashion show scheduled for the following Saturday at the St. Vincent de Paul Center, which was located near the campus.
“But you’ll just get in trouble, Jeremy, and I don’t want to cause a fuss,” Karen said. She was still exhausted from participating in the play, as well as frustrated with all the attention she got in the days leading up to the performances because of her transgendered status.
“Look, I discussed this with the club members, and they all want both you and Rami to model at the show,” he said. “I know how busy you’ve been, but all we’re asking is that you come to our rehearsal meeting Friday at St. Vincent de Paul and help us select clothes to model and then to model for the Saturday show.”
“I don’t know, Jeremy.”
“Karen, I have one of my own creations I’d love you to model for me,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“Oh?”
“Yes, Karen, I made it just for you. I got your dimensions from Rami. I’m dying to see you wear it. No one else would do it justice. After you model it, we'll raffle it off. I hope it'll be the hit of the show.”
Karen looked at the chubby boy standing before her and smiled.
“OK,” she said. “I’ll do it, but neither Rami nor I want to be identified as the models. Just say we’re members of the Newman Club.”
“Karen, I understand,” he said, hugging Karen, drawing her into his soft body.
The fashion show was a great success, drawing large numbers of women — and a lesser number of men — from the community, along with a smattering of students. Jeremy had drafted a couple of friends to model the few men’s items that were displayed. Otherwise, the majority of clothing shown was for women. Except for two items of Jeremy’s creations, all of the clothes modeled were from the society’s donated supplies.
She and Ramini each modeled three outfits, with Karen wearing two of the donated items and Jeremy’s outfit. Jeremy’s other outfit was for a plus-sized girl and was modeled by one of the huskier members of the Club.
“Jeremy’s dress sold over $1,000 in raffle tickets,” Ramini said afterward.
“I know. I told Jeremy that his creation was the hit of the show, but he just blushed. He’s so cute.”
“I think it was the girl modeling the dress that sold all those raffle tickets, Karen. You did it,” Ramini said. “But did you see the look on Father Neuberger’s face when you stepped out for the first time, Karen?”
“He looked pretty angry, didn’t he? I hope Jeremy doesn’t get into any trouble over this.”
“Don’t worry about him, Karen. Just ‘cause he’s soft and chubby, doesn’t mean that he’s not going to stand up for his ideas.”
Karen loved the dress Jeremy designed, a creation he had sewn in just two weeks.
“I believe in simplicity in my dresses,” Jeremy said. “So many of the top designers, I think, garbage their creations up too much.”
It was a simple design, to be sure, but striking nonetheless. The halter style dress had a plunging neckline and open back. Done in a light blue crepe material, it was gathered in at the waist, with a flowing skirt that accentuated the hipline. The dress ended below the knee, allowing the skirt to ruffle as its wearer walked. “I love how totally feminine this dress is, Jeremy,” Karen said when she first put it on Friday.
“I made it just for you, Karen,” he smiled.
“I’m so happy I agreed to take part,” she said, kissing the boy gently on his fat cheek.
*****
It was a warm, sunny Sunday in mid-June and bright sun streamed through the windows in the den of the Hamilton home in Milwaukee. Karen’s eyes feasted upon Mark Hamilton, who was trying to get comfortable in his wheelchair. She tried to arrange his pillows and doted over him, but with little effect. Nothing she did comforted him, and her inquiries were met mainly with grunts or curt “yups” or “yeahs” or “nahs.” Mark spent most of his waking hours in the den after being released from the rehabilitation center.
His mood as summer began was that of a morose young man brooding over the fact that even after five months of the best care available in the rehab center his ability to use his legs would never be restored. Mark took that realization hard. After all, he had always been an active, spirited young man, eager to tackle any challenge with great dedication. Now, he saw nothing ahead but life trapped in a wheelchair and dependent upon the care of others.
Even the urging of Theresa, the therapist who had nurtured his spirit during his months of rehabilitation, failed to arouse any enthusiasm. At one point Theresa, who had the patience of a saint, got so exasperated that she blurted out, “Dammit, Mark, quit feeling sorry for yourself,” remarks for which she immediately apologized.
Karen was living in the Hamilton home for the summer after Professor Fenstrom had obtained a summer’s internship for her at the Milwaukee Arts Council. The family encouraged Karen to stay with them in the hope that it would help buoy the spirits of the injured young man. At first when she moved in with the family, her presence appeared to have cheered Mark up, but her internship at the Arts required her to spend every weekday on the job, and she rarely returned to the home before dinner time, forcing Mark to spend many lonely hours in the den watching television, reading or working on crossword puzzles. His younger brother tried to get him to play video games, but Mark never found much joy in such ventures.
The long break in conversation became almost unbearable, and Karen searched her mind for something to get Mark talking, perhaps something that might renew Mark’s hopes. Suddenly, she remembered that Professor Fenstrom had asked her some months before to review the play, “Sunrise at Campobello,” to see if it was a potential play for the University group to perform. She had read it and was taken by its story. Recognizing its potential to help Mark gain inspiration, she asked:
“What do you know about President Franklin D. Roosevelt?”
“What? Who?” Mark said, obviously puzzled by the question, seeming to come out of nowhere.
“Franklin D. Roosevelt. Our 32nd President. Surely you know about him.”
“Of course, what kind of a dummy do you think I am?” he asked, grumpily.
“Well?”
“He led us in World War II. That much I know.”
Karen smiled. “He did lots more, Mark, like helping get the country out of the Depression and bringing in stuff like Social Security.”
“Yeah, I know,” his tone continued with some exasperation.
“Did you know that in the last 25 years of his life he couldn’t walk and yet he may have become even then the country’s best President?”
Mark nodded. “I guess I heard something about that.”
“You ought to check that out, Mark.”
If Mark found any inspiration from that conversation, he failed to show it that day. The following day Karen went to the Public Library and found they still had a VHS copy of the 1960 film made from the play. She checked it out.
“I want you to help me out with something, Mark,” she said that night as she joined Mark in the den.
“What’s that?”
“Fenstrom told me to check out an old play to see if it might be good for the theater group next year,” she began. “It won lots of prizes 50 years ago, and I like it. But, I’m looking for a second opinion, and I respect yours a lot.”
“You want me to read it, Karen?”
“No, dear, I want you to view the movie version, which was a close adaptation of the play. I got a copy of the VHS tape from the library. Do you wanna watch it tonight?”
“I suppose,” he said, showing little interest.
The two had made it a practice to spend their evenings together that summer, often renting a movie — or getting it from the public library — and sitting together on a love seat, popcorn and soft drinks before them on a coffee table. Mark, using his powerful arms, had learned to transfer himself from chair to chair or wheelchair with the use of a heavy duty walker. He grumbled a bit as Karen put the tape into the recorder that night, wondering why she’d want to watch some historical movie, instead of their usual fare of romantic comedies or action films.
“Oh Mark, just sit back and watch. This is a good story and you’ll like it,” she said, growing exasperated with his occasional crotchety outbursts.
“Then hurry up,” he said still sounding angry.
“Oh shush!”
Karen knew that his physical restrictions had worn on the young man, and that these outbursts were likely only normal. In the several weeks she had lived with the Hamiltons, the two had become comfortable with each other so that occasional minor arguments ensued. Yet, Karen also knew that the love the two shared for each other had grown stronger.
She snuggled up against him as the movie started and Mark put an arm around her.
“I love the scent of your hair, Karen,” he said. He gave her forehead a soft kiss.
“Mark, I love you, dear, and I hate to see you suffer so.”
“I’m sorry, Karen, I shouldn’t be like that to you. I love you so much.”
As she had predicted, Mark soon became enthralled in the story of a young Franklin Roosevelt, stricken with polio and discouraged that his rising political career was over, finding courage through the support of his wife Eleanor and several others to move ahead.
She said nothing to Mark about what lessons could be gained by watching the movie; she felt the movie spoke for itself and that Mark should draw such conclusions on his own.
“That was a pretty good movie, Karen,” he said when it ended. Nothing more was said.
Several days later, she noted Mark was engrossed in a book about the 32nd President of the United States.
*****
A few weeks later, Karen chose to show the 1962 film, “The Miracle Worker,” which portrayed how a young tutor, Anne Sullivan (played by Anne Bancroft), through sheer determination and tough love got the young blind and deaf Helen Keller (Patty Duke) to respond and eventually become one of the most famous and accomplished of Americans.
Neither Karen nor Mark had heard of Helen Keller until Karen discovered her while researching movies that might help her in her quest to motivate her loved one to respond. Again, she said nothing about the movie before it started, but it didn’t take Mark long to realize what Karen was doing.
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” he said as the movie began.
She giggled.
“Well no movie will persuade me,” he said.
“Let’s just watch the movie, OK?”
“As long as you cuddle next to me, I will,” he said.
Mark sounded as if he was disgusted with her blatant attempt to show how others overcame physical problems, but as the dramatic movie continued she could tell the film captivated him. There were tears in his eyes when the movie ended.
He held Karen tightly, and the two kissed, both sobbing together for what seemed an eternity. It was a sweet moment, and Karen felt in her heart that Mark was beginning to regain the spirit of life that made him so special.
Karen's Magnificent Obsession - 21
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“I’d like to get back to the gym,” he told Karen a few days later.
“Really, Mark. That’s great,” she responded with a smile.
“Maybe if I can get my upper body strength back, that’ll help me feel better. I hate lying around like a dolt all day.”
Karen smiled. She knew better to say anything or to suggest that perhaps his renewed interest in body-building might have something to do with her quiet campaign to show how he could live a successful life in spite of his disability.
“We’ll have to do it early in the morning, before I have to go to work,” she said.
The result was that Karen and Mark arose every day about 5 a.m. for the daily trip to the gym, allowing more than an hour for a workout, and giving her time to get to her intern duties at the Arts Council by 9:30 a.m. Theresa, his therapist, agreed she could adapt her work schedule to work with him on three of the days; Karen would coach him on the other days.
The first few days were difficult and frustrating for Mark who found himself floundering weakly as he worked the parallel bars, attempting to move forward using only his arms to hold himself upright. His therapy thus far had been mainly to keep his limbs flexible, and in the months since his injury his once strong arms had grown flaccid and weak, unable to propel him more than a foot or two, before he began to collapse and had to be assisted back into his wheelchair.
Several times he cried and was about to give up. Some days, he refused to be cheered, but Karen and Theresa persisted. Eventually, he grew in strength and confidence and by the end of summer he was accomplishing remarkable feats through the use of his restored strong upper body.
*****
Their love for each other was tested several times during the summer. Karen thought that Mark was enjoying his therapy sessions with Theresa too much, and that the young woman seemed to pay an inordinate amount of attention to him; Karen realized she was being foolish, since there was no doubt that Theresa’s services had gone a long way to his recovery and that Mark benefited from her efforts.
There were several incidents, however, in which Karen thought Theresa was overly intimate in working with Mark. Karen usually absented herself from the room when Theresa came to the home to work with Mark, feeling her presence might stifle the therapist’s work. The same was true once they moved to the gym, where Karen would leave to do her own mild workout, while Theresa would work with Mark. Karen became terribly bothered one morning when she returned to see Theresa’s hands all over him. Karen thought such touching was unnecessary to his recovery.
After Theresa left, Mark looked at her angrily: “You weren’t very nice to her, Karen.”
“Wasn’t I? I said ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye,’ didn’t I?” she said defensively.
“You weren’t nice about it,” he said. “She’s helped me so much, Karen.”
“Yes, so I noticed. Yes, she’s so nice to you.”
There was no mistaking the sarcastic tone of Karen’s voice.
“If you can’t be nice, why come around when she’s giving me therapy?” he said, his voice rising.
“You know why, Mark. I love you.”
“Well you have a strange way of showing it,” he said, turning his head away from her to look out the window.
“It just seems you enjoy all these other girls who come to see you, like that cheerleader you knew at Iowa State,” Karen said. “How often has she been here, Mark? You hot for her, too?”
“Oh for chrissakes,” he said, his voice growing in exasperation. “She’s been here three times, if you must know. And don’t call her ‘that cheerleader,’ like she’s some sort of whore. Her name’s Mindy and she was in my lab mate in biology and she’s smart as a whip.”
“You seem to know all about her, don’t you?” And you saw her when you wouldn’t see me.” Karen referred to the days he lay in the rehab center, refusing to see her.
In their drive home that morning, they said nothing to each other. Mark stared out of the window, refusing to look at Karen, who drove more slowly than usual, struggling to keep her moist eyes focused on the road. At the house, Mark refused Karen’s help in leaving the van, struggling mightily — but successfully — in his power chair to enter the house. Finally, her tears flowing freely, Karen stormed into the house and upstairs to the room the family had provided for her that summer. She had to get away from the scene; she detoured into the bathroom to dry her face.
She didn’t like what she saw in the mirror. It wasn’t that her face was all puffy and that her eyes were red and moist but that she saw herself suddenly as a jealous, vindictive woman. It was a sight that disgusted her immensely. There was no evidence Mark was romantically interested in either woman; hadn’t Theresa told her she was in her late 20s and had a child? And, what was wrong with a friend from college making a visit, even if she was cute?
It was a feeling that had cropped up several times in her mind during the long period of Mark’s rehabilitation. Karen also feared that since she was not a natural born woman that Mark would eventually cease to love her and would want a “real woman.” In truth, Mark had never shown any inclination to reject Karen due to her gender issues; nonetheless it was a fear that dogged Karen off and on for all their time together.
Finally, after cleaning herself up and applying fresh makeup, Karen left the bathroom feeling better. She decided not to go to her room but to return to the den and make peace with Mark. She loved him. There was no question about that and she knew he loved her. There would be no room for jealousy in the future, although the fears remained in her heart.
For his part, Mark often had the same feelings of jealousy; it cropped up on the night he saw her perform in “Picnic” and engage in a passionate love scene with the actor playing Hal. It seemed too real and Mark grew jealous of what he saw on stage. Might she eventually dump him for a more able bodied man than he was ever going to be? It was a thought that continued to trouble him, even though Karen continued to profess her love for him. Mark wrestled with himself on this, since he recalled she had wrongly called the actor “Mark” instead of “Hal” in one scene, which would indicate her strong love for him. Yet, Karen had responded far too passionately on stage that night while in the arms of the other actor.
In bed, however, Mark and Karen were passionate lovers. Even though Mark’s legs were useless, his sexual organs remained healthy and active. Karen experienced orgasms several times a night, each time with breathless gasps and squeals. In their relationships, they were patient, generous and generally understanding of each other. They seemed destined for each other if they each could overcome fears of inadequacy and doubts about the other’s desire for a more complete partner.
*****
In September, the two separated, with Mark returning to the Iowa State campus and Karen to the State University. They missed each other terribly and talked each night on long phone calls and constant texting during the day. While Mark had help getting around the Ames, Iowa, campus, he found many barriers to his mobility; the campus had been fully outfitted to the demands of the Americans with Disabilities Act, but he often ran into unexpected challenges to the use of his wheelchair. These restrictions, plus the need to spend at least two hours each day in therapy sessions, made it necessary that Mark reduce his class load for both semesters of that year.
Karen involved herself deeply into her studies in social work, while continuing her work as assistant to Professor Fenstrom. Her admiration for the man’s theatrical skills grew even more as he saw him mold the raw, young students into mature actors. Mercifully, he seemed to have stifled his lecherous ways and Karen’s workmate in his office, Deborah, suspected it was a combination of a university administration having laid down the law to him privately, his wife’s own demands and the mere physical effects of growing older.
Despite Fenstrom’s insistence, she refused a role in the autumn play that year, “A Streetcar Named Desire.” Fenstrom pleaded, “You’d make a perfect Blanche.”
“I think Heather will be a great Blanche, professor,” she said, referring to her actor friend and friendly rival for the ingénue roles in the University Players company of actors. In truth, Karen would have loved to do the part, but she felt she’d be overwhelmed trying to juggle her studies, work and concern for Mark. Also, she found she was gaining greater interest in working with people; she was volunteering one day a week at a halfway house for recovering women addicts, who were usually mothers.
Meanwhile Karen secretly assisted Heather in her lines and the girl turned out to be a convincing Blanche, portraying the character’s highs and lows with understated, but effective, intensity. Karen took supporting roles in plays during her sophomore year.
The following year Mark joined Karen by transferring his credits to the State University (with his costs largely covered through an insurance plan that covered injured college football players), where he and Karen became roommates. They were able to find a first floor apartment that was fitted for persons with disabilities, a block from the University’s elaborate athletic complex where Mark continued his studies in physical education, while taking drama as a second major. The University football team welcomed him as well — perhaps spurred on by urgings from his friend, Merritt King — and he served as a student assistant, working with the strength coach.
Karen tried to adjust her schedule so that she could assist Mark in getting around, but she soon learned that her future husband had quickly figured out how to do things for himself; he became a popular and familiar sight on campus, and gained no end of support as he moved about the university grounds.
She continued to act, winning several supporting roles in the University’s plays during her junior year. The novelty of her transgenderism had wore off and she began being judged solely upon her talent as an actress. In spite of considerable success on stage, her interest in acting and the theater became less important to her.
“I’m going into social work,” she explained to Professor Fenstrom when he questioned her about her reasons for not trying out for lead roles. “I just feel compelled to help people. I know acting is a worthy profession and people need the arts, professor, but for me, I think I need to be more hands-on.”
Nonetheless, largely at the urgings of Mark and her friend Ramini, Karen agreed as she started her senior year that she might seek to win a few key roles before she graduated. Besides, she knew Mark was enjoying his drama classes where he was training mainly to be a director, perhaps realizing that trying to be an actor while wheelchair bound would be a fool’s enterprise. Karen, however, had dreams of her own and hoped to prevail upon Fenstrom to do “Sunrise at Campobello” so that Mark could try out for the role of Franklin D. Roosevelt and she could play Eleanor Roosevelt.
She and Mark remained on campus during the summer and she made a point of confronting Fenstrom to propose that he schedule the play for that next year.
“Professor Fenstrom, this would be an ideal time to do the play, particularly since Mark is in school here,” she said. “I haven’t asked him but I bet he’d love to act again. He’s really good.”
“Karen, I know he loves the theater. I’ve had him in one of my classes and was impressed, but he has only done limited acting. Besides, I can put any actor in a wheelchair who could do the part and I would want to have the best actor possible for that part,” he said.
“I know, but this will be one of the few chances Mark will be able to act on stage,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. She knew how much he loved performing, which was now largely denied him due to his disability.
“Besides, professor, Mark has lived through the same doubts and depressions that President Roosevelt did at Campobello and he’ll be able to be totally believable.”
Fenstrom said finally gave in. “OK, but he’ll have to try out just like everyone else. I won’t promise him any part.”
“Thank you, professor,” she said running over to hug him and give him a friendly kiss.
“On two conditions,” he said firmly after she retreated. “First that you agree to play Nora in ‘A Doll’s House’ this fall, and second that you don’t pressure me that you should play Eleanor in ‘Campobello.’ You’re far too pretty for that part.”
“That’s unfair, professor. Mrs. Roosevelt was a beautiful woman in her own way and I’d love to try out for the part.”
“The makeup crew would have to reconstruct your whole face for you to become Eleanor, and you know it, Karen. This is one time when your nature prettiness works against you. But you’d make a great Nora.”
Karen nodded. She knew Fenstrom was right; while Mrs. Roosevelt was a heroic and very accomplished woman, she certainly was not a pretty woman in the classic sense.
“You want me to play Ibsen’s Nora?” she asked. “That’s a tough part.”
“Yes, and you can do it, Karen.”
The role would really test Karen’s ability to act, since the role of Nora in Ibsen’s “A Doll’s House,” called for her to play a more mature vibrant woman who was locked into a restrictive, vapid life.
That fall, Karen tried out for the role and won the part easily. As rehearsals began in mid-October, she was immediately sorry for her decision. Fenstrom was relentless in his directing behavior, continually nit-picking line after line and mannerism after mannerism. It took many hugs from Mark to calm her down when she’d return to the rooms they shared.
In the last week of rehearsals and after a particularly demanding run-through, Karen retreated in tears to her dressing room, exhausted and feeling humiliated at her ability to satisfy the professor’s commands.
She had taken off all but her panties and bra when she heard a tentative knock of the door. She didn’t answer it, but sat stiffly on the vanity bench, her hands in her lap feeling sorry for herself.
“Karen, let me in, please.” It was Fenstrom’s voice, sounding kind and gentle, a direct contrast from the way he had flung his words at her during rehearsal.
“Just a minute,” she said, putting on a robe.
The door opened and the professor entered, closing the door behind him. Karen no longer feared he’d make any sexual advances, but still wondered why he visited her room alone and then closed the door. He took a seat on a folding chair opposite her in the tiny room, their knees nearly touching, and he took her hands in his, holding them as a father would to comfort a grieving daughter.
“Karen, I know I’ve been tough on you, but I think you’ve responded magnificently,” he began.
“But you make me feel out there like I’m doing everything wrong,” she protested.
“I know this is a difficult role for you, Karen, since it requires you to become a woman who has lived a dull, lusterless life while your own life has been full of excitement and changes. The success of this play, Karen, rests on you, since the other actors play off you.”
He found a tissue and reached over, tenderly wiping tears from Karen’s face; it was a surprising gesture coming from a man who just minutes before had so mercilessly berated her.
“Doing Ibsen before a college audience is difficult, Karen, since young people aren’t used to such introspective drama, and it’s critical we make it alive for them, and I want to tell you that you have nailed it. You’re doing a great job, so buck up. You’ll be a great Nora.”
With that, he got up from the chair, patted her face gently, smiled and left the room.
Karen’s performance on opening night was a resounding success, as evidenced by the review in the following morning’s paper, which said in part:
“. . . It’s a shame that we had to wait three years to see this lovely young actor perform a lead role on stage, but Karen Hansson who lit up the stage as a freshman student in Eric Fenstrom’s ‘Picnic’ was back playing the part of Nora in Henrik Ibsen’s ‘A Doll’s House.’
“Ms. Hansson brought feeling and life into the dour life of Nora and helped transform a play that modern audiences often find boring into a tension-filled experience. Sadly, it appears that audiences will soon not have many chances to see her perform on stage; she’s serious about pursuing a career as a social worker and eschewing an acting career, according to reports.
“There are a few seats left for the two remaining performances. Don’t wait. This play is a rare treat, as is watching Ms. Hanson.”
*****
Professor Fenstrom selected “Sunrise at Campobello,” for the spring play for the University Players, as Karen had hoped. True to his word, Fenstrom opened up auditions and made a special effort to get Mark to try out for the part of Roosevelt.
To Karen’s shock, Mark refused to audition and the two entered into a terrible argument.
“I don’t need to be pitied,” he said angrily to Karen when she suggested he audition.
“Mark, you’re a great actor. And with your experiences as . . . ah . . .”
“As what? A cripple? Yes, that’s what I am. Is that all I’m good for?”
“But Mark!”
“It’s no Karen. That’s all there’s to it. No. N — O.”
“Please, Mark. The part is made for you.”
“Yeah, of course it is. A part for a cripple! How many plays feature sorry cripples like me? The answer is no, Karen.”
Karen fled their room in tears, running out of doors without a coat in the February cold, realizing she had been terribly insensitive in the way she raised the issue. She slipped on the icy sidewalk, catching herself before she tumbled down. The near fall brought her back to sanity and she returned to their apartment. The two ended the evening in deep, loving embrace.
*****
Mark never did audition, but agreed to help coach the talented young actor chosen to play Roosevelt in navigating the wheelchair and in other movements. It was clear he enjoyed being involved in the work of putting on a play, and soon Fenstrom expanded his role to provide further coaching to other actors.
Karen never tried out for the role as Eleanor Roosevelt, and instead took the role of Missy Le Hand, Roosevelt’s personal secretary, where her pretty face made her a logical choice. While the performance was a great success, perhaps the greatest satisfaction that Karen felt was the realization that Mark had been a major part in creating the hit. He was so engrossed in the work that he seemed at times to forget he was bound to a wheelchair.
Karen graduated in May, and the couple stayed in their digs off campus that summer so that Mark could complete his senior year and graduate. Mark had lost a year of study due to his injury and difficulty in transferring some credits. Karen used the summer months to have gender reassignment surgery, take time for rehabilitation and complete her physical transition to womanhood.
“I’m a complete woman, now,” she told Mark when she returned after surgery.
Even though the two were roommates, they decided not to consummate their love until their wedding night. It was a tough decision to make, since Mark’s sexual abilities were fully intact, in spite of the injuries to his legs.
“I’ve waited this long, Karen,” he said. “What’s a few more months?”
“Oh darling, but I want you so bad,” she had said on her first night back.
She had turned to the artificial device to keep her new vagina open and active, and Mark helped her in that regard, using his large strong fingers as she came to orgasm. Karen was more easily aroused since her operation and her screams and passionate shouts were wild and noisy as Mark masturbated.
“Darling, I only wish I could conceive your child,” she said, realizing that inability was all that separated her from becoming a total woman.
*****
“I could never love anyone more than you, Mark,” Karen said one night as they supped over a pizza, salad and cheap wine dinner.
“You mean that, Karen?” he said, holding her hand.
It was a few days before their wedding ceremony scheduled to be held in late August, just before Mark was to return for his senior year and Karen was to begin her work with the agency where she had interned. The two were at a side table in a small Italian restaurant near campus.
“More than ever, Mark,” she said.
“Even as crippled as I am?” he said.
“Dammit, Mark,” she said angrily. “Don’t you ever let me hear you say that again.”
“But . . .”
“No Mark, I love you, all of you, dear,” she said, rising slightly from her chair so that she could lean across the tiny table and kiss him.
“And I love you, Karen, and always will,” he said.
“Even though I’m not a complete woman?”
“For chrissakes, now you’re talking silly. I love you just as you are, Karen.”
The two looked at each other; the room’s lighting was dim, but Karen felt she saw tears glistening in the eyes of her lover.
“I think we’re both silly, Mark. We were destined to be together ‘til death do us part,” she said.
“We are silly, aren’t we? Let’s toast to that thought . . . that we’re both silly,” he said, raising his glass.
She raised hers and they touched their glasses gently.
“No, Mark,” she said. “Let’s toast our everlasting love.”
They raised and touched their glasses together again.
Just then, an older woman at an adjoining saw the couple, and said: “Pardon me, you two. I hate to intrude.”
Karen and Mark looked at her; she was with a man who appeared to be about her same age.
“Oh that’s OK ma’am,” Mark said politely.
“You seem such an adorable couple and my husband and I just wondered. I think you two must be newlyweds, but my husband kept telling me it’s none of our business.”
Mark laughed, looking to Karen to answer. “You’re almost right ma’am. We’re getting married Saturday.”
“Congratulations, kids,” the woman said.
Her husband nodded and raised his glass in salute to Karen and Mark.
“See, Harold,” the woman said. “They are so happy; remember when we were first married. Remember how happy we were?”
“Yes, dear,” he said, quickly adding: “And, dear, we still are.”
She nodded, and Karen turned to them to ask: “And how long are you two married?”
“Forty-nine years,” the man said.
“And still happy together,” Karen said. “See what we’ve got to look forward to, Mark.”
“I just knew you two were newlyweds — or almost newlyweds — since you both had such a glow about you,” the woman said.
Finally the man said to his wife: “Myrtle, let them alone now.”
Turning to Karen and Mark, he said: “May we buy and share with you a bottle of champagne to celebrate your coming wedding?”
The waiter moved the two tables closer and the two couples enjoyed the champagne, with the older couple remembering the details of their engagement and wedding. Naturally, they both argued about some of the details, which led to laughter by all four.
“See what you’ve got to look forward to 49 years from now, kids?” the man said, his eyes twinkling with joy.
“We’ll never forget this night,” Karen said. “You’re an inspiration to Mark and me.”
She looked at Mark and wondered if he was about to cry. She knew they would have this night in their memory banks “’til death” took them apart.
*****
Karen Hansson tried to hold back the tears as she walked down the aisle of St. George’s Chapel for Students on the University campus. Awaiting her at the end of the aisle in his wheelchair was Mark Hamilton, sitting erect and handsome as ever in his tuxedo.
As Karen began her steps forward, following her flower girl and bridesmaids, she clutched the arm of her brother, Sonny, who was given the role of escorting her down the aisle. Wearing a tuxedo for the first time in his life, Sonny was uncomfortable, and Karen couldn’t resist smiling at his plight. She loved him dearly.
In the choir loft at the rear of the church, the organ began playing, and soon a lovely mezzo-soprano voice filled the church. It came from Mary Catherine Delaney, the Newman Club member who had at first recoiled at Karen’s transistioning and later became a close and dear friend. The words of the more than 100-year-old classic “I Love You Truly” were fitting for Mark and Karen.
I love you truly, truly dear,
Life with its sorrow, life with its tear,
Fades into dreams when I feel you are near,
For I love you truly, truly dear!
A love ’tis something, to feel your kind hand,
Ah yes, ’tis something, by your side to stand,
Gone is the sorrow, gone doubt and fear,
For you love me truly, truly dear!
She held her head high and only the moisture in her eyes betrayed her successful battle to stop from crying. Through her watery eyes she examined the persons in her wedding party, already standing at the front of the church and looking back at her; they were all wearing knee-length lavender gowns, cinched in at the waist, with high collars. Her matron of honor was Ramini Verma Livingston who was absolutely ravishing. The three bridesmaids were Jenny Hanready (who had been in many classes in the School of Social Welfare with Karen), her long-time friend, Angela Schaefer, and Heather Thompson, her actress friend. They were all smiling broadly and Karen had gained great strength in their warm friendship and support through the years.
Gathering almost as many admiring “ahs” and “ohs” as the bride was the darling Tasha Foreman, the olive-skinned three-year-old flower girl, the child of Beatrice and Ellis Foreman. Beatrice had been Karen’s co-worker at the Olympus Restaurant in their hometown who at first had been appalled at Karen’s transition as a violation of Christian values. Karen eventually won her friendship after she took Beatrice to the nursing home at which she volunteered, where Beatrice met and eventually married Ellis Foreman, the grandson of one of the residents, an African-American man.
Karen, too, was pleased to see that Sharon, who had been head waitress at the restaurant and Karen’s early confidant as she began her new life as a young woman, was in the audience with her soon-to-wed friend, a husky, bearded utility company lineman named Lawrence Kowski.
“I remember you from the restaurant. The Texas breakfast man,” Karen said to Sharon’s friend when they met briefly as Karen arrived at the church.
“Yes, honey, and I remember flirting with you,” he said with a smile. “But you wouldn’t have me, so I found another girl just as sweet.”
“Now, Lawrence, you know that on this day the bride has to be the prettiest and sweetest,” Sharon interjected.
“That she is,” the bearded man said. They all laughed and Lawrence led Sharon to her seat.
The four men who made up the rest of the wedding party were also smiling. Mark’s brother, Billy, who was best man, stood tall and straight behind his brother’s wheelchair; the lad clearly liked Karen since he shared Karen’s interest in the arts, not having been as athletically inclined as his brother. Jeremy Foster, from the Newman Club, Aaron Livingston, now Ramini’s husband, and Merritt King, who three years earlier won the Heisman Trophy and had established himself as a star professional football player after only one season, rounded out the group.
Karen wore the traditional bride’s white. Her gauzy, lacy gown ended at the knees. Thin straps went over her shoulders, exposing her soft, lovely arms and neck. The use of hormones had further brought a warm fleshiness to her body and bulked up her smallish breasts enough so that she did not need to enhance them artificially. She carried a bouquet of white carnations.
“You’ll be the loveliest bride ever,” her mother gushed with pride as she was being dressed.
“Oh mother, I’m sure every mother has told her daughter that,” Karen laughed.
“I suppose they have, but in your case it’s the truth,” her mother said. “You truly are ravishing, honey.”
“Does my hair look all right, mom?” she said, brushing a loose strand from her face.
“Lovely, dear, but let me tidy up these few strands that seem to have gone astray,” she said.
*****
“Have you ever seen such a radiant bride?” Harriett Burkhalter, who had been Karen’s baby-sitter and onetime confidant, whispered to the distinguished looking man next to her. The once vibrant older woman had begun to display fragility that comes with age, but her eyes sparkled as brightly as ever.
Harriett — still called “Aunt Harriett” by both Sonny and Karen — was considered part of the family and was seated with Cecelia Hansson and her family, including the distinguished man to whom she had made her statement. The man was Michael Kelly, the attorney who had become Cecelia’s constant companion and now her fiancé.
“She is beaming, isn’t she?” Kelly replied softly to Harriett. “They’re so happy, but they will have tough times ahead.”
“Probably so, but I know Karen will guide them through it all. She’s a strong girl, and I think Mark is as strong and determined to succeed as anyone,” the old woman said as she watched Karen walk down the aisle.
*****
Three well-dressed, but remarkably plain-looking girls from Karen’s morning “coffee club” were seated in a pew midway down the aisle and watched as Karen moved with elegant poise. Beverly, Tricia and Tracy all strained to look at the bridal party.
Tracy was accompanied by Gabriel, the young man who was Karen’s first, though short-lived boyfriend. Both he and Tracy radiated healthy energy; their faces were reddened from weather exposure having spent the first year after their graduation as newlyweds working on the farm of Gabriel’s parents. Karen mused that the couple would eventually inherit the farm continuing their lifelong venture together as man and wife. Tracy was already “great with child,” as the saying goes, and the prospect was that there’d be many, round-faced, healthy ones to follow.
“God, Karen’s a beauty,” Tricia said softly to Beverly.
“Do you think we’ll ever get to walk down an aisle, Trish?” the girl asked.
Both had tears in their eyes; they felt overwhelming happiness for Karen.
“We’ll never be as beautiful as Karen, but I would hope we all share the same sweet and generous soul as she does, Beverly, and if we do, we’ll have a sweet life ahead, with or without a man,” Tricia said.
“Can you imagine how absolutely beautiful her soul must be?” Beverly said.
*****
Perhaps two of the most elegantly dressed persons in the church that day were not in the bridal party. Whitney Roberts and his life partner, Tyler McHenry, stood out in their almost identical stark white suits, purplish ascots, carnations in their lapels and white shoes. Karen gave both a faint nod of her head as she moved past them down the aisle, and the two responded with broad smiles. They were holding hands.
*****
Karen saw Father Jim at the foot of the altar, standing erect, awaiting the arrival of the bride. She smiled at the priest who responded with a slight wink that likely was unseen by the friends and families in the pews.
Father Jim, who at first rejected Karen’s involvement in the Church, later said that she and Ramini could attend mass and take the sacraments in spite of the Archbishop’s desires. After their freshman year, Jeremy and others in the Newman Club discussed Karen’s and Ramini’s transgendered status with Father Jim, and the priest decided to study the scriptures and Church rules himself. Partly due to his own open-minded nature, Father Jim defied any possible reprimands from the Archbishop and concluded that because Karen and Ramini had become legally recognized as females by the state and the university there was no reason for not allowing them to participate in the mass.
Karen and Ramini both stayed active in the Newman Club during their remaining years at the university, and Father Jim eventually warmed up to both girls, realizing both had a generous spirit well in tune with the teachings of his church. It wasn’t long either before Father Jim all but forgot the two had been born as boys. He felt he could not deny Karen’s desire to be married in the Church. As a compromise, however, the couple agreed not to have the marriage ceremony be celebrated within a mass.
The priest smiled broadly as he ended the ceremony with the words: “I now pronounce you man and wife and you, Mark Hamilton, may kiss the bride.”