I awoke to the smell of coffee. I put on my robe, and did my toilette. Alice was eating a bagel and reading an actual, paper newspaper.

“Mornin’, Morgan.”

“Good morning, Alice,” I returned, brushing my hair back with my hand.

“Oh, that reminds me, you were pushing your hair back all last night, so I found these for you – nothing girly – stainless steel.” She handed me a couple of hair clips.

I didn’t want hair clips, but I couldn’t be rude. “Ah, thanks.” I scurried off to put them on. They removed any doubt that I might be a boy, but as long as it was just Alice and me, what did it matter?

I poured myself some coffee and put a bagel in the toaster.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, the mattress is very comfortable.”

Just then, the back door opened and a black woman in a beige pants suit entered.

“Hi Alice … and who is this lovely child?”

“Faye, this is Morgan, my new lodger. Morgan, Faye. She’s my across-the-street neighbor.”

Faye poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down. “Morgan, I must say what lovely hair you have.”

“Ah, thanks. That’s very kind of you. … Your suit is becoming as well.”

“That’s very sweet of you, dear. … What do you do, sweetie?”

“I have a scholarship at State this fall. I’m going to major in fine arts and hope to work in a museum or gallery. Meanwhile, I’ll start hunting for a peon job. You know, Mickey D’s or someplace like that.”

“Do you type, dear?”

“On a computer? Sure. Why?”

“I recently bought a medical practice, and old Dr. Stein never computerized his records, so there’s a ton of data to be entered. It requires attention to detail, as the lab results have to be 100% accurate. I just fired a temp who couldn’t cut it. You want to try?”

“What’s it pay?”

“Well, $12 an hour during a trial week, then $17.50 if you can hack it. … what do you think?”

“I think I could do it. I’m kind of obsessive about details. I’d like to give it a try.”

“Then get dressed. I’m leaving in ten minutes and you can come with me.”

So much for my job hunt! Even a day’s work would cover nearly a week’s rent. I changed into my newest jeans, the polo shirt I’d worn the previous night, and my beat up loafers. I finished by putting my hair into my usual low ponytail.

“Oh, Morgan, are you male?” asked Faye.

“I’m afraid I am. Does that mean you don’t want to give me a chance now?”

“No, I said I would, and I will, but you’d fit in better in your earlier hairstyle. I’m an OB-GYN, and a lot of patients prefer an all-woman office. Still, you can wear your hair as you like.”

“I guess as long as it’s only women, it’d be okay. Guys tend to give me a hard time because of my voice, features, and ah, other things – even with my hair like this. … Give me a minute and I’ll brush it out.” Five minutes later, we were humming into town in Faye’s Prius.

Her office was in a stately home on a now busy street. A lawn sign said, “Faye Matthews, M.D., OB-GYN” along with her phone number and email. Inside, I met Bobbie, her grey-haired receptionist, and Mattie, a newly minted nurse-midwife who didn’t look much older than me. She had striking green eyes, flaming red hair and an Irish lilt.

“Mattie, Morgan will be entirely your responsibility. … Morgan, do as Mattie instructs. She’s your supervisor.”

“Yes, doctor,” we both said.

I wanted to dig in, but it was only 8:45 and the office didn’t open until 9:00, so the ladies wanted to chat.

“Is this your first job, darlin’?” asked Mattie.

“Well, my first fulltime job. I worked in the school library and also did some babysitting.”

“So, yer still livin’ at home, then?”

“No, I’m an orphan. Yesterday was my 18th birthday and my first day out of foster care. I’m renting a room across the road from Faye, er, Dr. Matthews.”

“A belated happy birthday to ya, then.”

“We must take you to lunch to celebrate,” added Bobbie.

“Thank you, but you needn’t.”

“We insist!”

“That’s very kind.”

By then the phone was ringing, so Bobbie got busy. Mattie showed me what to do. I’d be working in a corner behind the reception counter. She’d check my work and answer questions when she had a chance. My first task would be to check all the data “the previous girl” had entered.

Faye hadn’t mentioned my gender in introducing me. Now, I was embarrassed to say I was a boy with feminine hair – not to mention panties. It wasn’t lying to let people believe what they wanted.

The morning was busy. I shut out distractions and focused on my work. I found seven errors by “the previous girl.” Mattie had already found four, which were to serve as a test, and was quite impressed that I’d found three more.

The office closed from noon to 1:30. Mattie and Bobbie bought me lunch at a nearby Mexican place. Bobbie left about 12:45, leaving Mattie to have a private chat with me.

“Morgan, darlin’, I’m very impressed by your maturity and work ethic, but there are a few things you need to address.”

“Yes?”

“Well, I suppose you don’t have a lot of clothes. Mightn't it be that these are your best?”

“You’re right, they are. My foster parents didn’t believe in buying a lot of clothes. So, I mostly got hand-me-downs.”

“They aren’t very professional, darlin’. You look like a tomboy – no offense intended.”

“None taken. I’m planning on buying better clothes when I get paid.”

“One other thing – it’s a wee bit personal – but even one as under endowed as you can’t come to work without a bra. It just isn’t done, darlin’. If you mother were alive, she’d be telling you the same thin’.”

I could only blush in response.

“No need to be embarrassed. I’m proposin’ to take you to Walmart and buy you proper office clothes. You can repay me when you get flush.”

“Proper clothes?”

“Slacks, a blouse, bra and decent shoes.”

“Well, I …”

“No excuses. I insist – your dress detracts from the professionalism o’ the practice.”

“Mattie, really, I don’t need a bra. I have noting to put in it, I’m …”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, darlin’ you’re not the only flat chested girl on God’s green earth.”

“Mattie – please! Let me explain. I’m not a girl.”

She suddenly became quiet, and looked me up and down. “You want to be a boy, Morgan?”

“Well. Whether I want to or not, that’s how God made me.”

“Oh my! I’m sorry darlin’. Me and my big mouth … I thought …”

“Well, you’re not the first, and won’t be the last. I’m taken for a girl more often than not. That’s why I don’t bother to correct people – it’s pointless.”

“So, if it is not pryin’, why are you wearin’ your hair like that?”

“Well, Faye, er … Dr. Matthews came over this morning before I put it into my ponytail, and thought I was a girl. That is when she offered me the job. When she found out I was a boy, she told me her patients preferred an all-female office, and said I’d fit in better with my hair loose. I figured no one would ask.”

“Well, blend in you do, darlin’. It’s not just your hair, sweetie. You have a feminine way with you.”

“Thank you, but that’s not how bullies describe it when they beat me up.”

“Well, there are no bullies here or at the office.”

“I’m glad of that, but I’m still scared of looking more feminine that I do.”

“Still, we have the problem, darlin’. You need to dress more professionally. How about somethin’ unisex?”

“Like what?”

“Scrubs would work.”

“That sounds fine, but I don’t have a lot of money until I get paid.”

“Don’t worry Norris’s, where I shop, usually has irregulars you might afford.”

“OK, I’m in your hands.”

Norris’s was a uniform shop with everything from police to maid’s uniforms. Mattie led me to a rack of scrubs. I was taken aback to see that the tops alone were over $20.

“I don’t know if I can afford this, Mattie.”

“The irregulars are a lot cheaper.” At one end of the rack was a small selection of $12.99 sets. The only small one was “Light Thistle,” a kind of orchid. So that’s what I got. Mattie gave it to me as a birthday present – the first I could remember. On the way back, we stopped at Walmart and she added a pair of $9.99 white canvas shoes. That doesn’t sound like very much, but I thought of it as a five-meal outlay – that’s how many I’d skip to pay for the outfit. I was very grateful.

We walked back to work and I changed into my scrubs. About 2:30, Dr. Matthews was called to attend a birth. Mattie took over the check ups and drove me home at the end of the day.

Alice was concentrating on her work, but looked back to see who’d came in. When she saw me, she swiveled her chair. “You’re really cute in that. The color suits you.”

“Ah … thanks.”

“There’s mac and cheese in the fridge. The directions are on the package. Be a doll and nuke it when you come back down.”

“Sure.”

In my room, I saw how I looked for the first time. I did look cute. Orchid was “my color.” That would have been delightful if I were a girl – but I wasn’t. I changed into jeans and a tee to reaffirm my masculinity before going down.

I set the table and, when dinner was ready, called Alice. She opened a bottle of white cabernet and poured me a glass. As we ate, she asked me about my day. It was nice to have someone be interested in what I did. As we chatted, she kept refilling my glass, so I got over my usual shyness. I suppose that’s why I told her about Mattie saying I needed a bra. It just came out. She chuckled, but then gave me a reflective look.

“I think you’d look much cuter with a pair of knockers, sweetie.”

“Knockers?”

“Boobs, dear … breasts.”

“But, I’m a boy.”

“A very pretty boy.”

By then we had finished our dinner – and the cabernet. “Humor me, Morgan, I want to see how you’d look in a bra.”

“I can’t wear a bra.”

“I don’t see why not. You have a chest, don’t you? Let’s go up and see.” She grabbed my hand and gently pulled me along. When we got to my room, she rummaged through the bureau and found a lacy beige bra – an A-cup I was to learn.

“You can have this one.”

She pulled my tee over my head, threaded my arms through the bra straps, and fastened it behind me. Surprisingly, I filled the cups without padding.

“Not too tight?”

“No, but …”

“But me no buts! … Let’s see … I know.” She rummaged further and found a white knit top. It molded itself to my enhanced chest. “Take a look!” She said turning me to the mirror. “You’re beautiful!”

I saw a girl I’d like to date, but would be too shy to ask.

“Well? Don’t you look good?”

“Yes, but it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? Why?”

“Because boys aren’t supposed to look ‘beautiful.’”

“But, it is all you, sweetie. Like it or not, you do look this good.”

I started crying. I didn’t know why, but it made Alice decide she’d gone too far.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I was just having a bit of fun.”

“I know. I’m not mad.”

She helped me out of the top and bra, and back into my tee. “I’m sorry,” she repeated as she closed the door behind her.

The next morning, I got up early and made coffee and pancakes.

“What did I do to deserve this?” Alice asked.

“I wanted to make up for my behavior last night.”

“Your behavior? I was the one that crossed the line. I think I wanted to bring my sister back.”

“No, you were just having fun. The problem is, I was too embarrassed to let you know how I really felt, and why I cried.”

“I’m confused.”

“I was too. Maybe that’s why I cried. Maybe it was because while people have always taken me for a girl, you were the first to make me feel like it was a good thing. … Anyway, what I was too embarrassed to say was … I liked how I looked in the bra and top. But, it was a shock. It broke a lot of self-delusions.”

“Self-delusions?”

“Yes. I told you I was picked on a lot. Bullies called me all kinds of names, but I kept telling myself that they were wrong – that I was a boy who just had the misfortune of looking girlish. … Well, last night, seeing myself with breasts, with knockers, … well I liked how I looked.”

“You looked pretty damned good, Morgan.”

“Yeah … and I liked it … So, I realized that I really am a sissy.”

“’Sissy’ is a pretty harsh word, dear. How about we say you’re ‘feminine’ until we come up with something better?”

“Okay.”

Friday, Faye gave me an advance on my pay. The next morning I opened a bank account and got a debit card. These were milestones for me. I was making my own way in the world.

With a bit of money in hand, I decided to buy some clothes. At first, I thought I’d get jeans and a button shirt, but when it was 10:00 and already in the 90s, I decided to buy shorts instead. I didn’t know that by late July stores are already stocking fall and winter clothes. Bermudas were being closed out, with none in my size. I recalled seeing shorts in women’s wear, and was looking at them when an associate came over.

“These won’t fit you, miss. You’re not full-figured enough. Look in Misses,” she said, indicating an overhead sign.

“Thank you.”

I found a jumble of shorts being closed-out at 3 for $10. They were slimmer than the ones I’d been looking at. I guessed I was an M, and found mauve, navy and white pairs. Since all sales were final, I went to try them. I suppose the dressing rooms were women’s, but no one questioned me. My penis ruined the shorts’ look, but they fit well enough after I tucked myself back. My heart raced at the thought of buying myself women’s clothing. I looked at matching tops, but couldn’t go that far. Instead, I bought some pastel polo shirts.

For the next few weeks, I dressed on the feminine side of androgynous. At home I wore my new shorts and polo shirts. One evening, I tried the bra Alice gave me. She said I looked more natural, and I realized I felt more myself. I never wore a bra to work, and everyone knew I was male. Still, they treated me like one of the girls, and I liked the sense of belonging. I was loosing my balance on the gender tight rope.

I filled in as receptionist when Bobbie took a break or had a sick day. That’s how I met Mary Astoria, a single accountant in her first trimester. Faye had been called out and Mattie had not yet returned. Being the only two in the office, Mary and I started chatting. We shared an interested in art, but she was much more knowledgeable. After her check up, she came over to schedule her next appointment.

“Morgan, there’s a new exhibit at the Bower. It would be a lot more fun to go with a friend. Would you like to join me?”

“Sure, when?”

“Saturday. I could pick you up for breakfast, and then drive into the city?”

“That sounds lovely.”

That Saturday the forecast high was 104, so I wore my white shorts with a lavender polo. When I went down to wait for Mary, Alice stopped me.

“Morgan, dear, you can’t go dressed like that!”

“Why not? It’s going to be too hot for jeans.”

“Two reasons. First, you need to shave you legs. Second, I can see the rose print on your panties.”

“What?”

“Go look in the mirror. You can only wear white, pale pink, or beige under white, dear. Anything darker shows through.”

I ran and looked. You could see the print on my panties clear as day – and my fuzzy legs just looked wrong. “Oh dear! … I haven’t got time to shave my legs. She’ll be here any minute.”

“Run along and do it. I’ll give your friend a cup of coffee and talk to her.”

Ten minutes later, I was back with smooth legs and navy shorts. Mary and Alice were chatting – about me. I wasn’t sure what had been said, but I knew I had to be honest with Mary about who – or what – I was.

As we were walking to her car, I said, “Before we go, I want you to know that I’m really a boy.”

“You mean you have a penis?”

“Well, yes.”

“I didn’t know that, but I think you told me something untrue?”

“What?”

“That you’re really a boy. I’ve met thousands of people and I’d quite clear to me that you’re really a girl, even if you happen to have a penis. … so I hope that is the end of it!”

“Of it?”

“Of you expecting me to think you’re a boy. … Do you have a bra?”

I blushed.

“Well, go in and put it on. Then we can be proper girlfriends.”

I did. It was the first time I left the house in a bra. At first, I was very self conscious, but as the day wore on, I realized that I drew less, not more, attention. No one was trying to figure out if I was male or female. We had a lovely time, and kissed each other on the cheek as we parted.

Soon we were meeting weekly for a movie or an outing to a museum or gallery.

One Saturday we took in an art film after visiting the museum. By the time we finished dinner, we were both too tired to drive back. So, we decided to stay overnight. Mary knew I didn’t have much money, so she invited me to share her room. We hadn’t expected to stay over, so neither of us packed anything. We both stripped down to our underwear for bed. Mary was tired of wearing her bra, and so took it off without hesitation. Hers were the first breasts I’d seen – and they were beautiful.

“You remember I’m a male?”

“I remember we’re both girls, but one of us has some extra bits.”

We shared a bed and cuddled, but nothing more happened.

By mid August, I was coding the last of the old files. Faye, Dr. Matthews, told me that, other than a little filing, she had no more work for me. She’d pay me for the rest of the week, but I needn’t come in after I finished the filing. I’d saved over $1500, and felt quite wealthy. Still, I’d miss Mattie and Bobbie. Maybe we’d have lunch sometime.

School was going to start in two weeks, so I couldn’t commit to another fulltime job. I was thinking of signing up with a temp agency when Mary invited me to go up north with her to visit her parents. We’d take the scenic route and see the coast, which she said was spectacular. I hadn’t gone anywhere since my mom died, so I agreed.

She wanted to leave Saturday at dawn, so she picked me up Friday after she finished work. When she picked up my suitcase to put it in her trunk, she said, “This feels pretty light. What have you packed?”

I told her.

“Nothing to wear out? No nitie?”

“Out? Nitie?”

“Yes, my parents will take us to dinner and you’ll need something nice to wear, and you can’t sleep in your bra and panties – you’ll need nightwear.”

“Maybe I should just stay home?”

“Nonsense! I already told my parents that I was bringing my girlfriend.”

“So they think I’m a girl?”

“Well, you are! I mean we go everywhere with you as a girl and you’re wearing a bra as we speak.”

“Yeah, but I was going to take it off before we arrived. I was thinking of being a boy while we were there.”

“See, the thing is, they’re worried about me, because since I got pregnant and John left, they think I’m alone and won’t be able to take care of myself and the baby. I told them not to worry because I have a girlfriend to rely on.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Morgan, you.”

“No one has ever relied on me before. It makes me feel special.” I teared up a bit.

“Look, I’m not putting anything on you. … Well, I guess I am, but not about me and the baby. … I mean, it would just take a load off my parents’ minds if they thought I had someone down here to rely on. … If you could pretend to be that person.”

“Well, you can rely on me. I'm your friend, and I’ll be here for you when the baby comes.”

Now Mary teared up and hugged me. “Thank you,” she whispered, and kissed my cheek.

We drove quietly for a while before she said, “Then, we’re back to what you’ll wear. Let me take you to TJ Maxx and get you a couple of things.”

“I have money.”

“We both know I have more – and besides you wouldn’t need anything if I hadn’t put you in this situation.”

“Ok.”

We started with a skirt and blouse to wear out in daytime. I wanted one that came below my knees. Mary said I was too young to be so conservative, and insisted I get a mini. We compromised on a fuchsia poplin skort that buttoned down the front. A white sleeveless blouse with a lace bodice completed the outfit. I never felt so girlish before.

“Now you need a dress for dinner. My parents will take us someplace fancy.”

Again, I looked at long dresses, and, again, Mary insisted on something mid-thigh. I found a tie-neck dress the right length, but Mary vetoed it because the color was too close to my fuchsia skort. Instead, she got me an ivory smocked babydoll dress with a sepia floral print. A white pettislip went under it.

The one long thing I got was a pink flannel nightgown with violets.

Finally, we looked at shoes. My white canvas sneakers didn’t go with my dress. Since I’d never wore heels, Mary decided on 2” block heels, and then looked for a black pair, as they’d be the most versatile. I wound up with a choice between pumps and sandals and couldn’t make up my mind. Mary bought me the pumps and I bought myself tan wedge sandals.

I’d need a purse, so I found a tan shoulder bag and a black clutch.

Once we were back in her car, Mary said, “Put your wedges on. You need to learn how to navigate in heels – besides they make your legs sexy.”

I thought we were done, but Mary stopped at Walmart to get me lipstick, nail polish and a manicure set. I liked walking in heels. They made me feel taller, and, like my bra, more feminine. A twenty-something guy even checked out my legs as we walked by – not just a quick glance, like I’d gotten before, but a lingering look.

“Did you see that guy ogling you?”

“Yes,” I blushed.

“How did it make you feel?”

“Honestly? Kind of nice, but weird. … I mean, I like being attractive, but I’m not sure how I feel about a guy wanting me.”

“Well, you’re a real cutie, so you need to figure it out.”

“I suppose so.”

Back at Mary’s apartment, we changed into our nities. She was in a talkative mood – mostly about her baby. Mary was a little afraid of giving birth, but mainly she talked about how different her life would be once the baby was born – how complicated being a single working mom would be. It would be best if the baby were breastfed, but she wasn’t sure how she could do it and work at the same time.

I imagined myself in her place – having a baby, breastfeeding it, and working – or, in my case, going to school. It wouldn’t be easy.

After she talked herself out, she gave me a mani-pedi. I’d be in female mode for a while, so I let her. I wound up with burgundy nails, with a shine like a new car. I was uneasy with my nails, but, by morning, I wondered why I hadn’t done them before. Happily, my new lipstick matched.

We left as the sun was kissing the mountain peaks – headed to Santa Barbara. We stopped at a coffee shop for breakfast, then on to Morro Bay for an early lunch overlooking the bay and the famous morro. It was fun watching the seals play and the pelicans swooping for fish.

Our next stop was San Simeon, the former home of William Randolph Hearst, a newspaper magnate in the 1930s. Given our common interest in art, we had to take the tour and shop. Our group was mostly retired people except for Ron and Don, two brothers from L. A. Ron was in his early twenties. Don looked about my age.

At every stop, they stood near us. Ron was very charming and obviously interested in Mary. Soon the two of them were chatting, ignoring Don and me. I felt sorry for Don. After a couple of stops I said. “It looks like we’re in the same boat.”

“Yeah, I think he’s smitten with your sis. He’s not usually like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like ignoring me. What about your sis?”

“Oh, Mary’s not my sis. She’s just a friend. We’re going up to the Bay area to visit her folks for a couple of weeks.”

“Oh. … I have to be honest … Ron said I should talk to you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Cuz, you’re out of my league.”

“What!?”

“Yeah, you’re so perfect and probably in college.”

“Why, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m going to be a senior next month.”

“I’ll be starting college, but that shouldn’t make a difference.” I was trying to give him confidence, like a maiden aunt would.

“Really?”

“Of course, you’re handsome and intelligent enough.”

By the time we finished the tour and shopping, it was too late to start the torturous section of California 1 ahead, so we retreated to Cambria for a bit of tourism, dinner and bed. We agreed to eat together after checking in.

As we walked to the restaurant, Don and Mary lead the way. He put his arm around her and she leaned into him a bit. Ron had gotten more relaxed with me and held my hand. It was innocent enough, so I let him. He didn’t say much, but I noticed him sneaking looks at my diminutive breasts and, occasionally, my legs. When he saw that I’d caught him looking, he apologized.

“I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassed.

“Why should you be? It’s kind of a complement, you know – I mean to have someone think you’re attractive.”

“Oh … I’m glad you’re not mad.”

“I’m not – as long as you behave like a gentleman.”

“I want to, but I’m not sure what that actually means?”

I thought for a while about the complaints I’d heard in foster care and during my time in Fay’s office. “I suppose it means asking before touching, or at least taking ‘no’ seriously.”

“That seems simple enough.”

Don and Mary sat on one side of the booth, and Ron and I on the other. It was the first time I’d been so close to a boy (dressed as a girl I mean), and I wasn’t sure how I felt. I mean I liked him so far, and I was glad he thought I was pretty, but, beyond that, I wasn’t attracted to him.

I could see that Don was doing something under the table, and Mary seemed to be enjoying it. I wondered if they would be spending the night together … and if they did, did that mean that she expected Ron and me to share the other room? I could see that Ron was getting anxious as well. After that, it seemed that they rushed through their meal.

“Here, Ron,” Don said as he passed his credit card across. “Why don’t you treat Morgan to dessert. Then you two can spend some time together. I’ll give you a call after Mary and I have had some adult time. Ron and I both blushed, but there was nothing we could do but nod.

“Well, Morgan, what do you want for dessert?”

“I’m stuffed, but you go ahead.”

Ron was a growing boy, so he ordered apple pie a la mode. He finished, paid the bill and we went for a walk on the now quiet street. It was warm, so we sat on a bench and looked at the stars. For some reason, I shivered. Ron pulled me close and put an arm around me. It felt good, not arousing. I smiled up at him. He bent down and kissed me. I liked it. Soon we were kissing passionately. He was fondling my breast through my blouse, and I was aroused. I was about to come in my panties when his phone rang.

“OK. Thanks, I’ll walk her back.”

I didn’t know what I expected to happen, but I was disappointed that it didn’t. When we got to my room, Ron gave me a passionate kiss with a lot of tongue, and I did mess my panties – my first orgasm with another person – and it was with a boy. I was so embarrassed I wanted to hide. I thanked him breathlessly and rushed inside.

“Well, did you have a good time?” Mary asked, before seeing my damp shorts. “Oh, I see you did!

“I am sorry to have pulled that on you, but I hadn’t had a man since I got pregnant. … No chance of that now,” she laughed. “So, have decided you like boys?”

“No, I decided I like being kissed and … well, having my breasts, such as they are, fondled. I didn’t really think about Ron’s … you know.”

“His cock, sweetie?”

“Yes, I didn’t think about it at all.”

“Well, that’s all I thought about with Don. … So, would you have had as good a time with a girl?”

“Well, I’ve thought about sex with a girl.”

“Sweetie, as one who’s shared a bed with you, that’s all you’ve done. I don’t think you want sex with a woman – not like most guys.”

“I guess not.”

“Take your after-sex shower and let’s go to bed.”

“Ok.”

The next morning we met the guys for breakfast, and, after some passionate kissing in the parking lot, headed our separate ways – we up the coast, they down.

We drove up Route 1, taking in the spectacular views. Mary wanted to talk about our recent adventure.

“About last night …”

“Yeah?”

“I’d rather you not mention it to my folks.”

“I wasn’t planning to. Besides, I’d rather forget about Ron and …”

“Why?”

“Because it was gay.”

“Not if you’re a girl … and even if it was, what’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I am.”

“Well, last night should help you figure it out.”

“I guess.”

“Was that your first time with a boy?”

“It was my first time kissing anyone like that.”

“Would you like to do it again?”

“Well, as long as it didn’t go a lot further.”

“A little further would be ok?”

“Yes,” I blushed.

“But not a lot?”

“No.”

“Do you even know what that means?”

“Well, I know that I’d probably get the crap beaten out of me if a guy got in my panties.”

“Depends on the guy.”

“I suppose so.”

“I notice you’re wearing lipstick today.”

“I ah … Yes, it makes me feel prettier.”

“That a girl! … Should I find you another virgin boy to seduce?”

“I didn’t seduce him … he kissed me.”

“And you kissed him back?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want him to stop.”

“The same with me and Don. … And he fondled your breast?”

“Yes.”

“Without your bra?”

“No, through my blouse.”

“But you liked it?”

“Yes … it made me feel … I’m not sure.”

“Did you want him to?”

“What?”

“Take off your bra?”

“Part of me did, but then he’d know I’m a boy.”

“But, you’re a girl. I keep telling you.”

“Well, I’m made like a boy.”

“Have you ever thought of doing something about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Growing your tits?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re already wearing a bra. You might as well have decent tits in it. If you like your boyish breasts being fondled, trust me, you’d love real tits. How about it?”

She pulled into a turnout with a magnificent ocean view. “Hand me my purse. … Here take two of these.”

“I don’t do drugs.”

“It’s not a drug – not that kind anyway. Here’s some water. Down the hatch.”

“What was that?”

“Birth control pills – we don’t want you getting pregnant.

“You know I can’t.”

“Of course, but it’s going to help you in another way – growing tits. BC pills are female hormones. … Since I’m already pregnant, they’re no use to me. So you might as well take the lot.” She handed me a plastic case and six foil disks with pills to be punched out. “Take two a day until we can get you a proper prescription.”

I put the pills in my purse. They were so small. I doubted they’d do anything beyond making me feel more feminine. “Ah, thanks.” That was all there was to it. I took two a day as a kind of make Morgan more fem game – not expecting anything to happen.

We arrived at the Astoria house just after 1:00. It was a modest house for the neighborhood, which happened to be a gated community. The Astoria’s place had a pool and backed onto a golf course.

Mary’s parents, John and Kate, looked me over, maybe to see if I was pregnant too, then me greeted warmly. They were more chilly towards her. She’d told me they were very traditional and attended some sort of evangelical church. They weren’t happy that their only child hadn’t remained a virgin, but was bearing “a child out of wedlock,” as they put it. I was surprised they didn’t call their grandbaby a bastard, as that seemed to be how they thought of him/her.

Mary’s pregnancy wasn’t a big thing for me as a couple of my foster sisters had been pregnant. They seemed no better or worse than any of the other kids. Also, a lot of the expectant women in Faye’s practice were single. It might be better to have two parents, but I’d have been happy to have even one.

The greeting set the tone for the rest of the afternoon, which was formal and often strained. I was caught in the middle, with Mary using me as a buffer, while her parents tried to hold me up as a model of virtue – especially after I made the mistake of answering some intrusive questions.

“Morgan dear, where did you and Mary meet?” Kate asked.

“I worked at a doctor’s office and met her there.”

“Well, at least you were there because you got yourself knocked up,” John sniped.

“I don’t think anyone gets themselves knocked up, Mr. Astoria.” I wanted to defend my friend, but still be polite.

“I suppose not,” he reflected.

“I think John meant that you’re not the kind of girl who has sex before marriage,” Kate said, feigning a compliment.

“I suppose not. I’ve only kissed one boy.”

“Good for you dear,” she responded. I wondered what she would think if she knew I was a boy.

“Mary, you should try to be more like Morgan.”

Mary rolled her eyes, but said nothing. I was so incensed that I was about to tell them I was a boy, but remembered my promise to Mary and held my tongue. Later she apologized for her parents.

I suppose they felt they’d made their point. Anyway, they played nice after that. Later we had a home cooked meal with salad, pot roast and apple pie, and the conversation was casual and easy. As we were finishing our pie, John announced that we’d be going out for dinner the following night.

“I have a treat for you as well,” Kate announced. “I’m treating you girls to shopping and the salon tomorrow.”

“Thank you, mother.”

“That’s very kind of you, Kate.”

As Mary and I were dressing for bed, Kate knocked once and came into our room. A few seconds earlier, and she would have seen the bulge in my panties, but I had just put on my pink nitie.

“Morgan, dear, since you’re an orphan and just starting out in the world, I’d like to get you a few things tomorrow. You know, some simple accessories – to make up for my earlier behavior. I wonder what you’ll be wearing for dinner tomorrow?”

“I appreciate the thought, but you needn’t get me anything, Kate. I mean, I don’t wear jewelry.”

“Nonsense! I insist.”

I showed her my new dress and black pumps.

“What a cute dress! It will show off your lovely legs perfectly. … Sleep tight, girls.” She kissed us both and left.

“So, that’s what it’s like to have a mother,” I reflected.

“Yes – both frustrating and endearing.”

We started the next morning about 9:00, driving to the local mall.

“I always get Mary earrings when she visits. A girl never has too many.”

I followed along patiently, not paying a lot of attention. The next I knew I was sitting on a stool in The Ringing Belle having my ears double pierced. It was only when I saw double pearl studs in the mirror that I wondered how I could go back to being a boy with my ears pierced like that.

I was still wondering when we went into Macy’s.

“Morgan, you have a cute dress, but it needs accessorizing. So, I’m getting you a string of pearls – as a memento of your trip.”

I looked at Mary, hoping she’d stop her mother from wasting her money on a pearls for boy.

She smiled broadly. “I agree, mom. A pearl necklace would complete Morgan’s look and they would go perfectly with hi…r new studs.”

Kate didn’t catch Mary’s little slip, but I almost freaked. I emerged from my panic to hear Kate saying “… this one, Morgan?” She was pointing to a strand of pearls in the case. Not having head the question, I replied, “Oh, they’re so pretty, Kate.”

“Then you shall have them!”

“Mrs. Astoria, Kate, I really don’t need pearls. I’d have no where to wear them at home.”

“Nonsense, you can wear them on dates.”

I again looked anxiously at Mary, who only seemed amused at my plight. I left wearing my new pearls. Despite wondering what I’d do with them once I got home, I loved how special I felt and how pretty they made me look.

We had a salad in the food court and then left for the salon, where we spent the afternoon. The operator showed me a book of styles. I really liked one called a braided crown. The picture showed it decorated with little flowers woven into the braid, but she said it would be difficult to care for. It would be best for a special occasion and if I really liked it, I could have it for my wedding day. I blushed.

“I leave myself in your hands, Hanah.”

“Since you like braids, what if I give you a French braid with tendrils?”

I wasn’t sure what that was, but it turned out to be gorgeous. My hair was braided down my back with little curls hanging down over either temple. Unfortunately, she gave me bangs so I couldn’t return to my male ponytail. Still, I couldn’t imagine looking so good as a boy.

When Mary and I got back to our room, I wanted to be mad at her. “Look what you’ve done to me! How can I go back to being a boy with my ears pierced like this and bangs? Bangs! What kind of boy has bangs?”

“The kind of boy who’s a girl. Come on! I saw how happy you were when you looked in the mirror at the salon. And you love your pearls too – studs and all. Tell the truth … You like being pretty, don’t you?”

“Well, yes … But, how can I be a boy?”

“Do you want to be?”

I didn’t answer because I didn’t know.

That evening, I didn't feel at all like a boy as walked into Le Papillon in my new dress, pearls and heels. I imagined how Ron would react if he saw me now. I didn’t have long to wait – not that Ron was there, but a boy my age at the next table couldn’t take his eyes off of me. I was thrilled and exited to be so attractive, but, still, that a boy was attracted was confusing.

I took my pills every morning before Mary and I relaxed at her parents’ house, shopped, or did the tourist thing in San Francisco. Even in summer it’s too cold for a skirt or shorts in San Francisco, so Kate bought me a cute pair of embroidered jeans and a matching jacket that cost her a fortune. Mary insisted on flirting with any boys who took an interest in us. At first, I was shy and embarrassed, but by the end, I decided flirting was fun. It always made me feel pretty and interesting, and reminded me of kissing Ron. It wasn’t that I was attracted to boys sexually, but still, I enjoyed how they made me feel.

Our last night we had a home-cooked dinner and the conversation became serious. Mary’s parents wanted her to come home to have her baby, but she was happy living on her own.

“But, who’ll help you when the baby comes?” Kate asked.

Mary didn’t respond immediately, so I jumped in. “I’m going to go to birthing classes with Mary and be her birthing coach. I can also help take care of it.”

“Yes, that’s the plan. Morgan will be there for me.”

Now it was said and confirmed. You don't really think things out when you're just 18.

We left after breakfast Sunday and took the direct route. Mary dropped me off about 6:00, dressed in short shorts and wedge sandals. I had my pearls in my purse, but my studs needed to stay in until the piercings healed, which wouldn’t be for weeks.

“Well, aren’t you pretty!” Alice said warmly as I walked by the kitchen. “I love your hair – and pierced ears as well. … Sit down, let’s chat. … I’m baking a frozen pizza. … There’s enough for two. … So, did you give up on being a boy?”

“I really don’t know, Alice. I mean it’s not like I want to date boys … or maybe I do, but not let it go too far.”

“Well, that’s easier said than done. You’ve never talked about dating before – boys or girls. Did you have a date on your trip?”

“Well, not a date, but I did spend an evening with a boy and – this is so embarrassing – I had a good time.”

“Well, there you go sweetie. There’s nothing wrong with a boy liking boys.”

“Yeah, but I think I’d have liked being with a girl just as much – if she thought I was pretty.”

“You spent two weeks with your friend Mary. How did that go?”

“We’re not like that. We’re, well … girl friends.”

“I see. … You know school starts tomorrow, and looking at you, I don’t think anyone’s going to believe you’re a boy.”

“I suppose not. … I was thinking of going unisex.”

“Well, you should have thought of that when you got your ears pierced and your hair done – which is lovely by the way.”

“Thank you, I really like how it looks. … Thinking about it’s made me tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Well, you know you’re welcome to any of Barb’s clothes. Good night, sweetie.”

I found some curl clips in the bureau, wound up my tendrils, and crawled into bed.

I woke early. One look in the mirror confirmed that I needed to dress as a girl. My skort was wrinkled, so I remembered Alice’s offer and looked in the wardrobe. I picked out a pale lime blouse and a rose skirt. The colors went well with each other and with my complexion. My white tennis shoes finished a casual look. I was about to go downstairs when I decided to add lipstick. No trace of male Morgan was left.

Faye came in for her morning coffee and agreed to drive me to campus, which was not far beyond her office. Before she dropped me off, she asked me to come by her office when I was done at school.

I had a 9:15 appointment in the Art Department with my counselor, Dr. Whatley. A tall boy coming out of her office held the door for me. Dr. Whatley looked up with a slightly surprised expression.

“Are you Morgan Ross?”

“Yes. Is something the matter?”

“No … well, yes. This says you’re male.”

“Oh, is that going to be a problem?”

“Not if I change it to female. Should I?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you look female, Morgan. Are you?”

“My friends say I am, but biologically, I’m not.”

“And what do you say, Morgan?”

“I really don’t know.”

“How about I change your gender to ‘Not Given’?”

“Could you?”

“Yes. … It’s done.”

“And later?”

“You can decide. … Now for your schedule – your file says you’re interested in art. Do you want to declare a major?”

“I think so. I want to work in a museum or gallery.”

“Art History is the best we have to offer for that kind of career.”

“Then, that will be my major.”

“Good. You can always change later if you get interested in something else. … Now, for your schedule …”

I left with the standard freshmen courses plus Introduction to European Art, and Aesthetics as a philosophy elective. Outside, a brunette was waiting for her appointment. As she walked by, the tall boy who’d held the door for me stood up. He had mousy brown hair and was so nervous he was almost shaking.

“W-would you like some coffee … or something?”

Spending a few hours with Ron, whom I’d never see again, was one thing, but starting who knows what with a boy I’d likely see all the time was quite another. So, I was inclined to brush him off. Still, he was so shy and vulnerable. He reminded me of the boy me. I didn’t want to shoot him down.

“Sure, I’d love some.” I could let him down over coffee. “What’s your name?”

“Mel Rivers.”

“I’m Morgan Ross,” I said, shaking his hand firmly. “Where shall we go for coffee?”

“Oh, the Student Union is just across the quad. I ate breakfast there this morning.”

I took the conversational lead to help him relax. I never would have as a boy, or before my trip with Mary. Now I found myself flirting with him. When I realized I was, I stopped, but by then the ice was broken, and Mel started telling me some quirky things he’d picked up on that morning. By the time we sat down with our coffee, we were both laughing, and I wanted him as a friend.

“You know, Mel, I like you, but I’m not looking for a relationship … maybe a friend?”

“You’re so pretty, but if you only want to be friends, that’d be wonderful. … I never had a real friend … just people I say ‘hi’ to.”

Now I felt bad. I couldn’t start a friendship with a lie. So many times other foster kids pretended to like me, then turned out to be lying for one reason or another. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“What did I say?”

“No, no! It’s not you. … It’s I’m … I’m lying.”

“Lying? About what? You’ve hardly told me anything!”

“It’s not anything I said. It’s … how I’m dressed.”

“I don’t understand.”

I was on the verge of tears – torn between the need to be honest with a potential friend and the fear that I of flushing my entire college experience down the toilet. “I’m a boy,” I whispered.

“No way! You’re kidding, right?”

I could only shake my head. One more word, and I’d break down … and maybe run away. Finally, I pleaded, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Geez, I won’t. I swear.” He paused, lost in thought. “Morgan, that’s so brave. You’re so brave! No one’s ever trusted me like that. I hope that we can still be friends.”

Tears were rolling out now. “I think we are.”

We drank our coffee quietly. When we’d finished, I stood up to go.

“When can I see you again?” Mel asked.

“Let me see your schedule. … We’re both in European Art tomorrow. I’ll see you then.” I walked off toward Faye’s office.

Bobbie looked surprised to see me in a skirt and with a French braid. I wasn’t sure she approved. “Doctor said you’d be by. She’ll be free when she’s done with the patient she’s seeing now.”

“Where’s Mattie?”

“On an RFD.”

I knew that RFD stood for Rural Free Delivery – what Mattie called home deliveries covered by MediCal. Bobbie looked busy, or maybe put off by my appearance, so I read a magazine. A few minutes later, Faye called me in.

“I’ve thought for a while that I should give you an exam, and when I saw you dressed in a skirt this morning, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer.”

“Why? What’s wrong with me – other than being a bit crazy?”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, but I’m pretty sure your hormones are off because you have few, if any, male secondary sex characteristics. There is likely some physical reason for that, and it might be important to find out what it is. I could send you to a urologist, but it might be embarrassing and unnecessary. So, if you’re willing, I could do a preliminary work up for you – gratis. Maybe I’ll find the cause, but I might still have to refer you.”

“If you think it’s important. Given how I’m dressed, I suppose I should have an OB-GYN, anyway,” I quipped.

“Okay, please remove your blouse and bra.”

This was going to be very embarrassing.

“Hmm…, ah …,” she said as she poked, prodded and squeezed my chest. “Squeeze here, Morgan. … Feel how soft that is?”

“Ah, yes.”

“That’s adipose tissue – fat.”

“Okay?”

“Now squeeze here … feel how much more solid that is?”

“Yes?”

“Those are your mammary glands. They are what make the milk babies suckle. Ducts connect them to your nipples. Now see how your nipples get bigger and harder when I stimulate them?”

“Yeah.” My heart was beating faster.

“That’s so baby has something firm to latch onto. Stimulating them also feels good in romantic situations. … The point I’m making is that your breasts are typical of those I see on 11-12 year-old girls … and they respond in the same way. … I’m surprised no one suggested you wear bras before you started on your own.”

I thought of Mattie telling me I needed to wear a bra, and Alice wanting to see how I looked in one, but I said nothing.

“Okay. Put your bra and blouse back on. … Drop your panties, climb up, and put your feet in the stirrups.”

After 10 minutes of more poking, and squeezing, including an ultrasound of my belly, she let me to get down and put my panties on.

“Well, Morgan, you don’t have any ovaries, so you’re not intersexed, at least not to that degree. But, you have the breast development of a 12 year-old girl and ascending testicles, also called acquired undescended testicles. I think your testicles may have led to a hormone imbalance preventing full puberty, reducing your male sex characteristics and allowing your natural female hormones to have more effect than they normally would. Your testicle condition can also cause infertility and increase the risk of cancer. Out patient surgery can corrected it. So, I’m ordering some blood tests and plan to refer you to a urologist.

“Another thing hormones do is change the brain in subtle ways – ways that affect how we feel about ourselves, I mean if we feel masculine or feminine, and also who we find sexually attractive – men or women, or both, or in some cases, neither. So, I’d also like to refer you to a counselor who specializes in such issues.

“We could start with a visit to a urologist to deal with your testicles. They are easier to schedule.”

“Will that cost a lot?”

“No, your MediCal and supplement should cover most of the cost.”

“And when it gets fixed?”

“You should have a lot more testosterone and feel … well, more manly.”

“I see. Thank you, Faye.”

As I walked up the hill to Alice’s I wondered if I wanted to feel “more manly.”

I was still thinking about what feeling “more manly” would be like the next morning. It might seem a simple question, but it wasn’t. I’d never felt that way, so it was kind of like being asked if I like chocolate ice cream, when I’d never tasted chocolate. I could look at other people eating it and see if they liked it, but they had to do their best to like it because they had no choice. Also, once I started eating it, I mean being more manly, I’d be kind of stuck – just like they were. If my voice changed, my body changed and my features hardened – well, what if I didn’t like it and wanted to go back?

Another thing that made it hard was that my world changed suddenly when I was twelve. Before my mother died, I went to one school and had one set of friends, but after she died, I went to other schools and was thrown in with boys and girls I didn’t know. If I’d seen how becoming “more manly” affected the boys I’d known, I might have a better idea what it was about – but I didn’t, and so I don’t.

On the other hand, I was learning what it was like to be a girl. People treated me nicer. They wanted to be closer – to be my friends. Alice, Faye, Mary, Ron, and now Mel all liked the feminine Morgan. Would they like the “more manly” Morgan? I didn’t think so. I was pretty sure Ron and Mel wouldn’t. Maybe some girl would. That was hard to imagine – I mean that literally. Girls didn’t flock around me last year, so I had nothing to base my imagination on – no idea how they would react to a “more manly” me.

Suddenly, breakfast was over, the drive to State was over, and I found myself standing in front of a styleless building. I reached into my purse and pulled out my schedule: European Art, Rm. 217, Snondgrass Mem., 9:10 A. Looking up, I saw “Snondgrass Memorial Hall” in foot high gold letters – probably the most expensive feature of the building. Inside, I jogged up the stairs and found 217.

There, staring anxiously at the door, sat Mel. His face lit up when he saw me. No one lit up when they saw me. Now, someone did – someone who knew my secret … knew my secret and still lit up! Why should I want to change, be “more manly”? I looked in my purse, saw that today’s BC pills were punched out, and smiled.

“Hi, Morgan.”

“Hi, Mel.” I said, sitting next to him.

Mel and I were in three classes together: English Comp, European Art and Psych. We were soon fast friends, studying and eating lunch together. He had a joint major in Computer Science and Graphic Arts and was planning to go into computer art or maybe animation. His father and mother had both been civil engineers, but decided to take early retirement and bought a small vineyard just outside of town.

Because his parents had followed major construction projects, he’d never had long-term friends. He’d no sooner be accepted by one set of kids, than the family would move to another project. Our common rootless childhood allowed us to sense each other’s feelings.

Faye drove me to college most mornings. About a week after school started, she told me my test results were back and asked me to come by her office after class.

“Okay, Morgan, the tests show that you’re basically healthy, but have some anomalies. One is hypogonadism as a result of your ascending testicles – that explains why your, ah, parts are small for an 18-year-old male. Your test results show it in two ways: you have low testosterone levels, and your sperm count is low enough that you’d have difficulty fathering a child. Both of those might be corrected by the surgery I discussed – or they might not.

“The second anomaly is that you have very high levels of estrogen and progesterone for a male. Are you taking female hormones?”

“Do birth control pills count?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes, I am.”

“How long?”

“Just two weeks now.”

“Well, you shouldn’t, but I can’t stop you. I can only tell you that since hormone therapy can be dangerous, you need to be monitored – have blood work done every three months. Here, I got you a pamphlet for transwomen from a colleague. Ideally, you should have a psychosocial evaluation. Then you could have supervised treatment.”

“Am I a transwoman?”

“Aren’t you? I really don’t know, but it seems likely. You need a proper evaluation.”

“Oh.”

“Remember, I examined your breasts and said they were what I’d expect on an 11-12 year old girl? That’s much more developed than two weeks of birth control pills would explain. Also, your areolas and nipples are large for a male – but not as large as a woman your age would have.”

“So, what should I do?”

“You need to work that out for yourself – with the help of counseling. One of my old classmates does that sort of counseling. I’ll talk to her and see if she can fit you in. It may take a while to find you a slot. As for surgery, I’d wait until you have a clearer idea of where you’re headed, as there’s no immediate danger.”

“Thank you, Faye.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.”

The next few weeks not much, or maybe a lot, happened. I found a cute outfit every morning, went to class, made some new friends (girls – my life was too complicated for another boy) and worried about grades. I didn’t have time to worry about what I was.

One exception was that some of the girls I met in class invited me to an open house at a sorority. I had a good time, and a few days later, I was asked to join the sorority. I liked the girls I’d met there, but I knew I couldn’t. Also, I’d grown fond of Alice, and didn’t want to leave – or to leave her alone. So, I said thanks, but I was committed to living where I was. My new friends were disappointed, and grew more distant as the center of their social life shifted to the sorority.

The sorority episode had more impact on me that the gradual loss of some of my female friends. Although I liked Alice and living with her, part of me wanted the acceptance being a sorority sister would bring. I imagined it as a replacement for my lost family. Of course, it was impossible, but being impossible did not stop me from imagining it and missing what might have been.

It was impossible because I was a boy going to college as a girl. And, why was I? Because I didn’t see how I could dress like a boy with my bangs and pierced ears. I could have buzz cut my hair, removed my studs, and let my piercing heal. Why didn’t I think of that? I realized it was because I loved my French braid and pretty pearls. What kind of boy loves such things? Or enjoys wearing a cute outfit to college every day?

Mel and I had lunch together most days and, when time permitted, took walks by the stream at the edge of campus. It was shaded by live oaks and had a pool embellished by ferns, cattails and even a few water lilies. It was a great place to cool off in the summer and relax any time.

When we first started taking our walks, I felt like a boy strolling with another boy. I know that’s strange, given how I was dressed, but that’s how I felt. I don’t think Mel ever felt like that. Over time, he reached out and held my hand, and – well, I let him.

Toward the end of September, as we sat by the pool, Mel looked very uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?”

“God, I wish I knew. I mean, I do know, but the pieces don’t fit, so I don’t really.”

I stared at him blankly. “Well, tell me the pieces.”

“Okay. … Well, remember when you said you wanted to be friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I can’t be your friend.”

It was like my whole world collapsed. One second, I was sitting happily with my best friend, and the next tears were streaming down, and I was on the verge of sobbing.

Mel reached out and hugged me. “No, no, it's not like that. … It’s … I love you.”

I looked up, and got a kiss that was both tender and passionate.

“There! I kissed you. I’ve wanted to for weeks. Now you can tell me to go.”

“You can see that I don’t want you to go.”

“You know what? I must be queer because I really love you. The funny thing is, I’ve never been interested in guys. I mean, I’ve seen all kinds in the showers at school, and I’ve never been interested. … But, I know you’re a guy, and I still love you so much I can hardly sleep.”

I didn’t want to say it, but I did. “I love you too, Mel.”

Now my life really made no sense. I was a boy who went to college dressed like a girl, and now I was in love with a boy who was not interested in boys – but he loved me. I was so embarrassed about what I’d said to Mel that I never wanted to see him again. At the same time, I desperately wanted to spend more time with him. More time leading to what? I didn’t even want to think about it.

Alice and I had grown to be more than landlord and tenant. She was more like the big sister I never had. Even so, it was with a great deal of embarrassment that I responded to her question that night after I poured olive oil instead of dish soap into a sink full of dirty dishes.

“Morgan, you seem unusually distracted, even for you.”

“I guess I am.”

“Care to share why?”

“I suppose it’s because I’m in love.”

“That’s great, dear. Is it Mary?”

“No, it's not! It’s … It’s a boy.”

“That’s wonderful dear!”

“No, it’s not! I’m in love with a boy!”

“What’s wrong with that? You’ve kissed a boy before and told me that you flirted a bit on your trip – even said you wouldn't mind dating one.”

“Well, I didn’t date him. He’s supposed to be my friend, and he told me he couldn’t be my friend anymore … because he loves me. And, … and I … told him I loved him too! … and now … now everything is ruined!”

“I really don’t understand, Morgan. Why is everything ruined? You said you might want to date a boy ‘as long as things didn’t go too far.’”

“Yeah. Well, I meant some boy I didn’t know. One that I didn’t care about – someone I could make out with, and it wouldn’t matter … but, Mel … Mel is different. I care about him … he is … was … my friend, and now it’s ruined!”

“How is it ruined? I mean now you can date someone you really care about, and who cares about you.”

“Yeah, but what about when he gets to … you know, and finds out I’m a boy?”

“Well, you have to tell him before he does.”

“I already did at the beginning, and he didn’t care. He was my friend anyway.”

“Well, then he likes boys. No problem!”

“But, that’s it! He told me he doesn’t like boys. I mean, he’s not gay. Hell, I’m not gay!”

“I’m beginning to see. Neither of you is gay, but you love each other.”

“Yep.”

“Well, maybe you should stop trying to put it in a box, and just go with the fact that you two love each other … and see where it goes.”

I hugged Alice and kissed her on the cheek, but by the time I got back to my room, I had no idea what I was going to do.

In the morning, I spent extra time on my makeup and chose a mini and heels to wear to school. Mel and I had no classes together, but met for lunch as usual. When he saw how I was dressed, he couldn’t take his eyes off of me.

“Morgan, you look wonderful today.”

“I wanted to look special for you, … dear.” I couldn’t help but blush at the word. Still, I meant it.

Mel just smiled. We went for our usual walk by the stream, and found a secluded spot to kiss. Soon, both of us wanted more.

“What if we go for a ride? I could show you our vineyard. I know a great view.”

Mel’s car wasn't a chick magnet. It was a tan Volvo SUV that used to be his mom’s and was about twenty years old. Still, it was clean, and more than adequate to the twisting road that led east into the surrounding hills. After about twenty minutes, we turned in under a “Two Rivers Vineyard” sign and passed row after row of vines. A house and outbuildings appeared on our right, but we turned left onto a winding track that hung on the edge of a ravine. As we rounded a curve, the ground broadened to reveal an outdoor table and the stone foundation of what had once been a cabin. Sycamores and live oaks shaded the spot, and, once I opened the door, I could hear water splashing.

“This is the old homestead. Why don’t you take a look around.”

“Ah, thanks, I will.” I followed the splashing sound to a small brook with a 6 or 7 foot waterfall, and knew instantly why some pioneers might build their cabin here.

“What’d ya think?”

“It’s beautiful here. Thanks for bringing me.”

“Yeah, I love it. I used to camp up here. … Come on, I’ll show you the view.”

He led me to the edge of a steep bluff. Below it were the orderly rows of his parents' vineyard, beyond them, rows of hills receding into haze and, perhaps, a glimpse of the sea.

“This is a tremendous spot, Mel.”

He spread out a blanket for us. Soon we were doing more than sitting. Mel’s hands were all over me when I suddenly realized that one was under my skirt, about to reach my crotch. I didn’t want him to stop, but I urgently wanted him to stop.

“No, please, not there!”

Mel looked … I don’t know what. Disappointed? Suddenly awakened? I don’t think he knew, either.

“Sorry,” he said in a small voice.

“Don’t be. I’ll show you something.” I unbuttoned my blouse and removed my bra. There, pointing out into the warm air, were my breasts – breasts I knew belonged on a twelve-year-old girl rather than an eighteen-year-old boy.

“They’re beautiful Morgan. May I touch them?”

“Yes, I want you to,” I said in a husky voice.

Ever so softly, he did. We were sitting up now, so I nestled back against him. He took them in his hands and began making love to them while kissing and gently biting my neck. I was lost in his love when he suddenly stiffened, and realizing what was happening, I too lost control.

“Oh my God! … That was wonderful, Mel.”

I turned and kissed him with all my passion.

When we finally broke, he said, “I don’t care if you’re a boy or a girl, I love you!”

I lay back against him, bare-breasted, until the sun disappeared behind a ridge and the air cooled, as it does in the hills.

As Mel drove me home, I realized that I’d made orgasmic love to a boy, maybe not in the usual way, but I did not regret it one bit.