By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2016)
A shy college boy discovers a new life and along with it great friends, career success and maybe even a lover.
(Great thanks to Eric for his meticulous proof-reading and for finding many inconsistencies in early drafts of this story.)
Chapter 1 – Freshman Encounter
She was a plain girl, with a broad, almost cherubic face. She had a soft, fleshy body. It was a body that was yet to mature. Perhaps the girl would eventually grow into a svelte, fashionable young woman, but then again, maybe not and that unfinished girl would grow dumpy and blemished.
The long-haired boy stood holding a cafeteria tray containing a garden salad, a paper cup of hot water with the tag from a tea bag hanging on its side. There seemed to be no empty seats in the college student union’s food area – except for one opposite the girl. The boy debated whether to ask her if he could sit there? He didn’t want to ask. He was afraid of her reaction. He knew he was not exactly the type of boy any girl would fancy. He was scrawny and largely undeveloped himself. He was never sure how to act with girls and had yet to have been on a date with a girl.
The boy tried to ignore the girl as his eyes scanned the wide room, seeking a place to put his meager lunch. He saw two empty seats across the room, but two boys (both of linebacker size) moved in to claim them. There was a seat, it appeared, at a round table with perhaps five other boys, all loud and big and rowdy. He just wouldn’t fit in.
This was only his second day at the university and everything was strange and new. He wished his mother was there; she would know what to do. He wanted to escape this crowded place and run back to his home.
“It’s OK, you can sit here,” the girl said.
The boy looked at the girl. He froze. Was she inviting him to join her?
“Yes, sit,” the girl commanded.
The boy did as ordered, gingerly placing his tray on the table while being careful not to let it intrude upon the girl’s space. Her tray contained a half-eaten cheeseburger with the works, French fries and a regular soda. He sat, taking off his light jacket and draping it across the back of the chair. As he did so, his long brown hair fell across his face; he brushed it aside with a light flick of his wrist.
The girl noticed the action and smiled. She found the boy’s movement to be affecting and wondered why. It was an effeminate mannerism, she thought, and she wondered why that intrigued her. In fact, the boy interested her; that bothered her.
“I should have ordered what you did,” the girl said after a comfortable interval, pointing at his food. “No wonder I can’t lose weight.”
The boy nodded. “Mother taught me to eat healthy,” he said, suddenly realizing he might have insulted the girl.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to criticize,” he quickly added.
“That’s OK. You’re right. By the way, I’m Amy,” she said.
“Ah . . . errr . . . I’m Corey,” the boy said.
The girl returned to her sandwich and the boy slowly spread a paper napkin on his lap. He tried to open a tiny plastic packet that held the salad dressing, but, try as he might, the bag resisted his efforts. He was embarrassed to be struggling since he knew the girl would be watching his vain efforts; certainly this would expose how painfully weak he was.
“Let me have that,” the girl commanded.
“Oh, I think I can do it,” he said.
“No, you’re doing it all wrong. Give it here.”
Amy spoke authoritatively, leaving Corey no choice but to hand the plastic packet over to her. She took one end of the bag, put it in her mouth and with a rough rip, opened the bag partially. She handed it back to him: “Now, you should be able to open it up the rest of the way.”
“Thanks,” he said. The boy was grateful for her help, but he felt sheepish about it.
They ate in silence for a few minutes; each stole glances at each other, and once both found themselves looking up at the same time, their eyes locking. Corey quickly averted her eyes, and he could see her smile as he did so.
She appeared to be dressed in a careless fashion; Corey could only see the top half of her body and her cream-colored blouse with a lace trimmed collar buttoned up tightly against her neck. The blouse was mussed as if it had never been ironed.
“This your first year here?” she said.
“Yes, yours too?”
“Yes, and I don’t know a soul. I came from a small town up north, but I like the city,” Amy said.
“Oh, I’m from here,” he offered.
“You’re not staying on campus?” Amy said.
“No, I live with mom on the south side. I take the bus every day.”
The boy flicked his hair aside again, an action that Amy saw clearly. It was such a girlish move. The girl smiled at the boy and then took a large bite out of what remained of her cheeseburger. She watched the boy who in contrast toyed with his salad, taking only small bites of the veggies that composed the salad. She noticed he had chosen a fat-free packet of salad dressing.
Suddenly, she felt ashamed; she knew she ate crudely, perhaps a habit gained from being squeezed into a small kitchen with three bruiser-sized brothers. The girl couldn’t help it; you ate fast in her family, or else you missed out on getting much of anything.
“You must have lots of friends here then,” the girl said, after she hurried to complete chewing the large chunk of burger.
“Not really, but why should I?” he asked.
“You live in the city here, don’t you? So you must have had classmates starting college, too?”
“Not many kids from my school are going to college,” he said, the words coming out in a grunt.
It was only a half-truth; there were graduates from his urban high school at the university, but he hardly knew any of them. Corey made few friends in high school; his time at the school had been a frightful one, but he had excelled in his classes while avoiding the other students as much as possible. The school’s reputation as being a “tough” and “rowdy” was largely true and he had faced his share of bullying for his effeminate mannerisms and his goody-two-shoes demeanor. He found favor from many of the teachers as one of the few students who arrived eager to learn and study; as a result, he melted into the academics of the school and somehow he had survived the four years.
“I don’t know anyone here,” she volunteered after she had devoured her meal.
“OK,” was all he said, returning to his salad, continuing to take tiny bites.
“That’s OK, I’m sorry I’m talking so much. I’ll shut up.”
He looked up at the girl and smiled, “No that’s fine. It was kinda cool.”
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Corey,” the girl said, standing up and gathering the paper scraps from her meal and putting them on her tray. “I’ve got a class soon.”
“Oh, you have to go?”
“Yes, but maybe we’ll see each other again,” she volunteered.
“Yeah, maybe.”
The boy went back to his salad as the girl walked to the trash can, dumped her scraps and walked into the crowd of students. He watched the girl as she departed, moving her wide body surprisingly easily between the packed tables. Her legs were encased in jeans, but he imagined they were a bit husky and shapely. He couldn't help but smile as he followed her until she was out of sight, buried behind the mass of students.
*****
Amy Hartmann couldn’t get the image of the young man out of her mind; he was so pretty, not at all like the crude, loutish boys she had grown up with in her small town. They were all like her brothers who loved to roust about making lewd comments about girls and bragging about how many times they fucked Sharon Silicia – the reputed class whore, though Amy doubted she was as promiscuous as the boys seemed to claim. Most of the boys in her high school class, she knew, would either end up working in the woods or laboring in the mill or the nearby veneer factory, working hard and then sitting in Sweeney’s Oasis or Ken’s Sportsbar in a beer-induced stupor.
Corey could hardly have survived in her backwoods school, she knew. He was dainty with small smooth hands, long fingers and thin wrists. She sensed that he was not strong physically and that she’d likely easily beat him in an arm wrestle. Yet, she felt she wanted to impress the gentle boy if she would ever again meet him. She wondered about her chance of ever seeing him again, since the campus was huge and crowded with tens of thousands of students.
She felt she was not a pretty girl; her figure was too square and hardly curvy; she knew she needed to lose a few pounds. Amy lamented that her breasts were too small for her rather fleshy body and that her hips were too wide. She tried to push such thoughts out of her mind, always telling herself that looks weren’t important and that her kindness and intelligence made her in reality a beautiful young woman. It had been something her mother – a large woman, and one with a good mind – had told her for years. Somehow, she wasn’t convinced.
The truth was Amy’s brainpower won her two good scholarships that not only covered her tuition and fees but also much of her room and board costs. Even with modest student loans, she still had to take a part-time job working breakfast and lunches several days a week in the scullery of her dormitory’s cafeteria.
Amy recalled how neatly Corey was dressed when the two shared the lunch table together. He wore neatly pressed khaki pants, a light blue button-down shirt without a tie and well-polished brown oxford shoes. He stood out in contrast with most of the students who tended to wear jeans or shorts and tee shirts on the warm September day when the two met.
“Maybe I should put on a dress,” she mused, realizing that she had but one dress in her dorm room closet, a plain, peach-colored cotton dress with short cap sleeves and a cloth belt with a skirt that ended at her knees. “You better take along at least one dress, honey. You might need one for an occasion where a dress is required,” her mother had advised her when she packed for the 300-mile drive to begin her college career at the University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee. She knew she looked dumpy in the dress, but it was the only one she owned that still fit her.
On the day she met Corey, Amy wore jeans and the mussed cream-colored blouse with a high neckline. Her brown hair was a mess, she knew, and had been tied in a ponytail. Amy doubted she could ever be as tastefully dressed as Corey seemed to be. She had always been “just one of the boys” back in her small backwoods community, always dressed in jeans or sweats and in warm weather ragged denim shorts. The boy was like no other boy she’d ever met; he was not strong and masculine or beefy and rugged like the boys back home. She couldn’t she get the boy out of her mind.
*****
Corey Sullivan looked out of the dirty window of the Green Line bus as if he were seeing the small shops and restaurants on Milwaukee’s East Side. Yet, he really didn’t see them. Traffic was slow as it was in the midst of the rush hour, and his mind didn’t register seeing the youngish residents of this area who wandered the sidewalks. Instead, his sight was clouded with the thoughts of the girl named Amy, the rather messy girl with the inquiring bright eyes he met in the Student Union’s food court.
He liked her, but he couldn’t understand what it was that attracted him. She certainly was not a “perfect” girl and he could see she had flaws. Amy certainly wasn’t like the girls he knew from his big-city high school; they fell into two camps, with the majority seeming to be aiming at being slutty, while the others being shy and nondescript. She also was unlike the well-washed, well-made-up girls of the fancier suburbs. She was different and a bit damaged. Wasn’t he different and damaged, too, just like the girl? Would that make her safe for him?
He left the bus from its South Howell Avenue stop and wandered east on Dover Street to his mother’s small clapboard bungalow in the working class neighborhood. Corey walked along the uneven sidewalk in which slabs of concrete had been pushed upward by the roots of growing maple and ash trees that lined the curb. He had walked these streets all of his life and knew the cracks and trouble spots that could cause an inattentive walker to stumble and fall. He navigated them by rote, still wondering if this rugged girl could care for an unmanly boy such as he was.
It was four-thirty when he unlocked the front door of the bungalow and entered the small living room. The house was stuffy and he opened up a side window and then wandered to the kitchen to open the inner back door, letting in fresh air that had felt a bit damp as the wind blew gently in off nearby Lake Michigan. Corey looked out at his flowers; he had created and tended a flower garden since he was in the Fifth Grade and it featured several types of roses, plus various colorful annuals that he changed every year. He marveled at how full and large his impatiens had become, creating a blanket of color in front of the bank of rose bushes in the tiny, narrow backyard. A new crop of his Paul McCartney rose blossoms had appeared that day, and he wished he could bring some for Amy. He knew it wouldn’t be possible, given that McCartney roses tended to lose their great beauty within a few days.
Corey knew his mother wouldn’t get home until after seven o’clock, since she kept her nearby beauty parlor open until six o’clock and it always took her another hour to finish up the last customer and close up the shop. Since he had been about thirteen, Corey had regularly prepared supper for the two of them. It was something he did on his own, even though his mother urged him not to take on the chore. “You should be out playing ball with Clement and Darin,” she said, referring to two boys about his same age in the neighborhood.
“I like doing this, mother,” he said.
Debbie Sullivan worried about her son and his apparent dislike of rough-housing that she felt was normal for a young boy. Instead, Corey seemed to imitate her own fastidiousness and compulsive cleaning fetish and as a result the tiny bungalow – even though it was a nearly 140-old somewhat sagging structure – was always sparkling clean. She worried that her own quirkiness would filter down to her son, making him ill-equipped to function in the real world as a man.
One early evening, about a week before his fourteenth birthday, Debbie Sullivan returned home from the salon to find her son in her bedroom folding her clothes that he had just finished laundering. He apparently hadn’t heard his mother come home and Debbie stood at the door into her bedroom and watched the boy. He had a smile on his face and was humming in his high voice; he stood before a mirror holding one of her dresses before him acting demonstrably girlish.
“My what a pretty girl you make,” Debbie said.
Corey stopped dead in his tracks, his face showing alarm.
“Oh, I . . . I . . . was just folding your clothes, mom,” he stammered.
“And enjoying every moment of it, I see,” she said.
“No,” he protested.
“That’s OK, Corey,” Debbie said, walking over to the boy and taking the dress out of his hands. She found a hanger and carefully hung it into her closet.
She took the boy into her arms, feeling his slender, fragile body. She wondered about this unusual, talented and bright boy and his strange behavior.
“Mommy, I’m sorry,” he said finally.
The two sat down on the bed and Corey nestled next to his mother. He loved her so much.
“Mommy, what’s it like to be a girl?” he asked.
She took his pretty, soft hands in hers and looked at him.
“Why do you ask, darling?” her question was asked tenderly.
“I don’t know, it just that girls can be so pretty. A boy can’t be pretty.”
Debbie looked at her lovely, sweet son.
“Do you wish you were born a girl, Corey?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
“Would you like to put on dresses and skirts?”
“Maybe,” he said, trying to be nonchalant about it.
“Tell you what,” Debbie said. “How would you like some dresses and skirts and blouses of your own that you could wear around the house? Just for you and me to see?”
“Really mom?”
“Yes, really,” she replied.
That evening, his mother took his measurements carefully. A few days later, she went to the thrift store to find a full set of teen girl’s clothing, one or two each of skirts, dresses, blouses and shorts. She also went to the community’s big box store and bought a packet of panties with colorful designs, an A-cup bra, ankle socks and a pair of sandals. She gave them to him for his fourteenth birthday.
“Oh mommy,” he said at the simple birthday party they had for him, just he and his mother. “This is the bestest party ever.”
Thus it was that Corey rushed home from school every day, eager to become a teen girl, do his homework and complete the household chores. He loved being his mother’s daughter. Even though Debbie had purchased a small selection of girl clothing for him, she questioned her decision when it became apparent that he wanted to wear them all of the time when he was home. At first, she suggested he only do it a couple of times a week, but after a while she realized he was dressing daily, often rushing to change before she got home at night. Eventually Debbie reluctantly gave into his desires and let him dress as a girl when he was home; the two rarely had visitors and Debbie felt there’d be little chance of him getting discovered as long as he stayed indoors.
Debbie enjoyed being with him in the evening, particularly after he completed his homework and the two would nestle together on the couch watching television. Fortunately, Corey was content to watch movies or programs that she most enjoyed, including some of the fashion shows and so-called “chick flicks.” Always, as the two snuggled, Corey was dressed as a teen girl, sometimes in casual shorts and tank tops and other times in his frilly nightgown.
In spite of Corey’s apparent happiness at being able to be a teen girl in private, Debbie Sullivan worried about what she had done to her son. His growing femininity bothered her and she again protested that he should get out and make some friends.
“I’m happy helping you out, mother,” Corey told her. And, he was being honest. He liked preparing supper every night and doing the laundry and by his mid-teens he spent several nights and Saturdays at the beauty parlor answering the phone, setting up appointments, keeping the place clean and even learning about being a hairdresser.
Corey had never in his life been to a barbershop since his mother always trimmed his hair. He insisted that she let it grow long, even when his mother said it was too long for a boy to wear.
“Mom, don’t cut it, please. Just trim it and get rid of the split ends and then fix it up in a pretty style,” he pleaded with her more than once.
“Oh Corey, you look too much like a girl now. I really should cut it back,” she said.
“No, mom, don’t. Many boys have hair this long.”
“Oh, sweetie, but not as long as yours has grown. This just isn’t right for a boy.”
“Please mom.”
Debbie Sullivan tried hard to fix his hair so that was not too feminine, but it wasn’t easy. As a result, customers often called the slender boy “miss” and “young lady” and he did nothing to correct the person. On days he worked at the beauty parlor, he wore androgynous slacks and blouses and the customers began treating him as if he were just a teenaged girl. He wore a name tag identifying him as “Corey,” which was a name that could fit either a boy or a girl.
Debbie’s older customers, of course, knew that Corey was a boy and many of them wondered why Debbie continued to let the boy dress in clothes that were so androgynous. Several suggested he should get counseling or something and Debbie considered it. “Mom, I don’t need a shrink,” Corey said when she mentioned making an appointment for him.
By the time Corey entered his senior year in high school, however, he saw the wisdom of cutting back on his more feminine clothes and sought to act more in line with the masculine norm. He had taken seriously the advice of his U.S. history teacher, Mr. Maslowski, who said the Corey had a “good head on his shoulders” as well as a “bright future” as long as he tried to cut out distractions, such as his obvious attraction to acting in such a feminine manner. “It’ll really ruin your chances at a good career in politics,” Mr. Maslowski said. The teacher also was Corey’s AP advisor and Corey admired him immensely.
In the week before he was to start his senior year, he let his mother trim his hair a bit so that it only flowed to the top of his shirt collar and so that she could fashion it in a manly fashion. Debbie closed her shop at six o’clock, as usual, and Corey sat down in her salon chair as she began to trim; after the first few clips of her scissors, Corey broke down and cried.
His mother broke into tears as well and said, “I lost my pretty daughter and regained my handsome son.”
Corey looked into the mirror as his mother finished. He wasn’t happy at the result. “I’m ugly, mom,” he said, his eyes still moist from crying.
“You’re not ugly. No one leaves this beauty shop looking ugly, darling.”
“I guess, it’s just that I miss my long hair. And I didn’t mean to say you did a bad job, it’s just that . . .”
His never finished the sentence and let it hang. His mother said nothing, spraying his trimmed hair to fix it. Corey got off the chair and instinctively began to flick his hair, even though there were no loose strands to move from his face.
“Mother, do you wish you’d had a daughter instead of me?”
“What? No, darling. I love you,” Debbie Sullivan said, reaching out to hug her son.
She held him tightly for a long moment and wondered what prompted that comment; she truly loved her son and he had become the most important person in her life.
She released the slender boy from her arms and suggested they sit down in her back office, where she fixed two cups of tea. “Tell me something, Corey, and I want to answer me truthfully,” she said once the tea was poured.
“OK, mom,” he said.
“Do you wish you were a girl?”
“What?”
“You seem happy doing things that girls tend to like,” she said, talking slowly and carefully measuring her words.
“I’m a boy, mom,” he said.
“Yes, you are, but sometimes I think you are more like a daughter to me,” she said.
“Why can’t a boy wear long hair, and like fashions and like to cook and clean? What’s wrong with that, mom?”
“Of course,” she said.
Quickly, she turned the conversation to Corey’s future plans for college and that was the last time she asked him about his feelings of wishing to be a girl. Her questions did confirm his own questions about himself, questions that had been troubling his mind since he was in Fifth Grade. Now, after meeting Amy in the cafeteria, his mind became a muddle of confusion. He felt a need to get to know this girl; yet, he knew that he needed to become more of a real young man.
*****
Even though she thought about him constantly, Amy was unable to get to have lunch again in the Student Union due to her work schedule. She considered calling in sick on Monday, but then she realized that if she did she’d lose several hours pay. Even so, there was no guarantee that Corey would show up; she really didn’t know if the boy ate his lunch daily in the Union.
Her off day was Wednesday and as she left for class that morning, Amy took extra special care with her hair, brushing it briskly to make it lay more neatly. She colored her cheeks with light rouge and coated her lips with a light pink lipstick; she felt strange putting on the makeup, since she rarely wore any. Instead of jeans, she wore a pair of beige Capri pants and a light blue top with a peasant bodice. She put on a push-up bra that gave her modest breasts a curvy look and created a hint of cleavage. She found a faux pearl necklace that seemed to accent her outfit nicely.
Amy wasn’t totally satisfied with her look, but felt it was the best she could do. She doubted she would ever be a pretty woman, but she felt she could at least be presentable. Corey dressed so precisely and with such care that she knew he’d maybe give her a second look if she’d look nicer.
She shook with excitement as she carried her food tray from the checkout line at the cafeteria, hoping to find an empty table for two or, better yet, run into Corey already seated at a table with an empty chair. Nothing so fortuitous appeared, though there was a pair of empty seats at a long table that had other occupants. She headed there, hoping to keep one of the seats for the hoped-for arrival of Corey.
Just then she looked toward the table where she and Corey first met; it was occupied, but it appeared the two girls at the table were getting up to leave. She headed there just as they vacated the table. She claimed it, elbowing out two boys.
“Well ain’t she a bitch,” she heard one of the boys say as they turned to look for another spot to eat.
Amy smiled to herself; she always loved to beat out boys in anything, an ambition she developed by being the baby sister to three rough-house brothers. She sat down and began to eat her salad; since meeting the boy she realized she could lose a little weight and her constant diet of hamburgers and tacos and French fries was not the wisest choice.
She was concentrating on cutting into the salad when she heard a voice say, “May I join you?”
Her heart skipped a beat, and she was speechless. It was Corey and he stood there, tray in hand, looking at her.
“Amy? Is that you?” he said when she didn’t answer.
The girl recovered quickly. “Oh yes, Corey, please sit, please do.”
“I wasn’t sure it was you, Amy,” the boy said as he sat down, brushing his hair from his face with the same girlish motion he had done six days earlier.
“It’s me,” she said, smiling.
“Well you look so . . . ah . . . nice,” he said, fumbling over the words.
“Thanks,” she said, feeling a bit hurt because he apparently didn’t think she was “nice looking” before.
Corey sensed her feelings and quickly responded, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that you . . . “
“Don’t worry, Corey, I know I’m not a beauty queen,” she said, smiling.
“Well, you look nice to me or else I wouldn’t have looked for you every day since we first met.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, but I work most lunch periods. I have a job in the kitchen here.”
The two talked for a while, hardly touching their salads. Most of the conversation covered the studies both were taking and something about their families. Amy learned that Corey was taking a liberal arts course, but had no clear major in mind.
“I had a high school teacher say I had a future in politics, but my real interest is in fashions and they have a dynamite program in that here,” Corey said.
“Fashion? I didn’t know that boys were in such programs,” she said.
“Yes, of course they are. Some of the best designers of women’s clothes are men. Do you find that strange for me to want to do that?”
“No, no, no,” she protested. In truth, however, she found it a bit weird since none of the men in her hometown would ever strive toward such an unmanly occupation.
“Well, that’s what I’d like my major to be, but it’s hard getting into the program,” he said. “You have to show a whole portfolio of previous work and then be interviewed. That’s kind of scary.”
“I bet it is.”
“But enough about me. What do you plan on majoring in?” Corey asked.
“I’m in pre-law and I also have to go through tough exams to be admitted to law school,” she said.
“Wow. A lawyer. Cool.”
“Yeah, I want to represent poor people, but I know that lawyers doing that work stay pretty poor themselves.”
“I guess, but Amy, that’s so marvelous. That makes my hopes for the future sound pretty frivolous,” he said.
Amy reached across and touched his hand. “Not really, Corey. Most women need clothes to help them feel confident and pretty. You’re doing a real service for them.”
He smiled and felt more and more comfortable with this girl. He returned to his salad. Amy did the same and the two were silent for a while until Amy finally said, “In fact, Corey you probably know more about women’s clothes than I do so maybe you can help me get a nice outfit. I don’t have any pretty clothes.”
“Really. I’d love to help you, Amy, if you’d like.”
“I’d love you to. And by the way, do you know anything about makeup?”
Corey blushed; the truth was that he knew lots about makeup, having watched his mother put it on for years; even in some mother-son moments, his mother had shown him how to apply makeup, even to the point of giving him a total make-over so that he looked very much like a pretty girl.
“I can help you there, too,” he admitted.
Amy smiled, “You’ll make a real girl out of me yet.”
*****
Corey reflected on his lunch with Amy as he rode the crowded Green Line bus back home that afternoon. He felt Amy had been pleased with their meeting; he couldn’t believe that any girl would ever be interested in him, since as far as he could determine from his days in high school he found little reason to believe any girls looked upon him as anything more than an occasional companion. To be sure, he had befriended several girls usually in connection with a school activity, such as the school’s Poetry Club (where he was the only boy who regularly showed up for their weekly meetings) or the Fashion Club (where also he was the only boy). He felt comfortable in both groups and the girls seemed to accept him openly.
Perhaps the best friend he made in high school was Helen Comstock whom he met at Poetry Club meetings. They found that each shared an interest in American poets like Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman, but what brought them together was when Corey’s time came to read his own poem to the group. It was entitled “Two Boys” and concerned the thoughts of two teenaged boys, one a middle class boy in the United States and the other a boy bearing a gun in an Afghan military group.
“That was beautiful, Corey. It brought tears to my eyes,” Helen said as she stopped him as they left the Club meeting.
“Thank you. Do you really think so? I had trouble with the rhythm,” he said.
“Maybe, but it was eloquent and had such feeling,” she said sincerely. "You're a really sensitive boy."
Corey had always considered Helen to be just another one of the “in crowd” at the school; she was easily one of the prettiest of girls, tall with flowing blonde hair and a bright lovely face. She was known to date one of the school’s star athletes, Logan Albright. Her reaction to the poem surprised him.
A week later as the club ended its meeting, Helen again approached Corey, suggesting they might stop at a nearby coffee house to talk. “I’d like to get to know you better,” the girl said.
Corey agreed and the two walked to the coffee house, and Corey noticed several students eyeing the couple strangely as they walked by. Several of the others shook their heads, and Corey imagined they wondered what one of the school’s most beautiful girls would be doing with him, a slender, long-haired kid with girlish mannerisms.
“I really want to be a writer,” Helen said once the two were settled in with their cappuccinos.
“That’s cool. What do you want to write?” he asked.
“This may sound stupid and trite, but I want to write novels that have meaning and a sense of humanity,” she said.
“You mean like the ‘Great American Novel’?” he said teasingly, regretting his words even as they left his mouth. He truly didn’t want to alienate lovely Helen.
Helen giggled and nodded her head.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to tease you,” Corey said hurriedly.
“That’s OK,” she said.
“It’s really cool that you want to write stuff that is full of meaning, Helen. I admire that and there’s nothing wrong with having high goals.”
Soon the two were engaged in long discussions about what they felt about everything from religion and world peace to poetry and current movies. “I really love talking with you, Corey,” she said. “I never seem to talk about anything serious with my friends – even Logan my boyfriend. So it’s really nice to be with you.”
Corey blushed and mumbled something to the effect that he enjoyed talking with her as well.
“But, what do you want to do in your life, Corey?” the girl asked.
“Oh, I’m not too sure,” he lied.
“No idea at all?”
“Well . . .ah . . . ah . . . and this may sound weird and I hate to admit it.”
“So what? I told you my big ambition. Now it’s your turn.”
“I don’t know if I should tell you. You'll probably think I'm weird or something,” he protested.
“It’ll be just between you and me. I promise.”
“Well, I’d like to become a big time designer of women’s fashions,” he admitted.
For a moment, Corey thought she might laugh at him, but instead Helen said, “Wow, that’s hot.”
“Really?”
“Of course, some of the world’s best known designers are men, you know.”
He nodded and Helen probed further into his background. Corey replied that his family included only himself and his mother and that she had always been fashion conscious. He told her of working in his mother’s beauty parlor and was learning the hairdressing trade as well.
“Have you ever designed a dress?” she asked him.
“Several and I even sewed one myself, with help from mom, of course. Wanna see it?”
“Sure.”
Corey pulled his iPhone from his backpack and pulled up a picture of his mother wearing the cocktail dress he had designed and sewn.
“My, that’s lovely,” Helen said. “That’s your design?”
“Yes, with some suggestions from mom, of course. I made it for a date she had with her new boyfriend.”
“She’s very pretty.”
The friendship with the two grew, even though they never had any real dates together; she continued to date Logan through high school, but the two broke up after graduation and Helen went on to a fancy college in the east. Meanwhile, Corey and she maintained an online relationship.
Corey never considered for a minute that he would ever become a boyfriend to Helen. He could never be on the same level with such a girl. Now, with Amy, shy, plain and ordinary, perhaps he might find a girl who would accept him.
Chapter Two – A Budding Romance
In his senior year of high school, Corey had sought to show more masculinity, even keeping his hair trimmed back. He felt a desire to be “normal” in his final year, hoping to fit in with his classmates, but in fact he didn’t feel any more accepted. In the summer after graduation, Corey had reverted to his more feminine appearance during the summer as he joined his mother in working fulltime in the beauty salon, taking appointments, doing her bookwork and even taking on more hairdressing appointments, mainly for younger women.
Now with his friendship with Amy growing, Corey began wondering if he should again turn to more masculine outfits and assume the role of being a “real man.” He doubted, however, that he ever could fit such a role and it appeared the girl liked him as he was.
Perhaps it was because of his own ambivalent feelings about himself that Corey was hesitant in pursuing his affection for Amy, even though she seemed to be encouraging him to intensify their relationship. She never missed their Wednesday lunches together, and the two found time during weekends to meet for various outings, usually with Corey taking her by bus to show her various sights in the city that he knew quite well -- the Public Museum, the Central Library, the city’s horticulture center located in three iconic geodesic domes and even the County Zoo.
They enjoyed stopping at coffee shops and fast food places to relax and talk; he learned lots about what it was like to be raised in a small rural logging town and he in turn gave her a glimpse of big city life. They had serious talk about politics, finding they agreed on just about everything.
Corey and Amy sometimes went to movies at the Student Union or to a movie house that showed mainly foreign films near the campus; as much as he wanted to, he never once put his arm around her shoulder. That is, until the Saturday before the four-day Thanksgiving weekend holiday, when Amy was to return home by bus.
During a showing of a particularly drab Italian movie, Amy leaned over and grabbed Corey's hand; the boy was momentarily shocked and his hand felt tiny and delicate in her sweaty grasp. "I'll miss you, Corey," the girl whispered into his ear.
He felt her hand squeeze his gently and her hand moved up with her thumb beginning to rub sensually against his slender inner wrist. Corey began to breathe heavily.
"I wish we could have Thanksgiving dinner together," she said, her voice so soft he could hardly hear it.
"Me too," he whispered back.
On the way back to her dorm on campus, Amy noted a park bench in a fairly secluded spot along the path; there were few students walking just then, even though the night was relatively warm for November. He obediently sat with her.
"Hug me," she ordered.
It was an awkward hug to be sure, but suddenly he found Amy's lips upon his; in shock, he froze up, his mouth becoming rigid.
"Come on, lover. You can do better than that," Amy chided.
Thus, Corey kissed his first girl.
*****
Amy had plenty of time to think about Corey on the eight-hour bus ride back home for the Thanksgiving holiday; she wondered what her family would think of this delicate boy and his smooth, pretty hands. The men in her family were all tall and broad-shouldered; they talked crudely while Corey seemed never to utter an off-color word. They would wonder what kind of a man he was if she told them that her boyfriend (for she considered him to be such, even if he seemed reluctant) worked in his mother's beauty shop and that he liked to design women's clothes.
The boy was not strong, she knew, and likely she was stronger than he was. While she liked being a strong, athletic girl, she also wished she could be made pretty and lovely. In the weeks she had known Corey, she had improved her eating habits, choosing more vegetables and fruits over her usual hamburger-and-fry diet. She had lost nearly ten pounds in the weeks since the two first met.
As the bus proceeded past dairy farms and feed corn fields, she mused about Corey: What a perfectly lovely boy, such a pretty face and slender, almost dainty features. Too bad, she thought, he could be such a pretty girl. Then she had a mischievous thought: Why not see what he looks like in a dress?
*****
It seemed like midnight when the bus finally entered the snow-lined streets of Spooner where her brother, Adam, was expected to meet her. It was only eight o’clock, but at that time of year in northern Wisconsin, the sun had set four hours earlier and the darkness of the long winter night had settled in.
“Could this pretty girl be my sister, Amy?” her brother said as she stepped off the bus. He emerged from among the dozen or so persons at the bus station waiting for the bus in the near-zero degree (F) cold amid snowbanks lining the roadways and parking areas. An early season snowfall had dumped more than a foot on the area and then followed it with a spell of frigid weather. It promised to be a long, cold winter.
Amy rushed into Adam’s arms; he was her favorite brother, being just about a year and a few months older than she was.
“It’s so good to see you, Adam,” she said, when he released her.
“Wow, you’re a sight for sore eyes, pretty one,” Adam said, smiling. Amy knew her brother had left the backwoods cabin where he had been encamped with several buddies during the state’s weeklong deer-hunting season. He was still in his rough deer hunting outfit and obviously hadn’t shaved or bathed since the previous Saturday when the season started.
“You’re sweet, Adam, for leaving deer camp just to pick me up,” she said. “Got your buck yet?”
“Jimmy Hall got his on opening day, but with the deep snow on the ground, it’s tough.”
“I thought you deer slayers liked snow.”
“We do, but not this much.”
“It’s still good of you to leave camp just to pick me up.”
“Really, it’s good to get away from it for a while. Four days with those bums can sometimes be too much.”
“Yeah, I bet, too much beer and raunchy stories,” she giggled.
“You really have changed, Amy. It looks like the big city has done you good,” he said.
“You really think so, Adam?”
“You’re wearing lipstick and you look really nice,” he added. “Maybe you’re too pretty to be riding in my dirty old pickup.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m the same old sister you’ve always teased. I’d ride in a horse and buggy to be with you.”
Adam’s logging operations intensified in the autumn and continued in full force through the frigid winter; it was the period when trees could be more easily felled and moved about. His face was weathered and almost leathery, so different from the smooth washed faces of the boys in her college classes. Also, she noted, so different from Corey. She wondered what Adam – or her other brothers and their father – would think of the dainty boy she was so attracted to. Adam might understand, but she feared the others would treat Corey most cruelly, so cruelly that he’d likely burst into tears like a girl. That possibility, for some strange reason, made her feel even more attracted to the boy.
*****
“You’ve got a boyfriend,” Amy’s mother proclaimed that night. Mother and daughter were in the kitchen, finishing up making mincemeat and pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving Day’s dinner.
Amy said nothing, but continued to roll out the dough for the pie crust.
“You have, haven’t you, darling? I can see it in your eyes.”
Anna Hartmann was almost a carbon copy of her daughter: tall, solidly built and slightly overweight. Round-faced and with a pale skin, she always seemed to have a jovial demeanor. In many ways, Anna Hartmann had become her only daughter’s best friend as the girl was growing up; the two spent many hours in the kitchen where Amy soon learned how to feed a large family on a limited income. The logging business in Wisconsin was not what it used to be and Amy’s father Arnold (called Arnie by almost everyone except Anna) had suffered numerous setbacks. Anna had taken to working part-time in the local grocery store (a miniature version of a big-city supermarket) to help the family make ends meet. Amy herself had worked as a cashier in the store in her senior year of high school and in the summer leading up to the University term.
“Yes, mom, I guess you could say I have a boyfriend, though we’ve just really met.”
“Oh, but I can see the sparkle in your eyes, darling,” Anna Hartmann said. “And you’ve really prettied yourself up.”
“Yes, she has,” came the words from the doorway, where Amy’s brother Adam stood, having walked in on the two women.
“I thought you were going back into the woods tonight to do a little early morning hunting tomorrow, Adam,” their mother asked.
Adam nodded. “Nah, I’ll skip it tomorrow. We’d only have a few hours of hunting, since we have to strike camp early to get back in time for Thanksgiving Day dinner. Can’t miss that. Besides I need to pretty myself up to keep up with Amy. Isn’t my little sister so pretty now?”
“Oh Adam, your sister always was pretty. You just never looked at her.”
Amy began to redden; it seemed she had always felt she was the ugly duckling of the family: too plain, too boring, her breasts too small for her heavy body and her hips too wide.
“Tell us about your boyfriend, Amy,” Adam demanded. “When did you first meet?”
“The first week of school,” she admitted.
“That’s nearly three months ago,” Anna said. “Certainly you know something about him.”
“Have you been to bed with him?” Adam asked.
Anna Hartmann looked at her son. “Now what kind of a question is that? No one asked you whether you’ve bedded down Stephanie so don’t ask your sister. That’s her business.”
“Sorry ma. But maybe I could help her with how to handle this guy.”
“Just shut up, Adam,” their mother said. “And Amy, you can tell us about this boy only if you want to.”
The trouble was that Amy didn’t know what she should tell her mother and Adam about Corey; she couldn’t tell them certainly that she had been wondering about how the boy would look in a dress. That thought had dominated her imagination for most of the bus trip home and seemed to block out any other image of him.
“That’s OK, mom,” she said finally, wiping the flour dust off her hands. She had been rolling the dough before molding it into the pie tin. “His name is Corey and he’s really nice. He’s from the city and he’s also a freshman.”
“And?” Adam prompted, hoping to get more from his sister.
“I had an empty seat at my table in the Student Union and it was really crowded, so I told him he could sit there if he wanted,” she continued. “He was kind of lost and so was I since the school is so big. So we just kind of hit it off.”
“What does he look like? Tall, dark and handsome?” Adam teased.
Amy paused a minute: “Well, he’s really good looking I think, but not too tall.”
“It doesn’t sound like he’d be able to toss around an eight-foot log or handle a chain saw then?” Adam said.
“Probably not, but he’s smart,” Amy said.
Anna Hartmann stared at her son. “Get out of here and take your shower. You’re stinking the place up, Adam,” she said sternly.
Amy breathed a sigh of relief as her brother finally left the room. Her mother merely smiled at her and the two went about to finish their pie-making for the evening. She was grateful that her mother asked nothing further about Corey, obviously sensing that Amy was still embarrassed to talk about the first romance in her young life. In the eyes of her rural family, she knew the boy was obviously not the type to become the husband of a hardy, backwoods girl like herself.
Despite Adam’s teasing on Thanksgiving Eve, Amy still looked upon him as the one member of the family in whom she could confide her thoughts. The two had long before formed an unspoken bond of mutual trust and love; in spite of his rough demeanor, Adam was truly a sensitive, sweet man.
On the drive the following Sunday morning to the bus station in Spooner, she told Adam about Corey, including the fact that he was hoping to become a fashion designer. After further questions, she admitted that Corey’s mother ran a beauty salon and that the boy worked there and even did a bit of hairdressing.
Adam scowled at the revelation.
“He’s not big and strong, Adam, but he’s so sweet and gentle,” she said.
“Do you really like him, sis?”
“Oh yes, we’ve really become close friends, and we love being with each other. And, no, we haven’t been to bed together.”
Amy felt she had to get that off her chest right at the start.
“Maybe he’s gay,” Adam volunteered.
“Why? Because he hasn’t fucked me yet, Adam?”
“Well, what’s taking him so long?”
“Not every guy is an animal like all the brutes up in this town, Adam. Look, we’re just friends for now, if that OK? And, he’s helping me look pretty. I never thought I was pretty, but Corey insists that I am a beautiful young woman.”
Adam pulled into the bus station’s parking lot and the two sat in the car, keeping the motor running and the heater going. The bank’s marquee showed 12 degrees as they drove by; most of the potential bus passengers also were seated inside warm autos and pickups to await the bus.
“Sis, I can see that Corey has certainly had a great effect upon you,” Adam said. “You really are pretty and the guys up here don’t know what they missed.”
“You think so, Adam? You’re not just saying that to make me feel good are you?”
“No, honey, I’m proud of my sister,” he said. “I’m sorry I teased you the other night.”
“I love you brother,” she said.
She gave him a kiss on his unshaven cheek, grabbed her bag and hopped out into the cold Wisconsin morning to board bus back to Milwaukee. Amy was smiling broadly as she stepped onto the bus.
*****
Corey’s cell phone rang as he and his mother watched public television’s “Masterpiece Theater.” Their joint viewing had become a Sunday night habit for the two. “It’s my only chill-out time,” his mother confessed.
The boy knew how hard his mother worked to keep the beauty salon running; he had spent much of the weekend there himself, and was spending more and more time doing hairdressing, particularly for his mother’s younger clients. “I love what cool things you do with my hair,” a particularly pert college-age girl named Tanya announced when he finished with her on Saturday.
“Thank you, but you have such lovely hair to work on,” he had replied.
“You’re such a dear,” Tanya said, kissing him lightly on the cheek as she left the chair.
His mother had praised his skills while they were cleaning up from their Saturday appointments; his mother’s salon employed four part-time hairdressers, with Corey usually working on Saturdays. As the word-of-mouth spread about Corey’s hairdressing talents, more young ladies began calling, seeking to get “Corey’s chair.” One even asked for “that pretty young man.”
“I love to fix hair, mother,” he had said at dinner on Sunday night – another Sunday evening routine.
“I can see that, honey, but I don’t want you spending your life on your feet dealing with hair,” she said. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders and you can do lots with your life.”
“What’s wrong with making women pretty?”
“Nothing honey, but first you need to explore the world, see what possibilities you have. Mr. Maslowski said you’re a natural for politics or something like that because of your compassion and understanding of history. Don’t become like me: I only fix hair because I found it was the best way for me to feed and clothe us.”
Corey knew his mother was correct, but the fact was he truly loved dealing with women, even to the extent of being one of them. As they watched the “Selfridge” series on “Masterpiece Theater,” Corey and his mother had been discussing the clothing that the women wore in the turn-of-the-century show. In a girlish manner that he had seemed to favor, Corey had tucked his legs under him as he sat on the sofa, and at first glance a casual viewer might have figured he was viewing a pleasant mother-daughter scene.
“I love the clothes the women wore then. They’re so stylish,” he commented.
“Well you wouldn’t have liked them if you were a woman then. It took them ages to get dressed and then the undergarments were so terribly restricting,” his mother said.
“Still, the women looked so totally feminine and fragile. The very essence of womanhood.”
Debbie Sullivan eyed her son closely for a moment, imagining for a moment how the boy would look if dressed in the long, flowing dresses of that era. She had begun to think more often that her child was her daughter, a lovely girl who loved her mother. As a girl, Corey would be the picture of femininity, she knew, and would be the subject of desires among all the young men. She also knew that her son might be having the same fantasies.
The buzzing of Corey’s cell phone broke the spell and Corey wrestled about in the pink robe he was wearing to find it. He rose from the sofa, padding in his fluffy slippers into the kitchen so that he’d be out of earshot when he answered it.
“Oh Corey, you’re such a genius,” he heard Amy’s voice gushing on the phone after he said “Hello.”
“You’re back, Amy?”
“Oh yes, just got back into the dorm, and I had to call you right away to tell you how everyone back home loved my new look.”
“I’m glad they did, but I told you that you were pretty. You didn’t need me to bring that out.”
“Oh yes, I did. I always thought I was ugly, and you know what?”
“What?”
“My family sensed that I must have found a boyfriend and that’s what made me so pretty,” she giggled.
“I suppose so.”
“Really, even my brother’s brutish buddies hit on me up there.”
“Did they bother you?”
“No, they were just dazzled, I guess, ‘cause they always dismissed me as the ugly little sister.”
“You were never ugly,” he said. “We just had to bring out your natural beauty.”
“You’re too sweet, Corey.”
After both agreed they missed each other, Amy and Corey decided to meet in mid-afternoon the next day in the Food Court at the Student Union.
He was smiling as he returned to the living room. His mother turned her attention from “Selfridge” on the television screen and watched her son, seeing the satisfied smile on his face. Debbie Sullivan had noticed in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving that her son appeared to be far happier and even though she had made leading comments, such as, “I see you’re a happy guy these days,” Corey had not told her what it was that had him smiling.
The boy resumed his seat on the sofa, again tucking his legs under him and brushing his hair from his face with a light flick of his slender wrist. Never before had Corey hidden anything from her, always confiding his activities and sometimes his fears and joys to her. She wondered: Did Corey have a girlfriend? Or, perhaps a boyfriend, though she didn’t believe the boy was gay? Was he into drugs, though he showed no signs of it?
“Who was that, honey?” she asked finally.
“Oh, just a friend,” he said, hoping his mother would drop any further questioning.
“A friend, Corey. I’m glad you’ve found a friend,” she said.
“Yes, mother.”
Neither spoke, both pretending to be concentrating on the Masterpiece Theater drama unfolding on the TV screen.
“Won’t you tell me about your friend, Corey?” his mother finally asked.
“Oh, she’s a girl I met at school. Nothing special.”
“Corey, from the smiles on your face, I think you’re not telling me the truth. She must indeed be special to you.”
“We’re just friends, mom,” he said, ending the questioning by stating. “Let me see what happens to Selfridge now.”
Debbie decided to end the questions; he’d tell her sooner or later. She was pleased her son might have finally found a girlfriend.
*****
It was with both excitement and trepidation that Corey approached his meeting with Amy the next Monday afternoon; he knew the bond between the two had become intense and real and he didn’t know how to respond. He had long listened in awe – and some disgust – as he heard other boys proclaim their sense of manhood through their bragging about “bedding down” or “sleeping with” with this girl or that one on first and second dates. They talked about the incidents as “conquests” and “domination,” concepts that offended Corey. Weren’t girls to be treated with respect and dignity?
Or, he wondered, was it his own weaknesses that held him back from being a “real man?” Here he was nearly 19 and he was still a virgin and he wasn’t quite sure he could ever summon up the courage to take his pathetic male body into bed with a girl and then enter her with his smallish appendage.
Corey couldn’t see Amy when he first entered the busy and cluttered Food Court area of the Student Union; since the University was in the midst of a major city and many of its students lived off campus, the Union was always teeming with students, most of them concentrating on laptops, tablets and other electronic devices while a few still had books and papers in hand.
“Over here,” he heard Amy’s voice over the din.
She was seated on a small sofa – almost like a love seat – in the lounge area, just off the Food Court.
“It’s the only place I could find. I hope you don’t mind,” she said, still standing over the faux leather, overstuffed sofa.
“No,” he said approaching her.
Rising to her feet, Amy did something that totally surprised the boy: she kissed him on the cheek, in front of several hundred students.
“I missed you so,” she said.
Corey could only blush.
*****
Two days later, on a Wednesday when she wouldn't have to work, Amy and Corey took the bus to the Bayshore Town Center, a large busy, shopping mall several miles north of the campus. Amy announced that the University freshmen dorm group was planning a dance on the last weekend before Christmas break and she'd like Corey to be her date at the dance.
"I need to get a proper dress for the dance, and mom sent me some money to buy one."
Knowing of Corey's unusually fine taste in women's fashions, she suggested they spend Wednesday evening shopping for the dress.
They giggled a lot on the bus ride, looking at women's fashions in a catalog Corey had brought from home.
"How about this one?" He said, pointing to a light blue cocktail dress.
"No," she protested. "I'd look too fat in that one. It's too short and shows too much of my legs."
Corey nodded, realizing the girl was correct; he liked her legs, even though they were a bit heavy. Yet, Corey loved the dress, which basically exposed the shoulders and arms and legs from mid-thigh down. It had a gathered empire waist and looked so feminine.
"You'd look nice in that," Amy said, giggling.
It was as if the girl was reading his mind; his mother had several similar dresses in her closet. Corey had even worn a couple of them in his few periods of crossdressing when he was alone at home.
"I would not," he argued, trying to sound offended that she'd think he'd look nice in a dress. After all, wasn't he supposed to be her boyfriend?
"Corey, I was kidding," Amy said, realizing she may have insulted him. "I just meant to say that I don't have the body to wear such pretty dresses."
"And I suppose I do?" He questioned her.
"Well at least you're not as fat as I am," she said.
"You're not fat, Amy," he said.
Fortunately, the bus reached its destination in the shopping center, ending the conversation that had suddenly become uncomfortable for both of them.
*****
At Corey’s suggestion, the two first stopped at Charlotte Russe, a women’s fashion store that specialized in clothes at younger women. “Their outfits aren’t too pricey, Amy, and I think most of their dresses are fine for a casual dance,” he said.
Amy had never heard of the store and she was surprised that her newfound boyfriend had even known about the women’s clothing store. They rummaged through several racks of party dresses with Corey pulling out dress after dress, always asking: “How about this?” Often, he’d hold a dress up in front of her, but just as often he would hold the dress up before himself, almost prancing about as if to model it.
“You’d look darling in that dress, Corey,” she said smiling, as he held a particularly dainty light-colored lavender number up before himself.
“So would you, Amy,” he said. “Try it on.”
“It’s not for me, Corey; I’m too big in the arms and shoulders,” she said.
“Bare shoulders are all the style nowadays,” he protested. “Besides you could wear a wrap over your shoulders; after all this is winter.”
“No let’s go to Boston Store,” she said, referring to the large department store that anchored the Bayshore Town Center.
Amy couldn’t get the thought out of her head that Corey could certainly become a very pretty girl. She watched Corey as he flitted about the garment racks in the junior’s section of Boston Store’s women’s department; he fingered many of the dresses, running the material through his fingers slowly, demonstrating a loving attachment to the cloth. They were slender, pretty fingers and it appeared he had carefully kept them manicured; she was enamored with the beautiful sight of this dainty boy.
Even though Amy’s tastes were modest, the two were unable to find a dress that seemed suitable. They finally got tired of roaming from store-to-store and stopped at the Food Court in the mall.
“There’s probably not a dress anywhere that would work for me,” Amy said in despair, while the two settled down at a small table, both have decided on a sub sandwich and a drink.
“Maybe you should try without me, maybe with someone else,” Corey suggested.
“No Corey. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m just too horsey to look pretty.”
“You are not,” Corey said convincingly.
“Then why can’t we find any dress in all these stores?”
Corey nodded. She had a point. He turned to bite into his sub sandwich; he hardly noticed how it tasted since his mind began turning over.
“You know, I have an idea of what kind of dress would be perfect for you,” he announced.
“What is it? Where could we find it here?”
“Probably nowhere, but I could make it for you.”
“You?” she asked, astonished.
“Yes,” he nodded, his face reddening.
“You make dresses?”
“I’ve designed and made a few.”
“Wow. Really? And you’d want to make mine?”
“I’d love to. Let me show you what I have in mind.”
Corey eagerly took out a pen and grabbed one of the paper napkins. He sketched quickly, coming up with a design.
“You can’t tell much from this, but this is what I have in mind.”
“I like it,” she said, looking at the rough sketch.
*****
When they next met for lunch at school, Corey opened up his laptop and showed Amy several dress designs he found on line. He pointed out several, before both agreed upon a dress that suited Amy's modest tastes; it was a halter style dress in a mauve-jersey material that featured a multi-layered design, ending just about the knee. It was also one of the few available that covered her shoulders, featuring a short sleeve, hiding most of the beefiest portions of her arms. The one compromise to immodesty was a deep neckline that would show a bit of cleavage.
"My breasts are not that big," she protested.
Corey assured her that with a push-up bra that she would show a nice bust-line. "I'll help you with that if you'd like," he said.
"Corey, you don't have to," she said.
"It would be only if you wanted me to help," he said.
"You seem to know more about dressing a girl than I do."
He reddened. "I guess."
Amy smiled. The image haunted her: Corey would look adorable in a dress. The girl was truly happy to have her boyfriend design her dress for the dance.
*****
As they were in the search for a dress for Amy, Corey had trouble focusing on the purpose of the trip. Yet, too often, he looked at a dress and wondered how it would look on himself. He personally favored bare shoulder outfits, those with no more than a slender strap over the shoulders, since they would so favor his slender, smooth shoulders and slim soft arms. Corey remembered the girl's response when he held the lavender dress up against his body: "You'd look darling in that dress, Corey."
She was right; Corey fell in love with the dress, but realized it was not a style that would favor Amy's huskier frame.
He wondered whether Amy might suspect his crossdressing habits; her remark would seem to indicate that. He wondered too whether the girl suspected he might be gay, due to his obvious effeminate mannerisms. Might she even be right? Corey felt he was not homosexual at all; any fantasies he had of being with a man had him totally as a woman loving a man, not as a man loving another man. He also wanted desperately to feel the warmth of a female body next to him, perhaps even to do his manly duty with her. It was so confusing.
Chapter 3 – First Dances
Debbie Sullivan was pleased that her son had found a friend at the University; he had been so friendless through much of high school and she worried that he had never dated a girl. She was fully aware of his effeminate mannerisms and his enjoyment at dressing as a girl, but thought that was a passing phase in his life. She admitted enjoying having a son with whom she could share so many feminine activities. Yet, she hoped he'd eventually find a girlfriend and perhaps even a wife who might eventually provide her with grandchildren.
"Are you dating her, dear?" She asked on the second Sunday after Thanksgiving. The two had finished watching their usual Sunday night program, and she had asked her son for more details. Earlier he had told her he was meeting a girl he met at the University, but had been reticent about the details.
"I don't know if you'd call it that, but we did go shopping together and we meet at least once a week for lunch in the Union."
Corey hoped he had underplayed his feelings for Amy; in truth, he felt he'd never be able to have a real girlfriend. Wouldn't most girls want someone more manly? He was particularly scared about his inexperience about sexual practices. No, he often argued with himself: Amy would want a real man.
"But you like her?"
"Yes, mother, I do. Lots, and I think she likes me."
"Then ask her out to a real date, honey. You know you can always use my car and you could take her out to a nice dinner or maybe a movie or a concert. There are some good concerts coming to the Riverside and the Pabst these days."
"Well, we kind of have a date planned," Corey volunteered. "She wants me to accompany her to the dorm's Holiday Dance on the twelfth."
"Good, and I hope you're going with her," his mother encouraged.
"Yes, and I wonder could she come down to your salon to have her hair done, mom?"
"Of course. I'd love to meet her."
"Thanks, mom. She's a rather plain girl, but I'm sure you can do marvels, mom," he said, hoping to dash his mother's hopes that her son's first date would be with a beauty queen.
"I'm sure she's lovely, Corey, from the way you talk about her," she said.
"Thanks, mom, I think she'll be thrilled."
Debbie Sullivan rose to take away the remains of the popcorn and the empty glasses. She stopped just as she approached the kitchen.
"I think you ought to do her hair, honey," she said. "You know how well you do the hair of the younger customers. They all want you."
"You think so? I'd be so nervous. Besides what would she think? Having her so called boyfriend fix her hair?"
"She'd be thrilled, I'm sure. Most girls would love their boyfriends give them that kind of attention."
"I'll think about it," he said finally.
Corey had often looked at Amy, thinking about various hairstyles that would bring out the beauty of her round, almost cherubic face. It was not the face of a fat girl, but rather that of a strong person, a firm jaw that betrayed no hint of developing a double chin. The girl's sparkling eyes were her most charming feature, and he often considered finding ways to best bring out their captivating qualities. He had already considered several ways to fix her hair that would flatter her.
*****
"Mom would love to have her salon do your hair for the dance," Corey announced to Amy at their usual Wednesday luncheon date.
"Really, I'd love that, Corey. Then I can meet your mom," she replied enthusiastically.
He was frankly shocked at the girl's eager response, suspecting that she might be shy about doing something involving Corey's family.
"There's only one thing, though," he said, hesitating to complete the sentence.
She looked at him quizzically.
"Mom thinks I should do your hair," he said. "She says I do the best job with younger women in the salon."
"You're a hairdresser? You never told me that. You just said you helped out in the shop."
"Well, I was afraid you'd think I was weird or something."
She smiled: "Like maybe you're gay?"
"I suppose. It's not exactly a macho thing to do."
Amy giggled, putting a hand on top his hand as they sat at the table in the Union. "No, it's not, and my brothers would be appalled at me going to a dance with a hairdresser, but screw them."
"You don't care, Amy?"
"Not at all. Yes, you're different, but that makes you special for me. Right now we're good friends, that's all."
"Amy, I just want to make you the prettiest girl at the dance," he said, pleased with her reaction.
She giggled. "You'll have to be a magician for that Corey. I'm no Beyonce, I know."
"No, you're Amy and you're special to me."
*****
Debbie Sullivan's salon was in a building that once housed a local hardware store that had been a landmark for nearly 100 years until being forced out of business by the emergence of the big box stores in recent years. The store was located in an area of two-story 19th Century storefront buildings that lined a commercial street in Bay View, a once decaying area that was slowly being gentrified as young professionals in their twenties and thirties moved in. The sagging wood floors had been sanded and polished, preserving the atmosphere of the old structure. The shop provided room enough for a waiting area with comfortable seating and a work area for three hairdressers. It was tastefully decorated with pastel colors and light drawings of nature adorning the walls. Corey had a hand in its decorations and one of the older hairdressers praised him for capturing its feminine sprit. The outside was adorned by a small, chrome plated, engraved sign with the salon's name, "Specially for You."
"Welcome, Miss Hartmann," a stylishly dressed woman addressed Amy as she entered. "You're a bit early. Your hairdresser will be Mr. Corey, and he's finishing up with a girl now."
Amy nodded, looking into the salon to see Corey -- the "Mister Corey" tickled her for some reason -- working on what looked like a sixteen-year-old girl. She took a seat in a contoured plastic chair that was surprisingly comfortable. She looked around the salon, noticing that it had few adornments, but was cheerful and tasteful. She was nervous; she had only once before been in a hair salon; that was when she had her hair done when she was a bridesmaid in her brother's wedding party.
She was pleased the person who greeted her made no fuss over her. It was obvious that she was Corey's mother; she had the same slender, almost dainty body as her son and they both had lovely faces. She mused for a moment that the two could have been mother and daughter. Though she had been treated like any other customer, she could see the customers in the chairs as well as the older woman working in the middle chair examining her closely. Most likely, she reasoned, they were aware that the young lady who had just entered the salon was Corey's "girlfriend."
She watched as Corey finished up with the young woman, a blonde with short hair, who gushed as she looked into the mirror: "Corey you've done your magic again! Robert will be pleased."
"Thank you, Carrie, and best of luck with meeting his family tonight," he said, assisting her from the chair.
The girl leaned and kissed him with a quick, friendly peck on his cheek.
“Mr. Corey is ready for you know, Miss Hartmann,” Corey’s mother announced as the boy finished up the cash transaction with his previous customer. Amy hesitated a bit before getting into his chair, but he soon put her at ease. She was impressed with the professionalism that Corey exhibited while working on her; to all appearances he treated her just like any other customer, resorting to small talk about the weather and the University and the rejuvenation of the Bay View area.
When he had finished, and Amy looked at what he had done, she was ecstatic; she felt like hugging him and giving him an even more passionate kiss than the young girl had done before. "You've done magic," she said, echoing the gushes of his earlier customer.
"I only worked with what you had, Amy. The subject was a beautiful woman to begin with," he said.
The room filled with applause; obviously everyone had been watching Corey work his skills. He had matched the neat flip style hairdo shown in a picture of Actress Laura Linney. Amy had chosen it out of several samples he had shown her on the salon's computer; they both agreed it fit her natural, unpretentious features. He had trimmed her eyebrows, and Amy watched in admiration as his slender fingers wound their magic.
"Amy, I'd like to introduce you to my mother, Debbie," he said leading her to the front chair where his mother was working.
"Mother, this is my date for tonight, Amy Hartmann," he announced.
"Nice meeting you, Amy, and thank you for choosing our salon," she said politely, after excusing herself from the elderly, gray-haired woman that she was working on.
"You have a nice place here, Mrs. Sullivan," Amy said.
"Call me, Debbie, please."
"We hope to see more of you, dear," Debbie Sullivan said.
"I do too."
*****
"Corey, you're so handsome," his mother gushed as the boy emerged from his bedroom, dressed in the same dark suit he had purchased for attendance at an honors banquet held in his last days as a high school student. Corey had been honored with receiving the Harriet Garner Award for achievement and originality in design, the first boy to have ever won the honor named for a prominent area fashion designer who upon her death had provided for modest scholarships for students excelling in dress designing.
"Oh mother, but I don't feel too handsome. This suit feels so weird on me," he said.
"Well you look great," Debbie Sullivan continued.
"What should I do with my hair, mom?" He asked, moving in front of the mirror that hung over the family's piano. He ran his fingers through his light brown hair that hung neatly down to his collar.
"Why not just leave it as it is? I'm sure there'll be other guys with long hair at the dance," his mother said.
"I suppose so," he agreed. "Don't I look too girly, though?"
"Hmm. Maybe. Let me tie it in a tight ponytail, dear.”
When she was finished, Corey felt it helped a bit, but felt it failed to truly create much of a masculine image. Even though he told his mother that he was happy with the change, Corey couldn’t get over the feeling that he looked more like a girl wearing a male suit than a boy.
*****
Since this was Amy Hartmann’s first time going to a school dance (or any dance for that matter), she was both frightened and excited. Though she was an athletic girl, she was worried as to how she’d do on the dance floor, how she’d looked trying to follow the steps of her partner. Mostly, she wondered how she’d relate to the other girls and their dates. In truth, Amy often felt awkward and clumsy in social situations; perhaps that’s why she and Corey got along so well, since neither one was seeking to dazzle the other in any way.
Maureen Penney, one of the girls on Amy’s floor in the dorm, was hosting a pre-dance party at Hubbard Lodge, a nearby park site nestled at a scenic spot along the Milwaukee River. The girl had invited most of the others on the dorm floor along with other friends to the alcohol-free reception paid for by her wealthy suburban parents, who worried that their daughter needed protection from the suspected evils of an urban university. They had been shocked when their youngest child had refused the chance to enroll at a prestigious eastern college in order to attend the university in the middle of a city with a high murder rate. “Mom and dad,” she had explained. “I want to go to college with real people of all types.”
Amy had gratefully accepted Maureen’s invitation, since it might help break the ice for the forthcoming dance, permitting Corey and herself to meet up with others with whom to converse during the evening.
The comfort Amy had hoped to find at the reception evaporated when she and Corey ran face-to-face with Francine Abbott, who took one look at Corey, and then turned to Amy and said, with a smirk, “How courageous of you two girls to come as lesbians together.”
Amy reddened and quickly pulled Corey away from the Abbott girl, who had quickly gained a reputation in the dorm for being a nasty, catty girl. As they moved in the crowd toward the punch bowl setup, Amy could hear Francine’s high giggle as she conferred with friends.
“I’m sorry if I’m causing you embarrassment,” Corey whispered to Amy. “Do you want to go?”
He had feared he might get some second looks, knowing how feminine he looked, even when he wore his dark suit; also the manner in which he carried himself, walking with short steps, his feet held straight forward adding to his female image.
“No, we’re staying right here. She’s just an ugly gossip. I’m happy you’re with me, Corey,” Amy said.
She knew she said it with more conviction than she felt; she was indeed fearful that his appearance might bring about similar reactions. She felt Corey didn’t deserve such treatment; hadn’t he proven to be a kind, thoughtful person? Didn’t she find him fun to be with and interesting to talk to?
“I didn’t think we’d find such attitudes on this campus,” Corey said, speaking of the catty remark from Francine.
“Me either,” Amy agreed. “I always thought this campus was quite open-minded and, besides, there are lots of openly gay students and professors.”
At that point, the reception’s host, Maureen, approached and grabbed Amy. “Come, meet my parents, you two.”
She pulled the two to meet a tall, handsome man with a full head of neatly combed hair (a few gray streaks at the temples) and an almost as tall, stately woman. Maureen introduced them as her parents, Jason and Emily Penney; they were the very picture of affluence in their manicured demeanor.
“What a handsome couple, you two are,” Mrs. Penney said.
Corey shook Jason Penney’s hand, finding it large and powerful; the man’s grip was gentle, yet firm. His smile was friendly, and Corey felt comforted with the Penney family.
"Maureen tells me you're studying fashions," Jason Penney said.
"Yes sir, I am," Corey answered, his voice cautious and wary.
"And he's quite talented, judging from Amy's outfit tonight," Maureen said.
"Why it's beautiful, Corey," Emily Penney replied. "Maybe I'll have to employ you to do my outfit for the next Country Club ball."
Corey reddened at the praise, still wondering if Maureen’s parents were surreptitiously laughing at him for being so inclined toward feminine fashions. He was at a loss for words, but thankfully Maureen interceded. “I’m sure he’d be happy too, mom, for the right price.”
Corey was aghast at the suggestion; he had never for once considered that dress-making might be a way to earn money. He had done it merely as a hobby to please his mother and his own desire to create dresses for himself when he dressed at home.
“Oh, I wouldn’t charge for designing one for a friend,” Corey said, hoping to show his generosity. In fact, he was enamored by the idea of creating a gown for a woman as fashion-conscious and as shapely as Emily Penney.
“Nonsense, young man,” Jason Penney, his voice hearty and jovial. “You have great talent and there’s nothing wrong in making a few bucks with it.”
“Yes, he should, daddy,” Maureen said to her father. “Look at how lovely Amy’s outfit is and how well he seemed to complement her personality.”
Amy blushed. She was unused to people praising her for looking pretty; in fact, until Corey took an interest in assisting her in doing makeup, in fixing her hair and designing her clothes, she had never thought she could ever be anything more than a plain, almost dowdy girl from the woods.
“I had a lot of natural beauty to work with,” Corey said, looking admiringly at Amy.
“Isn’t he a sweetie?” Amy said.
Corey felt it was time to break up the discussion with Maureen’s parents and turned to Mr. Penney, held out his hand, “It was nice meeting you and Mrs. Penney, but I think it’s time to ask Amy for a dance.”
“Not so fast,” Emily Penney said, grabbing Corey’s arm. “I’m serious about you creating an outfit for me, Corey, and of course we’ll pay you. Won’t we, darling?”
She turned to her husband, who nodded, resigned to meeting his wife’s request. “Naturally, Corey, we don’t want you working for nothing, besides my darling wife can be hard to please. Believe me, working with her won’t be any kind of picnic.”
“Jason,” Emily scolded.
“Just kidding, dear,” he said, giving Corey a conspiratorial wink, seeming to accept Corey into his world of masculine chauvinism. The action seemed to stun Corey; rarely had any other man or boy recognized him as “one of the boys,” always treating him as some lower form of manhood typical of those being tagged as “sissies” or “fags.”
Corey liked both of Maureen’s parents; despite an outer demeanor that might have tagged them as the epitome of suburban shallowness, Mr. and Mrs. Penney seemed intelligent and generous. Both were exceedingly handsome, having grown into early middle-age years gracefully. He was confident he could make Emily Penney look positively radiant when he was done; he hoped he could also do her hair. He accepted the Penneys’ offer to visit their home the following Wednesday night to go over possible ideas for the woman’s gown and for Corey to take the appropriate measurements.
*****
“You like her, don’t you?” Amy said to him as they danced to a slow ballad. The "Freshmen's Welcome Dance" was held in the Ballroom of the Student Union and the school's jazz band provided the music, sharing the musical stage with a more contemporary group of hired musicians that blasted out all forms of rock, funk and various covers.
“Who? Maureen?”
“No, you know who I mean. Mrs. Penney. You like her?”
“She’s nice,” Corey said, noncommittally.
The dance was their first together; they were awkward, but as the music continued the two began to grow more at ease with each other.
“I bet you’re eager to design for such a pretty woman, Corey,” Amy continued pressing him.
“I already designed for a pretty woman, Amy, and that’s you.”
“I’m not pretty, compared to Maureen or her mother. I’m just a plain fat girl,” she said flatly.
“Oh come on,” he argued.
“Put you in a dress and you’ll be prettier than me.”
Corey looked at her and smiled. Amy felt her remark may have bothered him but the smile seemed to tell her he accepted it as a well-meaning compliment. Amy put her head down onto Corey’s shoulder as they danced to the slow beat of the music. Corey began to wonder what he would look like in one of the pretty gowns that the girls were wearing at the dance. Amy was correct: he might be as pretty as any of the girls.
By the evening's end, Corey and Amy had been on the dance floor for nearly every dance, having begun to dance as if they were one entity, moving easily together. They shared a table with Maureen and a short, darkly handsome young man introduced as Johnny Perez, a Marquette University student who had recently begun dating Maureen. Soon both Corey and Amy were joining in the enjoyment of the night, having found comfort in the friendships they were gaining.
At one point, Maureen suggested that Corey and Amy switch partners with her and her date for one of the slower dances. Though Corey knew both he and Amy were wary of venturing too far afield in their initial dance partners, they accepted.
"You're a very different boy, Corey," Maureen said into his ear.
"Oh?" Was she making fun of him, he wondered.
"No, no, don't take that wrong, Corey," she said quickly, apparently sensing his reaction. "I like you and there's nothing wrong with being different."
"Oh? You think I'm different?" He asked.
"Well, not many boys are into fashions like you are, and also hairdressing."
"Guess so."
"But I like that," Maureen said. "I was always a bit different in my high school. Even if my parents are wealthy, they taught me that there are many types of people in the world, and no one is any better than anyone else, except in what they make of themselves."
"That's a good philosophy," Corey agreed.
"Mom is looking forward to you coming Wednesday, you know," she said, changing the subject.
"I just hope I can please her," the boy said, as the dance ended.
Later, as Corey walked Amy back to her Sandburg Hall dorm room, they said little. The night had become brisk as a chilled wind blew from the northeast off nearby Lake Michigan. She cuddled tightly against him; they felt comforted by each other. It was a lovely end to a marvelous evening; they finished the night with a long, moist kiss. Neither had ever before experienced such passion, a feeling in which they both lost consciousness as to their surroundings. Never before had Corey or Amy ever thrown discretion to the winds.
"Go to the girl's room to do that," a girl who was passing by yelled at them.
They broke apart and looked longingly at each other. With a short kiss, Corey escorted Amy to the elevator and they blew each other kisses as the door closed upon them.
Chapter 4 – Absence Makes Heart Grow Fonder
You couldn't exactly call the Penney home a mansion, but it nearly qualified; there was no curved driveway or turnaround leading to the front door and there were no iron gates blocking the entrance. Maureen had driven Corey from school on Wednesday afternoon in a late model, sparkling Ford Mustang. Corey eyed the homes of the affluent families as they approached the Penney house among seventy- and eighty-year-old huge homes that lined a bluff overlooking a frigid and forbidding Lake Michigan.
The girl led Corey into the back entrance of the home after parking her car on the slab leading to a two-story brick and stucco coach house sporting three garage doors.
"No we don't keep horses here, Corey," Maureen quipped as she opened the back door.
As they passed into the kitchen, Corey fully expected to see a cook and perhaps a housemaid, but was surprised to see an aproned Mrs. Penney surrounded by baking pans, mixing bowls and the other utensils, apparently in the midst of creating a cake or something.
"Oh, you kids, I didn't expect you so soon," she said as she saw Maureen and Corey enter. "I must look a sight."
"Oh, mom, why did you start that now when you knew Corey was coming?" Maureen said in a petulant tone.
"That's all right, Mrs. Penney, I have time," Corey said quickly.
"The batter's made, kids, so I can just set it aside and put it in the oven later. Give me about ten minutes."
Maureen led Corey into the family living room, a huge space with tasteful, but hardly ostentatious furniture. There was a grand piano in one corner of the room and one wall was lined with books. Corey could see they were not put there for decoration; the volumes were an eclectic mixture of novels, histories and art books that appeared to have been read. There was no visible television set.
"I'd say, let's watch television, but mom and dad will permit no TV in here," Maureen said.
"This is quite a place, but your mom does her own cooking? You don't have a cook or maid or anything like that?" He asked.
Maureen laughed: "Hardly. Mom and dad thought all of us kids needed to be brought up like other kids. Only a cleaning service every other week, and mom even balks at that."
"So you're not like 'Downton Abbey?'"
"No, and us kids always had chores, too."
Corey laid out three books of fashions on the coffee table as they awaited Emily’s arrival. To shortcut the process he had tagged several sections of the book that he knew would appeal to the woman so that she wouldn’t have to look through hundreds of outfits.
"Wow, you've done your homework for this, Corey," Maureen said.
It was nearly twenty minutes later, when Emily Penney finally entered the room; she had obviously prettied herself up in the interim, even changing into a short, somewhat clinging dress that flattered her exquisite body. Corey was surprised to see that Emily Penney was exactly his same height of five and one-half feet when she wore flats. At the reception she had appeared taller, likely because of her heels.
Maureen got up to leave the room, but Corey asked her to stay.
"You can do your mom's measurements for me, Maureen," he said.
He was wary about putting his hands on the older woman, which would have been necessary for him to measure her body.
"That's all right, Corey," Mrs. Penney said with a teasing giggle. "I don't mind a man's hands on me."
"Oh mom," Maureen said, clearly exasperated with her mother's flirting nature.
Corey blushed, but Emily Penney ordered her daughter out of the room, “No need for you to stick around, dear. I’m sure Corey can do the job of measuring me.”
“That’s OK, I have time to help out, mom,” Maureen balked.
“That’s fine, dear, you go now and I’ll call you when it’s time for you to take Corey home,” Emily said in a firmer tone.
Corey was embarrassed to be in the middle of this battle of wills between mother and daughter; it appeared to him that Maureen was fearful of leaving him alone with her mother. He had noticed the mother had displayed a flirtatious manner, but Corey didn’t take it seriously since few women ever seemed to look at him with any kind of sexual interest. He was well-aware of his own effeminate movements that he figured could hardly ever attract a woman; that is, until Amy seemed drawn to him, probably more due to her own loneliness than to any sense of sexual interest.
As instructed, Maureen left the room in a noticeably disgruntled mood.
“Now we can do our business, Corey. I was afraid Maureen would get too involved in choosing the gown, and then we’d fight even more. She always seems to want me to wear clothes suited for a grandma, claims I dress showing too much skin,” Emily said.
Corey smiled, though he was becoming a bit worried that Emily Penney’s flirting might be more than just a middle-aged woman being a bit of a tease with a younger man. He was not sure how he’d handle any direct sexual offer, even a minor one.
“Let’s do your measurements first, Mrs. Penney,” he suggested.
“Emily, please call me Emily, and you may feel free to touch me wherever you need to, dear,” she said smiling.
“I like to measure the total woman but I’ll be very discreet, ma’am,” Corey said, opening up the tape measure.
“Ooooohhh, all of me, how exciting,” she exclaimed.
Corey started at the top, beginning with Emily’s neck and then ran the tape across her chest, making certain the tape hit the tip of her smallish breasts; as he adjusted the tape, his fingers lightly touched one of her nipples and Corey heard a sigh coming from the woman.
“Mrs. Penney, would you hold the tape right here on your chest,” he said taking the woman’s hand and placing it.
“Thirty-five and a half,” Corey said, after reading the tape.
From there, he moved to measure Emily’s torso, legs, hips, thighs and calves. He made certain his touches were gentle and light.
“That was nice, Corey. Your hands are lovely, dear, so soft and slender. I wished my Maureen had hands like yours; she’s got the short and stubby hands of my husband,” Emily said.
Corey wasn’t sure how to respond, and Emily continued. “You’re a very pretty boy, darling, although I shouldn’t tell a boy that he’s pretty. Perhaps I should have said ‘handsome.’ You’re that, too, but really you’re pretty, even more than our Maureen. She’s got all my hubby’s heavy features.”
“Mrs. Penney . . . I mean, Emily … Maureen’s a very cute and lovely girl,” he said.
“Oh, but you could be such a stunningly lovely girl, dear.”
“I could?” he asked, suddenly ashamed of his answer that would seem to appear that he’d already wondered about it.
“I’ll bet you’ve put on dresses already,” Emily pressed. “On, darling, that’s OK. You must look absolutely adorable in a dress.”
Corey was as astonished by the woman’s acute observation as he was of her lacking any inhibition in talking about it. He was certain many others had wondered about his appearance and mannerisms, but no one had ever said anything so quickly and directly.
“I guess I do . . . ah . . . look nice in a dress, Mrs. Penney,” he said, for some reason feeling he should be honest with the woman.
Emily smiled at the boy, and put a hand on his arm as if to reassure him that whatever he would tell her would be kept in confidence, and that she would not make fun of him and criticize him.
“I like to dress up sometimes as a girl. I suppose you think I’m a freak.”
“No, honey, it just makes you a bit different. That’s all. We’re all a bit different, aren’t we?”
Corey felt comforted by the woman; he also suspected that Emily Penney, too, might have her own secrets. He wondered what they might be, but decided it would be wrong to probe into the woman’s actions and behaviors; perhaps, she was not what she appeared on the outside, a wealthy suburban matron; perhaps she had a boyfriend on the side, or practiced as a high class prostitute, or might even have a girlfriend.
“Do you still want me to design your gown now that you know about me, Mrs. Penney?” he asked.
“Now, more than ever. I think you know instinctively what a woman wants,” she smiled. “And rest assured your dressing-up is strictly between you and me.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Emily Penney stood up and motioned to Corey to do the same. She looked him over carefully and then asked him to turn around and walk across the room and back. He did so.
“Yes, just as I thought,” she said when he completed the task.
“Oh?”
“I think we wear the same size dress, dear. Are you a six?”
Corey looked at her, surprised at her question. Yes, indeed, he did wear size six dresses.
“And we’re the same height, too, and beside you and I are both flat-chested,” she said, giggling.
The boy was curious as to where this was all going.
“After you’ve got my gown put together, I’ll want you to model it for me, just to see how it hangs.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I’ll be able to see how adorable the dress will be. You know you could be a model, dear?”
Just then, Maureen entered the room. “How are you doing, mom? I’d like to know when you’ll be done. You know I’ll have to drive Corey home.”
“Maybe another half hour dear,” she said.
“What’s taking so long?”
“We’re just talking. I’m getting to know Corey better. He’s a nice young man,” Emily said.
Corey felt badly that Maureen had to drive him home; it’d be about a 45-minute drive, since it would be during the rush hour. “She can just drop me off at the Bayshore Center, Mrs. Penney. I can take the Green Line bus all the way to my street.”
“No need for that Corey,” Emily said. “I’m sure Maureen won’t mind.”
Corey didn’t feel like arguing; he knew he could talk Maureen into leaving him at the bus stop. There was no need to drive him all the way home.
Maureen left the room and Corey suggested they spend time picking out the gown pattern. Emily Penney was impressed with the two gowns he had chosen, even after she looked through dozens of pages.
"You have a great sense of fashion, Corey," Emily said finally.
"Thanks," he said, blushing again. "Mom has always tried to be fashionable, even if we never had much money. That's why she started making her own dresses, and I guess that's how I got interested."
"Well, you seem to have somehow discovered what might look good on me. You seem to have a better fashion sense than some of the women designers I've used in the past."
Emily Penney finally settled on a classic style gown, a gauzy, halter style dress that offered a plunging vee to her chest that gave a hint of flesh leading to her modest but firm breasts. For material, she chose a satiny light purple color.
"Can you alter this a bit, Corey?" she asked.
"Yes, I can do whatever you'd like," he said.
"You’re a dear," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
Corey got up from the sofa, ready to gather up his books and summon Maureen to leave, but Emily Penney grabbed his arm and told him to sit back down.
“What have you told that lovely girlfriend of yours about your dressing?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he admitted.
“It’s none of my business, you know, but I suggest you tell her about it soon,” she said.
“I’d be too embarrassed and she’d leave me right off.”
“Maybe not, but if you’re serious about your friendship with her, it’s best she knows. My instincts tell me that she’ll understand.”
Corey shook his head. “I couldn’t tell her; she comes from a small town up North and she’s used to big strong men.”
“Don’t judge her too quickly, dear. Who knows? You have no way of predicting the future? Maybe you two may never be lovers but you could be friends for a lifetime. She’s too sweet a girl so don’t hide your real self from her.”
Corey nodded his head and got to go.
“Thank you, Mrs. Penney. I should have something for you to look at in a month. Is that OK?”
“Yes, dear. That should be plenty of time for the Valentine’s Dance. I’ll call Maureen now.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“And please think over what I said about telling your friend Amy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, just as Maureen entered the room, putting an end to the discussion.
*****
At Corey’s urging, Maureen agreed to drop him off at the Green Line bus stop, rather than battle rush hour traffic to take him all the way to his South Side home. Yet, the 15-minute trip to the stop gave the two young people time to talk.
“Mom can be pretty outspoken, Corey, and I wouldn’t take anything she said too seriously,” the girl said, obviously apologizing for her mother. She liked Corey and hoped he’d be a friend; she was worried he might be scared away due to her mother’s sometimes outlandish behavior.
“No, she was fine, Maureen. I really like her,” he said.
“Really? She can say some pretty rude stuff to people. My dad and I get embarrassed when she speaks out like that.”
Corey smiled. Yes, in fact, Emily probably did speak out more frankly about her opinions than most people would. And, he was shocked – and maybe a bit offended – when she told him he was pretty as a girl and that she suspected he wore dresses sometimes. It also showed that Mrs. Penney was a most observant and honest woman.
“She keeps telling me I’m too fat, like I’m ugly or something,” Maureen said.
“She’s wrong about that, Maureen. You’re pretty and I think darn cute and your new boyfriend clearly adores you,” Corey said.
Maureen shook her head. “Maybe I am a bit chunky, but I can’t help. I guess I inherited my dad’s genes.”
“Don’t listen to that talk, Maureen,” Corey said. “You’re a bright girl and one who is fun to be around.”
“But not pretty, like you,” she said, pulling the car to a stop in the Bayshore Mall, near the bus stop.
“Like me?”
“Well, mom even said she wondered why her daughter couldn’t be as pretty as that boy Corey,” she added, nodding in his direction.
“Oh, she shouldn’t have said that, Maureen. You’re a pretty girl and a great person.”
“Not as pretty as you, apparently,” she said as Corey stepped out of the car.
He leaned into the car and said, “She’s just being a mother, Maureen, and maybe I should be less pretty and more of a man.”
“Oh Corey, I didn’t mean that. I just get so mad at my mom’s nagging. You’re a great guy!”
“Thanks for the ride, Maureen. I see the bus is here. See ya’ tomorrow at the Union,” he said, closing the door and running to the bus.
Maureen watched him as he trotted to the bus; he even ran like a girl, she thought.
*****
Corey wondered about what to get Amy for Christmas; he thought maybe he’d design a dress for her for the holidays, but decided against it. She knew her parents and brothers would be quizzing her about her “boyfriend,” and felt that if he gave her a dress that he created it might be greeted with skepticism as to his manliness, even though he realized such speculations were pretty much correct. He sought out Maureen for advice, since the two girls had become close friends. At first, he feared Maureen might resurrect their conversation about his “prettiness” but was pleased to see that she never brought it up.
“Jewelry is always good for a girl,” Maureen suggested.
“But she doesn’t seem to wear any and I don’t think she’s had her ears pierced either,” he said.
“I think that’s changing, Corey,” the girl smiled. “I think you’ve had a lot to do with it; she really wants to be more girly now.”
Maureen who usually drove her Mustang to the campus agreed to take Corey to Bayshore to do some Christmas shopping; it was during a time when Amy was busy with both her lunchtime job and classes. In the end, Corey settled on getting a dainty gold-plated watch and a necklace with a delicate chain and a birdlike pendant.
“Oh Corey, those are exquisite,” Amy gushed when she opened the gifts. He had taken her to a restaurant that stood on the shore of Lake Michigan, almost in the shadow of the Calatrava-designed Milwaukee Art Museum.
They were seated at a table along the windows where they could view the famed winged architecture of the Museum as well as the rough waves of the cold water that had already caused the shoreline rocks to be coated with glistening ice. Looking toward the shoreline, they could see the sparkling of a bustling city’s lights blinking in the clear cool wintry night.
“Corey, this place must be so expensive,” she had protested when they had entered.
“This is a special occasion, and we’ll be separated for nearly three weeks now, and you’re so special to me,” he said. “And don’t worry about the expense. I have made lots of money in the last few months with my hairdressing and the tips.”
Later as they sipped non-alcoholic champagne – the City strictly enforced underage drinking laws – she opened the gifts.
“I hate to open these up. The wrappings are so lovely,” she said.
“Thank you, but you must open them anyway,” Corey smiled.
“But such pretty wrapping. Did you do that, Corey?”
He nodded in the affirmative. “Now open them, Amy.”
Amy squealed with excitement when she pulled out the necklace and then the watch, and held them up. She reached over and kissed him passionately.
Her excitement drew the attention of nearby diners who burst into cheers.
“Aren’t they a lovely couple!” Corey overhead from an older woman in a nearby table.
The following day was Saturday, and Corey used his mother’s car to take Amy to the Multi-Transit station for the Greyhound bus to Spooner. The two hugged as she was about to enter, finally breaking up when the bus driver yelled, “You two better break that up now or I’m leaving without you.”
*****
Corey’s friend from high school, Helen Comstock was home from a college in the East for the holidays. During that first semester of college, the two kept in touch mainly with emails, and had agreed to meet for coffee, choosing the Colectivo Shop in their Bay View neighborhood.
“You seem happy, Corey,” Helen said, as the two joined in the shop that had become a gathering spot for people of all ages.
“I guess I am,” he smiled.
“Must be that girlfriend of yours,” she said.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s most of it. Amy’s really special,” he agreed. “But you seem quite happy, too?”
Helen nodded. “At first I was lonely, but once I met Lionel, I began to feel at home.”
“Lionel? You met a boy out there?”
“I guess you’d say that,” she said. “We’ve just started getting together. No formal dates, yet, but that’ll come, I hope.”
“Hope it does,” Corey said.
“I like him a lot. He’s like you in a way, since we can talk about anything and he’s so caring and sweet, too. The only thing is, he’s black.”
“Oh, I didn’t think that’d bother you.”
“It doesn’t, but if my mom and dad found out, they’d probably yank me out of that school and bring me home,” she said.
“Give it a bit more time and if you and Lionel hit it off, then you can talk to your mom and dad,” Corey advised. “Besides, if you really like him, I think your parents might be OK with it. They want you to be happy.”
“Hope you’re right, Corey.”
Their conversation was interrupted by two boys who stopped by their table; they were in their graduating class in high school, and both seemed surprised by seeing Corey (whom they had characterized as a “sissy”) in close conversation with one of the school’s acknowledged beauties.
After dispensing with their curiosity, Helen asked: “You got time to do my hair? I hear you’re quite good.”
“If you’d trust me not to ruin it, I’ll be happy to,” he said smiling.
“That’s awesome,” Helen said, leaning in to give him a quick, even affectionate kiss on the cheek.
*****
For many college students, the holiday season opens up several weeks of freedom – freedom from studies, freedom from early rising to get to an early class and a time to just plain do whatever you’d like. It wasn’t that for Corey; he had learned that for hair salon operators, like his mother, it was the busiest time of the season as women seek to pretty themselves for holiday parties, for family get-togethers and for other outings.
Corey’s skill as a hairdresser had become known among his mother’s customers, especially his ability to find the best hairdo for teen girls and those in their twenties and thirties.
“Corey, I admire you for how you seem to know just what us girls want,” said Helen Comstock, as he finished up fixing her hair a couple of days before Christmas.
“He’s got the touch. He seems to know us pretty well,” teased Tanya Winters, a middle-aged hairdresser who worked the chair next to his.
“How could I not know women and girls? I’ve been brought up in this place,” he said.
“You know I’ll be recommending you to lots of my friends, Corey,” Helen said.
“Thanks, Helen. And I wish you lots of luck with Lionel. He sounds like a keeper.”
“Maybe, Corey. Maybe. It’ll be difficult,” Helen said, giving Corey a light, friendly kiss before leaving the salon.
*****
Even though Corey had just begun taking classes in hairdressing, his informal apprenticeship in helping his mother out, accompanied by his own powers of observation, had made him a top hairdresser. He needed a few more hours of training to get his state’s cosmetology license, but was free to work on customers as long as a licensed practitioner was around in a supervisory capacity.
While Corey liked hairdressing, particularly because of its interaction with his customers, he was not planning on doing it for his life’s work; he was intrigued by fashion design, but was worried that it was a most chancy way to make a living. He also had an interest in social justice issues, and was considering a future in politics or social work. He long felt he’d like to make a positive difference in the world.
When he was not scheduled to work in the salon, he worked on Mrs. Penney’s dress. He hoped to finish it by the beginning of the second semester at school. Corey wanted to do an especially good job on the outfit, since Mrs. Penney had already given him an advance of several hundred dollars so that he could purchase the special material he planned to use. And, she promised to pay a hefty price for the finished product. “I’m convinced you can come up with something that a designer like Donna Karan or Coco Chanel could produce and if you do, I’ll pay you what I’d pay them,” she promised.
“I doubt if I’ll equal their designs, Emily,” he had said.
“Don’t underestimate yourself, darling,” she had said encouragingly.
While Emily had picked out a basic design from the book, she had encouraged him to consider modifications that might make it an even more exciting dress. She cautioned him, however: “Don’t over-design it, darling. After all, this is Milwaukee, not Park Avenue.”
His nights and Sundays were occupied with working on the dress; it required much fussy work, including hand-stitching. After a day on his feet in the salon, he dove into the dress, taking time only to text Amy later at night. They also talked on the phone nearly every day.
“I’m having fun; my brother’s got me into cross-country skiing, and there’s a group of about us who get out quite often,” she told him.
“That’s hard work, isn’t it?” he asked, having heard that type of skiing can be exhausting.
“It is and I wish you could be here to join us,” she said.
“Gosh, Amy, I’m not sure I’m up to that,” Corey said, recognizing his own physical limitations.
“Don’t be silly, if we girls can do it, you can.”
“I suppose. Is it just girls in your group?”
“No, there’s a couple of guys I knew in school and a few girls.”
“Oh,” he said, his voice exhibiting some suspicion.
Amy picked up on it. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” he said.
She giggled. “You don’t need to be; the guys are along just because their girlfriends are with us. I’m the wallflower of the group, unwanted and unescorted.”
“You’re no wallflower, Amy, so don’t put yourself down.”
“You’re a sweetie, but I think you’re biased and that’s so nice. I love you.”
After they finished the call, Corey found himself totally in a muddle: part of the time, he lived in a world of woman and girls, desiring to be one of them, and now a marvelous girl by the name of Amy Hartmann had stirred in him desires that he never knew he had. He had never considered himself a boy who could become a man with a wife and children. He was frightened of trying to ever be with a girl to make love to, worried that his sorry penis would not be up to the task it was supposed to perform. As he dreamed of his hugs and kisses with Amy, his penis hardened and grew into a vigorous masturbation, his desire for bodily contact with her growing in intensity.
And yet, he wanted to be “one of the girls.”
*****
Amy returned several days before the second semester, claiming to her family that she had to leave for school early in order to catch up on her year-long science paper. It was only partly true; the real reason was that she wanted to get back to spend some time with Corey before her job and schoolwork would intrude on their time together.
There was a second reason, as well, as her brother understood as he drove her to Spooner to catch the bus for the 330-mile trip to Milwaukee. The reason was Lance Redig, an ugly brute of a man who had fled town three years before and now had returned and hung ominously around the Hartmann household, bugging Adam for a job and scaring Amy.
“I’m sorry about Lance showing up again,” he said. “He claimed he was reformed and wanted to get back into logging work. I told him to get lost after what he did to you and thought he’d never come back. He’s only got a few cousins here after his mother died and I don’t know why he’s back.”
“After that night, I’m scared just thinking of him,” Amy said, recalling an earlier and terrifying experience she had when she was fifteen. Lance had offered her a ride home one dark, blustery night while she was returning from basketball practice; knowing him as a friend of her brother’s she accepted, only to face a frenzied sexual assault as he pulled into a dark forest road. She escaped the worst of the attack by screaming and punching him so hard that she bloodied his nose; after what seemed an eternity, he finally backed off, perhaps due to his beer-induced intoxication.
Lance, perhaps realizing that he might have faced a beating by Amy’s brothers, said he was “sorry.” He began to cry and pleaded for her not to tell anyone, that his actions had only been taken because he liked her and that he may have had a bit too much to drink.
She returned home, terribly shaken and swore to herself that she hated men. She never told anyone of the attack.
During her return to home for Christmas vacation, Lance appeared on the scene again. The incident – two days after Christmas – still was etched into her mind. Amy was home alone about eight o’clock that night, taking advantage of quiet time to read a novel, perhaps watch a little television and enjoy a late evening phone call with Corey. Her parents were in the Twin Cities for a holiday visit to one of her aunts and Adam (the only brother who still lived at home) was out with his girlfriend.
She heard a rapping on the door, followed by the door opening and a burst of cold wind gush into the room from the below-zero night. She wasn’t alarmed; it wasn’t unusual in the small logging community that folks left their doors unlocked and neighbors would stroll in unannounced for a visit. She thought it might be Tammy Lautenberger, a high school girl from two houses away who often visited with Amy while she was home from college.
Looking up from her book, she saw Lance. It still didn’t alarm her, since she figured Lance was likely looking for her brother.
“Oh hi, Lance, Adam’s out with Stephanie tonight,” she said.
He said nothing, but eying her intensely he took off his dirty outer work coat and dropped it on the floor.
Suddenly scared, Amy sought to get up from the couch, but Lance pounced upon her, pinning her back into a prone position and began to grope her, struggling to move his calloused hands under her sweatshirt in quest of her breasts. She was shocked and wanted to scream, but nothing came out from her mouth. She felt his unshaven, dirty face as he tried to kiss her, but she kept turning her head to avoid his mouth. His breath smelled nasty, a combination of beer and food particulars that must be lodged between his teeth that she suspected he rarely brushed.
“Settle down, Amy dear,” he commanded in an alcohol-induced voice.
“No, Lance, don’t . . .”
“Oh, you’ll like my great cock, dear,” he boasted.
“No,” she yelled, but doubted anyone would hear her.
“You know you want it.”
“No, no, don’t hurt me,” she pleaded.
He began to remove her sweatpants, when she heard the back kitchen door open and her brother Adam yell, “Lance, get off of her, or so help me I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
In an instant, she felt Lance release her and she saw Adam pull him up; while Lance was a husky man, Adam was lean and tall and strong and he easily yanked the large man who was crazed with sexual desire off of his sister.
“Adam, I know she just needs loving. I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he pleaded.
“Shut up, and get the hell out of here and I don’t ever want to see you near this house again,” Adam said, pushing the young man out of the house and throwing him into a snowbank. He went back into the house, grabbed Lance’s coat and threw it out into the snow.
“Now get out of here. I should have left you out there to freeze to death,” Adam yelled, walking back into the house and slamming the door.
*****
The sun was just beginning to rise as Adam continued down Highway 53 toward Spooner. Already the glare from the reflections off the blankets of sparkling snow that covered the open fields that spread out beyond the snow piles lining the highway was beginning to be nearly blinding, forcing both Adam and Amy to put on sun glasses.
As they continued on the drive, Amy again thanked her brother for pulling Lance off of her that night nearlh two weeks earlier. “You’re a good brother and you saved me that night. I was happy you got home when you did.”
“I’m glad I did, too. He’s such a pig,” he said. “I hope that incident won’t make you afraid to come back home soon again, Amy.”
“I love you and mom and dad and the others, so I’ll be back, but I hardly look upon this area as being friendly territory,” she said.
“I understand, but don’t judge the rest of us from that incident, Amy.”
She nodded. Her school years had hardly been pleasant; she knew she was considered the ugly duckling among her high school mates. She had even heard a story that when one of the guys had considered dating her (she suspected it was Larry Jensen with whom she had spent some time in youthful, no-romantic pursuits) he was told he’d be ridiculed for dating “such a fat pig.”
Amy also knew that during the Thanksgiving and Christmas holiday trips back home she had astounded the local community with her thinner, more attractive image. All of a sudden she was “desirable” in eyes of her former classmates and others. It was all due to the makeover performed on her by Corey. She smiled then, realizing that she’d be seeing her lovely Corey in about eight hours.
“Maybe I won’t give up on men, after all,” she thought to herself.
Chapter 5 – The Snowstorm
Corey fell in love with the gown he was creating for Emily Penney. The pattern he had located was long-sleeved, with an asymmetrical length ending at just about the ankles. The upper portion was of a lace-designed opaque material that offered teasing look at Emily’s attractive arms and shoulders, with a form-fitted waist and a flowing satiny skirt. He felt the gown would be perfect for a wintertime event when bare shoulders were hardly practical.
Rather than black, as suggested by the designer, Corey felt the gown should be in a more exciting violet tone, and he was fortunate to find material close to his needs after a long search in several fabric outlets.
What excited him most was the fact that his own body dimensions almost matched Emily Penney’s. Corey was no more than a half-inch taller than the woman; his waist, hips and leg and torso lengths were identical. Both had chest sizes of 36 inches, though she needed a b-cup bra. He knew, as well, that his slender arms were no huskier than Emily’s.
He smiled at the prospect of trying the dress on, imaging how feminine and lovely he’d look. He also remembered Emily’s suggestion that he’d have to model it for her. He hoped she was serious about the idea.
*****
Corey waited anxiously at the Transit station for Amy’s bus to arrive, eying the TV screen that displayed “arrivals” for the progress of the Greyhound from Eau Claire, the transfer point for her bus from Spooner. A snow storm had caused havoc with the Interstate, and the screen periodically updated the arrival time, adding minutes. The bus was already nearly two hours
behind schedule.
The storm that had seemed to follow the bus’s trip from Western Wisconsin was beginning to hit Milwaukee and already the police and sheriff’s departments were warning against unnecessary travel in the area. Corey had driven his mother’s car to the terminal, with plans to drive Amy up to her dorm, drop her off and then return home, but he was worried that he might get stuck somewhere if he made the two-way trip. The University campus was five miles north of the terminal, and Corey’s home in Bay View was about three miles south. His mother’s old Ford Focus had worn tires that wouldn’t track easily in the snow, he knew.
As he waited, Amy had called his cell phone several times telling of the troubles the bus experienced with the snowstorm. “But the driver assured us we’ll make Milwaukee,” she said. “He seems like a very experienced driver.”
“I’ll be here for you, Amy. I can hardly wait to see you,” he said, cupping his hands over the phone so that the older woman traveler who sat next to him couldn’t hear.
“Corey, don’t wait for me. I hear the snow has hit Milwaukee now. Go home while you can. I’ll take a bus to the dorm.”
“Amy, I’ll be here for you. Don’t worry, besides I’m not sure how long the busses will be running.”
He hung up trying discreetly to make a kissing sound, as the two lovers typically did upon ending their calls. He feared the woman with whom he shared the bench at the bus terminal must have heard the verbal smooch; she had smiled sweetly at him when he hung up. She had been trying to work up a conversation with Corey, but he only wished she would mind her own business.
“Bet that was your boyfriend, right miss?” the woman asked.
“My what?” he asked shocked, answering before he realized she must have though he was a young lady awaiting her boyfriend.
“Your boyfriend. I bet he can’t wait to get here. You’re such a pretty girl,” the woman persisted.
Corey had no idea what to say; he knew he’d never see the lady again. She had informed him she was from Cleveland and was returning home after visiting her son in Madison. He realized how the woman could make such a mistake; his long hair and apparently pretty face with its high cheekbones often caused such confusion. Also, he had worn his mother’s winter boots that fashion short heels and pointed toes since his boots had been torn and would be unusable in the mounting snow.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Corey finally said, accepting the well-meaning but misguided compliment. He decided he’d go along with the woman’s misconception and play the role of a young lady. Then, if she saw them kiss and hug passionately as Amy got off the bus, she’d likely assume the two were lesbians. The image brought an impish smile to his face.
Corey turned back to the book he brought to read, since he was aware the wait would be a long one. He was fascinated by the book, “The Great Migration,” concerning the route that so many African-Americans took from the Jim Crow South in the mid-20th Century to good industrial jobs in cities like Chicago, Detroit, Cleveland and Milwaukee. It helped to bring perspective on the current fate of these cities that had seen their industries flee, leaving so many without good-paying jobs and creating large pockets of poverty. The prejudice and rejection that so many of these families faced offered a lesson to everyone who felt their difference made them pariahs in society; certainly girlish boys like himself could relate, he thought. Yet, he knew his experiences could never have been as devastating as those faced by many of the black and Latino fellow college students he was meeting.
The woman thereafter seemed to have gotten the hint that he wasn’t interested in a conversation; he had become so absorbed that he had not noticed her departure when the bus to Chicago was announced.
When Amy finally disembarked from the bus, which was nearly three hours late, Corey could tell she was exhausted. She perked up immediately upon seeing Corey and the two broke into a passionate hug, as passengers brushed by them, ignoring the two young lovers. Their embrace was broken up when the bus driver yelled at her: “Miss, you better grab your bag. I’m moving the bus.”
“I’m going to have to take you to our house to spend the night because of the storm, Amy,” he said. “Our place is closer than the dorm.”
“Oh, I don’t want to be an imposition,” she said. “I can take the bus to the dorm.”
“I’m not sure you’ll get there. Just come with me. I’m pretty sure I can get you to our house. The streets are pretty easy to navigate to Bay View.”
Amy looked at him quizzically, not certain she heard correctly what he had proposed. She wondered if such an arrangement would mean they’d be sleeping together. It was an exciting thought, but she wasn’t certain she was ready for that, yet.
He smiled at her: “Don’t worry, Amy. We won’t be sleeping together, if that’s what you’re worried about. We have an extra bedroom and you can have it all to yourself. And yes, I called mom and she’d be happy to have you. Really, just stay at our place as long as you want and I’ll take you to the dorm when the storm eases.”
She agreed that might be the best – and, in fact, only option – since she had noticed several bus trips had already been cancelled. In the bustle of the station, they could hear travelers discussing options and several had already begun to plunge through the snow to several nearby hotels to spend the night. A Red Cross worker had come into the station waiting room and was working with folks whose resources were too limited to afford staying in a downtown hotel.
Corey had also considered the possibility of the two sharing a bed; he knew of Amy’s reluctance for sex and he had his own fears that he’d prove to be an adequate male partner. He could imagine the tears that might engulf Amy if he couldn’t grow hard enough to penetrate her. And what a humiliation it might be to him! His mother had encouraged him to pursue a sexual encounter with a girl, worried that her son might never in his lifetime consummate with a woman and never know the ecstatic high he’d likely experience.
“You know, Corey, that I won’t object if Amy and you want to sleep together,” she told him when he called earlier to suggest Amy staying overnight.
“Oh mother,” he said both embarrassed and exasperated at the suggestion.
“Just so you use protection,” she said.
“Mom, that won’t be necessary. We’re just friends.”
“Well, just in case, I have some condoms you can have,” she offered.
“You what?”
“Dammit, Corey, don’t be so naïve. You don’t think all those nights with Tommy have been spent watching movies, do you?” She referred to her newest boyfriend.
“Mother, that’s gross,” he said.
“Corey, dear. It’s just nature and I hope you’ll experience it someday,” she said, as they completed the phone call.
*****
Any thoughts of sex with Amy were erased from his mind as Corey concentrated on navigating through fresh snow. It was falling heavily now and the windshield wipers had trouble keeping the snow cleared. Corey had to peer through a streaked windshield as the snow – whipped by a high wind – was causing the roadway to seemingly disappear before his eyes.
Finally, at about eight-thirty at night – nearly forty-five minutes of driving in a trip that normally took one-third the time – Corey felt a sense of accomplishment, having been able to reach Dover Street without sliding into a telephone pole or another car. He spun his wheels, however, in climbing the moderate hill to his home, causing Amy to say gently, “I’d just ease off a bit and not try to put on the gas until you feel your tires have gained traction, Corey.”
Corey welcomed the suggestion, not falling into the pattern of so many men who like to display their macho selves by refusing driving hints, especially from a girl. Corey was never as confident about his driving as other boys seemed to be and he always drove with a mind-numbing caution, prompting one of his few friends to comment that he drove “like my sister.” He was pleased to find that there were two adjacent spots open, meaning he wouldn’t have to execute the parallel parking maneuver he had nearly failed during his drivers’ test.
“My hero,” Amy said, leaning over to kiss Corey on the cheek. The boy wondered: was she being sarcastic? No, he satisfied himself that she sounded sincere.
Debbie Sullivan greeted the pair with hugs. “I should never have let you do this, Corey. I was worried sick that you’d get stuck.”
“He did fine, Mrs. Sullivan,” Amy said.
Corey beamed at her; at the beginning of the drive Amy had sensed Corey’s fear of driving and offered to drive the car herself. “I have lots of more experience driving in snow, Corey,” she said, hoping to take the curse off the suggestion that a girl might be a better driver than he was. She had become sensitive to the boy’s feelings; besides, the truth was that snow in her logging town is a way of life from mid-November to mid-April.
Corey led Amy to the extra bedroom; it was a bit small, large enough for a twin bed, a dresser, a vanity and a sewing machine. There was a large closet at one end with sliding doors. Peach-colored walls and white lace curtains gave the room a daintily feminine aura. Corey was pleased that his mother had tidied up the room after his call and apparently changed the bed clothing as well. She had thoughtfully hung portable racks upon which Amy could hang her clothes.
“You’ll have to hang your clothes on these,” Corey pointed to the racks. “The closet is packed with clothes.
“I don’t have that much, you know, so I’ll be fine here,” she said.
“I’ll let you unpack and get comfortable, Amy, and then mom’s got something for us to eat,” he said.
Amy kissed him on the cheek, the two hugged briefly and Corey left the room, hoping that Amy would not explore the room too closely. It was the room he used when he dressed into women’s outfits and virtually all the dresses and skirts in the large closet were his, as were the nearly dozen shoes. The dresser was packed with lingerie, including two sets of breast forms, while the vanity contained all his cosmetics.
“Mom, I’m not sure we should have put her in my girl’s room,” he said as the two sat at the kitchen table, awaiting Amy’s arrival.
“I’m worried about that, too, Corey, but the fact is that it’s time to share with Amy your real self. She deserves to know everything about you now that you guys are getting so close,” she said.
“You’re right, mom,” he said, scared about admitting his girlish desires to Amy.
“She’s such a sweet girl and so smart, Corey.”
“Mother, I know that. I’ll do the right thing.”
Corey knew that before the night was over he’d reveal the female Corey – a girl his mother chose to call Corrine – to Amy Hartmann.
*****
Debbie Sullivan excused herself right after she finished cleaning up the dishes from the late meal she served to Corey and Amy. She refused Amy and Corey’s offer to assist her.
“No, you kids go do what you want. I’ll leave you two alone,” she said.
Corey believed he saw a faint wink from his mother, as if she was signaling the boy to lead Amy into a bedroom for a night of love-making.
“Your mother’s a sweetie, Corey,” Amy said as the two snuggled together on the couch in the living room.
“I love her very much,” he said.
“You must have gotten your pretty face from your mom,” she said, reaching over and caressing his cheek and then brushing a strand of his blondish hair aside.
Corey blushed at the remark; he loved to think of himself as pretty and it never embarrassed him any more as being called pretty did in the past. So often, other boys called him “pretty” or “girl” in their constant bullying. Once he entered college, such bullying seemed to recede; now it was often women or college girls who recognized his prettiness. For some reason, most women and girls seemed not think less of him because of it.
“Do you mind if I’m not a big, strong guy who you’d call handsome?” he probed.
“I love you for it, Corey. Really.”
Her acceptance of his feminine prettiness helped to fuel his desire to tell her of his crossdressing habits; maybe he’d even share with her his thoughts of being a girl. But, his determination to confess his habit was stifled by Amy’s next words.
“Corey,” she began hesitatingly. “It seems your mother wants us to go to bed together. She told me while you were at the bathroom that she understands that young people need to be alone and may want to sleep together. ‘It’s perfectly OK with me, Amy,’ she told me.”
“I guess.”
“I hope you don’t mind if we don’t, but I’m not ready for it,” she said.
Corey almost breathed a sigh of relief. Truth be told, he was frightened about the whole idea of sex, particularly about whether he could perform the male role. Yet, he desired to be with her, to place his body next to hers, touching each other all over and kissing. He imagined her arms surrounding his slender, smooth body, caressing him. He loved the firmness of her strong arms and the softness of her undersized breasts and fleshy tummy. But, the image of him entering her seemed to foreign to him, as if it would not be within his nature to do such an act.
“That’s OK, Amy,” he said.
“Corey, I feel so selfish. I know what boys all want, and I’m not ready to give it to you.”
“I said it was OK, Amy.”
“No, no. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, because I’ve never felt for a boy like I do for you, dear Corey, and you deserve an explanation for my feelings. It’s my secret, but you deserve to know.”
“I don’t need to know, dear, ‘cause I have to tell you my secret first,” he said.
“No,” she protested. “I’m going to tell you first, and then maybe you don’t need to tell yours, ‘cause after you hear my story, you won’t want me anymore.”
“Amy, I can’t imagine anything that would change my feelings toward you,” he protested.
Corey reached over, taking Amy’s large hands into his. He said nothing further and the two looked directly into each other’s eyes, and Amy began her story. Corey listened as she told of the night of her brutal assault and near-rape by Lance when she was fifteen. In took her 15 minutes to relate the incident, with tears interrupting her narrative, followed by hugs and reassurances from Corey. Amy, however, did not tell of the most recent attack by Lance over the Christmas vacation.
“Oh, Amy, that must have been so terrible,” he said when she finished. He was crying along with her, feeling every ugly touch of the brute Lance. He wanted to say that he would beat the shit out of that monster, but of course he could do little but, as he admitted to himself, just flail out his weak arms that would hardly even sting the monster.
“Honey, it was so horrible, that I still have nightmares,” she said. “I’m not sure I’m ready for sex; it might rekindle terrible memories. I’m not sure I can trust a man.”
“Poor Amy,” he said, reaching up a wiping a tear from the girl’s face.
“I didn’t mean I couldn’t trust you, Corey. Oh that must have sounded so bad.” She reached over to kiss him, their lips meeting and soon engaging in a long, wet kiss.
Corey felt so badly for Amy; in his mind’s eye, he was picturing the beer-soaked lout putting his dirty hands upon his sweet Amy. It took his mind off of his determination to reveal his own secret. He wondered if he had the same courage to tell of his girlish desires as she did to reveal the awful assault.
******
Their long embrace comforted both of them and they soon were laying tightly pressed against each other, prone on the couch.
“This is so delicious, Corey,” Amy said after a few minutes.
“I love you, Amy,” he said, adjusting his right arm which had fallen asleep while pinned under the girl.
They both moved more tightly together, and Corey felt his small penis begin to harden. The room that had felt a bit chilly when they first entered now felt hot and steamy. They kissed gently now, and their hands moved under each other’s clothes, each caressing the other’s smooth skin.
“I’ve never felt closer to anyone than you, Corey.”
“It’s like we’re one being, the two of us molded together to make a single lovely person.”
“That’s a wonderful thought. I can just picture us as one, can you?”
Corey considered the image; it was a captivating thought. In his image the single resulting person was a lovely young woman, a bit huskier than he was, but not as heavy-boned as Amy. The person had sparkling eyes and warm, roundish face; it wasn’t a face that would win any beauty contests, but it was a face with bright, sparkling blue eyes, a smallish nose, full checks and full, kissable lips.
Amy was also imagining what the composite person would look like.
“Is our person a boy or a girl?” she asked, finally.
“A girl,” Corey answered, but quickly wishing he could take back the answer. He feared that Amy would detect his own proclivities, his own desire to be a girl.
“I love you for saying that, Corey,” she said.
“Really?”
Suddenly she asked the question that had been haunting her since their first meeting at the Student Union’s Food Court: “Do you wish you were a girl, Corey?”
Corey wanted to answer “yes, yes, yes” with great enthusiasm, but found he couldn’t speak. He was afraid to say the words out loud, to tell Amy the truth, to tell her that he wanted to be a woman, a warm, soft, lovely woman. Instead he found himself staring, almost without seeing, at the snow falling outside the window, already beginning to dot the window with flakes. The street light turned the fresh snow to a sparkling mass.
“I think you do Corey,” she answered for him. “You’re like no other boy I’ve ever known and I love you for it.”
“I guess I’ve thought about it. Being a girl sounds nice,” he answered, knowing it was still not the whole truth.
Amy hugged more tightly now, their legs intermingling. She felt her nipples tingle and she sensed her panties growing moist as the two ground their bodies together. They were still clothed and Amy yearned for their two bodies to be in an embrace, totally nude as they caressed each other’s soft, smooth skin. She smelled the light feminine scent of Corey’s body, most likely from his use of body lotion and light perfumed spray. Amy had long before recognized his lovely scent and she believed he used the same soaps, lotions and scents that he had recommended to her.
“Mom won’t mind if we go to bed together,” Corey said; he was already nearly breathless with passion.
Amy wasn’t sure how to respond; she wanted so much to spend the night with Corey, but she was fearful of him penetrating her. Ever since her encounter with Lance, she had rejected the idea of receiving a penis in her vagina; men frightened her in these settings. Corey was different; he seemed hardly to be a man.
“Can we just lay together, under the covers, Corey?” she asked.
“Of course. Whatever you’d like, dear,” he answered, pleased that she didn’t want him to prove his manhood and make love to her. He wasn’t certain he was capable and he didn’t want to show her how inadequate he might be.
The two quickly moved to the bedroom, which had been readied by Debbie Sullivan for Amy. The bed was made and the covers turned down, as a welcome for the girl.
They began to undress, helping each other and kissing and caressing as they did so; Corey’s erection was growing more noticeable, which happened only during his masturbation sessions and only when he was imagining himself as a woman.
She soon stood before him in bra and panties, husky, roundish with a wide waist and breasts too small for her sweet, healthy body; Corey thought she was lovely. Her body exuded strength and it made him want to submit totally to her. He stood in only his male briefs, slender with smooth, narrow shoulders and lovely arms, unblemished by muscular sinews. Amy was similarly enthralled; this was not a man before her, but a lovely girl.
The two eagerly moved onto the bed; they had to squeeze themselves onto the narrow twin bed and embraced, each voraciously caressing and kissing the other, exploring every part of the other’s body. They rocked together in passion, sweating and breathing heavily; Corey penis grew hard and Amy felt herself growing more and more moist.
“Let’s make love like two girls would, Corey,” she said, her pants growing heavier. “Do you want to be my girlfriend, Corey?”
“Oh yes, yes, I’m a girl,” he said, suddenly his erection grew hard.
He wasn’t quite sure how girls made love together, and he felt Amy guiding his hand toward her hole. His fingers entered gently into the moist cave and heard Amy moan loudly and his fingers plunged deeper. Her grip on Corey’s skinny arms crew hard and he was losing control of his own sexual desires. Amy was strong and he was weak in her arms.
As his fingers played, Amy squealed, almost as if in pain and felt his fingers suddenly get wet as she shrieked out in ecstasy. At the same moment, he began to shoot his own fluids on the inner thigh of the girl, and the two collapsed and snuggled together in their afterlove.
*****
Exhausted the two lay in each other’s arms, entangled in the sheets and blankets, the smell of sweaty sex combining with the perfumed scents from Corey’s body and from fresh soap of Amy’s skin. Neither said nothing for a while until Amy whispered, “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” Corey replied, his voice soft and low.
“Wasn’t this wonderful?”
“Yes. I’ve never done this before,” he admitted.
“We’re both such virgin girls,” Amy said. “My first time too.”
“With a girl?” he queried.
“No, silly, with a boy or a girl,” she giggled, the evening’s passion having obliterated the memory of the brutal sexual assault by Lance. That horrible incident could hardly duplicate the love and passion of these moments with Corey.
They positioned their bodies so they were facing each other again and they began kissing each other. “You’re so pretty, Corey,” she said.
Her comment stirred Corey and his penis began hardening; they snuggled more tightly together, and Corey slowly worked his fingers into her vagina, and the two repeated their pseudo love-making. Even in its incompleteness, the ecstasy, the moistness of their orgasms was exciting.
*****
When Corey awakened the next morning, it was still dark outside; the digital alarm clock on the night stand read “6:53,” and the sunrise was still an hour ahead. He pried himself out from Amy’s embrace, moving slowly and gently so as not to awaken her. He was successful, as her breathing, accompanied by a soft grunt every so often, continued without interruption. He looked at her fondly and smiled.
Twenty minutes later he returned to the bedroom, having showered and shaved the light fuzz on his face. He wrapped his head in the towel and was otherwise naked as he rushed through the hall into the bedroom. Amy continued to breathe steadily, apparently undisturbed by his movements. Corey wore a smile as he carefully moved to open one of the dresser drawers and drew out a pair of panties and a bra; he stepped into the panties and then fastened the bra around his barren chest, skillfully connecting the hooks in the back. He then reached into another drawer and pulled out breast forms and stuffed them into the bra.
Returning to the bathroom, he removed the towel from his head, and shook his head in quick circular motions, letting his hair hang straight and flow sexily with his movements; he spent a few moments using the hair dryer, closing the door so as not to awaken Amy. He applied conditioner, fashioned a bang across the forehead and brushed the hair into a slight bob at the back. He examined himself in the mirror, smiling at the slender, pretty girl in the reflection.
Amy stirred a bit as he re-entered to bedroom, but she didn’t seem to waken. He went to the large closet, and slowly pulled the door open, seeking to avoid making even the slightest sound. He wanted to surprise – and he hoped to please – Amy when she awoke. He had a plan.
The morning light begin to brighten the room a bit and the open closet door revealed a closet full of dresses, skirts and blouses, along with a row of women’s shoes lining the bottom. They were all his, of course, and when he originally suggested that Amy stay over and sleep in the room, he was worried that she’d discover the women’s clothes and he’d have to lie and tell her they all belonged to his mother. Now, after last night’s adventures, he was ready to reveal the truth.
Just as Amy began to awaken, Corey snapped the last button on the ruffled, peach-colored blouse he had put on over a knee-length, pleated navy blue skirt. He was about to put on a pair of short-heeled kitten shoes, when she spoke, “Huh. Who? What?”
Corey stood before her, frozen for a moment. He waited until she sat up and cleared her eyes of sleep. By now the morning light had made the room bright.
“Good morning, Amy. I like to introduce myself. I’m Corrine, your girlfriend.”
Chapter 6 – The Fitting
“Now, what’s this?” his mother demanded as she entered the kitchen.
Corey was at the kitchen counter, mixing a batch of pancake mix for their breakfast; he wore a lacy, pink apron to protect the blouse and skirt he wore. He had tied his long hair with a blue ribbon in a haphazard knot to keep it clear of his face while he prepared breakfast.
“Amy loves me as Corrine,” he replied, smiling.
‘She does?” his mother said. “What kind of girl is she?”
Corey could see his mother was displeased with his feminine appearance; she had reluctantly acknowledged it when he was fourteen and had begun showing continual interest in her clothing and how she applied makeup. She admitted to herself that when she later indulged his desire by allowing him to buy his own girl outfits, which steadily had created a closetful of attire.
“Mother, she’s all girl,” Corey said to reassure his mother.
“And she likes you like this?”
Corey smiled. “She really does, mother.”
His mother shook her head. “I should never have let you get started in this dressing up and I should have had a man around as you grew up. What have I created?”
Corey and his mother had had these discussions before, and most of them ended with Debbie Sullivan acknowledging that she was at fault for not stifling his desire to be dressed as a girl. She also faulted herself for allowing him to begin working at her beauty salon, even though he had become a big help to her and now was on the verge of becoming a talented hairdresser.
When Amy walked into the kitchen just moments after the mother-son discussion ended, Corey could see the girl looked radiant. She was smiling and a fresh scent followed her in the room.
"Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan," Amy said, largely ignoring Corey.
"And good morning to you, Amy," Debbie said, smiling. Corey was happy to see that his mother's earlier displeasure and apparent concern about Amy's own sexual preferences was gone. She appeared to greet the girl with warmth and pleasure. The two hugged.
"Thank you for taking me in, Mrs. Sullivan," Amy said.
"It’s Debbie to you. If you call me Missus one more time, dear, I'll toss you out in the snow."
They all laughed and Amy finally acknowledged Corey's presence, heading over to the stove where Corey was putting margarine into the frypan, preparing to pour in batter to start the pancakes. She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek
"He's pretty as Corrine, don't you think, Debbie?" she said, looking at Corey's mother.
"I'm afraid he does make a pretty girl, but is that what you want dear in a boyfriend?" Debbie asked directly.
"Mother, leave Amy out of this," Corey said sharply.
"I just asked her a simple question and she doesn't have to answer," Debbie said, not mollified by the sharp tone in Corey's voice.
"Mother, please . . ."
"That's OK, Corey," Amy interrupted. "Yes, Debbie, I like Corey in whatever way he wants to be. He's a dear, sweet boy and I like him very much. Yes, very much whether he's Corey or Corrine."
"I'm sorry, kids. Let's forget it. I shouldn't have brought it up," Debbie said.
Corey said nothing and turned back to the stove to begin the pancakes. Amy and Debbie worked together to set the table and bring the condiments from the refrigerator. They chatted about the storm that had finally ended, leaving at least eight inches of new snow on the ground, according to the news that was coming from the television set in the front room.
Debbie asked Amy about her family and her field of study at the University; the girl answered each question fully, seeming to relish talking about her father, mother and her brothers, particularly Adam with whom she was the closest.
"You love your family, don't you, dear?" Debbie asked.
"Very much and I miss them, too, but I also feel very much at home here, too. You've been so kind and welcoming."
Debbie smiled. "You're a sweet, lovely girl, Amy, and I hope only the best for you."
The two hugged and Corey announced: "The pancakes are ready. All sit down."
Corey prepared eggs and sausage for the breakfast as well and the three enjoyed a meal with laughter and light-hearted conversation as Amy described how she had learned to elbow her way around a crowded dinner table to compete with her large, strong brothers.
When they finished, Debbie said, "Now Corey, you get yourself changed and get out and shovel the snow while Amy and I clean up the kitchen."
"I don't need to change. I'll just wear that long coat," he argued.
"Don't be silly, you're wearing a skirt and your legs will show and you know how Mrs. Polakowski is," Debbie said, referring to a next door neighbor who was known as the neighborhood gossip as well as being openly ridiculing Corey’s "lack of manhood," even calling him "faggot" to his face.
"I can do the shoveling, Debbie," Amy volunteered. "We get to be quite experienced at home."
"No, mother's right, I'll put on slacks," Corey said, recognizing the need not to give Mrs. Polakowski something more to gossip about. "No doubt she'll be sneaking looks at me from behind her curtains."
Amy suggested that she help him with the chore, an offer Corey was pleased to accept. The snow was a heavy one, not one of the lighter, fluffier variety due to the near melting temperatures that accompanied the storm. Now that the storm had passed, and the sun was beginning to rise, the temperature had already dropped nearly to zero and the skies were bright and clear.
"It'll be cold out there," Corey said.
"Maybe we can hug each other every so often then. That way we can give your neighbor a show she hardly expected to see," Amy said, laughing.
*****
“It’s so beautiful this morning,” Amy commented as the two finished shoveling the walks and removing the snow that had nearly buried the car, both of them panting from the effort. The heavy breathing showed in puffs of fog in the cold of the morning.
Even though Corey felt totally exhausted from the physical effort, he agreed to walk a couple of blocks in the bright cold morning sun to nearby Humboldt Park, where they trudged to the top of the sled-riding hill. Dozens of youngsters slid with glee (and some with fear) down the modest slope, some with a parent sitting with them, others singly as their parents or grandparents or older siblings watched from the top of the hill, shivering in the cold.
“Do you have a sled, Corey?” Amy asked. “I’d love for us to go down the hill too.”
“It’s in the basement somewhere,” he said, hoping Amy would forget the idea. He rarely used the sled, even during the first winter after his grandparents presented him with it as a Christmas gift when he was eight. The slide down the hill always frightened him, and then he would face the long trudge up the hill.
“That’s OK,” Amy said, already sensing the boy’s reluctance to engage in outdoor sports.
They stood together watching the children, laughing at the tumbles of the youngsters who seemed to relish rolling around in the snow after falling off their sleds or saucers or colorful slips of plastic. Corey looked about the park, its barren trees glistening with clinging snow in the bright sun. The morning after a heavy snow, he mused, is such a magical time, the world made fresh with a new cover, masking the dirt and corruption of a big city; the spirits of their neighbors always soared, he realized, as they gathered together, all brought out onto their sidewalks for the common chore of cleaning their walks, sharing tales about how difficult it was to get home the previous night or boasting about how they navigated a particularly steep hill in their cars. He watched neighbors who rarely talked to each other help each other free their cars from where city plows had deposited snow. Along with spinning wheels and the din of snowblowers, there were sounds of laughter as the snow-shoveling neighbors discussed their snow storm problems in good humor. What was it that stirred people to be sharing in times of such inconveniences and difficulties?
Yes, it was a magical time, and at that moment on the Humboldt Park sledding hill, Corey knew that love was intoxicating. Yes, as Amy said, it was a beautiful morning.
*****
Debbie Sullivan went to open the salon at noon, having called the customers with morning appointments to tell them she was keeping the salon closed for half a day until more streets had been plowed and sidewalks cleaned. She said that Corey could stay home with Amy, except to handle his two appointments, scheduled to begin at four o’clock.
“Have you finished Mrs. Penney’s gown yet, Corey?” Amy asked after Debbie had left the house for her two-block trudged to the beauty salon.
“Just about. I just have to redo a bit of stitching in the waist; I told her I’ll bring it by for a fitting next week.”
“Can you model it for me, Corey?”
“You want me to, really?” he asked.
“Why not? You and her are approximately the same size, aren’t you?”
Corey reddened a bit, admitting that he and Emily Penney both wore dresses of either Size Four or Six, depending upon the cut.
“Please, I’ll bet you look beautiful in it,” Amy smiled, reassuringly.
Corey excused himself, going into the bedroom in which the two slept; it was there he had the sewing machine and where he normally did his dress-designing and dress-making chores. In just a few minutes, he emerged wearing only light blue satin panties fringed in lace and a matching bra over breast forms.
“Oh my darling Corrine,” Amy gushed as he walked out. “You’ve such a lovely body.”
He loved hearing that, hoping that Amy saw the same girlish body that he saw, slender and smooth with gentle curves. Corey added a girlish sway as he walked and Amy giggled at the sight.
“Maybe you’d like to help me brush my hair and fix my makeup before we put on the dress,” he offered.
“Darling, that would be great. I don’t know what help I can be, but I’d love to watch,” she said.
Moving to the bathroom, Amy helped by brushing his hair down past his narrow shoulders, so that it created a slight bob; Corey was able to fashion a bang to one side of his forehead, framing his face. Amy fastened a barrette and asked him to stand when they finished. “You’re a beautiful girl, Corrine,” she volunteered.
Corey needed little help putting on light makeup, a light pink lipstick, a bit of coloring to highlight cheekbones and darkening around the eyes.
“There,” he said when finished. “Now you can help me get into the gown.”
Amy helped the transformed girl to step into the gown and then clipped shut the fasteners up the back. He pointed to a pair of beige heels with a four-inch lift and sat down on the vanity. “Put on these footies first, Amy,” he ordered.
She fumbled with the tiny pieces of nylon that formed the footies and fit them onto Corey’s feet one at a time. She loved the feel of his feet; the skin was soft and smooth and she was not at all surprised to see that he had already applied light pink polish on the toenails.
“Even your feet are pretty,” she remarked. “You’ll have to paint my toenails sometime, Corrine.”
Corey smiled; he loved being called Corrine.
“I like to keep them soft and smooth. I’ll show you the lotion I use every day,” he said.
“That's nice. My feet are so callused and so wide and ugly,” she said.
“Amy, I’m certain that’s not true.”
“I wished it wasn’t, but I guess I spent too much time running around in bare feet back home.”
“Guess you must have been quite a tomboy,” he said. His smile quickly turned into a scowl as he wondered if he was insulting her.
“I was,” she admitted easily. “How could I not be with three big, older brothers and the area I grew up in?”
He nodded, realizing that if he were a girl living in her small backwoods town he would likely not have fit in very well; he would have been quite a girly-girl, always wanting to be in dresses and having his hair in lovely curls. He wondered, too, if he had been raised in such an environment whether he could have survived, recognizing how physically inadequate he was.
Amy fitted the shoes on his feet, her hands caressed his slender ankles, and she assisted him in standing erect.
“You’re absolutely ravishing, Corinne,” she exclaimed. “That dress is perfect on you.”
Corey smiled and turned around to give her a complete look and to look at himself in the full-length mirror on the closet door. He loved how the dress hung on him, its asymmetrical cut exposing his lovely left leg from mid-calf down.
“What do you think, Amy? Do you think she’ll like it?”
“She should, Corrine. It’s really a striking gown and you make a great looking woman, you know. I hope you don’t mind me saying that, but you’re just so naturally beautiful and so totally feminine.”
“Thanks, Amy, but I know you must not think much of me as a man, or even as your boyfriend,” Corey said, his mood changing from the euphoria he felt as a woman to that of despair when he was concerned about whether he was the kind of a man who could please a woman.
His words interrupted the pleasure of the moment and sadness stunned Amy for a moment. Amy was speechless, her own joy at seeing him look beautiful in the lovely gown having been dampened by the reality that her first-ever boyfriend was standing before her as a very pretty young woman. She felt true warmth and affection for this strange androgynous person, a person that would be so out-of-place in the world as she understood it. Throughout her teen years she wondered if she’d ever find love with a boy – or as she grew into adulthood the love of a man and eventual motherhood and family. Now, she thought she had found love in Corey, but wondered if it was love; in fact, she had no idea what love was supposed to feel like. Could Corey (or Corrine) ever become that love?
The two looked at each other, neither one knowing what to say; their awkwardness turning into a maddening silence, into an emptiness. It was only broken by sobbing; Corey burst into outright crying, so violent that he had trouble keeping his breath, the tears ruining his makeup. He rushed into the strong arms of Amy and she held him. A deep sadness enveloped her.
*****
"You’d better change out of that dress before it gets too mussed or it gets wet from tears," Amy warned and the two broke their embrace.
As the two separated, Amy kissed Corey lightly on the cheek. "I love you Corey," she said simply. The girl meant her words deeply, even though she wondered whether the word "love" expressed her feelings for Corey.
Corey smiled, his face still red and moist with his drying tears. Knowing he had to get ready for work at the salon, he left the room to change out of his clothes and to put on the androgynous outfit he normally wore while working at the salon, a pair of tight-fitting black slacks and a ruffled peach-colored blouse. He tied his hair in a ponytail, and donned a pair of light blue Skechers that he wore when he knew he'd be on his feet for a while. Underneath it all, he wore black pantyhose and a white camisole; he felt both were more comfortable than his male underclothes.
Emerging from his bedroom, Amy smiled, "I remember you were dressed like that when you fixed my hair the first time. Do you always dress that way?"
"Yes," he said sheepishly, well aware he was appearing more feminine than masculine to her.
"You’re very pretty, dear," she said smiling.
"I just feel like I fit in better at the salon like this, and it seems the customers like it," he added. "I didn't used to dress quite so outlandishly at first."
"May I say you look more like Corrine than Corey," she giggled.
"I guess you could say that," he smiled. "I'm sorry to have to leave you, Amy, but I have to handle these appointments."
"Don't give it a thought, Corrine," she said teasingly. "I've got plenty of work I need to do on this paper and besides it'll give me time to think about my new girlfriend."
He nodded and turned to put on his parka and a pair of his mother's boots to trudge the few blocks to the salon. As he walked in the cold, bright afternoon, he wondered whether the pleasure he felt in being dressed as a pretty young woman might cause him to lose Amy.
*****
"You seem in a distant world this afternoon," said Sonja Peplinski, a striking woman in her late twenties with long, straight dark hair. The woman who worked for an ad agency downtown was one of the proud products of the nearby lower middle class neighborhood and always sought to have a most elegant look.
Corey admired Sonja's long, thick hair and had urged her to let it flow more naturally, but the woman disagreed: "I need to look more professional, Corey," she told him. "You need to stylize it like I know you can. I've seen you do wonders with other girls."
"I'm sorry," he said as he was setting her hair into a more upswept fashion that Sonja seemed to like. "I don't mean to be distracted today, but I was thinking of my girlfriend. Forgive me."
He cursed himself for indicating to Sonja that he had a girlfriend when he realized that Tanya Winters, the hairdresser in the nearby chair, had overheard the remark. The older woman was a well-meaning, but consummate gossip.
"Oh yes, Sonja, he's got a perfectly lovely young lady as a girlfriend," Tanya said. "She's been in the salon and he's worked on her hair and even made a dress for her."
"A girlfriend, Corey? And you make dresses, too," Sonja said, showing genuine surprise at these two pieces of information about Mr. Corey.
Corey suddenly felt humiliated; were the women in the salon laughing at him, trying to figure out how such an effeminate young man could have a girlfriend? Worse yet, they seemed to infer a criticism of Amy as to the nature of a woman who would even consider him as a boyfriend.
"Yes, is there anything wrong with me having a girlfriend?" He said defensively, realizing he was talking back to a loyal customer.
"Not at all," Sonja said, herself showing remorse at her reaction.
"Please excuse me for my outburst, Sonja, I think you'd like Amy, my girlfriend, and we like each other very much," he said.
"Of course, I wish you all the happiness in the world, dear," the woman said.
When finished, Sonja said she loved what Corey had fashioned for her hair. "You're a genius darling," she said kissing him on the cheek as she paid.
*****
Sonja's reaction to the announcement that he, Corey, had a girlfriend, apparently a real, live, pretty girlfriend, bothered him. It was obvious that Sonja, like so many others, thought it unlikely that such an androgynous, effeminate boy would have a girlfriend; he knew most people thought he was hopelessly gay – the kind of "nancy boy" who would never be able to complete the manly act.
In fact, Sonja's reaction hit upon the truth, he knew. He wasn't a real man; hadn't he already demonstrated that by his sexual inadequacies with Amy, except in those moments when she was treating him more like a pathetic, weak girl? No, he wasn't gay, but he also wasn't a man.
Amy was due to spend the night again, and at the suggestion of Debbie Sullivan, the two slept in Corey's room and were able to share his double bed. Debbie obviously continued to hope that her girlish son might eventually discover his manhood and was pleased to suggest the two be more comfortable in a slightly wider bed.
"Oh we got along just fine in that narrow bed last night, Debbie," Amy said at the suggestion. Both she and Corey giggled as she spoke.
"Go, you two, enjoy your night together in a more comfy bed," she pressed.
The two agreed the larger bed might indeed be more comfortable and they might sleep better, too.
Amy, however, sensed Corey was uncomfortable with the idea of spending another night together; she knew he was embarrassed by being incapable of performing his manly functions. She had already concluded he may never be able to be a man in the fullest sense, but she still loved him, loved being with him and, to her own confusion, loved that he was so soft, weak and girlish.
"Corey," she said as the two prepared for bed that night. "You don't have to try to fuck me."
She blushed at using the crude word, but it was all she could think to say at the moment. He looked at her quizzically, wondering if she meant it.
"Really, I love you as you are and I think I love you most as Corrine."
"You do?" He asked.
"Yes, I bet you have a sexy nighty you could wear for me, dear Corrine," she suggested.
He nodded, blushing at the expectation of putting on a black nighty that reached only to mid-thigh and had thin straps across the shoulders that exposed his lovely shoulders and arms. The truth was that Corey had several such nighties that he wore regularly.
As he left for the bathroom to get ready for a night in bed with Amy, she suggested: "Maybe a little squirt of perfume might make my darling Corrine even more fun to hug."
That night as he lay in Amy's strong arms, she cooed over how soft he felt, kissed his smooth inner thighs and massaged his slender arms. His member became hard. "You're my dearest girlfriend, Corrine," she whispered, and they kissed, his fingers finding her vagina to enter.
They both orgasmed nearly in unison, Amy screaming "yes, yes, yes" as Corey slumped into exhaustion as his juice coated her strong thighs.
They lay together, both content to be motionless in each other's arms.
In a repeat of what occurred the previous night, Corey began to cry, his sobs consuming him so that he couldn't speak. Amy held him tightly, soothing him with the words, "My dear girl, my dearest, dearest girl."
They fell asleep in each other's arms. They were both in a stupor when they awoke. It was 6:10 on the digital clock and the sunrise at this time of year would likely not occur for nearly two hours.
Amy raised herself on one elbow, looking in the faint light peeking through the drapes at the face of her partner. She loved the girl next to her with all her heart. She saw Corey's eyes begin to open, for a moment registering alarm and then turning to happiness.
"Yes, Corrine," Amy said, softly. "I'm here for you always. We'll be best girlfriends forever, my darling. Best girlfriends forever."
Corrine looked up at her friend and smiled.
*****
That evening, Corey heard from Helen Comstock, his friend from high school who had returned several days before to the University of Massachusetts at Amherst for her second semester. “Lionel was waiting for me at Logan [Airport, in Boston]. What a sweetheart of a boyfriend,” she texted.
“Great. Bet u happy to see him,” Corey replied.
“Not coming home for spring break mom is pissed,” her text continued. “Spending time with Lionel’s family in Philadelphia.”
“WOW. Cool. L’s folks know about u?”
“Yes that I white. They not happy but OK. My folks don’t know about L. Scared to tell them.”
“Hope he worth it.”
“YES YES. U and Amy OK?”
“YES YES YES”
“LOL”
“Hugs. Bye bye.”
“Double hugs.”
The two friends continued their correspondence several times a month, often sharing articles concerning their mutual interest in politics, usually those favoring liberal policies. Several times they talked by phone, sharing their personal lives with each other.
“You know it’s funny, Corey,” Helen said one night. “I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone else. You’re the only one I’ve poured my heart out to.”
“I feel the same about you. But how about Lionel? Aren’t you able to bare your soul to him? I seem to be able to tell my Amy everything.”
“I don’t know but it’s different with him. He’s a boy.”
“I guess that makes a difference,” he replied, suddenly realizing the irony of his words. Wasn’t he a boy, too?
The two signed off with their usual air kisses. Corey reflected on the conversation, realizing he was sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing only a tank top and his brief shorts. He fussed with his hair as he spoke with Helen. He remembers giggling a lot as the two share some recent experiences in which they had both found comedic.
*****
The following Wednesday, as scheduled, Corey borrowed his mother's car to drive to Emily Penney's home for a final fitting for the woman's gown. Even with his time spent with Amy while squeezing in time for some studying, he had been able to complete the final work on the dress. He hoped the dress would fit Mrs. Penney well, since he had fashioned it to fit his own body. They both wore about the same size dresses; his own concern was that her hips were a bit wider; otherwise their measurements were identical (as long as he was wearing breast forms).
Maureen opened the kitchen door when he drove into the parking area at the rear of the house.
"Can I help you with anything, Corey?" She yelled.
It was a clear, cold day and, even though it was not quite four o’clock the sun was already dropping down into the western horizon.
"No thanks, I got it," he said.
"I could have driven down to pick you up, Corey. I have no classes this afternoon," Maureen said. She was always a cheerful person, a great pleasure to be around.
"No need, mom let me use her car," he said entering the warm kitchen.
Maureen led him into what appeared to be a study and opened a closet door; there was a space cleared on the closet rod so that he could hang it up without messing it up in squeezing it between packed clothes.
"I'm so excited to see what you've done," Maureen gushed. "Mom says you're going to model it for us. Is that right?"
"If that's what she wants, I guess I will," Corey replied. He was none too happy with the prospect of parading around in the gown before Mrs. Penney and perhaps even her husband, if he were home. As much he loved wearing the dress, Corey would be humiliated to do so in public. He remembered how Amy had said he looked lovely in the gown.
"Let's see how it hangs, Corey," Emily Penney said. "Please model it for us."
"I'd hate to ruin the joy you might feel by wearing it first, Mrs. Penney," he said, hoping to forestall the inevitable.
"Nonsense, Corey, I know you'll look just divine in it," she said.
Twenty minutes later, he left Maureen's bedroom, where he had changed, having had the foresight to bring along breast forms and some basic makeup so that he could present a reasonably feminine presence. Walking, turning slowly and smiling elegantly, as he'd seen runway models do on the fashion shows that he devoured in his television viewing, he moved into the living room where Emily and her daughter sat expectantly, drinking tea and munching on snacks.
"Let me see you turn, darling, slowly and elegantly," Emily said sweetly.
"That gown just flows beautifully, mother," Maureen said.
"She does wear it so well," the woman said, and Corey noted the use of the feminine pronoun. After several passes, Corey paused in front the two Penneys. "Want to try it on for your fitting, Mrs. Penney?"
At that moment, Jason Penney entered the room, drawing the attention of everyone. He looked puzzled, looked at Corey and then at his wife.
"Are we holding a fashion show here?" He said, his voice a bit testy.
"No dear," Emily said. "Remember the young man at the dance before Christmas? We commissioned him to make me a gown for the Valentine's Dance."
Mr. Penney paused a moment and then nodded. "Oh yes, I remember, he was with a girl from Maureen's dorm."
"That's right, and here he is modeling the dress for me," she said, motioning to me.
Jason Penney looked at me incredulously. "But, but . . ." He sputtered.
Corey smiled and gave a tentative wave, which he immediately regretted since it was a dainty, effeminate move. To make matters worse, when he greeted Jason Penney his voice came out thin and high-pitched.
"Oh my God, yes," Mr. Penney said, recovering himself. "Corey, you're just so beautiful I thought my wife had hired a professional model."
"I just thought I ought to be realistic to model the dress, sir," Corey said, now using what he hoped was a firm, masculine tone.
Jason Penney continued to examine Corey and he obliged by doing a few more slow turns causing the man to applaud when he'd finished.
Turning to address his wife, he said, "It's a lovely dress and if you look half as pretty as Corey does in it, you'll be the belle of the ball."
"Mr. Penney, your wife will look twice as pretty," Corey said, a comment that brought a smile to Emily Penney's face.
Returning to the bedroom, Maureen helped Corey undo the dress and get it ready for her mother to wear. As she assisted, she said, "Corey, you make just an absolutely lovely girl. In fact, if you were on my dorm floor, I think you'd be the prettiest of all."
Corey knew Maureen was self-conscious about her looks, realizing she was too short and chunky to be a classic beauty. Her round, plain face would never be a strikingly beautiful face like her mother's, but Corey found the girl to give off a warm, welcoming feeling.
"I doubt that," Corey said. "You know, Maureen, you are a perfectly lovely girl."
"But I'm not pretty like you are," she protested.
“Thank you, Maureen, but don’t judge yourself too critically. I find you totally adorable,” he said.
“You mean that, don’t you, Corey?”
“Of course, I do or else I wouldn’t have said it.”
She kissed him lightly on the cheek and said, “Thank you, thank you.”
Corey in fact was totally sincere in his comments. He sensed the girl’s gratitude; obviously she had been criticized so much by her mother, who in her own youth had been a strikingly beautiful woman with an enviable figure and who dearly wished that her only daughter was not so stocky and plain looking.
“You know, Maureen, if you’d like, I’d love to have you come down to mother’s salon where we could see if we could help you make her proud of you,” he offered, suddenly realizing that perhaps he was acting arrogantly in promoting his own skills.
“Would you, Corey? I saw what you did for Amy and she’s beautiful,” the girl said, smiling.
“Wrong, Maureen, she always was beautiful as you are, too. All we did was to bring her natural beauty out.”
“You’re a genius Corey to know what women want,” she said.
“We’d better go; your mom’s waiting on us,” Corey said, finally having gotten out of the gown and into his own clothes. He did not change out of the panties and bra that he had worn under his male clothes, which brought a question from Maureen: “Do you wear those underthings always, Corey?”
“No,” he said. “I just wore them ‘cause I expected your mother wanted me to model the gown.” It was only a partial lie; he always wore women’s panties and only sometimes wore a bra with modest breast forms.
“But those are your own panties and bra?”
“Yes,” he admitted, his face growing red.
She smiled at him, saying nothing at first. As he gathered the gown in his arms to leave the room, the girl queried him: “You like dressing like a girl, don’t you? I’m sure daddy must have thought you were a pretty girl model when he walked in tonight.”
“I suppose I do, and I hope that doesn’t bother you,” he said, seeking to make certain he’d keep her friendship. He truly liked Maureen.
“No, Corey, and it’s just between us,” she said. “I won’t even tell Amy.”
“She knows.”
“That’s cool, Corey, but let me tell you one thing: don’t you ever do anything to hurt that girl or break her heart. If you do, I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
Corey smiled, knowing the girl was sincere and probably was strong enough to do follow through on her threat.
“And maybe you’d like to create a dress for me too, Corey,” she suggested. “Daddy’ll pay for it, I know.”
Chapter 7 – Date Time
Maureen Penney had chosen to live in the dormitory, even though her parents’ home was less than 15 minutes away; it had pained her parents that their only child would want to leave her comfortable home and choose to live in a tiny cubicle room in a three-student suite in the dorms.
“Mom and dad. I love you both very much, but I want to experience other types of people now in college,” she had pleaded.
She pressed the point, arguing logically that her decision to attend a local public university in place of the Ivy League school for which she had been accepted had saved the Penney family perhaps $25,000 a year. It was a convincing argument Jason Penney had acknowledged.
“Let her try it, Emily,” he said to his wife. “What can it hurt?”
“Two weeks in sharing rooms with smelly girls from the inner city and she’ll beg to come home,” Emily chortled. Having herself attended only private schools, she could hardly imagine being immersed in amongst a bunch of “ordinary” girls.
“No, Emily, I think she’ll look upon it as an adventure,” Jason said.
Maureen hugged both her parents when they informed her that they had agreed to her decision in live in the dorms. While her father had seemed genuinely pleased and interested in the decision it was apparent her mother still was uneasy with the decision. Her mother commented that she’d have to endure “all sorts of people” at an urban university, a statement that shocked Maureen.
“But, mom, haven’t you always preached that all people should be treated equally? Just ‘cause there might be a black or Hispanic girl as a roommate shouldn’t bother you. You and dad have always supported civil rights,” Maureen said.
“It’s not a matter of that, Maureen, but your dad and I are able to give you the best, and you’re settling for second best,” Emily said.
“No. mom, I’m not, and I appreciate what you and dad are doing for me,” she said.
*****
Maureen and Amy had become best friends, often going for walks in the Downer Woods that had been preserved in the midst of the busy city. There had been warnings issued that girls should not enter the woods at night due to fear of attacks since there was little deterrent to stop men (students or men from the neighborhood) from entering; several incidents had occurred in recent years. Yet, both girls experienced restlessness from being holed up in dorm rooms and felt the walks after they finished studying at about nine o’clock were a refreshing experience.
“Between the two of us, we can take care of any guy, I think,” Maureen said, happy that the taller and more athletic Amy was at her side.
“I’ve still got my pepper spray with me, just in case,” Amy laughed.
“I’m not sure I’d come in here with just your boyfriend, though,” Maureen said.
“He’d not be much of a deterrent.”
The two had just entered the woods, taking a well-worn path. There were lights alone the path, but the girls had to be careful because of patches of ice. Snow was piled along the sides of the plowed walk and their breath could be seen in the cold.
“Can I ask you something, Amy?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t want to embarrass you, but it seems Corey’s more like a girl than a boy. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Kind of, I guess, but he’s so nice to be with,” Amy replied.
“My mother asked him to model the gown he designed for her. Can you imagine that? They both wear the same size dress and I saw him in it. He was absolutely beautiful. My dad walked in when he was modeling it and thought he was a real model, a real woman.”
Amy’s smile couldn’t be seen by Maureen in the dark of the woods.
“Yes, he makes a perfectly lovely young woman, doesn’t he? He modeled it for me one day after he finished it.”
“I might have embarrassed him,” Maureen continued. “I told him he’d the prettiest woman on our dorm floor.”
“By far, he would be,” Amy giggled. “Certainly prettier than me.”
“And me.” They both giggled.
A few minutes later, Maureen asked another personal question: “Have you and Corey . . .ah . . . ah . . .”
“Slept together,” Amy finished the question for her, ending the girl’s discomfort in asking the personal question.
“Yes, have you?”
“That’s OK,” Amy reassured her friend. “I consider you my friend and I know we can be honest with each other.”
“Thank you.”
Amy knew she could trust Maureen; the two shared a feeling of being sisters likely due to their teen years of feeling like ugly ducklings and outsiders.
“Yes, you could say we slept together, but it was more like two girls making love, Maureen, and I loved it. I didn’t want him to screw me and he didn’t seem to want to try it either. I’m not even sure he could complete the act.”
“Oh my God, Amy. That sounds terrible for you.”
“No, no, no. It wasn’t. I loved it.”
“Like you were lesbians?”
“Yes, like we were lesbians. I call him Corrine and he looks so lovely and inviting in a nighty.”
“Corrine and Amy. How sweet,” Maureen said.
The two stopped in the walkway, and Amy turned to hug her shorter friend.
*****
Emily Penney received compliment after compliment for her gown at the Club’s Valentine’s Day Dance. “Is that an Alexander Wang?” “That just has to be Versace!” “Ralph Lauren?” Her friends gushed. At first, Emily felt she shouldn’t tell who designed her gown, but as the compliments rolled in, she asked her husband if he thought Corey would mind.
“I doubt it, honey. Maybe one of your friends might like to hire him and he needs the money, I’m sure,” Jason said.
She smiled and for the rest of the night, she told her friends that it was designed by a young designer named Corrine who lived in Milwaukee. Several of the women asked for Corrine’s contact information; they might be interested in having Corrine design something for them. Soon, Emily had stuffed her tiny purse with scraps of paper and cocktail napkins and business cards of the phone numbers of women interested in hearing from “your marvelous designer.”
To questions about the designer’s name, Emily called attention to the tag in her dress that said, “Designed by Corrine.” Corey had been convinced by both Amy and Maureen to create a designer name for himself, suggesting “Corrine” since the name seemed to sound a bit French and was a name unique for today’s young women.
On the Monday following the Dance, Maureen joined Corey at the Sociology Class they both attended with several hundred other freshmen students and gave him eight pieces of scrunched up scraps of paper, cocktail napkins and business cards with the names of women interested in being contacted for dresses.
“My dad says you may have a budding business here,” Maureen told him.
“But I can’t do that now, I need to finish college,” he said.
“Yes, I suppose, but maybe you could do a few at a time to raise money for your tuition. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”
“Your mother didn’t tell them who I was?” he asked.
“No, just that her gown was designed by Corrine.”
He was shocked. “But that means they’ll think I’m a woman.”
Maureen smiled and said, “Well?”
Just then the class was called to order. Corey said nothing and suddenly he began to see himself clearly.
*****
Because of their school and work schedules, Amy and Corey were able see each other only on Wednesday lunch periods and on Sundays; sometimes, they’d find time to spend an hour or two together for a time at a local coffee shop or at the food court in the student union. A few weeks after the semester began, the two figured they could get together on Saturday night, following the end of Corey’s day at his mother’s beauty salon and Amy’s dinner shift in the Union cafeteria.
The third such Saturday night was a snowy one in mid-February. Corey, using his mother’s car, picked Amy up about seven-thirty and suggested she spend the evening at his mother’s house. “Mom’s going out on a date tonight so we’ll have the house to ourselves, and you can stay the night,” he announced.
“Hmmmmm, you’re getting a bit adventurous, aren’t you?” she said, giggling.
“Why not? We’re adults,” he said.
“And your mom’s got a date, too?” she queried.
“Yes, and I’m so happy for her. It’s been a while for her and the president of our neighborhood association has asked her out for dinner and a movie. He’s a widower, but still not too old.”
“That’s great for her, Corey. But does she know I’ll be there overnight?”
“Yes, in fact, she suggested it. I think she wants to make a man out of me,” Corey said.
“You think that’ll happen? Maybe we need to get some condoms,” she said teasingly, recognizing Corey’s apparent incapability to complete the manly act as well as their mutual declaration that they were “best girlfriends.”
“I doubt that’ll be necessary,” he said. “Besides I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“What’s that?” she asked, as Corey drove down Lincoln Memorial Drive along the lakefront. Winds were whipping up waves that were crashing angrily upon the sandy shores of Bradford Beach with a light snow beginning to coat the roadway. Corey drove below the speed limit, with most other drivers following suit. While it was a sparkling wintry scene, it was also becoming treacherous on the road.
“You’ll see later,” he said.
Amy noticed he was wearing his mother’s heeled boots, as he had done during the snowstorm that led to their first night in bed together. She saw he wore a pair of navy blue slacks beneath his parka, similar to those worn frequently by both girls and boys on campus. He wore a wool winter cap that covered his ears, with his long hair flowing out from the bottom. She looked at him, marveling at how totally feminine he appeared as faint flashes of light shone across his face from the lights lining the roadway.
“My darling Corrine,” she mused, watching his rapt concentration on the road.
They said little during the drive, with Amy aware that Corey was concentrating on his driving. He was driving like an old woman, she felt, and wished he had allowed her to drive; she had far much more experience driving in such weather. He certainly was nothing like the boys she knew back in her snowbound hometown. But, the truth was she loved him, just as he was, a lovely, fragile, almost dainty girl.
*****
Corey unveiled his “surprise” once they had entered the house, having completed the tedious drive safely with only an occasional skid; with Amy’s counsel he had successfully learned to maneuver the car as a slide might begin and to resist revving the engine if the tires began to spin on the ice.
“Just have a seat for a few minutes, and I’ll show you the surprise,” he said, ducking into his bedroom after the two had deposited their snow specked coats and boots in the front hallway.
She busied herself looking at an issue of liberal Nation magazine she was surprised to see on the Sullivan coffee table. Amy had always found herself in agreement with the publication’s strong liberal articles on the few times she’d read it in the past. She was impressed that Corey or his mother despite their apparent interest in fashions had such a deep interest about political issues. She was deeply engrossed in an article about wage inequity when Corey entered the living room and said: “Surprise.”
Amy looked up, shocked. Corey stood before her wearing a brightly multi-colored tunic that reached to his mid-thighs; he wore black tights and a pair of dark red ballet flats. The tunic had an embroidered scoop neck with matching embroidery lining the hems of the tunic and short sleeves. He let his hair flow freely, and had fashioned discreet bangs.
“I thought I’d be Corrine tonight,” he said.
She said nothing for a minute.
“Is that OK with you, Amy?” he said, puzzled by her silence.
“Oh . . . oh . . . my God, yes,” she said, rushing to hug him.
“And I’ve got another surprise for you,” he said.
He retreated to his bedroom and returned holding a hanger showing similar tunic. “I made this for you. I think I got your size right,” he said.
“For me? We’ll be like sisters,” she said.
“Try it on, Amy,” he said, smiling at the thought of being her sister.
*****
Indeed, Amy and Corey’s friendship soon developed into a sisterly one. More and more, in their moments together, the boy wore women’s clothes, an activity reluctantly approved by his mother. The two friends did their share of hugging and kissing, but neither seemed to be fulfilling their sexual needs. Amy realized that as much as she loved Corey he would never satisfy her desire for a man. Their Saturday nights and Sunday excursions became those of two young ladies, shopping at the mall, sipping coffee or lattes at Colectivo (the area’s most popular coffee shop chain), seeing movies or sharing a pizza.
At first, Corey joined Amy in the outings wearing androgynous slacks, tops and boots with heels (when weather required it) or flats. Regardless of the attempt to retain some semblance of masculine appearance, he was always addressed as “miss” or “young lady.” As the weather warmed, he began to wear skirts and ruffled blouses or sleeveless tee-shirts.
“I’m really getting jealous,” Amy said one Sunday in April as they munched on a pasta salad at the mall’s food court. “The boys all are eying you up, you’re so damned sexy and pretty.”
“They’re looking at you, too, Amy,” he reassured her.
“Nah, I look like a cow next to you,” she said. “But I love you.”
Corey had been pleased on how he had helped Amy become more attractive, building on her features to create a tall, lovely, welcoming young woman. Though Amy would never be a striking beauty, she would always look to be the warm, welcoming person that was her true self. Amy had lost about twenty pounds, mainly through careful dieting, counseled by Corey. He had taught her to cast aside the lumberjack eating habits of her brothers and find a liking for the more feminine diet favored by Corey.
“You’re no cow, Amy,” he said. “You’re a tall, lovely girl. Believe me.”
Just then two young men, sat down at the table next to them, each carrying a tray with a hamburger, fries and large soda. Corey noticed that the taller of the two looked squarely at Amy; the boy smiled at Amy. The other boy busied himself with his meal, setting his food on the table and chucking the tray onto an adjoining empty table.
Amy saw the boy examining her; she blushed, and Corey smiled, pleased that his friend was drawing the attention of what appeared to be a trim, handsome young man. Amy quickly averted her eyes, seeking to avoid eye contact; her face grew red, and Corey wondered why the boy’s attention seemed to bother her. Neither of the boys paid attention to Corey, who was dressed in a fetching peasant blouse, a short pleated skirt, coffee-colored pantyhose and flats.
Finally, the tall boy, said, his remarks aimed at Amy: “Excuse me. You look so much like a girl I went to school with.”
Amy raised her head to look at the boy, nodding her head as a silent reply.
“You’re Amy, aren’t you? From Pine Valley?”
“Yes, and you must be Josh Maclin,” Amy replied.
“You got it,” he said. “I hardly noticed you at first. You’ve . . . ah . . .”
Amy giggled at the boy’s fumbling words, realizing he was about to say something like “you’re not such a fatty anymore.”
“Yes, Josh, I’ve lost some weight, but I’m still the same girl you guys paid no attention to in school,” she said pointedly.
Corey looked at Amy, angry at how she seemed to be pushing away a handsome boy who was paying attention to her.
Josh was not to be put off, though. “Amy, that’s not fair; I always liked you and we talked a few times, didn’t we? Besides I was dating someone else all during school.”
Amy nodded, remembering Josh always had Hetty Lefond at his side. “I thought you’d marry her, Josh.”
“Ah, she thought she could sing and went off with a group from the Twin Cities and got herself all messed up. I think she’s working the poles up on Silver Street in Hurley,” he said, referring to street in a town on the border with Upper Michigan that featured pole dancing at its strip clubs. The town’s once bawdy character had been greatly tamed when the mines closed in the area, Corey knew, but there were still a few remaining clubs on the notorious strip.
“That’s too bad,” Amy said, sincerely. She had always liked Hetty, even though the girl had been a bit vain, probably due to being raised by a single mother who was not attentive to the girl.
The conversation continued, and Corey began, much to his shame, to offer flirty glances at the other boy. The boy was kind of cute, he thought, quickly reprimanding himself for his far too obvious girlish actions. He had never thought he’d be attracted to boys, but he found the other boy’s obvious attention to Amy to be intriguing.
“May we join you girls?” Josh finally asked.
Amy looked at Corey tentatively, seeking his approval, and Corey nodded with a smile. The boys took the two empty chairs at the table, after both Corey and Amy had removed their purses.
“This is my friend, Stefan Gordon, and who’s your pretty girlfriend, Amy,” Josh said as they sat down.
“My friend, Corrine.”
Corey smiled, looking at Stefan. He was a trim, nice looking man with sandy hair that included an unruly cowlick; he wore a gold sweat shirt with the word “Marquette” in blue across the front, indicating he was likely a student at the other major university in the city.
Stefan took my hand in a courteous, polite way, and said in a heavily accented voice, “Nice to meet you, Corrine.” He had large, strong, callused hands that seemed engulf Corey’s dainty, soft hands. Is this how it feels to be a girl when a man finds she’s attractive?
*****
Stefan spoke with an East European accent that was often heard in the area, largely because of the city’s large Polish population. It turned out Stefan was from Poland and was studying international affairs on a scholarship aimed at attracting foreign students to Marquette; to help cover the added expenses not covered by the scholarship, he said he worked about sixteen hours a week in a warehouse of a large beer distributor in the community, wrestling with beer cases and half barrels. It explained the boy’s callused hands and muscular forearms.
Corey was fascinated by the boy’s story and surprised him by saying a few words in Polish; he had picked up the language from his maternal grandparents who had emigrated from Poland after World War II and still spoke the language regularly.
Soon Corey and Stefan were engaged in a close discussion, ignoring their table mates, who were also similarly engaged.
“May I be so bold as to ask if I can see you again, Corrine?” Stefan said when the group was about to break up.
The question literally took Corey’s breath away; he had never really considered the possibility that his dressing as a girl could lead to dating a boy. True, Amy, Maureen and Emily had all suggested that should he dare to go out in public as Corrine he’d likely face such eventuality; didn’t they always says he was often the prettiest girl in the room?
“Oh, I’m sorry, you probably already have a boyfriend?” Stefan said haltingly after his question went unanswered.
“Ah, no, but I’m not sure . . .”
“You don’t like me, Corrine? I thought we were having a good time here.”
“No, that’s not it. It’s something else,” Corey said, totally unsure how he should handle the situation. Corey didn’t want to offend Stefan; he was truly a sweet boy and Corey enjoyed his company. He’d love to be Stefan’s friend, but he was a boy, not a lovely, pretty girl as Stefan perceived him to be.
“Oh, OK, I just thought I would ask,” Stefan said apologetically.
“No, no that’s fine. I’ll tell you what maybe we could meet for coffee sometime,” Corey volunteered.
The boy’s eyes brightened and the two agreed to meet at Colectivo coffee shop on Prospect Avenue sometime. “Let me call you when I can, Stefan, OK?”
Stefan wrote his cell phone number on a napkin and Corey took it, placing it in his purse. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever call the number. Yet, he knew he would not lose Stefan’s phone number.
*****
That night Corey was particularly fastidious as he prepared himself for bed; he took a long bubble bath, making sure to use his mother’s scented soap. Emerging from the tub, he dried himself slowly and gently, finally wrapping his head and looking very much like a slender, smooth teenaged girl. He dabbed on a bit of tangy scented toilet water and for a minute admired the image in the mirror, an image whose soft femininity was violated only by the ugly, smallish organ at his crotch. With a free hand, he tucked the slender, soft shaft between his upper thighs, to form a smooth, flat front.
“Now I am a girl,” he announced, speaking into the mirror. Corey loved the image.
“I am Corrine,” he mused, wishing it were true.
He chose perhaps the daintiest of nightgowns in his drawer, a light, satiny affair hemmed in lace. He loved how the skinny straps over his shoulders exposed his soft, slender arms; the gown ended at the upper thighs.
Crawling under the covers, Corey wondered how it would feel to be in the embrace of Stefan; he looked so strong and manly and Corey imagined himself caressing Stefan’s firm, bulging arms, his sinewy thighs and hard stomach, murmuring to the boy how strong he was. He hoped Stefan would relish massaging Corey’s (no, Corrine’s) soft feminine flesh. And how passionately they would kiss!
His reverie ended with the sudden realization that such an event would never happen. How could he lure the unsuspecting Stefan into bed, only to reveal that the lovely, tender girl in Stefan’s arms was a boy? Corey cried and cried until sleep finally overcame him.
*****
“Stefan’s been asking about you, Corrine,” Amy said when the two had their usual Wednesday lunch together. As usual on school days, Corey was dressed in an androgynous outfit, navy blue women’s slacks over sheer pantyhose, a dark turtle neck pullover and a pair of grey running shoes. It preserved, he felt, a hint of masculinity that he needed since all of his school ID information said “male.” He knew that he could be taken either for a male or female, though strangers almost always addressed him as a young woman.
Corey smiled, pleased that Amy had been calling him Corrine during their private times together.
“So you’ve been talking to Josh?” he inquired.
“Are you jealous, darling?” Amy asked, her question was partly a tease and partly serious, since she wondered whether the two friends’ closeness had morphed into a lesbian love affair.
“Just a little bit, Amy,” Corey answered with a giggle. “But really I’m happy for you.”
“Corrine, dear, we’ll always be friends. I just know it and whenever I need a comforting hug I know where to come.”
Corey smiled at the round-faced girl, whose eyes were truly dancing with happiness.
“Seriously, Corrine, Stefan really would like to meet you again,” Amy said.
“I don’t know if that’s so wise, Amy. After all I’m still a boy in some ways.”
Amy laughed. “Not that I can see. Even in your so-called boy outfit, I still see a pretty girl sitting here.”
“Oh, Amy, what am I to do?” Corey asked, after the two had joined hands across the table, showing their obvious affection.
There was a rustle of sound at an adjoining table where a half dozen boys had been making a ruckus in their good-natured joshing about. Corey glanced over to see one of the boys, a pock-marked ruffian return a disapproving stare and then turn to his nearest companion and said, loud enough for Corey and Amy to hear, “Look at the two lezzies.”
Corey’s face reddened and he rose in anger to confront the boy, but Amy held him back, grabbing his hand in earnest. Instead, she got up, standing tall over the boy and said in a fearsome voice: “You got something against girls who love each other?”
It was obvious that Amy, her body strengthened through her rough and tumble life in the woods, would likely easily handle any of the boys at the next table.
“No, but I’d sure like to tussle with your girlfriend,” the boy said, looking at Corey.
“Well, she doesn’t like wiseass jerks like you. She’s a girl with good taste.”
The boy’s table mates burst into laughter and one of them said: “She sure told you, Caleb.”
Knowing he had been bested, Caleb looked first at Amy and then to Corey and said, “I’m sorry girls. I was just trying to have a bit of fun. I didn’t mean no harm.”
Corey looked back, suddenly feeling sorry for the boy in spite of his offensive remarks. He had been made to look like a fool to his friends; Corey truly felt sad about people who get humiliated for any reason, and the boy Caleb looked like just such a boy who must have been struggling to find an identity and perhaps thought his thoughtless remarks about “lezzies” might win him points among his loutish companions.
“OK, I accept your apology, but just don’t try to make fun of other people again,” Corey said, smiling in a friendly way.
“My, oh my, you’re a forgive-and-forget type of girl, aren’t you?” Amy said when she returned to the table.
“I guess.”
Amy returned to the subject of Stefan. “He wanted your phone number, Corrine.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Amy. I never really thought about boys. I just wanted to be a girl. But, Stefan seems like such a nice guy and he’s kind of intriguing, too, isn’t he?”
Amy nodded.
“You have to face reality, dear,” she said. “If you’re planning to go out more often as a girl, and as such a pretty girl, too, you’ll have to deal with men and boys. You’re hot.”
“I like the way I feel as a girl and it is so exciting to be liked by a boy like Stefan. I’d like to go out as his girlfriend, but how can I do that. He’ll have to be told what I really am.”
“Either that, Corrine, or you’ll have to forget boys and just say you like girls,” she said giggling.
“Oh, and be lezzie? Well, I might like that, but now you got Josh.”
Corey agreed finally to let Amy pass his phone number and email address to Stefan.
*****
Amy decided not to return home for the spring break, claiming that she had a paper to finish and that she would be able to work nearly fulltime during the period at the Student Union filling in for those student workers who left town. “I can use the extra money,” she told her mother, who was nearly in tears to learn that her only daughter would not be home for the week.
“I bet it’s that boy who’s keeping you in Milwaukee,” her mother said.
“No mother, I don’t even date that boy anymore,” she said, realizing it was not quite the whole truth. Her decision, of course, had more to do with meeting Josh than anything else; he, too, was planning to stay in the city during the period. Both had agreed that it was best not to tell the folks back home about their budding relationship. “You know how gossip spreads in that place,” Josh said.
Stefan also remained in Milwaukee during the break. He had no family nearby; his parents and siblings were still in Poland. Besides his studies and a paper he needed to finish, Stefan would be putting in extra hours at his beer distributor’s job during the break.
Stefan called, apparently almost immediately after getting Corey’s phone number. He was breathless and in an almost panic-stricken voice, his accent suddenly stronger than Corey remembered it, asking, “Corrine, is you?”
It was Tuesday, just two days into the spring break period. Corey had been both waiting for the call, but also dreading it since he was afraid to encourage the boy’s interest. She didn’t immediately answer his question.
“Corrine, is you?” Stefan pressed.
“Yes, Stefan, I’m here.”
“Oh, I worried. Is wrong number?”
“No, Stefan, I just wasn’t expecting you, is all,” he said, making his voice soft and demure, reflecting a shyness that he truly felt.
“I want meet you again,” Stefan began, his question direct and his wording reflecting the Eastern European tendency to leave out prepositions and other basically unnecessary words that clutter up the English language.
“I’m awfully busy now,” Corey said, trying not to sound too eager, though his desire to meet the boy as Corrine was growing stronger than any reluctance to avoid having to reveal himself.
“How about tomorrow night? Josh and Amy want us join them at pizza then movie,” he offered.
Corey had hoped to spend Wednesday night finishing up a dress he was fashioning for one of Emily Penney’s friends (he had gained a steady supply of customers willing to spend generous dollars on his creations thanks to Emily’s one-woman campaign). That could wait another day or so, he thought, and agreed. The thought of dressing up pretty for a young man was so enticing. How much he loved being a lovely, soft feminine woman named Corrine!
*****
Corey had two major obstacles to overcome in order to be a believable woman: his voice and his beard. Overall his appearance and mannerisms were truly feminine and at first impression he was taken to be a lovely young woman, thus causing new acquaintances to overlook the voice or facial hair shortcomings. Corey had largely solved the voice problem by adopting a soft, almost breathless manner of speaking and by carefully studying how women spoke; he avoided making his speech sound too effeminate, a practice that would immediately draw attention to his speech. What bothered him most about the voice issue was that he needed to be constantly alert when he spoke to avoid drifting into his deeper, more masculine voice.
The beard was something else; he shaved every day, changing blades often to be certain he always got the closest of shaves to avoid stubble. In addition, he used much lotion and mascara to keep a soft-looking skin.
The pending date with Stefan was a first for Corey, since until his recent trips with Amy in the guise of Corrine he had not ventured into public often as a young woman. His trips so far were a success and he was pleased he had been totally accepted as female. Not only that, as Corrine he had been ogled and examined by what he felt were lustful eyes of men, both young and old.
Now, he was about to be in close proximity to Stefan for several hours who would be wanting to treat him as he would any other young woman he was dating. It would mean some hugs, some groping and likely kisses. Corey, of course, would refuse any efforts by the young man to “feel” him up and to probe into his genital area in search of a warm, moist hole to insert his fingers.
“Are you sure you want to do this, dear?” his mother asked when he told her that he needed to get off from the salon an hour early to ready himself for his first real date as Corrine. Mother and son were in the kitchen, having their breakfast on Wednesday morning, before beginning their day at the beauty salon. Since Corey was off school this week, he was working nearly every day in the salon which was busy with appointments in preparation for the Easter weekend.
“I’m scared, mom, but I have to do this,” he said.
“You don’t have to do anything like this. You’re still a boy, or really a young man and a very handsome one, too,” Debbie Sullivan said, renewing a discussion that had been going on between the two for several months after Corey declared he was serious about transitioning into being a woman.
“I do, mom, I really do have to do this. I feel I am a girl and I need to experience what a girl lives through. And Stefan is so nice.”
“Oh, darling, I’m so worried about you,” she said. “I raised you in a world of women and I’m so sorry. You have so much talent and you’re such a nice young man, and now this. I failed you so badly.”
“No, mom, you didn’t and I love you,” Corey said, reaching over to hug his mother.
“Oh dear and you do make such a lovely young woman,” she said, resigned to her son’s course of action.
“You know I’m only following Dr. Grainger’s orders in beginning to live outwardly as a woman,” he said.
Indeed, Corey had begun the steps to transitioning, having been referred by his primary physician to Dr. George Grainger, a gender specialist, who confirmed Corey’s reality that he was female, except for his masculine bodily features. Corey was scheduled to begin living outwardly as a woman in June, after school ended; shortly thereafter he’d receive hormones to further the process. If all went as scheduled – and he could afford it – Corey would have the ultimate surgeries to provide him with female sexual organs and, if needed, facial surgery and breast enhancement.
“Though I doubt you’ll need any facial surgery, Corey,” the doctor said. “You have perfectly lovely features now.”
Looking at her pretty son in the bright kitchen light, Debbie Sullivan nodded in resignation of the inevitable: Corey was to become Corrine.
(To Be Continued)
Chapter 8 - Corrine
Corey’s date with Stefan turned out to be a nightmare. It began innocently enough with Stefan coming to the door of the house while Josh and Amy waited outside in Josh’s ancient Ford Victoria – a roomy car that had spotlights affixed to each side of the car indicating it once must have been a police vehicle. Stefan was gentlemanly as he greeted Mrs. Sullivan, turning on what appeared to be a bit of phony Old World charm.
It worked since Debbie whispered into Corey’s ear as he put on a light spring jacket, “He seems like a nice young man, darling.”
Corey, however, was turned off by what he feared seemed to be an overkill of charm that might be hiding something more sinister. Was he for real? Since it was to be a casual date – pizza and a movie – Corey had dressed accordingly: he wore lavender tights, a denim mini-skirt with a peach-colored sweater over a cami. He wore plain, black flats and let his hair flow freely; he wore light makeup, with a neutral pink lipstick, a bit of mascara and just a hint of eyeliner. Corey couldn’t resist, however, dabbing a bit of perfume on his neck and on his chest, choosing Armani Code that has been a traditional favorite among young ladies with its spicy scent.
Leading Corey to the car by hand, Stefan helped Corey into the backseat, his left hand not so innocently caressing Corey’s bottom. With the first warning sign, Corey immediately became fearful, wondering if perhaps this “nice young man,” (as his mother had thought) was not more like many men from Europe who still feel that women are mere sex objects.
He crowded close to Corey, and his hand wandered to Corey’s thighs, and Corey gently removed them; the boy nestled in close to him and whispered: “You smell hot and sexy,” and Corey cursed himself for wearing such a notoriously seductive scent. They drove to a popular pizza place in the Bay View neighborhood that overlooked Lake Michigan. All the booths were full and the four young people were placed at a table; Corey feared that had they been seated in a booth he’d spend the entire time swatting Stefan’s hand away from his legs.
While the meal proceeded without incident, except for a few suggestive comments from Stefan that brought questioning looks that Corey shared with Amy. He could see his girlfriend quickly sized up the situation, although Josh appeared to be unfazed by Stefan’s remarks.
As girls usually do, Amy and Corey excused themselves to go to the ladies room together where Amy quickly apologized for encouraging the Corey should date Stefan. “I didn’t know he was like that,” Amy said.
“I guess maybe it’s my fault since maybe I gave him the wrong idea about me,” Corey said.
Amy laughed. “You do look hot, and what’s that scent you’re wearing? Even Josh said you smelled divine.”
“That was a mistake, but it’s Armani’s Code. And it’s really too expensive, but you know how we girls can be sometimes.”
“Yes, you’re quite a girl, Corrine,” Amy said as the two completed fixing their makeup and returned to the table.
At the movie house – one of those cinema palaces that was created in the 1920s and had recently been redone to feature lounge seating and small tables for snacks and drinks – Stefan suggested he and Corey should choose one of the love seats. “No, let’s sit here,” Corey said, pointing to two seats that were separated by two thick arm rests, making hugging and surreptitious groping nearly impossible.
“No, here,” he insisted, grabbing Corey’s hand to lead him to the love seat.
Corey resisted and pulled him instead to the two seat he preferred; rather than make a scene, Stefan followed but said as they sat down: “What’s matter? You no like Stefan?”
“Let’s just enjoy the movie,” Corey said.
The two barely talked the rest of the evening; it was obvious Stefan was angry, having been rebuffed from his apparent desire that the “hot girl” was going to be his sex partner. The evening ended without even a good night kiss; when they dropped Corey off at his house, the boy didn’t even walk his “date” to the door. Corey left Josh’s car, giving Stefan a curt “Thank you” and marched to the door.
Because Josh and Stefan were good friends, it was doubtful that Corey would be able to avoid the boy, but he hoped the young man had gotten any romantic ideas about being with Corrine out of his mind.
*****
"I was scared, mother," Corey confessed the next day when she asked him at breakfast how the date had been.
"I'm not sure I'm ready to be fondled and handled by a boy," he said.
His hair hung loose and his eyes were bloodshot, a result of the tears he had shed while trying to get to sleep pondering his behavior the previous night as well as the aggressive moves by Stefan.
"Most girls don't like that, either," his mother replied, reaching over and affectionately brushing a few stray hairs from the boy's face.
"I sort of wanted him to cuddle me a little, but he seemed so eager to do more. His hands were . . . I don't know how to say it . . . they were . . . rude. And he was panting, too."
"Oh, my darling Corrine, you are such a pretty girl and you arouse so many desires among boys, dear," his mother said.
"Did you feel violated, too, mother? You know when guys got too . . . ah . . . you know?"
Debbie Sullivan smiled. "You mean when they got too explorative? Yes, dear, I did."
"You must have had lots of boys after you, mother. You were so pretty," Corey said, remembering the old photo albums that showed his mother as a teen and young woman.
"And, you, my dear, are even more pretty than your mother," Debbie smiled.
Corey nodded, realizing that if he was to live soon as a young woman he would face many advances that might make him uncomfortable. He truly loved transforming himself into a fetching, soft, lovely girl, but he wasn't looking for lustful advances, just love.
*****
Stefan called Corey's cell phone a few days later, just as he was finishing up his hairdressing duties at the salon. Even though it had been a school day, he had returned home to handle two appointments in the late afternoon; his mother had to leave early since she had accepted an invitation from her new boyfriend, the local neighborhood business leader, to attend a banquet. Corey had cleaned up and was about to turn off the lights, lock the door and leave for the night when his phone buzzed.
Corey was tempted to hang up when he heard Stefan's accented voice, but felt he should give the boy a chance to have his say.
"I sorry about other night," he said in broken English.
"I am, too, Stefan," Corey said simply, without explaining further.
"Ah . . . " the boy stammered.
"What do you want?" Corey said firmly.
"I like you. Can we dinner?"
"No thanks, Stefan. Good bye."
"Wait, wait," he pleaded.
"What?"
"Why you act funny? I thought girls liked that."
"This girl doesn’t and I don’t think most girls do either.”
"OK, but I like you. You pretty. Let's meet."
"No, Stefan, not now. I have to think, now. Good bye."
He hung up on the boy. The phone rang back almost immediately, and the caller ID indicated it was Stefan. Corey let it ring and go to voicemail. He deleted the voice mail without listening to what Stefan had to say.
Corey sat down in one of the empty salon chairs, pondering the call. What was it with these guys who think they can treat girls like their sex slaves?
*****
As the spring wore on, Corey dressed in his male clothes only when going to school, working at the salon or in settings that required him to retain his male appearance. Otherwise he always wore his female clothes, including undergarments and night clothes; for most outings with Amy or when going places with his mother, he dressed as Corinne.
Amy apologized for Stefan’s behavior when the two got together on the following Sunday; they met at a popular French restaurant in a onetime factory district that was rapidly becoming gentrified. The restaurant, however, had been there years before the young professionals began moving in, an anachronism in an area of crumbling empty factory buildings and dilapidated, run down small homes. The two girls (Corey wore a lovely yellow spring dress and carried a wrap to ward against the chill of the day) were enjoying the brunch, a specialty of the restaurant.
“You couldn’t know, Amy. It’s not your fault,” he said.
“He’s really a sweetie, Corrine, but he’s still got his European mentality where the man is boss.”
“You’re probably right, but I’m just not ready for any hot sex, yet.”
Amy shook her head. “Then you’re not interested in another date with him?”
“Not at this time, anyway.”
“He’s really sorry, Corrine, and he really liked you.”
Corey stood his ground; he was not ready to date Stefan. He quickly sought to change the subject, and inquired over Amy’s relationship with Josh. “He’s really a nice guy,” Corey said.
“He’s a sweetie,” Amy said, a broad smile on her face.
“But aren’t you jealous that he might steal me from you?” Corey asked in a teasing manner.
“Oh my dear Corrine, it doesn’t mean we can be girlfriend lovers anymore,” Amy said, reaching over a caressing Corey’s face.
“I do love you,” he said, his voice soft so as to not be overheard. Fortunately, the place was packed – as it usually was on Sundays – and their voices were drowned out in the din of clinking dishes, conversation, bursts of laughter and an occasional whiny cry from an infant at one of the nearby tables.
After the two had finished their crepes and were relaxing with coffee, Amy announced: “My brother is coming down for a few days to visit, Corrine, and I’d like him to meet you.”
“You’re talking about Adam?” he asked, referring to the youngest of the three Hartmann brothers. Corey knew that Adam and Amy were always close and shared many confidences together.
“Yes, I can hardly wait to see him. Right now, during the thaw, it’s tough to get into the woods to cut and bring out timber so he’s got some free time. He’ll be down next Wednesday; he’s staying with an old high school buddy who lives in your neighborhood.”
“That’s great, but I don’t know if I should meet him,” Corey said. “What does he know about me?”
“Everything, Corrine. Everything. I hope you don’t mind. He’s really very . . .”
“How could you tell him that, Amy?” he asked sharply.
“Don’t be angry, Corrine. He’s very understanding.”
“But, how could you?”
“It’ll be all right, dear, and I really had no choice,” Amy began to explain. “He was wondering how I was getting along with my boyfriend, meaning you. Then I explained we were still friends, but that I was dating Josh, from our hometown. And, he knew how much I adored you, and he kept probing me as to why I dumped you in favor of Josh.”
Corey giggled and said, “Well Josh is a real man, for one reason.”
Amy laughed and continued: “Finally I had to tell him about your transition. He’s eager to meet you and I know he’ll just love you, just as I do.”
“We’ll see,” was all Corey could think to say. He asked for the check.
*****
From now on, it was to be Corrine, and she wanted to be referred to as “she” or “her.” Every chance she got to be the young woman she felt she was she would be Corrine. Only for her remaining classes at the University would she continue the charade as a young man named Corey.
Her mother had become more comfortable with her new daughter, except for the understandable oversight of calling her “Corey” while she was Corrine. Unfortunately, Debbie Sullivan was known to refer to “Corrine” while she was in the salon, where the creature named Corey still worked, gushing over his female customers as an effeminate hairdresser.
“Did she just call you Corrine?” Sonja Peplinski, one of Corey’s regular customers, asked after Debbie’s faux pas.
“Oh, did she?” Corrine responded, as if she didn’t hear.
“Maybe I was mistaken, Corey,” Sonja replied.
Corrine continued to work on the young woman’s hair and nothing was said for a few minutes.
“And, I hope you won’t get this wrong, Corey,” Sonja said. “You know you have lovely features and Corrine would be a nice name for you. That is, if you were a girl.”
“No offense,” Corrine said, wondering if Sonja was clued in on the fact that she was indeed a young woman.
During her earlier visits to the salon, Sonja had become aware of Corrine’s sideline of designing dresses and had inquired about whether she could afford one of Corrine’s creations. The two had discussed the possibility and on a succeeding visit Sonja raised the prospect that perhaps “Corey” should think about establishing a fulltime business or career designing and perhaps even custom producing women’s clothes.
With Sonja’s budding career in advertising and marketing, it was apparent the young woman had an entrepreneurial spirit.
“I’m sure with your connections through your wealthy customers and mine in the business community that we could get the needed investment,” Sonja suggested.
Corrine always rejected the idea; as much as she enjoyed designing and outfitting wealthy women, she felt that she had more to give to the world. She was truly interested in improving the lives of the needy people in the world, whether it was through social work or politics. She was truly becoming concerned with the vapid debates of the coming Presidential elections and worrying that they should be more deeply concerned about the many problems troubling the nation and the world.
“I feel I need to finish college first,” she repeatedly told Sonja.
Sonja’s every other week visit to the salon brought up the same discussion, with Corrine always agreeing she’d “consider it.” She knew she wouldn’t; satisfying women who had everything was not satisfying her at all. Putting warm clothes on a shivering child would seem more fulfilling.
*****
Amy had told Corrine not to dress too fancy for the outing with Adam, having persuaded Corrine to join them since it would not be a date or anything that would lead to a future date. “He just wants to meet you so be casual and be your natural self, darling,” she said. “After all you are my best friend and you should meet my favorite brother.”
Of course, Corrine fussed over what to wear; she was to meet Amy, Josh, Adam and Adam’s friend at one of the new “in-places” that were popping up in the Bay View neighborhood where women wore just about anything, ranging from shorts and jeans to skirts and from peasant blouses to tank tops. A few women might be in dresses.
It was promising to be an unusually warm April night so Corrine chose a full print skirt with a flowering design in greens, pinks and peach that reached below her knees. She put on a plain purplish button-down sleeveless blouse with a v-neck. She wore no stockings and beige ballet flats. She decided on wearing a necklace with a peace emblem and simple gold-plated earrings. She would carry along a light sweater in case she got cold.
Corrine felt totally feminine in the outfit; she loved how the skirt flowed around her legs as she walked. She knew it would show her off to be a most modest young woman; she was a woman, not a drag queen. She felt she didn’t need to put on sexy outfits to display her natural femininity.
*****
Corrine had worried that Adam only wanted to meet her to see what kind of a freak she was, this guy who was now a girl. Amy had assured her over and over again that “Adam is not that kind of guy. He’s loving and understanding, dear.”
It turned out to be a marvelously wonderful dinner time. At first, Corrine was not happy when she found herself sitting between Adam and his friend at a table for six in the crowded, noisy restaurant. It meant she’d likely have to converse with the two young men at her side, since any involved conversation across the table would be difficult because of the decibel level in the place.
“That’s so fascinating,” Corrine said as Adam described the logging procedures in the woods.
“Well, it’s a lot of hard work,” Adam said, laughing.
“Why do you think I moved down here?” Adam’s friend, Gary, said.
“Gary always was the smart one in our high school class, and he got out,” Adam said in a joshing tone.
“You love it up there, Adam,” Amy piped up, having obviously been able to hear some of the interchange.
“And don’t let Adam kid you, he really was the smart one in our class,” Gary said.
Amy then added, “And he was class valedictorian, too.”
“If I’m so smart what am I doing freezing my ass off in below zero cold cutting trees down?” Adam said.
Corrine was impressed with the good-natured jibes the group were exchanging. The four of them, including Amy’s new boyfriend, Josh, were from the same tiny logging community; she suddenly wished she could have been part of such a close-knit circle of friends. As a boy, she never could feel part of any group, and maybe she might find a group of girls who would accept her with the same spirit of camaraderie.
Soon, Corrine and Adam were engaged in a close conversation about what each wanted in the future. It began when Corrine asked: “I don’t get why you enjoy cutting down trees. That sounds so destructive.”
“What are you? One of those tree-huggers?” Adam said.
“Well, I don’t like the forests being destroyed.”
“Look, Corrine, I love trees and I love the forests and I want them to thrive forever. We only practice good forestry in our work and cooperate fully with the Forest Service,” he said. The family’s company largely only cut in National Forest areas.
The conversation soon moved to Corrine’s future desires with Adam wondering why she was reluctant to developing a dress designing business. “Amy tells me your dresses have been somewhat of a sensation already,” he said.
“They have been and I love designing them, but I think I want to do something more rewarding, something that helps people,” she said.
“That’s commendable, but you have to make a living, too,” he argued, then added as an after-thought, “Don’t you ever want to get married?”
Corrine responded with a slight giggle, “What man would ever want me?”
“Lots of men. You’re really very beautiful and sweet, Corrine.”
Corrine shook her head. “You do know I’m not a total woman, right?”
“Sure, Amy told me the whole story and once you get your surgery, I’m told, you’ll be that woman.”
“Not quite. I’ll look like a woman, I’ll react like a woman and I’ll feel like a woman to any man, but I could never bear his children,” she said.
“Well, you’re all woman to me, Corrine,” he said.
Without thinking, Corrine leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. Instinctively, she regretted it.
Adam smiled back at her. “That was sweet.”
He then leaned over and kissed her on the lips, a slow passionate kiss.
“That’s enough, you two,” Amy warned from across the table.
“Wait, don’t I get a kiss, too,” Gary said.
Corrine turned to him and offered her lips; the boy gave her a short friendly poke.
“Yes, she’s all girl.”
After leaving the restaurant and saying good-bye to Amy and Josh, Adam invited Corrine to join him and Gary for a short drive along the lakefront to look at the full moon rising over Lake Michigan. She squeezed into Adam’s pickup truck between the two young men and they drove to park at South Shore Park to look at the view of Milwaukee’s downtown skyline across the harbor. They laughed and joked, but there was no further hint of love-making, which was just fine with Corrine.
Two days later, Corrine got a text message from Adam from Pine Valley:
“Thank you for a delightful time. I truly enjoyed your company and hope you enjoyed mine. The forest lanes are still too soft with the thaw so I’m not out destroying any trees. You should be pleased with that. Love to hear from you. Your friend, Adam.”
*****
“Your brother is a really nice guy,” Corrine told Amy when they joined for lunch on the Wednesday after Adam’s visit.
“I think so, and he thinks the world of you, too Corrine,” Amy said.
Both had settled for salads from the Salads Galore! Booth in the food court. While Corrine was still dressed in male clothes, the server nonetheless asked, “What can I get for you, miss?” Her androgynous looks marked her as truly feminine, and her regular identity as a female no longer bothered her; it merely confirmed who she really was.
In the eight months since Corrine and Amy became friends, the change in both was remarkable; Corrine of course had become truly feminine in appearance, while her friend had trimmed down and become a beautiful young woman. Though Amy was still a tall and husky girl, her body had become more firm, with her waist size growing slender helping to show her somewhat undersized breasts to greater advantage, thanks to Corrine’s advice on the type of bra to wear.
Anyone glancing over to the table they shared that day would have seen two lovely young women chatting animatedly together. Corrine had noticed that many of the males at the university seemed to be looking at her quite often.
“I was so afraid that Adam wanted to meet me just to see the type of weirdo his little sister had befriended, but he didn’t seem that way at all,” Corrine said.
“He really was interested in you as a girl, Corrine, not anything else,” Amy replied.
“It seemed that way, but he knew about how you first met me as a boy. He must have thought I must be some kind of freak.”
“He was shocked at first, but Adam went online and read lots about transwomen. So he understood.”
Amy then excused herself to get herself a refill of water and while she was absent from the table Corrine wondered whether Adam felt any affection toward her, whether he might have romantic intentions. The prospect worried her, since she hadn’t truly begun her transition and wasn’t quite certain how to respond to the obvious concerns of becoming an object of sexual attraction.
“I think Adam really would like to know you lots better, maybe even to date you, Corrine,” Amy said when she returned to the table.
“You can’t be serious. I’m not even a girl, yet, and any surgery for me is years down the road.”
Amy smiled: “That’s for him to consider, Corrine, but he would like you to try to come up north for a visit sometime this summer, and you know I’d love to have you.”
“I don’t know, Amy. Does the rest of the family know about me, too?”
“No, honey, they don’t. All they know that I am no longer friends with a boy named Corey and that I now date Josh. And, that I have a girlfriend named Corrine.”
Corrine shook her head. “It’s still risky for me to spend time there this summer, Corrine.”
“Don’t worry. Who’s to know? I won’t tell them and Adam certainly won’t.”
“Oh, I hate living a lie, Amy.”
“It’s not a lie, Corrine,” Amy said. “If you’re not a girl, I don’t know who is.”
*****
Corrine knew she had to reply to Adam, but she wasn’t sure what to say. The question haunted her as she rode the Green Line bus home from the University, barely looking out the window as the vehicle continued its stop-and-start trip through the city. She knew she had to respond, if just to be courteous and to please her friend, Amy. The question was: should she encourage any romantic feelings on her part? She was intrigued with the prospect of being in his strong arms, of relishing deep kisses and feeling his sweet caresses. She was certain that Adam, in spite of his strong, masculine appearance, would be a gentle and tender lover.
“I’m not a real girl,” she said to herself. “I can’t encourage him.”
About eight o’clock that night, a full day after his text, she finally texted him:
“Glad to hear you spared a few trees due to the thaw, but you must be eager to get back into the woods. Thank you for a nice night. Corrine”
She was pleased with what she wrote; her words were responsive to his text, but showed no hint of any romantic interest. She figured he would might never text her again and, if he did, it would be days or even weeks down the road.
Ten minutes later, her phone beeped; she had received a text message. It was from Adam:
“Dearest Corrine. You know I found you to be a truly sweet and lovely girl, or should I say, young woman. I truly do wish to know you so much better. I hope you don’t mind that Amy confided in me about your worries. I want to be your friend. Please let me be that to you. Much affection, Adam.”
She texted back immediately:
“Adam. You are my friend. I have much to think about. Corrine.”
It took Corrine half the night to finally fall asleep; her mind was active envisioning how it would feel to share a bed with Adam.
*****
“Don’t get too interested in that boy, Corrine,” Debbie Sullivan said to her new daughter.
“I know mother, and I’m trying not to, but he is so nice to me and appreciates me as a girl,” she said.
The conversation started as the two were cleaning up after their supper; both had worked at the salon until after seven o’clock. Too tired after a long day for both (Corrine had school and work, while her mother had put in eleven hours at the salon), their supper was a hobbled-together offering of frozen sausages they had microwaved, scrambled eggs and a salad, topped off with pineapple sherbet.
“Don’t get me wrong, Corrine. I like Adam from what I know and if he’s as sweet as his sister, I know he’s kind and caring. It looks they come from a loving family. Still, you’re not a complete woman and even if you do have the operations and all, you’ll still not be able to give him children.”
“Mother, it’s not like I’m going to marry him,” Corrine protested. “We just met and had one date.”
Debbie put an arm around her daughter and drew her close.
“I love you Corrine and I don’t want you to get hurt,” Mrs. Sullivan said, holding Corrine as she began to sob into her mother’s shoulder.
“Now dry your eyes and why don’t you go have a nice relaxing bath, dear,” Debbie said.
“But, I need to help you clean up here, mother. You worked hard all day yourself.”
Debbie shook her head. “No, go girl, I’ll finish up here. You luxuriate your lovely body in that nice sweet bath soap we have.”
Corrine broke from her mother’s arms and kissed her. “Thank you, mom. I love you.”
*****
The girl in the bathroom mirror was slender; she had smooth, soft looking skin. Her narrow shoulders and high thin neck gave way to a weak chest. Corrine both admired and detested what she saw; indeed, it was a lovely body for a young girl, but it lacked any round mounds of flesh to create breasts. Oh, how she wanted breasts, real breasts, not the phony ones she pressed and glued onto her chest temporarily to give her the curves she desired when she dressed en femme.
Give it time, she told herself. It was likely her hormone treatments would begin in summer and perhaps breasts would soon develop, as would more flesh to her thin buttocks and hips. All it took was time.
The mirror only showed her upper body and she looked down toward her toes, pleased with her narrow, not too large feet and skinny legs. They were indeed lovely legs and even when she wore boy shorts she had been told she had lovely legs, “just like a girl’s.” Ruining the picture, however, was the remaining male organ, surrounded by short blondish hair. Though it wasn’t large, it was still an ugly reminder that she still was a boy, or perhaps, a young man.
The bath did exactly what her mother said it would. She felt relaxed and content and returned to her room to put on her nightgown, a plain, pink light cotton, rayon affair trimmed in narrow lace. It had spaghetti straps over the shoulders and ended at mid-thigh. Since it was too early for bed, she put on a dark violet robe and fuzzy pink slippers and sat down at her computer to see if she could finish a short essay that had been assigned in her Advanced Composition class.
The assignment had been to compose a short narrative of 750 to 1,000 words that could be fictional or true. It had to contain some conversation between the protagonists. As a suggestion, the teacher suggested the writing could be based upon some personal incident in the person’s life.
After pondering, Corrine started with a title, hoping it would lead her into a narrative. The title was: “Finding my true self.”
By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2016)
(A shy college boy discovers a new life and along with it great friends, career success and maybe even a lover.)
Chapter 9 – A Proposition
Helen Comstock and Corey talked on the phone again in early April, after spring break. She described the week with Lionel’s family in Philadelphia; she said she enjoyed the family immensely, particularly Lionel’s mother, who was a public school teacher.
“Besides being a teacher, she’s an incredible cook and mother,” Helen said. “Lionel has two younger brothers and a sister. The boys don’t seem to care about my color, but his sister who’s a senior, she’s resentful. Seems she feels he should have a black girlfriend and that he’s wasting his time on me who’ll just dump him for some Princeton grad. ‘A honky dude,’ she said.”
“That must have been difficult,” Corey commiserated.
“To make matters worse, they gave me her room to stay in, forcing her to sleep on a fold out couch. I felt terrible but they insisted.”
“But you liked them otherwise?”
“Oh yes, they were great people. They don’t have much money; his dad’s a busdriver, but he’s also a leader of their union and is sharp as a tack. I like him a lot.”
Helen announced she would be interning in Milwaukee that summer, working for the local ACLU. Lionel would visit at least once during the summer, she said, and she hoped she could press her parents to allow the boy to stay in their home. Before the conversation ended, Corey suggested, “Maybe we could double-date.”
“Great,” Helen said, again each giving with air kisses as they said good-bye.
*****
In the six weeks before the summer break, Maureen Penney often joined Corrine and Amy for lunch or coffee at the campus. Because many of Amy’s free hours were being occupied with Josh, her new male companion, Maureen and Corrine often met without their friend. Neither had a boy in the city to otherwise distract them, since Adam was more than 300 miles away and Maureen had no boyfriend.
Corrine continued to wear male clothes to the University and to attempt to pass herself off as a male, often without much success. Her natural femininity was far too apparent, as were her own sense that she was indeed female, and she couldn’t wait until school ends for the time when she could begin living fulltime as Corrine Sullivan.
“How did Mr. Brooks like your essay, Corrine?” Maureen asked when the two met at a nearby coffee shop.
“I got a ‘A’, and he attached a note saying, ‘Follow your heart.’”
“That’s great,” Maureen said. “I told you he’d be impressed, and besides you’re quite a writer, Corrine.”
“I was worried about writing something so personal,” Corrine said.
“I know you were, but I thought you wrote it from your heart, dear.”
Corrine smiled, realizing how easy the essay had been to write; once she got started, the computer keys just seemed to fly as she reflected on how she had always enjoyed doing girl activities, how comfortable she felt in dresses, skirts and nightgowns and how out-of-place she felt among boys.
“You know, I think it helped me to confirm what I’ve known all my life, that I am a girl,” she said. “Writing that essay forced me to think through my whole life.”
Maureen smiled, “It must have been therapeutic for you.”
Corrine looked at her friend, realizing what a warm-hearted lovely girl Maureen was. Even though the girl had everything she might have wanted and that she lived a life of leisure available to few people, Maureen had a marvelously generous nature and an openness not often found from people who may have been raised in such a comfortable environment. Corrine was aware, too, that their conversation that day had been focused only upon herself and that Maureen had been ignored.
“Did you hear again from Grant?” Corrine asked, referring to Maureen’s recent encounter with a former high school classmate.
“You mean since we bumped into each other at Colectivo’s coffee joint?” Maureen queried.
“Yes. That was last week, right?”
“No, he hasn’t called or texted or anything.”
Corrine reached over and affectionately touched her friend’s arm. “I’m sure he’s busy, Maureen.”
“He won’t contact me I just know it. Besides I don’t much like him.”
“Grant really seemed interested in you, Maureen, asking for your number and everything,” Corrine said.
“I wish I was pretty like you, Corrine,” Maureen said, shaking her head in despair.
Corrine tapped her friend’s arms and reassured Maureen that her own cheerful, open nature would soon lure the right young man into her arms.
“I really appreciate how much you’ve done to pretty me up, Corrine, fixing my hair and advising me on my outfits but even you can’t turn an ugly duckling into a swan,” Maureen said.
Corrine turned on a façade of anger, turning to her friend and said, “Enough talk like that. Dammit, Maureen, you are a lovely girl and any man would be lucky to have you.”
Maureen began to tear up. “You’re just saying that because you’re my friend, but I’m too short and fat.”
“Just be patient, Maureen. I love you as you are and I’m sure someday some guy will as well.”
Maureen excused herself to go to the bathroom; Corrine was certain it was to compose herself and perhaps to touch up her makeup. Like Corrine, she did not wear heavy makeup, but still her brief sobbing had moistened her face and made her modest eyeliner run a bit.
“I just remembered,” Maureen said upon returning from the ladies’ room. “My dad has some ideas for you, Corrine. I think it’s about your dress designing work.”
“Oh? What?”
“I’m not sure, but you know he’s always one to look for new opportunities and he may think you’re worth investing in.”
“Me? My gosh, what can I say?”
Maureen said her father wanted Maureen to ask Corrine to contact him so that the two could set up a meeting. She gave Corrine her father’s personal cell phone number. “Call him anytime, Corrine. He really wants to talk to you.”
“Anytime?”
“Yes, and if he doesn’t answer, he wants you to leave a number and give a time to best call you back. And he wants you to identify yourself as Corrine, not Corey.”
“But I’d better warn you about all this,” Maureen said, growing serious.
“Warn me about what?”
“My dad. I hate to say it, since he’s my dad and all,” Maureen began, growing hesitant. “He has sometimes cheated on mom . . . ah . . . with . . . young women.”
“But, Maureen, I’m not a woman, yet, and he knows that.”
“Just the same, Corrine, be careful,” the girl said. “I hope I’m wrong since I’m certain he could help you in the business.”
Corrine grew curious, wondering why Emily Penney continued to put up with her husband’s philandering. Maureen replied by saying her parents give each other lots of freedom.
“They love each other, Corrine, but I guess they know each other’s weaknesses,” Maureen added.
“OK, I’ll be careful. Thanks..”
Corrine agreed she’d give him a call later in the day and the two left the coffee shop to return to their final classes for the day. That Maureen’s father, a wealthy businessman, wanted to talk with her both excited and concerned her. What really was his motive? Why did he want her to use the name Corrine at a time when she was still trying to pass as a boy? It sounded as if he wanted to invest in putting Corrine in the dress-designing business; yet, was that what she really wanted to do in her life? Or, might the handsome middle-aged man have other designs on her, designs of a more personal nature?
Corrine called him that afternoon and he picked up on the second ring. It was clear Jason Penney was enthused about meeting Corrine, suggesting that his car would pick her up at Friday noon, after her last class for the day, in front of the Student Union.
“I’d like you to be my guest for lunch at the Portside House. Would that be OK with you, Corrine?” he asked.
Corrine almost gagged at the suggestion; the Portside House was an expensive first class restaurant located on a prime piece of land that jutted out onto Lake Michigan and overlooked the famed and exciting Calatrava-designed Milwaukee Art Museum. She almost objected, saying it was too expensive, but held back, realizing that for a man of Jason Penny’s wealth, it was an insignificant issue.
“No that would be fine, but I don’t need to go anywhere that fancy, sir,” she said.
“Don’t worry about that, Corrine, and please come as Corrine wearing something classy, as I know you would anyway.”
Corrine accepted the offer, but worried how she could go to classes that Friday morning dressed as a boy and somehow find a way to dress up stylishly as Corrine. Perhaps she could arrange to change in Maureen or Amy’s rooms at their dorm at the end of her morning classes.
*****
Adam called her about 10 p.m. that night, just as she was becoming a bit spacey; she had been trying to focus on a chemistry textbook and had grown frustrated with the mathematics formulas that were involved. She was getting “A’s” in all her papers, but she was spending more time on that course than any others.
She smiled when the cell phone rang and the screen showed “Adam.”
“Hi, Adam,” she said cheerfully.
“Sweetie, it’s so nice to hear your voice,” he said, using the term he had begun using in addressing her.
“Me too. We haven’t heard each other’s voice for all of 24 hours,” she said with a giggle.
He laughed back. “That’s a long time for me, sweetie.”
“That’s so sweet to hear, Adam.”
“What’s going on down there?”
Corrine told him about her invitation to lunch on Friday at a fancy restaurant on the lakefront; she also told him how Mr. Penney had wanted her to wear something “classy,” and her concerns about the request. “If this is supposed to be a business lunch, why would it have to be at such a fancy place and why should I be dressed classy?”
“Maybe he’ll have some others there, and he wants you looking your best,” Adam ventured.
“I don’t know. I trust Maureen and her mother, but Mr. Penney is kind of weird, especially since he saw me modeling that dress for his wife. He said he likes to see me dressed up pretty and he does seem to have a special interest in me.”
Adam merely answered “I see,” letting her continue.
“Besides, I’m not sure that marriage is a particular happy one and perhaps explains why Maureen chose to live in the dorm as opposed to living at home, which is an easy commute.”
“Can’t you wear something classy, but is also modest?” he asked.
“That’s a good idea,” she said.
“Oh Corrine, I so wish I could be down there with you, but the trails have dried up and we’re working overtime to get the logs out to the pulp yards. We’re going six days a week and sometimes on Sundays, too.”
The two continued their conversation, talking about minor events of the day, Corrine’s homework, a couple of her clients with requests for crazy hairdos, about the troubles with a certain worker in Adam’s crews and about his feelings about his sister’s boyfriend, Josh. “I think Amy can do better than Josh,” he said.
The two got into a mild argument, with Corrine saying that Amy has to make her own decisions on friends. “She really likes him, Adam,” she said.
“But she’s so inexperienced with boys, you know? She’s probably jumping at the first guy that has shown any attention to her, and she’s so lovely now, thanks to you, sweetie.”
They ended the argument with both of them saying, almost simultaneously, “Well maybe you’re right.”
They both laughed and he said, “It’s getting late. Good night. I love you Corrine.”
“Oh Adam, I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s easy, just say you love me too.”
“I do, I do, but really, I’m still not a total girl.”
“Sweetie, I love you.”
They exchanged noisy kisses and hung up. Corrine said stunned, hearing the “I love you” for the first time from his lips. She felt flushed and hot and noticed her panties were moist.
*****
Corrine used Maureen’s room at the dorm; she had barely a half hour to change after her last morning class ended. She had a five-minute walk to the dorm, where she would change her outfit and walk back to the student union by noon to meet Jason Penney’s car, presumably driven by a chauffeur. Fortunately, she found a nice navy blue knee-length pencil skirt and jacket in her closet that would go well with a loose hanging lavender blouse with a cowl neckline and three-quarter length sleeves.
Under the jeans she had worn to class that morning, she had put on sheer coffee colored pantyhose so that she wouldn’t have to change her stockings in the short time she had. She would exchange her peach colored running shoes with four-inch heels. It didn’t take her long to untie the ponytail into which she wore her hair while in her boy mode and brush the hair out to hang straight and loose. All in all, she felt she had an outfit suited for a young professional, businesswoman; she did not want to be perceived as a sex symbol.
While she believed Jason Penney might have hoped for something more revealing, she felt she looked classy enough for the occasion. She put on modest tear drop earrings and wore a simple silver chain about her neck with a dangling peace symbol.
Maureen walked her back and helped her change. When they finished, she said, “You’re look like a nice, well-dressed woman, dear.”
“Will your dad like it, do you think?”
“No,” she laughed. “I think he wanted you in a mini-skirt with a skimpy top and six-inch heels.”
“I guessed he might, but I don’t think I should dress that way.”
“You shouldn’t dear. Don’t let it bother you and don’t let him bother you. He can be a bit forceful at times.”
The two kissed and then Corrine left for the student union to await her pickup; she was suddenly frightened of the coming encounter.
*****
Corrine was pleased that she didn’t have to wait long before Jason Penney’s car arrived; in the few minutes she stood in springtime sun, she noticed she received a few looks, including several long gazes from the young male students entering the doors of the Student Union. There were even studied gazes and a warm smile from a tall handsome older man with graying hair; she presumed he was a professor at the school.
She was pleased to realize that the stares and looks were not because of any confusion over her gender, but rather that she was a strikingly attractive young woman. Corrine wondered what it was that gave off such a feminine aura, even when she was dressed relatively modestly. She remembered responding to the older man’s warm smile with an equally warm smile of her own. She had hoped her own smile, while warm and friendly, was not interpreted as a come-on by the man.
After a few minutes of waiting and of feeling somewhat wary of the attention she was receiving, she saw a shining black Mercedes pull into the entry circle. A young man in a dark suit, hopped over and raced around the car, addressing her, “Miss Sullivan?”
“Yes,” Corrine nodded, pleased to be addressed as “miss.”
“Let me help you, miss,” said the young man in a dark suit, who stood erect and opened the rear door of the sedan.
Corrine welcomed his hand as she stepped into the car, hoping her skirt didn’t rise too far above her knees. Several bystanders who were waiting for a city bus, watched the procedure and Corrine wondered what was going on in their minds, whether they puzzled over whether the fancy car was picking up some sort of a celebrity, maybe a singer or actress or performer. It was a tantalizing thought.
She was treated with the same attention when she arrived at Portside House, being shown to a window-side table in a discreet location, semi set off from the rest of the restaurant by waist-high partitions with aquariums on each side where colorful tiny fish swam.
“Mr. Penney sends his regrets and says he’ll be a little late and asked us to make sure you’re comfortable, Miss Sullivan,” an elegantly dressed maître’ d said, as he led her to the table.
Several eyes followed her as she was led to the table. The attention she gained was new to her. She was aware that the stares she got were likely admiring, but she still felt violated in some way to feel she was being examined so closely. Also, she was convinced that many of the looks were full of lust and that was even more disquieting. Corrine wondered what kind of looks she’d have received if she was dressed more skimpily and sexily.
“Is there anything we can get you while you wait, miss?” a waiter approached, having identified himself as Manuel. “Something to drink, perhaps?”
“Just water is fine, Manuel,” she said, her voice taking on a friendly tone.
Corrine looked out upon the harbor, seeing her hometown from an angle she’d never seen before. It was a spectacular view that even showed Milwaukee with its rather low-key, modest skyline to be more exciting. The view from her window stretched from the winged roof of the Art Museum north to the high-rise apartments along the shore to the tree-lined bluffs to the north.
She was still taking it all in when she felt a hand lightly touch her shoulder and a voice say softly, “I’m so sorry I kept you waiting, Corrine.”
She was startled and stiffened with the touch, looking up to see Jason Penney leaning over her, his face close to hers, as if he was about to hug and kiss her. Thankfully he pulled away and took the chair on the other side of the table.
“That’s OK, sir, I was enjoying the view. Besides I’ve only been here a few minutes,” she said, having composed herself from the shock of his touch.
“And, please, Corrine. Call me Jason,” he said.
She merely nodded in response, wondering if she should take up his request. The invitation bothered her; in her mind he was still “Mr. Penney,” the father of one of her best friends. She hardly knew him, having talked with him briefly at the dance while she was still in a male mode and then when she modeled the dress for his wife.
Jason Penney was indeed a handsome forty-something man. He was of medium height with a wide, muscular, well-proportioned body and a full head of dark hair, with attractive graying at the temples. He had large hands with well-manicured nails. He had a faint scent of cologne that appealed to Corrine.
“Didn’t they serve anything from the bar?” he asked.
“No sir. You know I’m underage.”
“Please, it’s Jason and you don’t have to worry about that. You’re at my table now. They’ll serve you.”
“No, water’s fine, Mr. Penney. I have to work this afternoon at the salon,” Corrine replied, pointedly refusing to call him “Jason.”
“OK, I understand,” he said, a disappointed look on his face.
“Thank you, sir. But if you want to have a drink, don’t let me stop you.”
“No thanks. I have a busy afternoon ahead as well,” he said, smiling, apparently hoping to hide any thoughts he might have had that would involve a more stimulating afternoon with Corrine.
“Let’s order first, and then after we eat, I tell you why I want to talk to you,” he said. “I think you’ll find it both interesting and perhaps exciting.”
“Can you give me a hint, Mr. Penney?”
“I can see you’re uneasy about all this,” he said, his smile showing either deep sincerity or a phoniness that was masked by superb acting on his part. “I’ll tell you it’s strictly business.”
“And not monkey business?” she asked, her eye dancing with mischievousness.
He laughed. “No monkey business I assure you. And you know you’re quite cute when you laugh like that.”
“Thank you sir,” she said and quickly changed the subject to ask, “What do you recommend for lunch, sir?”
“I think you might like the Lake Michigan perch, Corrine. The chef does marvelous things with it and besides it’s perfect for girls like you who like to keep a great figure.”
*****
“How did it go with Mr. Penney?” Amy asked that evening during a call she made to Corrine.
“Oh, he was fine, after I sort of set the ground rules,” Corrine replied. “I was glad that Maureen had clued me in on her father.”
“What did you do?”
“Not much actually. I just refused to rising to any of his hints or flirtations, like only calling him ‘Mr. Penney,’ instead of ‘Jason,’ as he first insisted I do.”
Amy laughed. “It looks like you’ve learned to be a girl pretty quick, Corrine.”
“What bothers me is why he would be interested that way in me. He must know I’ve still got my ugly boy thing.”
“But you are prettier than 99 out of 100 women, dear.”
Corrine was growing impatient with Amy for constantly referring to her as being “pretty;” she wasn’t embarrassed by the word, but she felt that Amy was betraying her own looks in comparison. She truly loved Amy and wanted only the best for her; even when the two first met and Amy was dressed most unfashionably and carried herself more like a lumberjack than a young woman, Corrine felt the girl exuded warmth and loveliness that went far deeper than any clothing or makeover could reflect. Now, that Amy had lost weight and began dressing in more feminine styles, she had become, in Corrine’s view, a true beauty. Of course, the girl would always be tall and husky, but she had a firm, strong body that could attract many men, as it had Josh.
“Thanks, Amy, but you don’t need to keep saying that. You are also a most pretty woman, yourself, dear.”
“You’re sweet, Corrine, but I’m still not nearly as pretty as you.”
Amy then asked her what Jason Penney had wanted to talk to her about, if it hadn’t been to woo Corrine into his bed.
“Actually, he wants to invest in me,” Corrine answered.
“What? Invest in you? How?”
“In a dress designing business. He wants to help fund me as a start-up, along with several other partners who might be interested, to set up a small shop to create and manufacture dresses made to order for wealthy customers, at first in this area and Chicago, and perhaps even nationwide.”
“That’s marvelous, but is he serious?” Amy asked.
“He seems to be, and apparently he’s got the money along with others to make it happen.”
“Wow.”
Corrine explained that Jason Penney said, “Of course, you’ll be the centerpiece of the whole operation. You’ll be the symbol of it, meeting the clients and doing the modeling. And, I love putting the name ‘Corrine’ on the clothing label; it’s so French sounding.”
“But aren’t you 100% Irish?” Amy asked.
“Yes,” she giggled in answer. “Besides my grandpa was an active IRA guy and even spent time in a British jail. And mom always says we’re ‘shanty Irish.’”
“You could have fooled me, Corrine. You’ve become such a sophisticate.”
“Forget that. I’m just an ordinary working class girl.”
“Don’t kid me,” Amy said. “Are you going to do it, I mean accept his offer?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why? ‘Cause you don’t trust Mr. Penney’s motives?”
“No, I think he’s sincere. He’s really a businessman. He may still be wanting to get into my panties, but I think he’s looking at that as only a side benefit of a business deal. He outlined a perfectly reasonable business plan, I think.”
“Then what’s wrong with it?” Amy pressed.
“I still want to do something more positive in my life than designing clothes for wealthy women,” Corrine said. “I still got college to finish and you know I want to either go into social work or politics. Maybe I have some of Grandpa Delaney’s spirit in me.”
“You’ll never get rich that way, dear.”
“I guess not, but I think I’ll sleep better at night.”
The two girls blew an air kiss to each other, before hanging up.
Corrine collapsed onto her bed, still in her bra and panties and fell sound asleep. It was the peaceful sleep of a content, confident young woman.
*****
The remaining weeks of her college year were busy ones. The salon was busy and Corrine, still worked there most days and all day Saturday as “Mr. Corey,” though growing more and more effeminate in mannerisms. Even though she resisted being a flamboyant dandy, her actions were more noticeably feminine; several of her mother’s older clients whispered to Debbie about her “gay son,” usually in shocked terms. In addition, Corrine had agreed to complete two custom orders of dresses by the end of May; and, of course, there were finals to study for and a long essay on Milwaukee’s onetime Socialist government to complete for an independent studies class.
Jason Penney called her several times, again inviting her for lunch and claiming to want to talk more about the dress business, but she was able to beg off the invitations, claiming truthfully that she was busy. Finally, his persistence paid off and she agreed to meet him for coffee late one afternoon at the Colectivo Coffee shop, located a few blocks south of the University and convenient to the bus line that would take her home.
He was already waiting when she entered the place, dressed more informally than she’d ever seen before; he wore a classy Green Bay Packer jacket and an open collared shirt. Corrine herself was dressed in her male clothes, though a closer examination would show her jeans had a feminine cut. Jason got up quickly when she entered the door and rushed to meet her, giving her a quick hug, the type seen more and more these days between casual friends. He was careful not to make the hug too prolonged and intimate, but Corrine was still shocked by it, having been too surprised to avoid it.
“What can I get you?” he asked quickly.
“No that’s OK, I can get it myself,” she said, eager to pay for her own coffee.
Jason insisted and rather than make a fuss, she accepted, ordering a “skinny vanilla latte.”
Returning to the table where Jason had been awaiting, Corrine realized he had again chosen a location in a dark corner of the shop that would offer greater privacy, perhaps leading to a more intimate conversation as well. She cursed herself now for agreeing to meet him.
“Even in that outfit, you’re lovely, Corrine,” the man said.
“Mr. Penney, I appreciate the compliment, but please let’s keep this all business, OK,” she said.
“You’re a girl who likes to get right to the point, I see, but a lovely girl anyway,” he said, laughing.
“Why were you so eager to see me, sir?”
“I wish you’d call me Jason.”
“No, sir, I won’t. Your daughter is one of my best friends and your wife has always been very nice to me. I don’t think they’d like to know you’re flirting with a faggot like me,” she said, her voice growing stern.
“Slow down, honey, is that what you’re thinking?” he asked, showing a mock shock. “Besides, you’re no faggot. You’re just a very pretty young woman, even when you’re trying to pass yourself off as a guy.”
Corrine took a sip of her latte; she looked around the room, which was filling up with students, most of whom whipped out laptops as they drank their coffee or other costly concoctions.
Jason broke the silence. “Look Corrine, I must confess that you intoxicate me as a woman and I do want to treat you as one. I have wanted to hold you and kiss you since we first met at the dance when you were posing as a young man in a suit.”
“Are you gay or something?” she asked. “Or some kind of pervert?”
He laughed at the question. “Don’t be silly. Just ask Emily or Maureen, they know of my free spirit.”
“Your free spirit? What does that mean? Your freedom to bed down any woman you want to?
“You’re being mean, Corrine,” he said, showing hurt from her questions.
“Not if it’s the truth, sir.”
Jason took a sip of his coffee, saying nothing. Finally, he squared his shoulders, moved back away from their intimacy of their conversation and said, “I can see you’re a girl who knows her mind and I like that.”
“Thank you, sir, and thank you for the latte and the lunch we had last week,” she said, moderating her tone.
“Look, Corrine, I understand you are headed for a gender change, and I’m happy for you, if that’s what you want.”
“It is, sir, once I get the money for the operation,” she said, wondering why she was opening up to him about such a personal affair. “I’m starting hormones in June.”
“OK,” he said. “That’s why I think you should take seriously my offer to join with me and others in the dress business. I’m confident you’d make plenty of money for the operation. I’ve studied it and have gotten some excellent research from an investment firm that specializes in women’s clothing. We can make a go of it, I’m convinced, but we need your obvious talent and charm.”
Corrine nodded. She thanked him for his confidence in her and then said, “Sir, I’m just not comfortable doing this now. I’m not interested.”
“You should at least investigate it, Corrine,” he said, reaching over to touch her arm. She tried to wrest away from his grip, but his large hand easily held the slender forearm. “We believe you would be a most marketable personality. It’s a shame to waste that opportunity.”
“Oh, I’m marketable? Is that it? Why? Because I’m a weirdo and something with two heads? No thank you, sir.”
Jason shook his head. “I mean nothing of the kind. You’re just an extremely attractive young woman with great talent.”
“I said ‘No,’ sir and that’s what I mean,” she said her anger growing.
Despite his pleading to reconsider, she thanked him again and ran off to catch the Green Line bus home, wondering whether she’d regret turning him away.
Chapter 10 - Doubts
Corrine began her hormone treatment in early June, having finished her first year of college with largely top grades.
The expectation of life ahead as Corrine filled her with both apprehension and promise; there was little doubt that were she to continue living a life as a man named Corey she had numerous avenues toward successful careers in various endeavors. Perhaps she could be a writer; hadn’t Professor Brooks told her she had “a real talent for writing?” Or, she could become a famous male fashion designer, like Christian Dior or Ralph Lauren. Yet, she knew she could no longer live a lie; she was Corrine and she would have to meet all the challenges that a life as a transgendered woman would face. It was scary, yet exciting.
Now, with school ended, she would begin living fulltime as a woman. The boy clothes were jettisoned from her closets and taken to the Salvation Army store for resale or dumped if too worn and frazzled. Her mother had informed her beauty shop’s customers that henceforth “Mr. Corey” would be “Miss Corrine,” and the announcement was largely greeted with smiles and words of support. Two older, longtime customers, Mrs. Henrietta Schilz and Miss Deirdre Chambers, said they were shocked by the “unchristian” and “filthy” change and announced they’d be seeking to get their hair done elsewhere.
“Mother, I’m sorry you lost those customers because of me,” Corrine lamented.
“Please don’t be. While I’ll miss Henrietta’s stories of her kids, I’ll not miss Deirdre’s sour face. But dear, they’ve been so influenced by Father Morse at IC parish, I’m not sure they’d understand,” Debbie Sullivan replied.
“I hope no others will quit you, too, mother.”
“I know. At least those two were up front about it. We’ll see, but my guess is that some might try someplace else, but soon return.”
“I hope.”
*****
In honor of Corrine’s first week as a woman, Maureen invited Amy and Corrine to her family’s yacht and a ride up the Milwaukee River, complete with a celebratory dinner on Saturday night.
“Don’t worry, Corrine. My parents are OK with it, and I’m really a good boat captain,” Maureen assured her.
“Are you sure your dad won’t hate you for treating me like this?” Corrine asked.
Maureen laughed. “He’ll get over it. It does him good to be rejected by a pretty woman every so often.”
The girl had explained that both her mother and herself had been aware of Jason Penney’s philandering for years. “Mom and dad have given themselves pretty much freedom to do what they want, but I know they love each other,” Maureen assured her, repeating an explanation that Corrine had heard before.
Such an open arrangement bothered Corrine. For herself, she looked forward to having a man love her, and only her. And, she would be loyal to him as well. For, such aa man was Adam.
It was an unusually warm night for June in Milwaukee, where summer temperatures rarely hit the city (due to its proximity to the frigid Lake Michigan) until July. The three girls embarked from their anchored location at the marina at the mouth of the river with the sun still high in the western sky. It would be nearly nine o’clock before sunset, and they jockeyed along with several other boats for the leisurely cruise up the river.
“To Miss Corrine Sullivan on her birth,” Amy said in raising her plastic champagne glass in a toast. The three girls linked glasses and then sipped their drinks.
The trip was also a “going away” party for Amy, who would be taking the bus the next day to return for the summer to her home in northern Wisconsin. There were tears shed by the three girls whose friendship had grown immensely during the school year.
“But you’ll have Josh around to cheer you up, Amy,” Corrine said, referring to her friend’s boyfriend who also had returned to his home for the summer.
“But we won’t be able to see each other too often,” Amy explained. She was to work as a counselor at a summer camp nearby while Josh would be working in the woods for Adam’s company.
It turned out to be a magical evening; Amy docked the boat at a popular bar and grill where the three girls enjoyed a dinner together. They were besieged by looks from young men and even a few occasional flirtatious remarks, most aimed at Corrine. The girl rejected the advances with cheerful retorts. They giggled after they returned to the boat about the foolishness shown by the young men.
“Isn’t a great being a girl, Corrine?” Amy asked as they cruised in the gathering darkness down to the dock.
Corrine smiled and the three girls joined each other in a group hug. Yes, it indeed was great!
*****
The break from school work was welcomed by Corrine as she settled into a routine of working mornings on designing and making dresses that had been commissioned by her wealthy customers, nearly all of whom had been recruited by her enthusiastic supporter, Emily Penney. It appeared Corrine’s rejection of Jason Penney’s business offer and his attempted sexual advances had not ended the Penney family’s friendship and support. Corrine’s mother had opened up a room that lay vacant – except for some minor storage – in the back of the shop. With income from her earlier orders, Corrine had purchased a used, but more efficient, sewing machine and jury-rigged assorted rejected furniture pieces to create working space.
In the afternoons, Corrine handled her hair appointments; even though she was now presenting herself as Corrine, she had lost none of her personal customers. Instead, they were all supportive and impressed with her transformation into a lovely woman. Her schedule made for a busy life, but Debbie Sullivan urged her new daughter to “take some time off for herself” and accommodated that recommendation by closing the shop at 1 p.m. on Saturdays. She also refused to let Corrine work on Sundays in the dress shop. “You need your beauty rest, dear,” she ordered.
Most Saturday nights, and often on Sundays, Corrine joined with Maureen. They’d get together for a dinner and maybe take in a movie; sometimes they’d sit and talk for hours, it seemed, in a coffee shop, each with their tablets. Corrine usually attracted the most attention, which bothered her greatly since she was concerned about hurting Maureen’s feelings. One Saturday night, Maureen finally got a date – arranged, it appeared, by her cousin Will who was about her same age. He had asked if Maureen had a girlfriend who might be free to be his “date” for the night the night. They’d go out as a foursome to a concert by a favorite group at the Pabst Theatre.
Corrine was reluctant since she felt loyal to Adam; the two had been calling each other nightly and he was promising to come down to Milwaukee for the city’s annual “Summerfest,” often billed as the nation’s largest music festival, at the end of June. Amy and Josh were coming as well for a weekend of “fun.”
“He knows you have a boyfriend, Corrine,” Maureen said. “Please join us, just for the night.”
In the end, she agreed, mainly because she didn’t want to disappoint her friend who was eager to develop a relationship with a boy. Corrine was afraid her friend might become intimidated by her own easy ability to win the attention of the male sex, even though her time as a girl was only beginning.
The decision, however, bothered Corrine, and she wondered whether she should tell Adam that she would be going out with another young man.
“You don’t need to ask Adam’s permission to go out, dear,” Debbie Sullivan advised her daughter.
“It’s not a matter of asking his permission, mother, but I just think he should know about it.”
“Why? You’re not his fiancée are you? He hasn’t given you a ring, has he? And, how do you know he isn’t dating someone else up there in his hometown?”
“True,” Corrine agreed. She and Adam had never agreed that their brief time together was the beginning of an exclusive relationship.
“You’re assuming a lot, dear,” Debbie said. “Go out and enjoy the concert. It doesn’t hurt to get to know lots of young men. You’re still young. If Adam asks what you’re doing this weekend, tell him. It’s always good to be honest, and tell it’s because you wanted to go to the concert and joined with Maureen and her friends.”
Corrine felt relieved after the conversation with her mother. She was so happy she got along with her mother so well, since she knew several girls who were hardly on speaking terms with their own mothers.
“Great, go and have a marvelous time,” Adam said quickly after she told him of her acceptance of a concert date during their phone call that evening. Corrine was surprised he didn’t sound jealous, having not questioned her more completely on the details.
“I wish you were here to go with me, Adam,” she said, seeking to gain another response from him.
“Me too, and I wish you were here with me this weekend,” he replied.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“The Rotary Club is having its annual Founders Day Dance at the Elks Club Hall, and I’m on the committee. It’d be great to have you here as my dance partner,” he said.
“I’d love that, but I’m not much of a dancer,” she replied. “I’ve not had much experience dancing.”
“I’m not either, but we could learn together.”
“Who will you dance with Saturday night, Adam?” she asked, suddenly regretting the question since it reflected a tinge of jealousy that she unexpectedly felt when he mentioned he’d be at a dance without her.
“Hmmm. That’s a good question, sweetie. I got my eye on this one girl who’s hot,” he teased.
“Adam, forget I asked. It’s none of my business who you dance with,” she said, obviously not sensing the teasing nature of his comment.
“The problem is,” Adam said. “She’s not here but she’s down there in that big city.”
“Oh Adam,” she retorted. “Don’t do that.”
“Were you just a bit jealous, sweetie?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. Well, maybe a little bit,” she admitted.
He laughed. “I thought so, but then so am I, but I know we’re really not engaged or even pinned, so we should go out and have fun.”
“OK, you’re right.”
“Just don’t have too much fun!”
She laughed. “Nor you.”
“I think I love you, Corrine.”
“I love you, too, Adam.”
“Can’t wait to see you on our Fourth of July,” he said.
They made noisy smooch kisses to each other and hung up. Corrine felt a warm flush and realized that her panties had grown moist.
She lay back on her bed, dressed only in her panties and a light cami, imagining herself in the arms of Adam gracefully circling about the floor to a Strauss waltz at a Victorian Era dance. Both were elegantly dressed, she in a multilayered gown and he in tails. She fell into a contented sleep.
*****
Helen Comstock came home to Milwaukee for the summer for her internship. Corrine had told her during their phone chats that she was now living fulltime as a woman, a fact that at first surprised Helen. She recovered quickly, however, commenting, “I’m sure you’re a very attractive woman, but I’m still not used to calling ‘Corrine’.”
When the two first met in early June, shortly after Helen’s return to the city, Helen looked at her friend as they gathered at the lakefront coffee house. “Wow. You’re absolutely beautiful.”
They hugged tightly as two long-separated girlfriends might.
“It’s so good to see you, Helen,” Corrine said, still continuing to hold her friend closely.
“You feel so nice in my arms and you smell so nice, too. You’ll need to give me some fashion tips. I’m such a dunce in dressing up. I have no style, Corrine.”
“You’re just naturally pretty in whatever you wear, Helen,” Corrine said truthfully. “Some girls really don’t need lots of makeup or stylish clothes. Besides, it’s what you feel is important.”
“You always have been a sweet friend.”
It was a warm day and the two took their coffees to an outdoor table, finding a table in the shade of a tree. The bright morning sun sparkled in reflection off the blue waters of Lake Michigan; there was little breeze, rare for early June when easterly winds off the cold waters of the lake so chilled the air that outdoor seating was for only the hardiest of souls. Helen was dressed casually in a simple sleeveless print dress that went to just above her knees, a style that obviously fit the dress-down environment of a nonprofit agency like the ACLU. Corrine, of course, was dressed more stylishly, as she had to return to her mother’s salon for hairdressing appointments. She also was to measure a prominent woman (referred to her by Emily Penney) for a gown in the afternoon.
Corrine asked if Lionel was still due to come to Milwaukee for a visit.
“He’ll be here for a few days around the Fourth of July,” she said.
“He sounds like a gem, Helen.”
“Until Lionel came along, I’ve never had a closer friend than you, Corey . . . ah . . . Corrine,” she said giggling over her gender stumble.
“I was so flattered by your friendship to me in high school. No one ever seemed to give me a second notice then, except maybe to ridicule me. But you did seem welcoming to me. I even pondered whether I could be your boyfriend. Wouldn’t that be a joke?” Corrine said.
“Not really,” Helen replied. “I wondered why you didn’t ask me for a date.”
“Me?”
“Yes, why not? Just ‘cause I was supposed to be the ‘queen’ of the school shouldn’t have stopped you.”
“I feared you’d laugh at me. After all you had all those hunks after you.”
“I know, but they’re so full of themselves and boring. You were smart, sweet, sensitive and believe it or not lots more fun,” Helen said.
“Well, now that you have Lionel and I have a friend in my Adam, we can be girlfriends, right?”
“Right. Let’s get-together while I’m in town. I’d like you to meet Lionel.”
“Cool and maybe you’ll be able to meet Adam, too,” Corrine suggested. “He’s supposed to be in town at that time, too, and we’ll be together a lot.”
*****
The Fourth of July weekend visit by Amy, Josh and Adam proved to be idyllic – a young woman’s dream. The three arrived on Wednesday, the day before the Fourth, in the late afternoon, in time for them to drop Amy off at the Sullivan’s house, where she’d stay for the visit. The two men were to sack in with one of Josh’s Milwaukee friends, who agreed to put them up.
Corrine rushed into Adam’s arms when the three pulled up in his diesel pickup truck, which had been cleaned up and sparkled as if it came right out of the showroom. She had been nervously awaiting their arrival, having debated about what to wear for the meeting. Since it was a warm day, she at first thought about putting on tight shorts that exposed her legs almost up to her pubic hair. No, she realized: that would be too outlandish and perhaps too suggestive that all she wanted to do was to stir his lust. She finally settled for a loose teal skirt with pink highlights that ended just above the knees and a light beige sleeveless top with a v-neck. She tied her hair into a ponytail, tucking the hair through the opening in the rear of a blue Milwaukee Brewers baseball cap.
Amy called almost hourly to keep during the six-hour drive, keeping Corrine informed of their progress. She last called as they had reached Germantown, a far northwest suburb. With the rush hour traffic, Corrine realized the three would not reach her house for at least another forty-five minutes; yet, within a half hour, Corrine found herself sitting on the small front porch of her home, eagerly waiting to greet them.
“It feels so good to be in your arms, Adam,” she said breathing hard, after their prolonged kiss and hug, when the travelers finally arrived.
“I couldn’t wait to hold you, and I’m afraid I may have pushed the limits of that old diesel truck a bit to get here,” he said smiling.
“God, you two are disgusting,” quipped Amy, after witnessing the shameless display of affection.
“Amy, just ‘cause you’ve been with Josh all day, doesn’t mean you can’t let me show Corrine a bit of affection,” Adam said.
“What will your neighbors think, Corrine?” Amy asked.
“Most are OK with Corrine, except for that jerk neighbor of ours,” Corrine said, pointing to the house next door where Mrs. Polakowski seemed to spend twenty-four hours a day peering out her window from behind the curtains; she had long been openly critical of the “sissy boy next door.” In truth, Corrine had been surprised at the positive reaction of most of the neighbors whom had seen the effeminate boy turn himself into a lovely young woman. To be sure, she had been hassled by a group of young hang-abouts who usually made snide comments when she passed them on her walk to and from the salon, but thus far none of the interactions seemed to pose any physical contact.
That evening, the four of them piled into Corrine’s mother’s Ford Focus to head to the lakefront for Milwaukee’s legendary Fourth of July fireworks display, crowding in with the hundreds of thousands of persons along the shoreline. The four were joined by Maureen and her new boyfriend on the hill at South Shore Park, crowding their blankets in among families, rambunctious children and aging couples that jammed the prime viewing spot. Later, Helen and Lionel joined the group, having been invited by Corrine once she and Adam had decided on viewing the fireworks. The friends had to bunch together more tightly to make room for the newcomers, but no one objected.
Helen looked as lovely as ever; the girl had never used much makeup, nor had she worn anything but modest outfits. She carried a natural beauty that accentuated her warm and pleasant disposition. That night she wore dark capri pants and a beige t-shirt emblazoned with the words “Women Rule!” Lionel was tall, lithe and strikingly handsome, bearing a close similarity to President Obama, but without the prominent ears. Helen had positioned herself next to Corrine and the two became chatting. Adam gained the attention of Lionel and the two engaged in an intense conversation.
As dusk descended, the lights of the city across the harbor began to dot the horizon, making even Milwaukee’s relatively modest skyline develop a sparkling look. Corrine shivered a bit from the chill of the evening, the coolness emanating from the still cold waters of Lake Michigan whose waves lapped along the rocky shoreline a hundred or so feet away. Adam wrapped his arms about her as he sensed her brief jitter and she settled in as the thousands on the hillside awaiting the beginning of the spectacular pyrotechnics.
Corrine felt fragile and weak in his arms; it was a welcoming, comforting sensation and something she’d never experienced before. She looked up at him, viewing his quiet demeanor and grew confident in his arms. Instinctively, she wanted to kiss him. He must have sensed her feeling for he looked down at her and moved his face toward hers. The kiss was long, moist and passionate.
“I love you, Corky,” he whispered when they parted.
Corky? Where did that come from? She’d never been “Corky” before, to anyone.
“Dare I love you?” she responded, growing concerned that she could never become the complete woman a strong, healthy man like Adam would require to get him through life. Could he truly be serious about his words of affection, or was he merely intoxicated by the environment of beauty in which they were both situated?
“What a strange question, darling?” he asked, keeping his voice soft and low, so as not to be detected by their four companions on the hillside.
Corrine sat up straight, moving out of his firm hold and looked at him.
“Let’s not ruin the night, Adam. Maybe we should just cool it a bit,” she said.
“I meant what I said, Corky dear. I do love you. Is that so hard to understand?”
“Shhh, darling. We can talk about it later.”
Just then there was a huge boom as a rocket went off, its sound waves shattering the lakefront, and signifying the start of the fireworks.
*****
She was “Corky” to him the rest of the weekend and he considered it a name that only he alone could use. Having overheard him referring to her as Corky, his sister Amy had also addressed her as Corky, only to be chastised by Adam, who warned her in a nearly menacing tone, “Only I can address her with that name, Amy. Don’t ever do so again.”
The three couples spent most of the weekend together. During one of the Summerfest outings, Helen and Lionel joined them as well. They jostled with the throngs at Milwaukee’s massive summer music festival, taking in the many musical groups, browsing the stalls of vendors, partaking of food from some of the city’s finer restaurants that had set up booths and, of course, enjoying a few overpriced drinks. (The festival is careful to watch for underage drinking and thus all four stuck to soda, even though Adam was “legal.”) They giggled and laughed and even danced on the asphalt grounds to the rhythms of some of the groups.
Adam and she were rarely left alone, always being joined either by his sister and Josh or Maureen and her boyfriend or sometimes by all. Corrine was both pleased and disappointed by their lack of privacy, having been afraid to continue the conversation over her discomfort with Adam’s attentions, yet excited to feel herself deep in his embrace as his lover. They parted each day with innocent goodnight kisses and hugs.
Even though Amy had the spare bedroom in which to sleep each night, she chose to climb into bed with Corrine. Their embraces were long and comforting, but hardly sexual as they once had been.
“My brother’s in love with you, Corrine,” Amy whispered into Corrine’s ear as they snuggled together.
“He told me, and I don’t know what to do. I’m still not a complete woman so how can he love me?”
“But you will be, once you have your operation,” Amy said.
“I can never give him children, Amy, and he deserves that,” she said, beginning to cry.
Amy let her friend sob softly, holding her tightly.
“He truly loves you. Please don’t reject him too easily. I’ve never seen him so taken with a girl before and he’s had plenty of chances back home.”
Corrine merely nodded and said nothing; soon Amy fell asleep and Corrine moved away from her and tried to sleep herself. For a while, all she could do was to think about the possible disappointment for Adam in the future when the reality sunk in that she never could provide him with a family. She figured she must break off the relationship; Adam deserved a real woman.
*****
"No, Adam, not now, please," Corrine said, pushing him away as he attempted to hug her when he arrived Sunday morning, along with Josh, at the Sullivan household to pick up Amy before the four began their long drive back to Pine Valley. Corrine and Adam stood in front of the Sullivan home, awaiting Amy, who was hurriedly packing up her clothes in the house. The two girls had dawdled in bed together, enjoying each other's embrace, delaying Amy in packing for the return trip.
He looked surprised at her obvious rejection of his advances.
"Are you sick, or something, Corky?" He asked. "You must be. Your eyes are so red."
"I didn't get much sleep last night," she said.
"I'm sorry, honey, but something else is wrong, isn't it?"
Corrine looked at the husky young man standing before her. He was wearing shorts that exposed his muscular, tanned legs and a gray tee-shirt with the words, "Hartmann Foresters," emblazoned across the front. It was tight on his hard body and the sight was intoxicating. She was trying to end the relationship with the absolute wonderful man, and yet she couldn't resist him. She yearned to be held against his rock-solid frame, to feel his hands run up and down her slender back and to touch his lips with hers so that she could taste him. Her desire was taking charge, overriding her resolve to bring a finish to this marvelous interlude in her life.
She said nothing to Adam and instead looked away from him, wishing Amy would hurry to load her suitcase in the rear bed of the pickup along with the traveling bags so that the four could leave her home.
"Are you mad at me?" He queried.
"Oh no, Adam, I could never be mad at you. Never. It's just . . . " her words trailed off, as she became unsure as to what she wanted to say.
"Then, what is it?" He persisted.
"It's nothing. Maybe it's just a girl thing," she said, hoping that he might attribute her attempt at being cold and stand-offish to female hormones causing troubles with her mood.
"I'm sure it's something, but Corky don't you think we should have one last kiss before I leave, in memory of the most wonderful weekend I think we both enjoyed. Or, at least, I had. I thought you enjoyed it, too."
"Oh, I did, Adam. I did. It was awesome."
Realizing that she couldn't let him begin the trip on such a sad note, she moved close to him, and raised her mouth to meet his; he pulled her toward him and their lips met and soon they were linked together in a warm embrace. She felt his unshaven face, the bristles of his beard chafing her soft skin and smelled the subtle scent of a male deodorant, and the feel of his body made Corrine grow weak in his arms. She was meant to be in his arms, she realized.
"Enough of that you two," yelled Amy as she and Josh walked out of Corrine's home with Amy's suitcase and a smaller bag.
The two didn't immediately disengage bringing another cry from Amy: "What will Amy's neighbors think? Doing this is broad daylight on a Sunday morning when people should be in church."
Corrine and Adam broke their impassioned hug. After prolonged kisses and farewell hugs, the four climbed into the cab of the pickup. Corrine watched as the pickup drove down Dover Street to the stop sign at Kinnickinnic, its left rear light blinking to signal a left turn onto the busy street on its way to the freeway.
She felt she would remember that sight forever. She had been unable to tell Adam they could no longer be lovers, but she felt she had to break it off, for Adam's own best future. It hadn't really been right for her to break it off that morning after such a great weekend. Perhaps next time.
*****
At first, Corrine couldn’t bring herself to break off the relationship. The time never felt right; besides, Adam was always so sweet during their nightly calls. Several times, she sent out hints to Adam, suggesting the difficulties the two might have to endure due to her questionable gender status, but he refused to pick up on the topic.
After several weeks, Corrine finally tried to be more pointed in her words, “You know, Adam, I’m several years away from being a woman you can make love to.”
“I love you now. That’s all I need,” he said.
“But, you’re a man who needs satisfaction?”
“Yes, and I get so passionate for you, Corrine, even if I can’t have you in that way right now. Let’s wait for that, dear. It’ll be so much sweeter after the wait.”
“You’re sure about that?” she asked.
He laughed. “I’m sure. By the way, our company is going to get an award from the environmental group up here for our logging practices. They are citing us for being careful in how we cut and market our timber while still making a profit.”
“Congratulations,” she said, acknowledging to herself that he wanted to change the subject.
“Thank you.”
They hung up with the usual phone line kisses. While Corrine welcomed Adam’s openness to her gender status, she wondered if he truly could be satisfied with her, even after the operation. While some girls truly did experience great sexual satisfaction in love-making after the surgery, some did not and had difficulty getting to orgasm. If that were the case with her, Corrine wondered whether Adam would continue to be happy with her.
It made for uneasy sleep that night. As so often happened in such nightly musings, her mind scooted off into a whole host of new troubles and worries, the most serious of which was the thought that perhaps Adam was getting some sex to satisfy his urges, likely from some local girl who was easy with her favors. Or, perhaps, she feared, her paranoid senses growing more intense, Adam had returned to his old girlfriend, with whom she was certain, he had slept with regularly. If so, why was Adam still expressing his love for her? Would it be only to satisfy some prurient desires to explore love-making with such gender-confused body as her own?
She knew Adam had healthy sexual habits from the hugs they had both enjoyed; he often grew to heavy breathing and she could feel his manhood push into her tummy as they embraced. She suspected he had masturbated often after their hug-filled meetings. Despite all her misgivings, Corrine was in love with him and he said he loved her. Could such love be real?
*****
“My Lionel really liked your boyfriend, Corrine,” Helen Comstock told her during the first phone call the two had shared since the Fourth of July visits.
“Adam said he liked Lionel, too,” Corrine replied. “They seemed to get into the most intense conversations, but I never had a chance to ask Adam what that was all about.”
“Lionel filled me in on our long trip back east. It was about Adam’s idea to set up a furniture factory in his small town, using hardwood from the forests in the area.”
“Yes, he’s told me about that idea, but he feels he needs a way to market the items in larger markets so he’s not sure it’s feasible,” Corrine acknowledged.
“You know, Lionel is aiming for an MBA and he had some thoughts for Adam. That’s what they were talking about.”
“Hmmm, sounds cool,” Corrine agreed. “Adam mentioned to me that Lionel had an idea about how to sell his furniture, but we didn’t have much time to talk about it.”
“Those two really hit it off well.”
“Awesome,” Corrine said. “He’s a real charmer, and so polite and well-spoken. And handsome, too.”
“I feel so lucky, but I just wish mom and dad would be more open to him. They never were racist in the past, always telling us kids to be open to everyone. They claim it’ll be difficult to have a mixed-marriage, tough on the kids and that’ll lead to unhappiness,” Helen said.
“There’s lots of mixed marriages these days. Maureen is in the same boat you are, too.”
“I know, but they just keep telling that for my own good I shouldn’t get too close to Lionel. I think it’s real love, Corrine. I do.”
“You need to follow your heart, dear.”
*****
Corrine Sullivan turned nineteen years old that summer, celebrating an early August birthday with little fanfare. Her mother, Debbie, had become worried in the weeks leading up to the birthday, fearing that her daughter had been working too hard. Corrine’s dress business was booming, with orders coming in faster than the girl was able to handle. To meet the demand, Corrine set her alarm each morning for 5 a.m., weekends included, in order to shower and prepare herself for the day ahead; she always insisted on dressing stylishly but comfortably, even if her day was to be spent largely in the backroom of her mother’s salon working on designs and dressmaking. By 6:30 a.m., after a breakfast of yogurt, fruit and a single slice of toast, Corrine headed off down the block for the short walk to her dress studio. She worked steadily until 3 p.m. taking only a short lunch break to consume more fruit and veggies from the small refrigerator her mother kept in the backroom. Even then her day of work wasn’t done; at 3:30 p.m., she moved to the salon to do hair appointments until the last customer left about 6 p.m.
“No young lady should work as hard as you do, Corrine,” her mother said after several weeks of observing her daughter appear to lose weight and to grow less cheerful, sometimes even uncharacteristically curt with customers.
“That’s OK, mom. I need to make money now,” Corrine replied.
“At least, you can stop working in the salon, dear, and concentrate on your dress business.”
“No, mother, I’d hate to disappoint my customers and besides you need my help for your business,” Corrine said.
Debbie Sullivan shook her head. “Look, Corrine. This has been my most profitable year ever and I’m doing fine, and a lot of our success is due to you. But you’ve shown me that I need to build a younger clientele and Maria Sanchez has become available now for fulltime work. She’s young and knows the younger styles, too.”
“Mom, Maria is great, but I need to pile up as much money as I can for my surgeries. I want to be a complete woman as soon as I can,” Corrine said. Even though she was pushing Adam out of her life, she suspected her motivation to speed up her feminization schedule had been prompted illogically by her hopes to satisfy that handsome logger.
“But if you don’t slow down, you won’t be much good to anyone. You should find time to go out and have some fun for yourself.”
“Maureen and I are going out Saturday night to Festa Italiana at the lakefront,” Corrine said, hoping that might quiet her mother’s nagging concerns.
In fact, since Adam returned to his home, the coming outing with Maureen would be the first bit of socializing Corrine would be doing. Besides the nightly calls with Adam, Corrine had become text buddies and had many long phone calls with Maureen, who was mooning over the breakup with her boyfriend. Corrine felt both a fondness and frustration with her friend, who had become more and more self-chastising. It didn’t help that her father nagged her about her appearance, particularly claiming "Maureen, you’re fat” and that “no man would ever want you.” Corrine tried to argue with her friend, claiming that Maureen was a lovely, warm-hearted girl who was not “fat.” But, Maureen would have none of that, always noting she weighed several pounds over the “recommended weight” for a girl of her age and height. Corrine’s further argument that Maureen’s large-boned body, ironically due to her father’s own husky frame, required a few extra pounds, also did little to restore the girl’s self-esteem. It was Corrine who suggested going to the late July ethnic festival in the hope a night out where the two girls might meet other young people would cheer her friend up.
“Well, that’s a start, dear, but you must take more time for yourself,” Debbie said.
“I’m going to be getting some help in my dress studio, mom,” Corrine said. “Maureen wants to come in a few days a week to help out, you know making calls, setting up appointments and doing my books. She doesn’t want any pay, but I’m going to pay her anyway.”
Corrine was excited that her friend would be joining her business; while Maureen was not a particularly design-conscious person, she had a level head and was much better organized than Corrine herself. Besides relieving much of the day-to-day pressures, Maureen’s presence would offer a chance for some social interchange while they worked.
Festa Italiana is one of the many ethnic festivals that occupy Milwaukee’s huge Summerfest grounds for a weekend each summer; it brings in several hundred thousand fans from nearby Midwestern states, mainly those of Italian heritage. Several traditional groups from Italy are on show, along with some 25 other bands, mainly playing oldies. Thus, the crowd is mainly gray-haired women and balding, chubby men, with a smattering of younger folks.
Both Maureen and Corrine preferred the older music and the annual festival was always a “must” for both of them. Saturday was warm, but both girls carried light jackets to be ready in case a chill might develop as it grew dark and a breeze might develop off the cold water of Lake Michigan. The two filled up on Italian foods, with Maureen commenting, “Well, I may as well eat and enjoy myself. Maybe some Italian guy might like a fat girl.”
Corrine chastised her friend, whose concern with her weight was becoming an obsession. “You’re not fat and you’re a perfectly lovely girl,” she said.
They had found an empty picnic table on the lakeshore to finish off calzones, when two young men approached and asked, “Mind if we share your table? The others seem all full.”
Maureen looked up from her dessert and noticed both were carrying paper plates with pizza and cups of beer. “Not at all. We’ve got room.”
Maureen and Corrine were sitting opposite each other at one end of the table, and the two boys did the same, the shorter, swarthy one sitting on the same side with Maureen, with the other boy, taller and light-complexioned, sitting on Corrine’s side. Both girls noticed that the boys did not sit at one end, but rather nearer to the middle and closer to the girls.
The boys must have noticed the skeptical looks from the girls and the shorter one quickly said, “Oh, we just thought we’d leave the other end of the table for anyone else needing a seat.”
Corrine wondered if that was the real reason for their choice of seating, or if they had other motivations, namely that of flirting with them. Maureen, however, smiled at the boy who spoke.
“That’s being considerate,” she said. “Are you boys having fun?”
“Not too much yet. This music’s kind of corny,” the shorter boy said.
“Well we like it,” Corrine said, pointedly, feeling somewhat violated by the way the young men seemed to take it for granted that the girls would welcome their attention.
“I’m sorry. Tony shouldn’t have said that,” said the other boy. “I like some of it, especially that one Italian guy who sings a few operatic tunes along with the pop stuff. He’s got quite a voice.”
“Oh you mean Mario Fruzzetti. Yes, he’s my favorite,” Corrine said.
The boy smiled. “By the way, I’m Craig, and this is my friend, Tony. We’re both from Chicago and this is our first time here. It’s really great!”
“I thought you weren’t having much fun,” Maureen said, with a giggle.
“Actually it is pretty good,” said the first boy. “And what are your names, may I ask?”
“I’m Maureen and this is my friend Corrine.” She smiled at both the boys.
“Nice meeting you,” Tony said.
For the rest of the night, the two girls joined with the two young men in visiting the many booths of vendors and listening to various singing groups, including the plethora of Italian tenors all trying to duplicate the singing of Frank Sinatra or Tony Bennett. The four of them giggled and even tried several times to dance between the seats and tables when the rhythms seemed to demand it.
Tony, who wore a muscle shirt and shorts, had thick, muscular arms and legs, matted with black hair. He worked for his father’s produce business in Chicago, and from the way in which the young man was spending money it appeared he came from a prosperous family. Craig, on the other hand, was slender; he wore a loose fitting open collared shirt and shorts. His arms and legs were sinewy and well-formed. He said he was a student at Roosevelt University in the Chicago Loop where he was a political science major. The two boys said they were classmates in high school and both played on the baseball team.
The evening ended with the gigantic fireworks display on the lakefront; and the four young people watched in awe from the huge rocks that lined the shore, each girl being held in the arms of the boys, ostensibly to protect them from tumbling into the lake. When a particular loud, colorful burst of pyrotechnics appeared, Craig pulled Corrine closer and attempted to kiss her.
“No, Craig. I have a boyfriend,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I just thought . . .” he said.
“I am in love but my boyfriend is working 300 miles away right now,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized and broke off his intimate hold on her.
Maureen, however, exchanged email addresses with Tony at the evening’s end. Perhaps there might be romance in the girl’s life at last.
(To Be Continued)
(Thanks to Eric for using his proofreading skills to help make this a better story.)
Chapter 11 – Romance and a Business Proposition
As August began, Corrine agreed to step away from her hairdresser duties and concentrate solely on her business. Part of her decision was prompted by word that Maria Sanchez desperately needed the job, having recently been deserted by her husband, leaving her alone with a three-year-old child. Maria had occasionally worked at Debbie’s Salon when needed, and Corrine had liked her and knew she would be a great addition. Corrine spent time in the last week of July to show Maria several of her styles and to give her hints on the special demands of some of the customers whom she’d inherit from Corrine.
Freed of the need to spend more than an hour every morning to prepare her makeup, do her hair and pretty herself up for the afternoon work at the salon, Corrine dressed quickly in the morning following her shower, tied her long hair in a bun and put on a light gray or beige shift over her panties and bra. She wore the lightest clothing possible, since the room she used for dressmaking at the rear of her mother’s salon often became stifling. The room got little benefit from the ancient air conditioning system in the building. On days when she was expecting customers, she fixed herself up a bit more formally, usually wearing a cotton skirt and sleeveless blouse while applying additional makeup and brushing her hair so that it bobbed a bit in the back.
“I can’t believe you get up so early in the morning,” her mother said, commenting on Corrine’s practice of rising at five o’clock.
“I guess I’m eager to get to work,” she commented. It was the truth. Corrine was captivated with the idea of creating a business of her own, of designing outfits for the most discriminating of women and of modeling her creations herself.
She began her workday at six-thirty, finding time to attend to detail work or to tap on all her creativity to develop a design. She found designing to be a frustrating and sometimes even hopeless task. There were times she felt she could never come up with a design, having tried numerous sketches at her board and in the process covering the floor around her with scraps of paper. Several times, she gave up and walked out of the studio, going several shop fronts north to the coffee shop for a fresh cup of coffee and one of their cranberry-filled muffins.
“Mornin’ Corrine,” said a bright-eyed, bespectacled and studious looking young man. “Your usual?”
“Yeah, Leon. I need the calories to give me inspiration,” she said, laughing.
“Well, you artists are always looking for an excuse for your vices. Some turn to drink. I think the muffin is a better choice,” he laughed.
Finding a small table near the window, she settled down. Spying several acquaintances – a police officer, a lawyer and two young women from the local bank – she acknowledged them with a nod of her head and settled in to reflect. The workers and owners of neighboring businesses knew of her transitioning and, as far as she could determine, had accepted her as Corrine. She had feared there’d be a terrible reaction, but they all knew that Corrine’s very presence, first as a well-regarded hairdresser and now as a budding dressmaker who brought wealthy clients into the business district, had been good for business.
Sometimes, she would join one of her acquaintances for the morning snack but on this morning she wanted to sit and reflect. Corrine’s success in her business bothered her; she found the work to be satisfying and strangely enjoyable. Upon the completion of a design, she usually felt cautiously pleased that it would work; then, when the customer gushed over the result, she became positively overjoyed.
“I hate being so vain,” she scolded herself. “Of what possible social good is bringing joy to a bunch of pampered rich ladies?”
Corrine always claimed to want to go into politics, government service or social work in order to help people out. Now, she found herself being captivated by playing to the vanity of the wealthy. And she was liking it.
Her thoughts drifted to Adam. Oh how she admired him. Yet, he was engaged in a profession that she had thought would be destroying the environment, that of being a logger. She argued with herself about that, but realized Adam might actually be working to protecting the forests by following good logging practices and setting an example for other loggers. Could that example be applied to dressmaking? What would stop her from being a successful dress designer and still working to fulfill her dream for justice and peace in the community and in the world?
Back at the studio, her creative juices awakened by her trip to the coffee shop, she sat down at her board and, almost without thinking, sketched out a gown. She stood up and looked at it and smiled. “That’s it, I got it,” she said aloud, pleased that she had found a design that would work.
*****
“Every time I look at you Corrine, I hate you,” Maureen said later the morning. She had been busy working on the accounts that she had developed for the business.
“Hate me?” Corrine said, astonished by her friend’s remarks. Then she looked at Maureen and saw she was smiling.
“Yes, hate you! Here you are this morning with hardly any makeup on and wearing plain old work clothes and you look absolutely beautiful. How could a girl not be jealous of you?”
“Oh, come on. I’m not all that beautiful. Cheeze.”
“Of course you are, but I love you just the same,” Maureen said.
“You’re a dear, Maureen, and I don’t know how to thank you for helping to get this business organized. I certainly am not as organized as you.”
The two returned to their chores; Corrine was putting the finishing touches on a dress that had been ordered by another of Emily Penney’s friends and Maureen returned to her computer to complete the accounts.
“What do you hear from Tony?” Corrine asked a bit later as the two took a break for coffee.
“Oh, we’ve been talking almost every day and he and Craig are planning to come up for Irish Fest. They were hoping you’d join us so we’d have a foursome,” Maureen said, referring to the two young men from Chicago whom the girls met a few weeks earlier at Festa Italiana.
“I don’t know about that. I hate to be disloyal to Adam.”
“Craig’s not going to bite. He knows you already have a boyfriend. Just come with us. It’ll be fun.”
Maureen explained that the two young men had grown to enjoy coming to Milwaukee’s string of ethnic festivals on Summerfest grounds. She argued that Corrine and Craig had gotten along together quite well and that both enjoyed talking politics. Corrine, however, wasn’t sure she should accompany them. It just didn’t feel right.
“Look, I’ll tell Adam about your request the next time we talk, probably tonight, and if he seems the least bit jealous, I won’t do it,” Corrine said.
“I guess that’s fair,” Maureen nodded.
As the day wore on, Corrine began to worry about how she’d broach the subject with Adam, even though he had earlier said she was free to date anyone else while they were apart. He didn’t sound like the jealous type, but then didn’t he break off a relationship over his then girlfriend’s dalliances? Her stomach churned as she awaited Adam’s call that finally came just after ten o’clock.
Adam apparently sensed her discomfort from the start of the phone call and asked several minutes, “What’s bothering you, Corky?”
She loved it when he called her Corky; it seemed so personal and reflective of the passion he must have felt toward her. She almost said, “nothing,” but instead blurted out the suggestion by Maureen that she “double-date” for Irish Fest with a boy from Chicago named Craig. She raced through her words and finished with a question: “What do you think I should do?”
Adam was silent for a minute before replying, “Do what you want. You don’t need my permission.”
His answer was stated coldly and she felt turned off.
“I won’t do it then,” she said quickly.
“No. Go if you want,” he repeated.
“You don’t like the idea.”
“Corky. Listen to me. We’ve already had this discussion, haven’t we?”
“Yes, Adam, I guess we did,” she said, remembering the talk they’d had when Corrine had accepted the concert date earlier in the summer.
“At that time, I said you should go and enjoy. I meant it then and I still mean it now. I’m sorry. Look we’re 300 miles apart and we should both be free to enjoy ourselves, right?”
“I guess.”
“Look I trust you, Corky.”
“And I trust you, Adam.”
“My darling. I can’t wait to see you.”
“You’re sweet.”
Adam then asked: “Do you think you’ll be able to get here for the Labor Day weekend?” For several days, Adam had been saying during their phone conversations that he’d hoped she could get away for a few days and come to Pine Valley for a visit. While Corrine felt it would probably be good for her to have a few days away from the dress shop, she was wary of spending time with him and Amy and the rest of their family. The others in the family were not aware of her gender status and she was concerned about their reaction should they find out.
“It’s going to be hard to get away, Adam, I have so many orders to fill,” she said, realizing it was an excuse.
“You can take the bus to Spooner and we’ll pick you up, and then you can go back the day after Labor Day with Josh and Amy when they drive back to begin school,” he said.
After a few minutes of Adam’s continued urging, Corrine finally agreed, “OK Adam, I’ll see what I can arrange.”
“Good. I can hardly wait!”
*****
Corrine’s calls with Adam became hotly sensual as the days neared before her departure for Pine Valley. She began to wonder whether real sexual intercourse could ever equal the arousal she felt each night as she and Adam grew more explicit in their verbal love-making. Even though hormones had made it nearly impossible to grow hard, her penis did stiffen a bit and eventually begin secreting to dampen her panties; she was getting moist enough to insert a pad into her panties each night as they began their calls. Adam grew breathless as the intensity of their mutual desires heightened and she knew he must have masturbated that night in his bed as he sought to get to sleep, excited by his admiration for her body.
Having never experienced sex – either in her male or female modes – she had no idea whether she’d feel as pleased as she did during the nightly phone calls. She could hardly wait to be a total woman and feel Adam enter her, and kept wondering whether she could hasten her sexual reassignment surgery.
As her bus taking her to Spooner rolled up Highway 53 Corrine looked in awe at the hilly countryside in which acres of dairy farms gave way to dense forests as they continued north. Corrine had tried reading a romance novel by Debbie Macomber, one of her favorite authors, but found it hard to concentrate. It was the last leg of a nearly eight-hour trip (including the changing of buses at Eau Claire) and she was tired and stiff. Yet, her heart was racing at full speed. She had hoped to find time to sleep on the trip, but outside of an occasional snooze, her mind kept thinking about Adam, about being in his arms and also about the reaction of his family to her. She was about five years younger than he was and she was strictly a city girl at heart, certainly not the sturdy type of woman that she felt the folks of a logging area might see as adequate. She was soft, physically not strong and quite fragile. Certainly they would not find her adequate for Adam, she reasoned.
*****
Adam greeted her enthusiastically and she stepped off the bus at Spooner, rushing past several others and scooping her up in his arms. They kissed and hugged as families around them held similar reunions, though none as demonstrative and passionate as theirs. Gathering up her bag, Adam led her to his pickup truck; she could see he had washed it again, obviously in honor of her visit. As Adam drove along the two-lane country highway, she expressed worry as to how his family would take to her.
“They’ll be fine, darling. They all know both Amy and I adore you,” he assured her.
Her concern grew as Adam drove up the long gravel road to the Hoffmann family home. Early evening shadows cast the house in a sheet of gray, but Corrine was impressed how smartly the home – apparently built in the frame, square farmhouse style so typical of the Wisconsin countryside – had been maintained. Its white clapboard siding was highlighted by a teal trim; a mixture of colorful flower beds surrounded the place.
When Adam stopped the pickup, Corrine hesitated a moment, suddenly losing her confidence; she was about to tell Adam to take her back to Spooner so she could get a return bus home. He noted her hesitation and walked around to open the door and assisted her out of the car. Even before she stepped down from the cab of the truck, she noticed an older couple standing on the porch, obviously Adam’s parents. They were smiling.
The Hoffmann family welcomed Corrine with enthusiasm with one exception: Adam and Amy’s oldest brother, Arlo, greeted her with a grunt, followed by a comment, “You’re a pretty fancy girl for these parts.”
“Now, be civil, Arlo. You don’t know the girl, yet, and she looks perfectly nice to me,” their mother, Anna, scolded.
Adam merely scowled at his brother; the two were almost spitting images of each other, both of medium height with rugged, muscular bodies and light brown – almost blond hair that appeared unruly -- giving them mischievous, little boy appearances. Both young men were most appealing, although Arlo was unshaven. Adam, on the other hand, was neat, obviously having showered and shaved before driving to Spooner to pick Corrine up, for he still smelled of after-shave. Corrine couldn’t help smiling to herself over the young man’s apparent effort to impress her.
“We’ll see,” Arlo said, his skepticism clearly not satisfied.
Their father, Arnie, was an older version of the two boys, though his head was largely bald; he had a warm, kind smile. “Now, Adam, show Corrine where her room is and then when you’re ready, Corrine, join us in the living room,” he said.
Corrine was to have the room that had been occupied by a second brother, Alex, who was married and had moved out. The room was bright and cheerful with a large window that looked out upon a huge storage shed and large gravel parking lot that contained several semi-trailers with strange-looking cranes. Bright yard-lights had been turned on to illuminate the parking lot and garages, and the light filtered into the bedroom.
“Sorry about all the light, Corrine, but those are light-darkening drapes that you can draw when you want to sleep,” Adam explained. “As you can see we run our business right from here.”
“Is that Alex with his bride?” Corrine asked, pointing to a framed picture on the wall of a tall, slender young man in a tuxedo and a nearly as tall slender blond woman in a wedding gown.
“Yes, he’s the only one of us who is married and mom and dad are hoping I’ll be next,” he said.
“Oh? And who’s to be the lucky bride?”
Adam blushed.
Corrine became angry and scowled at him, “Is that what this is? An audition?”
“No, no, Corky,” he stuttered. “I just wanted a weekend with you. This is nothing else than that. I can’t help what they think. My brother hates you, since you’re a ‘city girl’ and he thinks I need a husky girl to bear a bunch of kids and keep a clean house.”
“I’m not ready to even think about marriage, Adam. I’m not even legally a woman yet. And maybe I wouldn’t want to marry you, anyway.”
“Marriage was the furthest from my mind, Corky. Really, it was.”
She nodded and suggested he leave while she emptied her suitcase and got freshened up before going down to the living room. As she completed hanging up the few clothes she brought for the weekend and getting herself presentable, she wondered if Adam was denying the truth: that he truly contemplated asking her to be his wife. Certainly, that would be unlikely, she figured; after all, the two had only just met. Or was it such an absurd thought?
*****
“You and Adam were pretty cozy with each other,” Amy said on the return trip to Milwaukee. Josh was driving his parents ten-year-old Ford Escape. Amy sat in the front seat, while Corrine occupied the rear seat.
Corrine, who had been looking out the rain-soaked car window, said nothing. She looked at her friend and smiled.
“I’ve never seen Adam so taken with a girl before,” Amy pressed, having turned her body so that she could look at Corrine behind her.
“I wish this rain would stop,” Corrine said, still not responding to Amy’s observation.
“Come on Corrine. What do you think about Adam? You seemed quite content with him.”
“I like him a lot,” Corrine finally said.
“That was pretty obvious. It’s more than merely ‘liking’ methinks.”
Corrine nodded without commenting further. She wasn’t certain what she felt about Adam; it was true that she liked him, she wanted to be with him and she wanted to be snuggled in his arms and kissed and caressed. But was that love? And, is a creature like herself – part woman, part man – entitled to love a man, particularly a man as appealing and attractive as Adam Hoffmann?
“You have a marvelous family, Amy. I really got to like them, even Arlo who didn’t seem to be pleased with me at first.”
Amy adjusted herself trying to comfort herself in the awkward position she had assumed in trying to talk with Corrine as Josh drove; the young man listened to the conversation but said nothing.
“Arlo’s OK,” Amy said. “I think he’s just a bit jealous of Adam who appears to have a lovely girlfriend. Arlo, being the oldest, is still not married and there appears to be no one around for him. Alex is married already and now, it appears, both Adam and I have serious . . . ah . . . I guess it’s safe to say . . . ah . . . lovers.”
As she spoke, Amy looked at Josh. Still the boy said nothing, but it was obvious Josh was beginning to blush.
Corrine laughed. “Adam and I can hardly be considered lovers.”
“You and Adam spent a lot of time Sunday afternoon in his office, I noticed. I’m sure he wasn’t showing you his accounts,” Amy laughed.
“Damn, Amy, quit jumping to conclusions. Actually, he did show me his accounts, since I had told him about my business and had some questions. Adam really is a good businessman.”
Amy nodded. “Maybe you only looked at his books, but I’m sure there was a bit of kissy-kissy going on, too. I think you two are truly in love, even if you can’t consummate it now.”
“Maybe. Maybe.”
*****
With the new school year starting, Corrine was forced to curtail her time in her studio and she began to refuse to take new customers, a decision she felt was necessary but not good for her business growth. She had arranged her class schedule so that she started as early as possible and could return to her studio by one o’clock most afternoons. Recognizing that she was becoming more interested in her dress business than in her earlier plans to get involved in either politics or social work, she decided to begin taking courses in business administration.
Corrine, at first, considered that she wanted to be a positive influence on the world and that any business career was the antithesis to serving the poor and bringing about justice and peace in the world. Now, she began to believe that she could run a successful business and also serve those goals. It was a serious talk she’d had with Adam that weekend, both in the long hours they shared in the office (yes, there was a bit of kissy-kissy, but otherwise it was business) and in the drive that they took in Adam’s pickup to look at the areas where the loggers practiced good forestry practices.
In the conversations they had in those two meetings, Adam had shown her how she could both run a business and be a leader in the social and justice causes she believed in. He had demonstrated to her how loggers provided a valuable service to the environment when they practiced good forestry and also how a successful businessperson can bring about social change in society. Among other things, he told her how his father and himself had persuaded the local county board to resist censoring some books in the public library system. It had been a convincing argument; she recalled as well the example of Jason and Emily Penney whose leadership and monetary contributions had been instrumental and game-changing in civil rights in the Milwaukee area.
On Monday afternoon, the two headed deep into the forest following a rutted, one lane fire road, until they came to log bridge that spanned a fork of the Chippewa River. He pulled the truck off to the side, parked it and led Corrine to a log. They sat together watching flowing, fresh water sparkle as it ran over rocks and submerged logs.
“This is a beautiful site, Adam,” she said. They snuggled tightly against each other, holding hands.
Fortunately, there appeared to be no mosquitoes in the area since a cold snap had recently hit the area, probably decimating the numbers of the bothersome insects. An occasional black fly had to be slapped or brushed away.
“For a fancy city girl, you’re looking right at home out here,” Adam teased.
“Maybe I’m not as fancy a girl as you thought,” she giggled.
“I know that, dear, but you’re such a dainty girl I at first found it hard to think you could fit in up here.”
Corrine looked up at Adam. “Are you wondering whether I could live up here permanently?”
He reddened. It was obvious his questioning of her might have gone too far. It was true that he really was wondering that if they were to marry whether she’d be happy in Pine Valley as the wife of a logger. He knew it was not a question he should be dealing with now, given all the odds against them being married.
Corrine thought she’d change the subject and asked, “What did you and Lionel talk about down in Milwaukee, Adam?”
She referred to the discussion Adam had with Helen Comstock’s boyfriend, Lionel, on the evening as they watched fireworks during Adam’s Fourth of July visit.
“Oh then? Lionel’s really a sharp guy, Corky. He really is. I told him about my furniture company idea and mentioned my concern about marketing the product, and he came up with a really good possibility.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, I could set up one part of the production up here in Pine Valley, and we could cut and fashion the timber into parts. Then we could ship them to a city, like Milwaukee, Chicago or the Twin Cities, where he’d set up a minority company, using inner city residents to assemble the furniture and have a display room right there.”
“Do you think that’s feasible?”
“Not sure, but his thought is that there are some tax benefits and subsidies available for setting up companies in low-income areas where we could recruit workers, and then the finished product would be available to sell right there. Sounds kind of cool, don’t you think?”
Corrine pondered the idea and then smiled.
“What are you smiling about?” he asked.
“That’d mean you’d have to spend more time in Milwaukee, wouldn’t it?”
He laughed. “That’s if we were to set it up in Milwaukee and not, say, St. Paul or Chicago.”
“You better do it in Milwaukee,” she said, giving him a playful punch in the arm.
“We’ll see,” he teased.
The two hugged tightly.
*****
It was confusing. She wasn’t yet a woman in the fullest sense and he was a Northwoods logger; she was a fragile girl who relished lace and silk and high fashions and he drove a utilitarian pickup truck and favored work shoes and plaid shirts. How could they fit together for a long relationship? Absurd as it was, she reflected on life in Pine Valley on the long ride home. It might work, she mused, often smiling as the possibilities flashed through her mind. His family was great as were his friends; they were sincere and direct with not a bit of phoniness she sometimes detected among some her big city acquaintances. Yet, how would they react when they learned that she once had been a boy? It was scary.
The new school year began with a flourish of activity as she began changing her focus; no longer would she pursue a degree in either political science or social work and now would concentrate of business administration while also gaining a minor in history. It was Adam who helped her think through her decision.
“Darling, I know it’s important that you learn more skills that can help you in business, but I know you. You need to feel that what you’re doing is important and will help people,” he said during one of their long talks in the woods.
“I know, Adam, but I have to be able to make a living, too.”
“That’s why you should keep taking some liberal arts courses, just to keep you aware of the world as a whole,” he said.
Corrine accepted his suggestion, all the time wondering how this rural logger could have such a reflective and wise mind. It was what made her love him even more.
Her school schedule promised to be a demanding one at the same time her dress business was taking even more of her time. “Dresses by Corrine” was beginning to be a much-in-demand label in the outfits being worn by the upscale women of Milwaukee. Her friend Maureen saw the increase in work and queried Corrine as to how she could continue to both attend school fulltime and tend to her budding business.
In early October, Corrine got a call on her cell phone from Jason Penney, again asking her to lunch. He stressed to her that the lunch would be “strictly business” and would include another business executive who had an idea he’d like to share.
“My car will pick you up next Thursday at noon, if you’re free,” he suggested.
“That’s OK with my schedule,” Corrine agreed. “How shall I dress?”
“Nothing fancy. Business casual is fine. We’ll be dining at the University Club,” he said, referring to one of the more exclusive private clubs in the city.
*****
Corrine was much less apprehensive about her luncheon with Jason Penney than she had been for the first one. It appeared he was truly interested in engaging her in some sort of business proposition. She been encouraged by Jason’s daughter, Maureen, to accept the invitation; Maureen had helped Corrine organize the finances of her growing business and to take the steps needed to create it as a legitimate business.
“I’ve told dad what a promising business you have here, Corrine. He’s truly interested in it as a business investment,” Maureen told her.
“I guess it won’t hurt to listen to him,” she said, still not totally convinced of the wisdom of meeting Jason again.
“Even though you never told me what happened at that first luncheon, I know my Dad, Corrine, and I know he probably tried to hit on you, but I think you set him straight, and he won’t try that again,” Maureen admitted.
Corrine blushed. “Yes, he made advances and I wasn’t sure why. He knows I’m not a complete girl. Maybe he was just curious and maybe he’s bisexual.”
“He’s probably all of those,” Maureen said. “He’s always been an adventurer, I guess, and you probably represent a new frontier for him.”
“Does your mother know?”
“I don’t know for sure, but she must. Besides they still love each other but I think they give each other a lot of freedom.”
Corrine shook her head. “That’s not for me,” she said. “I think I’m a one-man woman, or, at least I hope to be.”
Maureen smiled. “If that man is to be Adam, you’ll be a truly lucky woman, Corrine.”
“I know. Isn’t he a sweet man?”
The two girls kissed briefly, enjoying each other’s company.
*****
On Thursday morning, Corrine decided after some indecision to wear a cowl neck sweater dress she had purchased off the racks at Macy’s. It was solid navy blue and reached to the knees, not too dressy for her two morning classes, yet fashionable enough for a business luncheon. She wore coffee-colored stockings and flats. She carried a pair of pumps with three-inch heels that she’d switch into for the luncheon.
“Corrine, you look like a successful young business woman,” her mother gushed at breakfast.
“Thanks, mom, I hope I do.”
“You do, honey, and I think it is so wonderful that I can see only a young woman when I look at you these days. You could even put on your old boy things and you’d still be all girl.”
“Thanks, mom, just so everyone else does, too,” she said, wondering if her mother was merely trying to make her feel good.
“You always were a girl, dear, and your true nature is only now showing,” Debbie Sullivan said.
“Oh mom, I love you.”
“And I love my sweet daughter.”
Riding the Green Line bus that morning to the university, Corrine pondered her new life and marveled at how natural she felt. Never had she had more confidence in herself as she headed for her school classes and then the business luncheon as a young woman.
*****
Jason Penney was at a table along a large window that looked out upon a snow-covered Juneau Park with the ice-covered shoreline of Lake Michigan in the background. The scene was muted by the gray day and a light fog that hovered along the shoreline. Nonetheless, it was a dazzling, breathtaking sight. A youngish African-American man with neatly cropped hair was seated with Mr. Penney and both wore dark blue business suits, white shirts and ties. They were a picture of successful businessmen.
Corrine suddenly got a sense of being out-of-place in the Victorian environment, her casual outfit a blight upon the scene. Jason had stressed being “casual,” she recalled.
“So pleased you could make it, Miss Sullivan,” Jason said, rising out of his seat. His companion did the same and Corrine noticed that he towered over the older man.
Corrine nodded her welcome, holding out her hand to be grasped by Jason. “Let me introduce Lawrence Wilkens,” he said.
When the three were seated, Corrine addressed Penney, “You did say to dress casual, Mr. Penney, didn’t you? I feel I should have dressed a bit more formally. This is such a lovely room.”
“You look just great, Corrine, and you sparkle much more than any of the other ladies in the room, I assure you. Doesn’t she, Larry?” Jason said, smiling.
Larry looked at Corrine and offered a warm, welcoming smile. He had bright, dark eyes set into a handsome face. “She’d be lovely in anything, Mr. Penney, just as you said,” the young man said.
Corrine was immediately taken by the young man, by his open, broad face and somewhat shy demeanor.
They all selected a light meal off the menu, along with iced tea in lieu of anything alcoholic. They all turned down desserts. “All us girls must watch our waistlines, mustn’t we?” Jason quipped.
The conversation during the meal amounted to small talk, though Corrine learned that Larry Wilkens came from a broken family in Milwaukee’s inner city but broke out of his dysfunctional upbringing thanks to a scholarship, internships and loans to end up with an MBA from Northwestern University.
“Larry’s involved in providing investment dollars for startups, Corrine, and he was most interested in meeting you to discuss your budding dress business,” Jason explained.
Corrine expected that Jason Penney had something like this in mind when she accepted the invitation; right now she was not inclined to consider such a proposal. Yet, as Larry explained his funding operation and mentioned how excited he was at Corrine’s great success, the prospect of actually following through on such an idea grew tempting.
*****
Three days later, Corrine found herself in Lawrence Wilkins’ storefront office on Martin Luther King Jr. Drive, having been convinced by her mother that she ought to at least investigate the feasibility of entering into such a major undertaking. Dutifully, Corrine did an extensive online search on both Wilkins and Jason Penney and she was impressed with what she learned. While Corrine had gotten to know the Penney family quite well, she hadn’t really known how he came to be so wealthy, whether he was some sort of a big shot hustler or had come by his considerable good fortune more directly. Jason Penney had a solid pedigree and built a respected place in Milwaukee’s investment community; he was a leading Democrat and a heavy contributor to many civil rights and social justice agencies. Wilkins had been tagged as one of the bright young entrepreneurs in the city’s African-American community and had already been responsible for several of the new businesses sprouting up in the rejuvenated neighborhood.
“Once Devastated Area May Have Found Its Savior,” was the headline in the city’s main business weekly on a story profiling Wilkins.
Wilkins’ office was unexpectedly modest, taking up the back half of a storefront location. The furniture was a mismatched collection obviously picked up at second-hand stores; a few portable tables contained sketches and blueprints and a new iMac computer was on a small table, next to a desk covered with papers.
“Sorry about the mess, Miss Sullivan,” Wilkins said in escorting her into the room and beckoning she sit at chair next to his desk.
“No problem, it looks like you’ve got a busy place here,” she smiled.
“We’re in the midst of completing a proposal which explains part of the mess.”
Wilkins was dressed impeccably, wearing a navy blue suit that fit his trim, athletic body. His smile was warm and affecting and Corrine felt herself drawn to the man, an emotion that scared her and made her feel almost cheap. It wasn’t that she didn’t desire getting to know Larry Wilkins better; the fact was that she paid far more attention to her appearance for this business meeting with Wilkins than she had for the luncheon date at the University Club. She wore a dark violet pencil skirt and a matching jacket over a pink blouse with a lace bodice; she wore coffee-colored stockings and sensible navy blue pumps with a three-inch heel. She wore her hair straight with a bob and cute bangs that spread across her forehead.
“I’m embarrassed to bring such a lovely woman into this disorder, Miss Sullivan,” Wilkins said.
Corrine blushed, careful to smooth her skirt as she sat in a comfortable side chair in the office, crossing her legs so that her skirt rose to show a hint of inner thigh. She smiled as the man quickly diverted his eyes to avoid seeing the loveliness of her legs, realizing that she raised the sexual desires of most men.
“Well, let’s get down to business, Miss Sullivan, or may I call you Corrine?”
“Please do,” she said.
“Good, and I’m Larry, OK?”
Corrine nodded, hoping to turn their meeting from its sexual overtones and onto the business Larry Wilkins had suggested they discuss: the creating of a business with financial support from Wilkins and his associates.
“First of all, Larry,” Corrine began, “I’m aware that Jason told you of my special status, my gender situation, and I’m wondering why you’re still interested in investing in someone like me.”
“Corrine, you’re a woman to me, and to everyone who sees you, so I wouldn’t worry about that. And I expect we’ll only know you as a woman.”
“It’s not exactly been a secret that I’m in transition, even though only a few truly know my background. I’m not interested in blabbing it around, nor am I interested in my ‘difference’ being exploited, if that’s what you had in mind.”
“Whoa, hold on there. I’m not interested in exploiting anyone here,” he said, showing a momentary touch of anger.
“Just so we understand each other, Larry.”
“I’m sure we do,” he said. Corrine nodded at his affirmation. In truth, based on what she had learned in her research, she was convinced he was not planning to use her trans status as a gimmick to market the business.
“Now, here’s what we’re thinking,” Wilkins said.
As he outlined the idea, Corrine began to question her original inclination to turn down the proposal; it deserved closer examination. The plan seemed to fulfill all of Corrine’s natural instincts to spend her life doing positive, worthwhile work, rather than to merely feed on whims and fancies of wealthy women.
Wilkins said Creations by Corrine could be developed into a unique business as the area’s only custom dress-designing business catering to a high-end clientele while at the same time serving the needs of the low-income, largely African-American neighborhood that he and others were seeking to improve.
He headed an investment group, called Harambee Associates, that was dedicated to bringing business into the area; there was a four-story building, built a century earlier as a shoe factory and until recently used as a health clinic that stood in need of occupants. His idea was to locate Corrine’s business in one floor of the building, with hopes of expanding it as the business grew to eventually occupy more of the building.
The plan called for hiring a half dozen seamstresses and other support personnel to expand the ability of Corrine to serve more customers.
“I could see you attracting clients from among the black elite of the area, some of those who live in the suburbs and still want to support the old neighborhood,” he said. “And, I know lots of white folks from the North Shore who like to do a bit of ‘slumming’ and come in with their fancy cars. There’s a nice parking lot adjacent to the building that we could make secure for customers. It’d be an up-scale place right here in the ‘hood.’”
“That sounds good, Larry, but how could we be sure to get enough customers to keep all those seamstresses busy?” she asked.
“Don’t worry, once word gets out about your talents and you get clothes modeled on the red carpet in New York and Hollywood, you’ll be big business,” he said.
“That’s too much of a dream,” she objected.
“It’s not. You’ve got the talent and we can market it, I’m sure. I’ve prepared a summary of the plan, complete with some drawings of the prospective remodeling we’d need to do,” he said.
“And what about our workers? Do you think we can find experienced seamstresses and others to fill the jobs?” she asked, adding, “I don’t want to try to train them for the work.”
“Listen, my dear,” Wilkins said. “In this neighborhood, you’ll find plenty of women who know their way around a sewing machine.”
He handed her a pink folder, containing a four-page summary of the plan, some photographs of the building and some artist’s sketches of possible changes. She took a few minutes to scan the summary; she stopped at one point and looked up at Wilkins.
“You’re looking for some federal funding for this?” she asked, referring to the reference to a federal grant program that funds new businesses in depressed neighborhoods.
“Yes, I think we’re a good candidate for it. We truly want to serve the neighborhood,” he said.
"You honestly believe this could work?" She asked.
He smiled. "Anything is a gamble, dear, but I think it's something that is needed and if we put all our efforts into it, it'll be successful, I'm sure."
As she left his office, he moved over as if to hug her, but instead he held out his and, offering a business-like handshake. "I look forward to working with you, Miss Sullivan," he said.
"And I'll give you an answer before the end of the week, Mr. Wilkins, if that's OK."
He grasped her hand a bit more firmly, stating, "We need you Miss Sullivan."
As she waited at the bus stop, the only white person on the street, she pondered the offer. She looked at a boarded-up business across the street, a huddle of young men standing idly at a nearby corner and several older women struggling up the sidewalk trailing their grocery carts behind them. She saw poverty everywhere. Corrine made her decision before the bus arrived to take her on to the University.
Chapter 12 – Grand Opening
"Are you certain that's what you want to do with your life?" Debbie Sullivan asked her daughter that night as the two were cleaning up after their late dinner.
"Mother, it's a chance to make a difference and still follow my talents as a designer," she replied, having dried the last of the dishes.
Debbie suggested the two sit down at the kitchen table and have a bit of wine to discuss the proposal.
"What about your college?"
"Mom, I can continue, but with a reduced load. I’ve already changed my major into business administration. I can do just as much good for society as a business person as I can as a politician or social worker."
Debbie Sullivan wasn't sure it was still such a good idea. She had heard about promoters like Larry Wilkins who often were not much more than hucksters who'd leave Corrine out in the cold if things didn't work out.
"And what about Adam?" Corrine's mother asked.
Yes, what about Adam? Corrine pondered the question: It bothered her more than anything. She wasn't sure where the relationship with Adam was headed, but if she had a future with him was it not doomed if she were to tie herself to a business in Milwaukee while he was laboring in the forests some 300 miles away? True, there was the idea that Adam was continuing to discuss with Lionel (Helen Comstock’s boyfriend) about possibly establishing a part of his business in Milwaukee, an idea that would bring Adam to Milwaukee more often but was still long in the future. To refuse the proposal from Larry Wilkins would mean she'd continue to have keep options about her future as she continued school.
"Nothing's certain with Adam, mother," she said. "Besides, while he seems inclined to want to be with me in the future, he hasn't said as much, and I'm still not a total woman. He might lose interest while he waits."
"It's up to you, dear," Debbie said, hugging her daughter warmly.
“I know, mother, and I’m scared I’ll make the wrong decision,” Corrine said.
“Why not talk this over with Sonja?”
“Sonja?”
“Yes, Sonja Peplinski, your old hairdressing customer. She’s got a good business sense,” Debbie Sullivan suggested.
Of course, Corrine thought. She’d contact Sonja the next day.
*****
“I can’t believe how strikingly beautiful you are, Corrine,” Sonja Peplinski said when the two met in the coffee shop near the salon two days later.
“You mean it?” Corrine said, feeling overwhelmed for the compliment that came from a young woman she had grown to respect for her own good looks, great taste in clothes and confident demeanor.
“Of course, dear,” Sonja replied with a smile. “You could model on the classiest red carpet in the garment industry.”
“I doubt that.”
“Really, besides some of the highest paid models now are transgendered women.”
Corrine smiled. Sonja, who had just turned thirty and was already a respected advertising executive, had once worked as a model in New York, returning to Milwaukee to complete her college and eventually get into an advertising career.
“That’s good to hear, Sonja, but I’m not interested in modeling.”
“You’d be a natural for it, my dear, and I’ve seen you model your own creations and you do it expertly. But you’re right, being a model is no picnic. You work your heart out, but once you’re thirty you’re reduced to doing commercials for wrinkle-removing creams or heart pills.”
Corrine smiled, realizing she should get to the point of the invitation. She outlined the proposition from Larry Wilkins to Sonja, who listened carefully, interrupting frequently to ask questions. Corrine could tell the other woman was mulling over the plan deeply.
“That’s an intriguing idea, Corrine,” Sonja said when the narrative was finished.
“What do you think?”
“It’s a gamble, but you won’t be investing any of your own money, right?”
Corrine nodded that was the case.
“You’ll be free to design your clothes and you’ll be hitting a special market, but a lot of success will depend upon how well you’re being marketed,” Sonja said.
“I don’t think we’ve even gotten that far in our thinking,” Corrine said.
Sonja also suggested that as chief executive of the new business that Corrine would be spending more time on administrative and promotion duties than in designing clothes.
“So even if the plan worked out successfully, I might still be sacrificing my own talents?” Corrine asked.
“You might, but you’ll also learn a lot, too.”
“What would you do in my situation, then, Sonja?”
“I’d do it,” she said without hesitation. “But you’d best make your own decision.”
Corrine wondered whether she should seek out Sonja’s advice on the impact the decision would have on her continuing relationship with Adam, but decided against it. It wasn’t right to involve the other woman in her personal business, was it?
*****
Corrine began to realize that life offered no simple answers and that there were few “right” ways to handle any question. While she had struggled with her decision as to whether to live her life as a woman, it had been an easy decision to make. She considered herself to be a woman, to be fully female and that, in spite of the difficulties in transitioning, she knew it was the right decision. The question of going into business, however, was troubling; it meant she’d have to give up or at least postpone her education. It meant, too, that she’d have to become immersed in the day-to-day world of business, perhaps into supervising workers, seeing to finances and the other daily obstacles that often arise. She wondered whether she was capable of it.
What troubled her more was her relationship with Adam. Did the two of them truly have future together? Their circumstances were strikingly different. He was a strapping logger in the woods and she was a physically fragile city girl hoping to make a difference in the world, either in politics, social work or the world of women’s fashions.
“Go for it,” Adam said simply when she finished telling him that night about Larry Wilkins offer.
“You think I should, Adam?” she answered, surprised at his quick response.
“What have you got to lose, Corky? It’s their money and they think enough of you to invest in your concept of a business. Even if it doesn’t work out, you’ll get a ton of business.”
“But Adam, if I do it, it’ll be hard to get away to see you.”
“We’re still 300 miles apart, Corky, whether you do this or not.”
“Adam, I miss you so much,” she said, suddenly feeling sad.
“And I miss you, my love,” Adam responded quickly, almost too quickly in her mind.
“You mean that, Adam?”
“Of course, I do, you silly girl.”
They ended their conversation with the usual audio kisses, but Corrine felt there was a difference somehow in his tone. Had he grown cold toward her? Had he come to want a real girl in his life rather than a soon-to-be girl like herself? It was a possibility, considering that his sister Amy had told Corrine that a former girlfriend of Adam’s had returned to the area. Adam and the young woman – who had been homecoming queen – had been an item in high school, but their relationship ended after she went East to college and he attended the nearby University branch campus. Now six years later the young woman had returned to a town less than a 30-minute drive away, armed with her MBA from Harvard to become vice president of the major bank in the area. And, she was still single and still beautiful.
Corrine cried a lot that night. In the morning she made her decision. She told no one, but at 9 a.m. she phoned Larry Wilkins: “I’d like to take the gamble, Larry. When can we get together to discuss the details?”
*****
Creations by Corrine opened in October that year, taking up the bottom floor of the former shoe factory. It was an auspicious opening, attended by the mayor, the congresswoman representing the city, the district’s alderman, a cadre of the most prominent leaders of the African-American community and all four local television news stations, plus assorted others. Amy Hartmann and Maureen Penney were there, along with Jason and Emily Penney and, most importantly, Corrine’s mother, Debbie Sullivan.
Corrine wore an ankle-length light green dress that she had designed and made; she had hoped it would be tasteful, stylish and not too ostentatious for a ten o’clock in the morning ceremony. Her mother said the dress reflected her femininity to the fullest; it had a high necked bodice, puffed sleeves, an empire waist and full flowing skirt.
“You’re the picture of loveliness,” Larry Wilkins said, as she arrived at the store at 8:30 a.m. to prepare for the opening.
“Thank you,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek.
“I don’t know of any woman who could look so nice so early in the morning,” he said smiling.
“And look at you, Larry, dressed in that fancy outfit. You couldn’t be more handsome!”
He smiled, “We’ve gotten to be a good pair, haven’t we?”
Larry was correct. The two of them had become comfortable working together, assembling the funding, persuading local, state and federal officials of the value of an enterprise loan and handling all of the remodeling that was needed for the building. With clever marketing (thanks to some volunteer advice from Sonja Peplinski), Creations had already gained substantial orders, mainly from stylish women from not only the Milwaukee area, but also from Chicago. To serve the growing customer demand, Corrine had spent much of her time acquiring workers to make the new creations. To fulfill the requirements of the job development loans as well as to serve Corrine's own desires to create garments with a diverse workforce, more than half of the new employees were to be minorities.
Corrine had become particularly fond of Shaundra Means, a matronly, middle-aged African-American woman who was hired as chief designer and supervisor of production for the small staff of eight persons. Though Shaundra dressed in drab, everyday clothing herself, she had a tasteful eye. Corrine found her easy to share ideas and development refinements that helped turn out lovely designs. Most importantly, Shaundra turned out to be a no-nonsense administrator who quickly gained respect among the workers.
"We'll get these orders filled by December Fifteenth," Shaundra assured Larry. The staff was due to begin production on the day following the grand opening.
"I never thought we'd get this many orders right away, but I guess the publicity helped," Wilkins said.
"You know, I questioned whether this business could thrive in this neighborhood," the woman said. The two were conversing over coffee and sweets as the reception was winding down. Meanwhile Corrine was busy in a conversation with the mayor, Jason Penney and the head of the Federal Reserve Bank who had come from Chicago for the event.
"I think Corrine's a truly inspiring person, and she's so young," Wilkins said.
"And her beauty doesn't hurt the eyes either, as I'm certain you've noticed," Shaundra said, teasing the young man.
Wilkins had found himself becoming aroused when he was in close company with Corrine, as they often were in meetings together to develop the business. He looked at her smooth skin, and held back the urge to caress the girl's slender arms or run his fingers down her lovely face; he wanted so badly to take her dainty body in his arms and hold her tight and then to place his lips upon her full, round lips. The scent of her fresh soft body was intoxicating. Yet, Larry Wilkins restrained himself, knowing of her apparent love for Adam Hartmann. He adopted a protective role toward the girl, making certain that business decisions were sound and also looking to her personal safety; as the autumn progressed, the parking lot was dark at night and Wilkins insisted upon walking her to her car to keep her safe in a neighborhood that often burst into violence. When he held her car door open for her each night, he fought against his growing obsession to hug her tightly.
*****
Corrine’s desire to look up into Larry’s eyes as he held the car door open grew intense. Should she kiss him? The urge to do so was overwhelming; yet, she knew it was wrong and that it sent the wrong message. She was not in love with him; she was in love with Adam. It was not right. She wondered whether Larry Wilkins felt the same way about her, sensing as he looked down at her that he also wanted to hug and kiss her.
There was an awkward moment, a moment in which Corrine felt he was going to draw her into his arms and kiss with unbridled passion. She was excited and embarrassed at the prospect, and she stood stiffly, not attempting to sit down into her car. The two stood there, mesmerized, ignoring the cold, brisk wind off of frigid Lake Michigan that blew through the parking lot.
“Have a good night and see you in the morning,” Larry said, mercifully breaking the spell. He assisted Corrine into her Ford Escape, a three-year-old car she purchased when she realized she needed mobility to juggle the new business, school and other needs new to her life.
“Thank you, Larry, and don’t work too late,” she said, giving him a warm smile.
As she pulled out of the lot, she glanced into her rear view mirror to see Larry standing in the lighted canopy at the entrance, watching her drive out. She wondered if he felt the same disappointment she did over not kissing each other.
It was with guilt that night that Corrine phoned Adam. She needed to hear his voice, to hear him say he loved her and to feel the strong emotion she often felt in their regular phone calls. As usual, the two talked via Skype; on this night, Corrine dressed up more suggestively than she had ever done before. She showered, applied lotion to help make her skin glisten and perfumed herself. She let her hair down so that it flowed down to her narrow shoulders. She put on her sexiest night gown, pink silk with lace and spaghetti straps. She smiled at image of the slender, soft, lovely girl in the mirror, hoping that the view might stimulate Adam Hartmann.
As she awaited the “witching hour,” the agreed upon time when Adam would call, her mind wandered to Larry Wilkins. What would he think of her displaying herself so wantonly on a video phone call? He seemed to be straight-laced and proper in all his dealings. Yet, she found herself hoping that someday she might be able to show her business partner what a sexy woman she was. She was shocked as her mind wandered away from Adam (her beloved Adam) and focused on Larry Wilkins. What kind of a woman was she?
“What is this?” Adam said when he finally buzzed her on Skype, about fifteen minutes past the scheduled time. His tone reflected shock and dismay.
Corrine was surprised at his cold response. It felt like he was insulted by what he saw, that she had gone too far over the top to display herself, as if she were performing for a porn video.
“I’m sorry, Adam. I thought you’d like to see more of me,” she said apologetically.
“Put on a robe or something. Or turn off the video, Corrine,” he said. His voice was firm, commanding and for the first time in weeks he used her full first name, rather than the loving nickname of Corky.
“Oh Adam,” she said, bursting into tears.
She left the video and found her old plaid robe (it was the one she wore as Jason). She yelled back into the computer. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She darted into the bathroom to clean her face from the tears, remove all her makeup and put her hair into a bun. She would be as ugly as possible for Adam. She was humiliated; yet she also wanted to show her own need to respond by making herself ordinary and dowdy. She’d show him!
“Is this better?” she challenged him, upon returning to the screen.
“You didn’t need to go that far,” he said. “You just needed to cover yourself, Corrine.”
“Didn’t you like what you saw?”
“It was pretty suggestive and not like you, Corrine. Maybe I was shocked?
“It’s not like you never saw a woman dressed like this before, Adam. You’ve had your share of girls, I understand.”
He hesitated in answering. Corrine said nothing, wanting him to stew in his own guilt over his past girlfriends and his past sexual escapades.
“But now I’m in love with you, Corrine. I’m not in love with some hussy. I’m in love with a lovely, smart, warm woman.”
Corrine felt taken aback by his strong expressions of his love toward her. He seemed sincere and apologetic for his rejection of her attempts to arouse his sexuality.
“Am I not Corky anymore?” she asked.
“You’ll always be my Corky,” he said.
The kisses they gave each other on screen were as passionate as ever.
*****
She had a restless night following her late night phone affair with Adam; she hated herself for her flirtations with Larry Wilkins just a few hours earlier and wondered if she was being dishonest with both men for welcoming their attentions. What is love? Is that what she has experienced with Adam? Or, is it merely a reflection of her own craving for attention and affection? She cursed herself for her inexperience in sexual relations, her virginity and her own insecurity. Was she capable of making a responsible decision for herself?
And, what of her near kiss with Larry? She had dearly wanted to feel his lips upon hers as they stood in the chilled night on the parking lot. She recalled, too, of those moments in the days before when they worked in close quarters during the process of creating the business; there were moments then that she felt the urge to hug and kiss the wonderful man. His scent alone was intoxicating, a mixture of light cologne and man smell, so different from the scent given off by the rough-hewn Adam Hartmann. Both were strong men with large hands; Adams’ hands were heavily callused and broad while Larry’s hands were slender and smooth to the feel. How she wanted to the feel the touch of both men!
Both men, she was certain, were romantically interested in her, even though Larry Wilkins had never said anything to indicate that he had such desires. Yet, she thought she could see the desire in his eyes during their recent times when they were in close proximity, particularly the previous night in the parking lot. He wanted to kiss her – she knew it!
She eventually found sleep, only to waken at five o’clock, a full half hour before her alarm was set to go off! In spite of the lack of sleep that night, she felt wide awake, her mind racing over the dilemma. Corrine sat up in bed, noticing it was still dark outside – and would be for another two hours. She reflected on something her friend, Maureen Penney, told her several weeks before when they discussed the decision about whether Corrine should accept the offer to begin the business.
“You must make the decision for yourself, Corrine. Decide what you feel is right and then do it. If it turns out to be wrong, just deal with the circumstances then.”
Corrine reflected on the words of her friend. Yes, Maureen’s words of wisdom were correct: Do what you feel is right!
*****
Creations by Corrine was scheduled to open for its second day of business at ten o’clock that morning. Realizing it would be a long day, she chose to wear a calf-length, loose-hanging turquoise and pink skirt with a dark violet sleeveless blouse with a high neck. She also wore a gray blazer that had convenient pockets inside in which she could carry pens and note paper she might need during the day. She also carried scissors and a tape measure in a handy pouch that hung discreetly about her waist. She wore pumps with a short heel and knee high length coffee colored stockings. Corrine wished to display a business-like image.
Larry was already in the office at seven-thirty when she arrived, carrying a large cup of coffee and her favorite cranberry date cake from the nearby Colectivo coffee shop.
“Good morning, Corrine,” he said, looking up from some charts on his desk. The two shared an office behind the front display room.
“Morning, Larry,” she said, realizing her voice was a bit curt.
He frowned at her for a moment, then quickly let his face move into a smile that Corrine found to be terribly inviting.
“It looks like we’ll have a busy day. We picked up eleven appointments for fittings today,” he announced.
“Good,” she said putting her coffee and piece of cake down on her desk. She rolled her chair next to his desk. He watched her actions, wondering about the determined manner she displayed in moving the chair and the firm look on her face.
“What’s this all about?” he asked.
“Larry. We need to get something straight,” she began.
“OK.”
“I’m in love with Adam Hartmann and there will be no relationship with you, ever. Period.” she said, her voice may have sounded firm and determined, but inside her stomach was churning and she felt like she’d cry before she would finish her statement. Immediately, she worried that her direct, firm statement would offend the man; perhaps, too, he’d take it as a decision made because of his race.
Larry Wilkins smile broadened. “What brought that on?”
“Last night, at the car, I wanted to kiss you,” she said.
“And you don’t this morning?” he asked, teasing her.
“That’s not it.”
“Oh you do want to kiss me now. I’m ready,” he said, his eyes beginning to dance in merriment.
“Yes, oh my God, no. You’ve got me so confused now. Damn you.”
He laughed.
“Larry, I’m serious. I’m in love with Adam and he’s in love with me. I can’t have an affair with another man, even a man as nice as you.”
“I’m sorry,” Larry said. “I shouldn’t have teased you. You’re right, of course. We’re business partners. That’s all, right?”
“Yes, business partners.”
“But still friends?”
“Yes, Larry, friends and I hope friends forever,” she said smiling.
“Corrine, let me say that you are a most desirable young woman and, yes, I too have had the urge in recent days to hug and kiss you. I wanted to badly last night and I sensed that in you as well.”
“I know. We really are a good match, aren’t we?”
“Yes, but only as business partners and as friends,” he said smiling.
Corrine was about to get up and return her chair to her desk, but stopped.
“There’s something else, Larry,” she said.
“What?”
“Well, this is hard to say, but I was wondering about your desire for me.”
She paused for a moment; he continued to look at her closely.
“It’s just that I told you I was born a boy and I think you know I still have my boy parts,” she said. “Were you just curious about me? Because you think I’m weird or something?”
The minute she asked the question she wished she hadn’t. She was afraid she accused him of being somewhat of a voyeur and someone interested in kinky sex.
She was relieved when he laughed and replied, “Oh you think I’m gay. That’s a new one on me.”
“No, no, no,” she protested.
“Corrine, I see you as I’ve always seen you, as an attractive young lady who is also a very nice person and I hope a friend.”
Corrine was relieved. This man was truly special, she knew.
“I’m sorry I asked the question,” she said. “It’s just that a girl like me has to be careful.”
“Don’t be sorry. I understand your concerns. I know girls like you often are treated badly by men who might want to beat you up or cause you other harm. To me, you’re all woman and I know how hard you work, how truly balanced you are and how warm and lovely you can be. I’m pleased to have such a great woman as my friend and partner.”
“Oh Larry,” she said, overwhelmed by his words. She rose from her chair and leaned over, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. It was a kiss of two friends, not of two lovers.
*****
Corrine knew her gender issues were not a state secret; after all, virtually all of the customers at her mother’s salon had witnessed the change from Corey to Corrine; her registration at the University had been switched between her freshman and sophomore years. She had become so engrossed in the world of women and girls that she rarely thought of herself as anything but female. Other women accepted her as one of them; her girlfriends chatted with her as if she had been born a girl. Her gender question seemed only to rise when she considered her relationship with Adam and, it appeared, when in the company of Larry Wilkins. She still needed sexual reassignment surgery to make her a woman with whom a man could find sexual satisfaction; that, she figured was several years off, probably upon graduation from the University.
Would Adam Hartmann wait three or four years before he could have intercourse with her? Could a healthy, vigorous young man like him resist the temptations of other women for that long? Was she not being selfish in hanging onto his love and should she not set him free? It was a question that dogged her constantly.
Corrine saw less and less of Amy Hartmann; yet, they both considered each other’s BFF. Amy’s school workload, her part-time job in Milwaukee and her ongoing affair with Josh kept the girl busy, as did Corrine’s schoolwork and attention to her new business keep her out of circulation.
“Let’s move into a place together,” Amy suggested one Wednesday noon as they shared a quick lunch in the Student Union. “I know of a two-bedroom upper in Riverwest that’s for rent and I think with sharing the rent it would be cheaper than the dorm.”
“I don’t know that I should leave mom,” Corrine replied.
“You’re hardly home with her anyway, Corky,” Amy said, adopting the nickname used by her brother.
“I know, but she’d be all alone.”
“Didn’t you tell me she’s got a boyfriend now?”
“Mom? Yes, she does and he’s a sweetie, but I don’t know if it’ll last. You know how fussy mom is about men.”
“You’ve got your own life now,” Amy argued. “This place will be less than a mile from your new business and an easy walk to the campus as well.”
In the end, Corrine agreed to move into the upper on N. Weil St in the Riverwest area, so named because it was on the west bank of the Milwaukee River. It was a racially diverse neighborhood of 100-year-old homes crammed onto narrow lots that had originally been occupied by the families of workers (typically Polish or Italian) from the nearby factories that had once been prominent in the area.
Mr. Santelli, the landlord, was easily in his eighties and a longtime widower. Still active in Italian community events and the Democratic Party, the man welcomed the two girls warmly. The upper flat covered the entire second floor of the aging building that was clean and recently remodeled. Two moderate-sized bedrooms took up the north side of the building with a bathroom in between. A fully-equipped kitchen and a living room constituted the south half of the flat.
“It’s ideal, Mr. Santelli,” Amy gushed as she and Corrine were shown the unit.
“You look like nice girls,” the man said, his voice still retaining his native Italian inflections.
“We’re both good students, sir, and have busy lives, so I don’t think we’ll be any bother,” Amy said.
“Ah, but you’re lovely young ladies and I’m sure you have male admirers. Now, my Sophia, bless her soul, and me never went to bed together until our wedding night, but we did raise three daughters and we know the world has changed.”
“What?” Corrine interjected.
“Well, girls,” he said, his tone becoming awkward. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t mind you having your boyfriends up there, but I don’t want to see a parade of different boys coming in and out, if you know what I mean?”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Mr. Santelli,” Corrine assured him. “We’re both in committed relationships; Amy’s boyfriend might come in a bit, but mine is 300 miles away.”
Josh and several of his friends helped the girls move in several weeks later, finishing with a small house party that included beer, snacks and cake when the move-in was completed. They invited Mr. Santelli to join them and he welcomed them with some homemade wine. He regaled them with stories of growing up in Sicily, of living through the horrors of first German and then Allied occupation of the country during World War II and his early days in Milwaukee and finding work at the old Seaman Body plant that was nearby. The girls marveled at how the man could extract humorous situations out of what must have been most difficult times for him and his young bride.
“Mr. Santelli has the right outlook on life, doesn’t he?” Amy observed as the two girls prepared to spend their first night in the flat.
“He does, seeing only good in people. I hope I can do that.”
“You will Corrine. I just know you will.”
“Shall we sleep together tonight, Amy?” Corrine asked. “I’ve missed you.”
“Lets. I don’t think either Adam or Josh would care. Besides I missed you.”
The pair jammed together on Corrine’s single twin bed, their arms and legs intertwined caressing and kissing. They were careful, however, to resist overt sexual behaviors, even though both were aroused.
Chapter 13 – A Question of Trust
Creations by Corrine hit full production by November 1, just two weeks after its grand opening ceremony; the publicity gained by the enterprise obviously gave it a boost that brought a steady stream of well-dressed ladies into this economically depressed neighborhood. Larry had hired two tuxedo-clad greeters – both husky and clean-shaven – to meet the customers, direct them to parking spots and escort them into the building.
"Don't you think that's a bit of overkill, Larry?" Corrine asked. "Shouldn't one be enough?"
"Maybe so and this area is safer than most people think. But our customers from the suburbs need reassurance," he said.
Just about every woman from the relatively small portion of Milwaukee's African-American population that could be considered affluent stopped by for a fitting; most ordered something. They intermingled with wealthy white women.
"This is a refreshing development in race relations, isn't it, Larry?" Corrine asked.
"Every little bit helps," he agreed.
The influx of orders was so great that Corrine was concerned that Creations would be unable to complete them by mid-December, since most were promised before the holidays. Shaundra, the motherly production manager, remained calm during the hectic early days; somehow she found skilled workers to fill an additional eight slots needed to meet the demand, including two male workers – both refugees from Vietnam – who had amazing skills in cutting materials and sewing.
"Don't worry your pretty head, Miss Corrine," Shaundra told her. "Just keep designing those pretty clothes."
Even though she was satisfied that Shaundra had the production issues under control, Corrine still felt overwhelmed by her schoolwork, the new business and the continual uncertainty of her personal life. The almost nightly phone calls with Adam, as well as the warm friendship with Amy, provided a welcome relief. In spite of the pressures, Corrine had never been happier; she was doing what she loved doing and it seemed to be making a positive impact on the community.
As Thanksgiving approached, Corrine and Larry were confident that the business would be able to fulfill the orders, as well as to plan for the spring fashions season.
On the Sunday before Thanksgiving, the Corrine's seemingly comfortable world crumbled. The city's major newspaper carried on a front page story headlined: "Budding Fashion Business Headed by Transwoman."
Corrine saw the story as she carried the paper from the front stoop of her mother's home; typically she'd spend Saturday night and most of Sunday at home with her mother, giving Amy free rein of the flat so that she and Josh could have privacy. As she pulled the paper out of its plastic wrapper, the article popped off the page, her image prominently displayed across several columns. The picture they showed obviously had been taken at the grand opening, showing Corrine in the forefront, holding up a gown, with the mayor in the near background. To make matters worse, the paper also displayed Corrine's high school graduation photo, obviously taken from the school yearbook, showing a serious Corey, the picture already hinting at the feminine beauty the boy would eventually become.
"Oh my God mother," she screamed, carrying the paper into the kitchen where the two had been having breakfast.
"What?"
"Look at this. We'll be ruined. All those people will be laid off and Larry will be devastated," Corrine said, her voice loud and insistent.
Debbie Sullivan looked at the paper, her face showing shock. She spent several minutes reading the story and then looked up.
"You look very lovely in that picture," she said, smiling.
"Mother, how can you take this so lightly? It'll ruin the business. This is so humiliating. Everybody will know about me. This is so awful. And what will Adam's family think? He hasn't told them yet."
"Honey, look at it this way. It had to come out sometime. Lots of people already knew about you. You couldn't keep your past a secret from others, you know."
For some time now, Corrine understood her life story would be of interest to others and she had to live with it. If other people wouldn't accept her, she'd have to live with that situation and seek either to change their views toward her or retreat into seclusion. Yet, for this fact to be revealed so blatantly and so unexpectedly before Adam's family, as well as all of her business partners, could be properly informed bothered her. She could imagine the response: "Why couldn't you have been up-front with this? If you're not ashamed of your background, why keep it a secret? Can we trust you on anything now?"
Her mother, however, continued to seek to soothe the girl:
"Just continue being yourself, darling. You're a perfectly wonderful, warm and talented person. You'll continue to be successful as long as you keep doing what you're doing, working hard, being considerate of others and taking care of yourself."
Corrine knelt before her mother and put her head into her mother's lap. Debbie Sullivan patted her daughter's head. Corrine cried for several minutes in soft sobs, finally feeling comforted in embrace of her mother.
*****
Within an hour, Larry Wilkins called Corrine on her cell phone. Corrine took the call while dressed only her bra and panties, having found a warm shower and hair-washing to have settled her down so that she was now thinking clearly as to how to respond to the unexpected publicity. Asking Larry to wait a moment while she put on a robe, she worried about her partner's reaction.
"Seems we got some publicity in the morning paper," Larry said when she returned to the phone.
"I'm sorry about that, Larry. I didn't know it was coming."
"I didn't either, but I should have suspected something when that reporter hung around after the open house. She asked all sorts of question, mainly about you and your background," he said.
"Larry, I know you didn't say anything. But, who could have?" She asked.
"I tried to be sure I didn’t give anything away. Maybe my vagueness on your background caused her to be suspicious, probably thinking you had committed some sort of crime in your past. I guess I may have been wrong when I mentioned your high school."
Corrine recalled that she wondered at the time why the reporter, one of the paper's top investigative types, was there. She rarely covered so-called "feel-good" stories like the grand opening of a new business, and usually was involved in muckraking of some sort. Her writing was always snarky and sought to question the motives of her subjects, usually hinting at some sort of chicanery.
"I do know that the state's development agency that we worked with is under some scrutiny. Maybe that had something to do with this and she accidentally stumbled across my situation."
"You're probably right," Larry said. "I don't think any of us here could have leaked the info."
"Maybe someone else who knows of my changes leaked it," Corrine offered thinking of some of her mother's customers or someone at the University. After all, she hadn't actually been telling anyone voluntarily of her background. She had been so completely accepted as a young woman that she hardly ever thought of her earlier years as Corey.
"Actually, if we handle this right, we can gain lots of great publicity," he said.
"Larry, I don't want us to be a novelty. We need to succeed on what we create and on being a well-run business."
"Nonetheless, we should not bury our heads in the sand," he said. "We don't want this to be an albatross around our necks."
In the end, Corrine and Larry agreed to a course of action. First, they would call all of the employees of the fledgling company together at 8 a.m., when most were beginning their morning shifts. Corrine and Larry, along with Jason Penney, would explain about Corrine's journey to womanhood and why there had been no mention made of that in starting the company. Corrine agreed to call Shaundra later in the morning after the plant supervisor would be home from church; the call was necessary, both agreed, since Shaundra was key to the operation and also because her deep religious feelings might cause her to walk away from the whole project.
"We'll get through this, Corrine," Larry said. "We're too good together."
She laughed. "I hope we are."
Corrine was deeply fond of the man; he was strong, kind and caring. Larry’s call left her comforted and confident of the future. Next, she had a call to make to Adam Hartmann. It would be uncomfortable.
*****
"I understand, Corrine. Please don't cry," Adam said.
She had tearfully told him of the story in the newspaper; eventually, both were certain, the story would find its way to Pine Valley.
"I'm sorry I'm such a freak, Adam. You deserve better," she said, not mollified by his acceptance of the situation.
"Honey, with you, I've got the best there is."
"You’re just saying that to be nice."
"Shut up," he scolded. "I'll just have to bite the bullet and tell the family."
"Adam, that'll be horrible for you."
"Shush, it's got to be done and I'll do it this afternoon," Adam said. "Most of the family will be here for Sunday dinner and I'll tell them afterward."
"Are you sure? Maybe you are better without me?"
"Damn, I'm getting mad at you," he said, his voice growing firm. "I want you, period! You hear that? I want you, Corky."
"What can I say, dear?" She asked.
"Don't worry. Besides, I'll ask Amy to call mom afterwards and fill them in some more."
She sobbed after hanging up the phone. Adam was such an upstanding person, strong in so many ways. Was she deserving of his love?
*****
Shaundra Means hadn't been aware of the newspaper story when Corrine called; she had risen at 6 a.m., prepared breakfast, roused the three grandchildren who lived with her, prepared them for services at St. Matthews African Methodist Episcopal Church and had only just returned to the house.
She greeted Corrine with a "God Bless You" upon picking up the phone. After exchanging warm words, Corrine began with, "I'm sorry to interrupt your Sunday, Shaundra, but I need to alert you to something that has happened."
"My, what is it? Are we having to close down?"
"No. No. No. Nothing like that. Financially we're doing fine," Corrine began, "It's just that. . ."
Corrine outlined the situation, and not giving Shaundra a chance to respond to her feelings about the news, she plunged directly into the question, "How should we go about informing the workers?"
The older woman was not to be dissuaded. "You're a man? Oh, that's so disgusting! It's against God's word."
"But, Shaundra, you don't understand," Corrine began in a vain attempt to stop the woman from continuing.
"I understand full well what you're saying. I've admired you Miss Sullivan . . . or should I say Mr. Sullivan? . . . but you're an abomination. I can't work with you anymore."
"But Shaundra, we need you," Corrine pleaded.
"Mr. Sullivan. You're not going to ruin the Sabbath for me and my family. I'll see you at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Good bye," Shaundra said. She hung up the phone.
Corrine felt sick at heart.
*****
"They took it pretty good, darling," Adam told her that evening.
"Really? That's such a comfort. I've been just sick at heart all day long awaiting your call. I was afraid it was going to be terribly ugly," Corrine replied, truly relieved by his reassurance.
After her call earlier in the day to Shaundra Means, Corrine had been in turmoil. The supervisor's cold, almost hostile reaction to her news, had shocked her "and began to put doubt into her mind as to her future. Would she ever be accepted as a woman? Would her birth as a boy become a block to living a normal life in the community, halt any hope of a happy relationship (or even marriage) to a sweet man like Adam?
"I was surprised at my dad's response," Adam said. "I thought he'd be the biggest hurdle, but he's surprisingly understanding. I often thought he was old-fashioned in his thinking . . . you know how he is, always blunt and outspoken."
"I always found him a sweetie beneath that rough exterior," Corrine protested. He had always treated her warmly and had privately told her in her one visit that Adam would be lucky to have her.
"Right, he seems to like you, but I think you're so damn beautiful that he was just reacting like an old man in the company of a pretty one like you. If he found you were a boy, my God, I thought all hell would break loose."
Corrine smiled to herself. She remembered Arnie Hartmann, a towering bear of a man with huge hands. At first glance, she was frightened of him, an image made worse by his curt greeting, "huh," as he appraised her, apparently disapprovingly, as if such a fragile girl was hardly worthy of his strong son.
She recalled the moment when she and Adam joined Arnie and Adam's sister, Amy, on the screened porch of their home just outside of Pine Valley on a warm summer afternoon. At one point, Adam and Amy excused themselves to get some beer, soda and snacks from the kitchen, leaving Corrine and their father alone.
"Tell me a little about yourself, Corrine," he said, his tone quite soft and pleasant, unlike his earlier comments.
She noticed he had sparkling eyes, blue and intelligent; they belied his gruff outer self, demonstrating humor and wonderment with the world. He listened intently as she related how she was raised by a single mother, had learned to be a hairdresser and later a dress designer. Corrine soon found herself outlining her plans for the business, which was still in the formative stage. She told of the financing involved, the partnership with community and the support of the city government.
Along the way, he asked a few questions, particularly warning her of expecting too much from the city government, because of bureaucratic problems that often arise. His questions, she felt, were thoughtful and apparently based on his own experiences in running a logging business.
"Corrine," she recalled him saying, "whether you're cutting logs or designing dresses you need to have good business sense."
Just then, Adam and Amy entered the room with the refreshments. Arnie Hoffmann turned to his son and said: "Better watch out for this girlfriend of yours, boy. She's more than a pretty face."
"Don't I already know it, dad."
By the end of their phone call, Adam explained that it appeared Arnie had seen a documentary on transgenderism and also a movie, "The Soldier's Girl,” that told the sad story of a young soldier who had been murdered by another soldier for his friendship with a pretty transwoman. Apparently, the older Hartmann had looked into the subject a bit, thus becoming more sympathetic to Adam's revelation.
"My dad's support of you was key to the whole thing, even forcing my brother Aaron who sometimes like to be a 'tough guy' to acknowledge that you're pretty good looking girl," Adam explained.
"I'll have to give him a kiss next time I visit you," she said.
"Mom was not so happy though, even though she likes you, Corky, a lot. She wonders about grandchildren."
"So do I darling," Corrine said. "I don't want to cheat you out of being a father and making your mom happy."
"I love you, Corky, and we can always adopt," he said, as the two exchanged oral kisses in saying goodnight.
*****
As she readied herself for bed, Corrine felt warmed by Adam's loving words. Even though he would not be there to see her, she took extra time in the bathroom, even putting on a few squirts of cologne. Rather than the flannel pajamas she had worn on the recent nights due to the cold, she chose a see-through nightgown with spaghetti straps, lace trim and a mid-thigh length. She felt so pretty and feminine.
Nonetheless, the dread of her coming morning meeting with Shaundra tormented Corrine. She totally respected the older woman who not only had both designing and mechanical skills, but had strong principles of honesty and hard work. Most importantly the employees of Creations accepted her as their leader. Without Shaundra, Corrine knew, the new company would have trouble moving ahead.
Larry had called her earlier in the evening to discuss the situation with Shaundra. "Would you like me to join you at the meeting with Shaundra?" He asked.
"No, Larry, but thanks. I think it's best that I meet with her personally, one-on-one," she said. "I don't want her to get the feeling we're ganging up on her."
"How about I bring in Pastor Mitchell to help explain the situation," he suggested. "He's pro gay rights and I know Shaundra has worked with him on civil rights stuff."
"No, Larry. I think Shaundra feels I betrayed her, that I lied to her, and I've got to set that straight, first of all. She may never accept my gender status, but I want her to accept me as an honest, upstanding person, one who she can trust."
Larry didn't give up, however, suggesting that they could offer Shaundra a hefty raise in pay.
"No, Larry, not now, although, Lord knows, she deserves it. But, offering it to her today would just be insulting her, making her feel like she was being bought off."
"OK, I just don't want to lose her."
"Let me do this on my own, Larry. She needs to trust me. I feel pretty confident I can," Corrine said, though she really wasn't sure her confidence was warranted.
*****
Shaundra charged into Corrine and Larry's cramped office at three minutes after eight. Larry had left the office to check stock at the loading dock, discreetly leaving the office to give Shaundra and Corrine privacy. Corrine's stomach churning, she had tried to eat that morning after a night of sleep interrupted by racing thoughts of how she was going to handle the supervisor.
"I left Victor in charge to get production going, Mister Sullivan," she said, her voice edgy. She referred to Victor Xiong, an expert tailor and a Hmong refugee of some forty years ago. Though past retirement age, Xiong was a tiny vigorous man who seemed to relish in the world women's clothes creation.
"Thank you, Shaundra. Please have a seat and let me explain my situation to you," Corrine said, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky as she felt.
"I will, but nothing will change the fact that you're violating our God," the woman said in a voice that quivered with uneasiness.
Corrine came from behind her desk and moved to a straight-backed chair so that she and Shaundra were looking at each other as equals, not as the usual boss vs. employee format.
"First of all, let me apologize most sincerely for not being totally up-front with you about my gender situation, Shaundra," Corrine began.
"You are living a lie in the eyes of the Lord, Mr. Sullivan," Shaundra responded quickly.
"Maybe so, except that I'm not sure it's a lie, Shaundra. I'd love to have you call me Corrine as you did in the past, by the way."
"Let's keep it at Mr. Sullivan, if that's OK."
"And so it'll be, Shaundra."
The woman shook her head, as if in disgust and perhaps even revulsion. "How can it not be a lie? You are just masquerading as a woman, nothing more than a boy in girl's clothing, and that is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. You better get to know your bible, sir. Look at Deuteronomy, Chapter 22."
Corrine realized she might never convince Shaundra of her belief that she was female and that her outer body was not the true woman she always was inside.
"I do understand there are some places in the Bible that may seem to indicate that people like me are sinners, but I want you to know that you have always – until now – viewed me as all female, didn't you?"
"Yes," she nodded warily.
"Well, I've always felt I was a girl, from my earliest years, even when I was in high school still trying to live up to the image I was a boy. But I wasn't' a boy, not at all, not in any way in my own mind. It was when I was dressed as a boy that I was living a lie, because that was not me."
Shaundra looked up, eyeing Corrine closely. She said nothing.
"Shaundra," Corrine continued. "Please believe me. I so want your trust and support. I will be crushed if you can't find it in your heart to understand."
Suddenly, Corrine felt an urge to cry, and she tried to hold it back in vain. Tears formed in her eyes and Shaundra reached to a box of tissues from Larry's desk, pulled one out and handed it to Corrine. "Hear dear," her voice gentler now.
"Thank you, Shaundra," she said, taking the tissue.
The older woman arose and spoke: "I've got to get back to the floor. We've got to get that special order of samples for the New York runway show audition out today."
Shaundra turned her back to Corrine and marched out the door.
*****
Thirty minutes later Larry returned to the office, looking inquisitively to Corrine. "What did you tell her, Corrine? She's back giving orders and seems charged up to work harder than ever."
"Oh?" She said, her musing interrupted by Larry's return. She had no idea what Shaundra was thinking when she left the office.
She outlined the gist of the conversation, ending with the comment that she wasn't sure she convinced Shaundra of anything. "She really thinks I'm an abomination, Larry," she said.
"Apparently, but she does seem she wants to continue working here, regardless," he said.
"Listen, the staff is really buzzing about that article in Sunday's paper. I think some of them are worried whether this'll hurt the company and they'll lose their jobs, and many also are as religious as Shaundra."
Corrine nodded.
"I think it’s time to call them all together for a meeting and then you and I can explain the situation," he suggested.
She thought for a moment and then looked up at him. "Good idea. Let's summon them all to the lunch room at the the ten o'clock break and we can talk to them."
*****
Shaundra Means, in her typical authoritarian manner, told the twenty or so workers to 'be quiet and pay close attention to what Miss Corrine and Mr. Larry have to say." The workers, most of whom were women and non-white, quit talking immediately, taking their seats on the picnic benches in the lunch room, a bleak place made even more so by harsh fluorescent lighting. Corrine was pleased to hear Shaundra address her as “Miss Corrine.”
"Thank you all for coming here," Larry said, opening the session.
"Hey, Mr. Larry, you ordered us here, didn't you?" Yelled out a portly sewing machine operator by the name of Tanita.
"Yes, of course," he said.
"And we're on the clock, ain't we?" Said Tatiana, a youngish single mother and recent immigrant from Kosovo who worked as a shipping clerk.
"Naturally, Tatiana," Larry assured them.
"Then take as long as you want, Mr. Larry," Tatiana said, with a laugh. Others laughed as well and then applauded.
"All right, all right, that's enough," Shaundra intervened, again quieting the group.
Corrine had been tense, but she sensed the workers were not particularly alarmed by the issue that had brought about this meeting. She knew many of them adhered to strict religious tenets of their various congregations and likely viewed gays and transgendered persons as an anathema.
"I know most of you know why we're here," he began. "If you didn't see the story in Sunday's paper, you obviously know that the president and true founder of this company was born of a different gender than what she portrays here today. I'm sure it was a shock to all of you, because all of us have in the few weeks we've been together treasured her as a perfectly lovely, talented young lady. She is, after all, the real inspiration for our company, but she also needs each one of you to make this venture a success."
"Right, Mr. Larry," someone shouted.
"Why did you keep it a secret?" another yelled.
"You're quite right," Larry continued. "We should not have held back the truth as long as we did. Miss Corrine's transition to womanhood was known to many folks in her family, among her friends and in her own neighborhood. Even the University knew.
"Miss Corrine, the other partners and I knew, of course, but we felt we'd not announce her situation at the beginning because it would draw attention away from the company and what we were trying to do here. It might have become a sideshow instead."
Corrine stood silently, watching Larry's explanation and seeing the workers' heads nod in agreement as he spoke. She marveled at how convincing he was, logically explaining the company's decision-making process and, most importantly, assuring his audience that the company appeared to be on sound footing with a great future ahead.
Nonetheless, she felt bile rise into her throat as Larry turned to invite her to tell the reason for her change from boy to girl. Could she be truly open to these people, could she retain their respect, would they believe her?
She swallowed as she moved into the front of the group. Shaundra nudged her forward, whispering "tell it like you told me, honey." Corrine smiled at the woman, her confidence growing.
"Thank you, Larry and Shaundra for your support and understanding," she said to open up. "First of all, let me say how much I personally value the hard work and support all of you have shown in the first weeks of this company. We've already established the company on fairly firm footing, a rare accomplishment for 'start-ups' like ours, and we owe so much of that to all of you.
"Now some of you may be thinking I am living a lie, that I am just a man wearing women's clothing, that I'm some kind of drag queen or circus freak. Let me assure you that I am a woman and when I was running around the neighborhood in little boy's clothes I really felt I was a girl. Scientists and doctors now recognize my condition as something called gender dysphoria, that is, a case of my body not matching my inner self.
"Soon, I will have an operation that will alter my sexual organs to match my sense of being a woman. And I will be a woman in all ways except one and that will be that I could never bear children, a fact that saddens me greatly. Believe me, friends, when I say today I am no longer living a lie, that the person you see before me is a woman. If I were to return to you in male clothes, that would be a lie!"
The group largely applauded when she finished her explanation. Several workers did not clap and at least one seemed to have a disgusted look on her face, but all in all, it appeared they had accepted her story. There were a few questions, and then Larry ended the meeting, announcing that they would not have to return to their work stations for another thirty minutes and that the soda machine would be opened up for free drinks. A door opened and a young man carrying boxes of donuts, Danish and other sweets entered.
"Corrine and I'll join with you and you may all ask questions of us personally, if you wish," he announced.
"Thank you Mr. Larry and Miss Corrine," said Tanita.
*****
"And Shaundra called me 'Miss Corrine' again," Corrine happily told her two closest friends, Amy Hartmann and Maureen Penney.
"I'm so happy for you Corrine," Amy said. The three gathered, as they often tried to do on most Wednesday nights, for a girls-only dinner, usually at one of the eateries near the University.
"Yes, and Larry's such a peach," Corrine added. "He's been such a total support, so solid.
"And he's good looking, too," Maureen interjected.
"That he is," Corrine nodded, her face reddening slightly.
"He's got the hots for you, too."
"Maureen, don't be silly; besides he knows I'm taken. And, I see he's been paying attention to you, Maureen."
"Maybe," was Maureen's evasive reply.
Maureen Penney had continued coming into Creations several times a week, largely to help with decorating as well as to seek to build the company's public relations program. At the advice of her father, Maureen had changed majors, getting into the University's communications program to learn marketing and similar skills. Though she wanted to be accepted as an unpaid intern, both Larry and Corrine insisted on paying her as part of the cost of business.
"You're too valuable to us, Maureen," Larry told her.
Corrine was pleased when Larry had invited Maureen to join him for lunch one day. Maureen Penney had never been lucky with men and had gone some time without a steady boyfriend; it pleased her that Larry would turn his roving eye to Maureen. True, Maureen was not a classic beauty, being a bit too short and stocky; yet, she had a warm, caring disposition to go along with her plain, round face.
"I'm not expecting anything from Larry," Maureen said. "After all, I know he has no shortage of female admirers."
Corrine nodded, recognizing that with Larry's good looks, successful career and warm personality he had had no problem dating women, many of them African-American models or those with careers.
"He'd be quite a catch for any girl," Amy said.
For some reason, Corrine felt that there indeed might be an unlikely romance budding between Maureen, a wealthy white girl from the North Shore, and Larry Perkins, an African-American from a poor neighborhood. She wondered if she should nurture the relationship.
*****
Corrine followed her usual routine for the weekend following the newspaper’s account, spending Saturday and Sunday with her mother. At her mother’s suggestion, Corrine agreed to take on Saturday morning appointments, with two of her former clients to do their hair. Debbie Sullivan knew that one of the appointments would be with Sonja Peplinski, who had become an upcoming public relations executive at a major local firm.
The publicity surrounded Corrine’s transgender status still lingered and Corrine confessed to her mother that the continuation of the story might threaten the future of Corrine’s Creations, ruining hopes not only for the business but also for the hopes for new jobs for some in one of the city’s lowest-income neighborhoods.
“Why not see if Sonja has some ideas for you,” Debbie suggested to her daughter.
Sonja Peplinski was eager to consider working on the project, she assured Corrine. “You only need to ask?” she said.
On the following Monday, Sonja quickly contacted several colleagues, and as part of the ad firm’s pro bono work, agreed to help out in the press relations. At their advice, Creations organized a news conference at the showroom that included Larry Wilkins, Jason Penney (who had been named Chairman of the Creations Board), Dr. Julia Hickson (head of the Psychiatry Department of the Medical College) and Corrine. Debbie Sullivan was also present to support her daughter.
By Tuesday, Sonja and two of her partners showed up at Creations to discuss their suggestions. Sonja took the lead in the meeting, suggesting that "let's have it all hang out right at the start, giving the media the whole picture, not leaving any doubt about any conspiracy or any secret that they'll want to follow up on." It was agreed that Corrine and anyone linked to Creations would refuse further press content.
At Larry's suggestion, the company placed Sonja’s firm of Walton, Guttermacht and Slone on a retainer, to assure that services might be available in the future. The firm agreed, but said it would bill for only half the hours it spent on Creations’ issues, writing off the other half as pro bono. Corrine knew that eventually she'd have to sit down with some writer or journalist to tell her life story, but Sonja said the venue of such an article should be one of their own choosing, if possible. Sonja also suggested working up other interviews for television and radio.
"I only want to do what's best for the company," Corrine said.
The news conference went as planned; all four major television stations were present, several radio stations, two reporters from online outlets, plus print reporters from the major newspaper, several alternative journals and the neighborhood newspapers. By and large, the stories were positive, filled with quotes from Dr. Hickson on the nature and reality of persons facing gender dysphoria.
Debbie Sullivan, however, seemed to be the center of the questioning of the reporters and their submissions.
"Weren't you humiliated when your son starting prancing around as a girl?" It was asked in an almost sneering manner by a radio reporter from what turned out to be a Christian broadcasting station.
"I don't like the tone of your question, young man," Debbie replied, "but to answer your question. No, I was proud and I don't ever recall seeing her 'prance around,' as you say. She has always acted as a most responsible young lady. She's really a very normal girl who loves pretty dresses and cares for fluffy animals. Corrine has always gotten good grades in school and has been a loving daughter."
"But, Mrs. Sullivan," the reporter pressed on. "You're a single mother and there's been no father for your son. Didn't you encourage him to this behavior? Why did you bring him into your beauty salon? That was hardly the place for an impressionable child."
There were groans from other media people in the room, obviously growing impatient at the nasty tone of the reporter's questions.
"No, no, that's actually and good question, even though I think you could have asked it a bit more pleasantly," Debbie said. "I have long wondered that myself. As you heard Dr. Hickson say, there must have been a natural feminine tendency to Corrine. I bought her plenty of trucks and boy things, but she always gravitated to my stuffed animals, even asking early on if she could play with the Barbie doll I had saved from my own childhood. She's a girl through and through. I have no doubt."
The only negative feedback from the announcement came from the reaction of several evangelical churches. A delegation of black pastors descended upon the company, demanding a meeting with the leaders of the Harambee Neighborhood Association, the company directors and Larry and Corrine.
Much of the furor ended after the meeting that was held at the Association offices. This time, Larry Wilkins did most of the talking.
"This is perhaps the most promising economic development venture we've had in our neighborhood in years," he began. "It deserves a chance to get off the ground. Already we have created more than twenty jobs, and the prospect is for far more.
"Miss Sullivan's life is her own. Neither she nor the company wanted her gender to become the focus of our work. I've gotten to know her very well and I am convinced she cares about this community as much as she would if she grew up here. She could have started this company in Bay View where she grew up. And, by the way, she grew up, raised by a single mother, just as many of your congregants have done."
Whether the meeting convinced any of them was hard to say, but neither Larry nor Corrine heard of any further efforts to interfere with the growth of Creations.
(The author is grateful to Eric for his proofreading and invaluable suggestions for the narrative.)
Chapter 14 – A Break-up
In the weeks that followed, any issue over Corrine's gender seemed to fade into the background; there were no further media stories developing by the second week, and any issue with the community (or evangelical church members) was either forgotten or not mentioned. It appeared the prospect of a budding industry that promised jobs in the neighborhood outweighed any further spiritual objections.
In the workplace, only a few of Creations’ staff exhibited a concern with Corrine's gender; almost immediately, they saw her as the capable young woman they always knew her to be. One of the workers, a young Hispanic mother, confronted Corrine in the shop a few days later and said, "I can't see you could ever have been a boy, Miss Corrine."
"Yes, Miss Corrine, you are the loveliest of girls," echoed her co-worker, a tall, statuesque African-American woman.
Shaundra Means quickly returned to treating Corrine as she had before the revelation in the newspapers, and production purred on, though not without the usual glitches and challenges. If anything, the publicity seemed to have spurred sales, as more and more calls for appointments for custom dresses piled in, a good number of them from affluent black women in the Milwaukee area, as well as a number from Chicago.
Corrine became overwhelmed in trying to service all of the customers and soon found she was forced to hire two skilled dressmakers, luring one back to her Milwaukee hometown from Atlanta and another being a recent graduate of Drexel Institute in Philadelphia. Both were African-American and were partly lured by the fact that Creations was a company that was based in the once-decaying neighborhood.
"This is my hometown where my mom and sisters live and I love how you’re bringing some class into town," Danika Drew said. "It's not fashionable and upscale like Atlanta, but this city is real. You're a great shot in the arm, Miss Sullivan, and just what the city needs. I'm glad to be a part of it."
Danika was a thirty-something, elegant woman, who had once been a model. Her once-sticklike body had filled out, favoring her overall femininity. The three women, Corrine, Danika and the young Sharon deLouge, easily dazzled their wealthy customers. Many of the women, particularly the white women, took their trip to the Creations site in the depressed neighborhood as an adventure, a bit of bravery on their part to enter into the area; Corrine pictured many of them exclaiming to their friends over tea about the experience.
For its part, Creations made every effort to make the customer feel at home; from the two men who greeted them at the door and maintained safety for their cars to the well-dressed staff, the women were treated with dignity. They entered a showroom lined with some dozen outfits on mannequins, comfortable chairs and refreshments from cold drinks to tea and coffee and from exotic cheeses to paté.
The prices were outrageous, Corrine knew, but she assured all her customers, "We promise to make you happy ma'am, or else no sale." Most were happy to pay for such assurances as well as the fact that they could tell their friends that their gown was from Creations by Corrine. In short, Creations had become an almost instant craze among the fashion-conscious women of the Midwest.
Meanwhile, Creations had created a label to market its clothing to a larger customer base; the label read simply "Corrine – Made in USA." As a pilot project, one of the largest big box stores in the nation began selling the new line in select stores in the Los Angeles, Las Vegas and Denver areas. The outfits were all designed by Corrine Sullivan to sell mainly as prom dresses or for other special occasions, and all were designed with the help of Victor Xiong, the veteran tailor, to insure that the design could be efficiently produced in quantity.
Corrine found she enjoyed seeking to create outfits that could be worn by large numbers of women, particularly those with limited income. "I love creating custom designs for the wealthier women of the area, but to create something that the ordinary family can afford is even more exciting," she told Larry as they began the project.
To promote the new line, the big retailer enlisted Corrine to introduce the line in television advertisements and in their print promotions. "You're such a lovely young woman and you are really quite appealing," said the ad agency art director that designed the promotion. "People will believe you when you tell them about making clothes so that every woman be beautiful and special."
In Los Angeles, Las Vegas and Denver, Corrine's image began showing up on television screens, billboards and newspaper ad sections. The pilot project was a success, even though outfits with the label "Corrine – Made in USA" cost a bit more than the usual dresses in the retailer's stores.
*****
"I'm exhausted, Adam," Corrine complained to her boyfriend in a late night call.
"You're working too hard, darling. You've got to slow down," he said.
"I can't. The business is growing so fast and we're now hiring another thirty workers to keep up with the orders. I'm behind on my designing, since the publicity tours and all that have taken so much time."
The two were chatting by Skype; Adam wore only briefs and a tee shirt that showed his firm, muscular body, while Corrine wore a creme-colored baby doll. Even the sight of the manly Adam failed to arouse Corrine as it did most nights; she was just too tired.
"You're getting so skinny, dear. Your body looks like you're thirteen. Soon there won't be anything to love," he exclaimed.
She smiled. "I'll make sure there's enough of me to love, honey."
"I'm counting on that," he said, licking his lips with his tongue in a suggestive manner.
"Adam, I wish I were in your arms right now," she said, finally realizing she was growing hot. She felt the nipples on her smallish breasts harden as she looked at him.
"That's where I want you, next to me, feeling warm and comforted, my sweet defenseless little girl."
"Oh Adam, when can we be together again? I need you."
"April's just a couple of months away and then I'll be down to Milwaukee and we can spend a week together," he reminded her.
Suddenly she began crying; she got up and walked away from the computer and flopped on her bed, not realizing that she was still visible to Adam as she gathered the pillow to her and sobbed uncontrollably.
"What's wrong, Corky? Darling, don't cry. Please," she heard him plead.
"Just hang up, Adam," she yelled at him, her voice breaking up as she continued crying.
"I won't 'til you tell me what's wrong."
Finally, Corrine composed herself and sat up on the bed, her legs folded and looked into the computer.
"I won't be here then," she said. "We've been invited to the big summer fashion show in New York then, and it's too important to pass up. We've got to keep building the business to keep all these workers on the job."
"Do you have to be there?"
"Yes, Adam," she said, fighting back tears. "You know the whole brand is based on me; in fact, I'm even modeling several outfits myself."
"You mean you'll be on the runway, and all?"
"Yes, plus I'll be interviewed on several TV shows and the New York Times and Fashion Times wants interviews."
"You're getting to be quite a celebrity, aren't you?"
Corrine sensed a bit of sarcasm in his comment.
"Adam, don't be mad. I don't wanna be a celebrity, I just want to be simple old Corrine," she said honestly.
"But you are a celebrity and you are a perfect model, so slender and beautiful, Corrine," he said, failing to use her nickname for the first time.
"That's not me, Adam, it's just the image we've built, and now too many people depend upon me," she argued. "Do you know that our business is going to be one of the first new industries in this neighborhood and we're changing this whole area? They need me."
Adam was quiet for a minute and Corrine roused herself from the bed and returned to the computer.
"Talk to me Adam," she said, finally.
"What about? You’re such an important person and I'm just an ignorant backwoods bum. It'll never work between us, Corrine."
The words came out in a matter-of-fact litany, as if he had come to the conclusion that they weren't suited for each other. Corrine looked at him; he was serious, she realized.
"You're wrong, Adam. I'm the same girl you've always known," she pleaded.
"No, you're not. Let's not kid ourselves. This will never work between us."
"Adam, please don't say that. I love you darling and I want to marry you if you'll have me."
He shook his head. "It won't work. I thought I wanted to marry you, but maybe my mom is right. You're just not right for me and I'm not right for you."
"Did you want an excuse to break off our affair, Adam? Did you want to drop me 'cause I'm not a real girl? You know, I'll be getting my reassignment surgery this July and then I'll be all the girl you need. But, now, you have your old girlfriend back in your area, a real girl? Not a fake and freak like me."
"No that's not it, Corrine. I accepted you as you were and what you were going to become and Theresa and I are certainly not interested in each other," he assured her, referring to his old high school girlfriend.
"I know you wanted children that I can't provide and I thought you accepted that."
"I did."
"But your mother was against us, wasn't she?"
"Yes, but she would have accepted you," he said.
"That's OK, Adam, let's break it off," she said, her voice displaying the anger she suddenly felt.
"Don't take it that way, Corrine, it's just that we both have such different types of lives, me in the woods and a nobody and you in the big city and now a national celebrity. We just don't fit."
"Good night, she said sharply, moving the cursor to "End" and tapping the mouse to terminate the conversation.
She cried herself to sleep.
By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2016)
(A shy college boy discovers a new life and along with it great friends, career success and maybe even a lover. This chapter concludes our story.)
Chapter 15 - A New Woman
Corrine was eager to have her sexual reassignment surgery but realized she might have to be off work for six to eight weeks. She confided with Larry and Schaundra and both felt that they could cover for her absence in late summer, when there was a lull just after they had completed setting up for their winter fashion productions. It was a time, too, when women rarely came in for having custom dresses ordered.
In mid-July, she and her mother flew to Arizona for her surgery at a nationally known clinic, where she stayed for two weeks. Debbie could only stay with her daughter for a few days, since she had to return because of demands at the salon. Four days after the surgery, Corrine was moved to a motel for the last ten days of her recovery period. Several days after she moved to the motel, Maureen arrived to provide moral and other support. By the time of her surgery, she had lived nearly two years as a woman on a full-time basis and had never been happier. With the surgery, it meant that she was a woman in virtually every sense – except, of course, she could never be a mother. The pain she began experiencing once the anesthesia had worn off was excruciating at first, but she knew it would pass eventually. She couldn't wait to experience the joy of a man finding her vagina and to share in the ecstasy of their orgasms.
She imagined that that man would be Adam. It was a foolish thought, she knew. The two hadn’t talked or even shared an email since their April phone conversation; thoughts about Adam kept lingering, haunting her constantly.
Her surgery had been done in a clinic that specialized in both male-to-female and female-to-male sexual reassignment surgeries. The clinic had booked a set of special rooms in one wing of the motel where there were about a dozen other recovering patients. While she was there, the others were all male-to-female patients. Except for a petite Korean girl who was nineteen, Corrine was the youngest. Most were in the late twenties or early thirties, but there were a few older girls including one who admitted to being nearly sixty. The setting encouraged interaction among the patients and Corrine shared experiences with several of the girls during informal get-togethers in a common room and on a patio in the evening when the temperature cooled enough to emerge from the air-conditioning.
“Corrine, dear, I think you’ll have another customer wanting a wedding dress,” Debbie told her daughter on the first night after entering the motel. They were in the patio, Corrine in a wheelchair and her mother on a park bench.
“Oh, who?”
“Me,” Debbie said. “Michael’s asked me to marry him.”
“Mom, I’m so thrilled. He’s such a dear.”
Corrine knew her mother had gone out a few times with Michael, who was a local plumbing contractor. The man was a widower with two teenage daughters; Corrine liked the man, but hardly considered him the kind of man she thought her mother would be attracted to. Michael had large, rough hands and his wardrobe appeared to consist only of jeans, tee shirts and workshirts. Her mother was also tastefully groomed.
“Is he really your type, mom?” she asked.
“I know you don’t know him too well, Corrine, but he’s really a kind man and he’s also very smart,” Debbie said.
She smiled. She could see her mother was happy with her decision; Corrine thought it best not to question the marriage anymore, but to share in the joy her mother obviously felt.
“Mom, you’ve made be doubly happy.”
“Why honey?”
“First because this week I became a woman and then because of your news. I can’t wait to design your wedding dress,” Corrine said, beginning to cry. She was so happy.
*****
While she was recovering from the operation in Arizona, Corrine and Helen Comstock talked often at night by phone, sometimes even by Skype. She learned that Helen’s boyfriend, Lionel, and Adam had been communicating regularly and had gone so far as to set up a work plan to develop the furniture company they had both discussed informally. The plan was to have the wood cut and formed into pieces in Pine Valley and then shipped for assembly to an urban center for assembly. Milwaukee was tentatively chosen for the assembly plant.
“Adam was in Milwaukee this week, and he was hoping you’d be here,” Helen said
“So?” Corrine replied as if the news was of no interest to her. Of course, it was; her heart skipped a beat. “We’re no longer seeing each other, you know.”
“You two still care about each other, though, I know that, too,” Helen said.
“Let’s forget it, OK? What was he doing in Milwaukee?”
“I guess he’s been meeting with some people along with Jason Penney and your business partner, Larry Wilkins, seeking funding for their business,” Helen said.
“Do you think it’s feasible? Seems quite a leap for someone as young as Lionel.”
Helen laughed. “He’s a few months older than you, and look what you’ve done.”
“Well, that’s nice,” Corrine said. “I’m happy for both of them.”
The conversation with Helen was unsettling. She was hoping to get Adam out of her mind; now she heard he was thinking of doing more in Milwaukee. She wondered why Amy never said anything; maybe she thought it was just a pipe dream never to come to fruition and not worth mentioning.
But Adam, coming to Milwaukee! She cried herself to sleep that night, suddenly feeling a desire she felt she’d never be able to satisfy.
*****
Once she returned home and the surgery had healed sufficiently, Corrine continued using a dilator to keep her new vaginal tract open and receptive. Even though she was told not to expect to have an orgasm through the use of the dilator, she worried that she might not ever have one. The doctor had used tissue from her penis to create her new sexual organ and since she had never experienced a complete ejaculation as a male she wondered whether her new female organ would be sensitive enough for her to orgasm.
"Maureen, I want so bad to experience what real girls do," she exclaimed, after confessing her concerns.
"You will, Corrine, and it’s the greatest feeling for a woman," Maureen said. The girl was obviously speaking from experience, having developed an intimate relationship with Dontell Means, Shaundra's son, who was in the university and whom she met when the young man began working part-time for Creations. Maureen’s closeness to Dontell came as a surprise; at first Corrine felt her friend would be intimate with Larry, but that seemed to fizzle after a few dates.
"I guess I'll have to find a boyfriend," Corrine said, seeking to put a light touch on the comment.
"It's not like you haven't been given plenty of opportunities," Maureen said. "Seems like some guy is always chatting you up, trying to get you to date. Why not give in now?"
"I might if the right man came around, besides you know how busy I am here."
"That's just an excuse. I think you're still pining for Adam. You know full well that you're destined to be with him. Remember, you agreed with him when he said the relationship wouldn’t work. Am I right?”
Corrine nodded. It was true. Adam was out of her life.
*****
Her long estrangement from Adam didn’t interfere with Corrine’s close friendship with his sister, Amy. The two continued to live together in the upper flat in Riverwest, but they rarely found many opportunities to talk due to their busy schedules. They took time, however, for get-togethers, sometimes at the Wine and Dessert place in the early evening hours and at other times at the Colectivo Coffee place on the lakefront. Every so often Maureen joined them as well. Try as they might to avoid the subject, they ended up discussing each other’s men friends.
Amy began wondering if she and her boyfriend, Josh, had a future together. She admitted the couple were having their ups and downs. Both, it seemed, were headstrong and found compromise difficult.
“I tried avoiding him, but then I miss him so much,” Amy said, almost coming to tears as the three young women gathered at Wine and Dessert for one of their rare outings together. Until the last few weeks, Josh had slept with Amy at the flat almost nightly; more recently, he had stayed over only about once a week and then Corrine would hear their angry retorts.
“Then you kiss and make up, right?” Maureen concluded, stating it more as a fact than a question.
Amy giggled, nodding in agreement. Hoping to change the subject, she asked Maureen, “And how are you and Dontell getting along?”
“Great,” Maureen said enthusiastically. “Except that his mom and my dad aren’t too pleased.”
“I sensed that,” Corrine said.
“And it’s strange, but it’s race,” Maureen said simply.
Corrine nodded. She knew Dontell’s mother, Shaundra, was a traditionalist when it came to racial issues involving family. She was deeply committed to her church and to the belief that Dontell likely wouldn’t be happy with a Caucasian wife.
“And my dad surprised me,” Maureen said. “He and mom have always preached that we should treat everyone the same, regardless of race. And now, he’s worried that I’m in love with the boy who might not have a good future.”
“Oh my God, Dontell’s smart as they come and he’s so good looking,” Corrine said.
“What are you going to do, Maureen?” Amy asked.
“Dontell and I are committed to each other, in spite of our parents.”
“Good. Both your dad and Shaundra are good people and they’ll soon understand,” Corrine said.
There was a pause in the conversation as the three sat on stools surrounding the round table sipping their chardonnay and taking small bites of the rich carrot cake the three were sharing. Amy looked at Corrine and began to speak, but then cut her sentence short, as if reconsidering the wisdom of her comment.
“What?” Corrine asked.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t be silly, Amy. You were going to say something about Adam, weren’t you?”
Amy paused and then said, “I guess I was. He’s miserable, Corrine.”
“About what? I thought he had a girlfriend. Besides why should I care?”
“Oh hell, Corrine. He’s still in love with you,” Amy’s words burst out.
“You know we broke off our relationship months ago,” Corrine reminded her friend.
“And you agreed to it, Corrine.”
“Yes, because I thought it best for him to have a real woman.”
“Well, you’re a woman now, aren’t you?”
“Not totally,” Corrine said, her voice trailing off. “I’ll never give him any children, and I know Adam wants a family and he deserves that.”
“He’s still in love with you Corrine, just as you are with him,” Amy said.
Amy turned to take a bite of the carrot cake, savoring its smooth cream cheese frosting and moist flavor. Corrine took a sip of wine and remained silent.
“He’s coming down Thanksgiving Week and he’d like to see you then, Corrine,” Amy said.
“That’s deer hunting week,” Corrine said. “Why would he miss hunting season?”
“Because he wants to see you, even more than getting a buck,” Amy said.
“That’s got to be true love,” Maureen said.
“Yeah, he’s never missed deer-hunting season since he turned 12,” Amy said, smiling.
Corrine looked up from the cake on the plate before her. Both her friends looked closely at her and saw the tears flowing down her face.
*****
Corrine shivered as she and Amy walked to their car to drive home to their Riverwest flat. It was a chilly night, but Corrine realized it wasn’t the cold that brought on the shivers, but the news that Adam was planning to spend a whole week in Milwaukee.
“You mean he’s coming down here just for me, Amy?” she asked shakily through chattering teeth.
“Well, he also is meeting with Maureen’s dad and Larry, as well as Lionel, on their plan for a furniture factory here, but, yes, he’s desperate to see you.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why? For God’s sake. I know you’re in love with him,” Amy turned to her, her voice rising in anger.
“But, but, can our love last? He’ll want children.”
“Who knows what Adam wants, Corrine, except that I know he’s missed you terribly. Dammit, both of you are miserable without each other. Now, let’s get in the car and turn the heater up.”
The two young women slept together in Corrine’s bed that night, as they often did when they were home alone. Amy drew Corrine to her, engulfing the slender soft body of her friend, kissing her hair lightly, running her fingers down the back and into Corrine’s new vagina, teasing its clitoris. Corrine responded with moans as Amy’s fingers grew moist.
“It time you put your new vagina to practical use,” Amy said softly.
“Mmmmmm,” Corrine moaned.
She was still a virgin; in the months since her operation she had used the artificial penis religiously, following the orders of the doctor who performed her sexual reassignment surgery to keep the opening wide. She wondered how it would feel to be penetrated by a man. She fell asleep in her friend’s arms, dreaming that her trek into womanhood would some day be consummated by Adam Hartmann.
*****
After some persuasion, Corrine finally gave in to her friend, “OK, if he cares to he can call me I’ll promise to at least talk to him for several minutes.”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll call then,” Amy said.
“I’ll not promise to get together with him though. I’ll just let him talk for a minute or two.”
Amy smiled at hearing Corrine’s words that she’d “talk to him,” knowing full well the two former lovers would find themselves quickly in each other’s arms.
Adam called on Thursday night, exactly one week before Thanksgiving. The conversation was a brief one and a bit awkward.
“Thanks for agreeing to talk to me, Corrine,” Adam said. He spoke deliberately.
“It’s a favor to your sister who wants me to talk with you. So talk,” Corrine said coldly.
“I’m going to arrive in Milwaukee Sunday afternoon, and I guess I’ll be staying at yours and Amy’s flat, right?”
“Yes, you’ll have my bed, but without me, of course. I’m staying with mom for the week, so you have a place to stay.”
“I know. That’s so sweet of you.”
“It’s not for you, it’s for Amy,” Corrine said.
“It’s nice for you to do that. Let’s . . . ah . . . have supper together Sunday night,” he said, quickly adding. “Just for old time’s sake.”
“I’m busy,” she lied.
“Oh, I suppose you are. Well, Corrine, I do want to see you. Have time for coffee on Monday morning?”
“Maybe, call me Sunday after you get in. I’ll see if I can do that.”
“OK, I understand.”
“Bye,” she said, hanging up before he could respond.
Corrine burst into tears and ran into her room and flopped on her bed. She was still whimpering when Amy got home from her outing with her boyfriend Josh. The two apparently had settled some of their problems with each other and were again spending lots of time together. Amy was still in ecstasy over the passionate kiss she had received from Josh when she heard Corrine’s sobs. She rushed in to see what was bothering Corrine.
“What’s wrong, darling?”
“I . . . ah . . . ah . . . was mean to Adam,” Corrine said, her voice thick and hesitant. “He’ll never talk to me again.”
“Oh you silly girl,” Amy said. “You silly, silly girl. You won’t get rid of him that easily.”
“I don’t deserve him, Amy. I don’t,” she cried.
*****
“You foolish girl,” her friend Maureen exclaimed when she heard that Corrine, who had originally been excited that Adam would be in Milwaukee, had played hard-to-get with him.
Debbie Sullivan had similar comments: “You know you love him, Corrine. You’ve been miserable and you won’t seriously date anyone else.”
Always, Corrine’s answer was the same: that she felt any life-commitment with Adam might end in disaster. Once the bloom of early romance had faded the fact that she was not a naturally born female would become a barrier to the couple; Adam, she felt, would become feeling trapped in a relationship that wasn’t natural. His mother would soon yearn for grandchildren and tensions would grow between the pair. She foresaw tragedy instead of a warm, loving long-term marriage.
“I can’t figure you out Corrine,” Maureen told her as the two talked during their lunch at Corrine’s Creations. “Why are you so pessimistic when it comes to Adam and the future when you can be so optimistic about your venture with Corrine’s Creations?”
“They’re two different things, Maureen.”
“Look at the facts. Adam knows everything about you. So does his family. He’s pursuing you with his eyes wide open and he’s no dummy.”
“Oh, Maureen, I don’t want him to be unhappy.”
“Look, you’ll make him happy, dear. Believe me. You know he’s been with other women and he always comes back to you,” she said.
“And Amy said he’s been miserable without me,” Corrine said.
“Go for it, girl,” Maureen said, reaching over to hug Corrine. Both began to tear up.
*****
Was it any wonder then after days of urging from Maureen, Amy and her mother that by the time Corrine answered the phone in mid-afternoon on Sunday that she was eager to not only see Adam but to hug and kiss him with all her might?
“Corky, it’s good to hear your voice,” Adam said, his voice tentative and unsure.
“Good to hear yours, too, Adam,” Corrine replied.
“After our last call I was afraid you wouldn’t talk to me.”
“Adam, dear, I’m sorry about that. Maybe I should explain that . . .”
“No don’t darling. I know why you were so cold that night. You’re still worried about my happiness. Forget this gender thing. Please, dear Corky. You’re all girl and who knows, maybe we’ll defy science and produce a dozen lovely kids?”
“Oh Adam, I’ll never do that, you know that,” Corrine said, worried that Adam must have been concerned about not being able to father children if he and Corrine married.
“Corky, I shouldn’t have said that,” he said hurriedly. “Really, I know your situation and anyway, who knows, I might even be sterile and I couldn’t give you the seed. We’d be in the same boat. My cousin and his wife can’t have kids and they’ve adopted three and we all love them like part of the family. We can do that, too, if we want.”
“You mean that?”
“Dammit, girl. Of course, I mean that. Now I want to see you. Now, not tomorrow morning. Now,” he said firmly.
“Now?”
“Yes, now, and I don’t want any excuses that your hair’s not fixed or that you’re not dressed. I want you now.”
“Oh Adam,” she said, overwhelmed by his obvious desire.
“Look outside your front window,” he said.
“Why?”
“Just look.”
She had been in the kitchen when she got his call. She rushed to the front window, past her mother who was reading the Sunday paper. She saw Adam’s pickup truck, all shiny, parked in front of her neighbor’s house.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Adam, you’re here.”
“The truck didn’t drive itself,” he teased.
“But you can’t come in now. I look like hell,” she said, looking quickly in the mirror, horrified by her straggly, ratted hair, her pale face and the torn sweatshirt she was wearing.
“You’ll look lovely. Now I’m headed up to the house. You better open up, or else I make such a fuss that your nosey neighbor, what’s her name, Poplawski? will have lots to gossip about.”
Corrine ended the phone call and turned to her mother. “Mom, Adam’s coming up the walk. I gotta get dressed. You answer the door.”
“No, dear, you answer the door. The last person he wants to see is me,” Debbie Sullivan said, rising from the chair and heading back to the kitchen.
*****
Corrine knew the moment she saw Adam that she’d lose her resolve to reject any idea of resuming their relationship. She welcomed his open arms as he stood at the door. He was not wearing a coat to ward off the late November chill.
“This feel so good, Corky,” he said, smothering his face into her hair.
“Oh Adam, I’ve missed this so much,” she said, lifting her face up to await his kiss.
“Shouldn’t we go inside? The neighbors?”
“Fuck the neighbors,” she responded him, smothering him with kisses. Slowly they moved inside where they held their hug for several minutes.
“I’ve never heard you swear before,” Adam said as they finally broke their embrace.
She blushed. “It’s just that I’m finally believing in myself, in who I am, and anyone who doesn’t like it can go to . . . ah . . . ah . . . hades, for all I care.”
“My, my. The shy little girl emerges,” he teased.
“I feel so complete now, Adam, and I finally like myself,” she said.
“Aren’t you the same person you’ve always been?”
“I guess, but now I like me. What you see now is the real me.”
“Darling, you’ve always been real to me. I don’t know if we have a future together or not, but I’d like to think it’s a good possibility.”
“Oh, let’s not talk about the future just yet. It’s so good to see you again. Let’s go and say hi to mom,” she said, leading him into the kitchen.
Debbie Sullivan arose from the chair where she was doing a crossword puzzle and welcomed Adam with a warm, long hug.
“Hey, you two,” Corrine said, laughing. “Break it up.”
“I don’t know which of you two is the more beautiful,” Adam said, as they broke the hug and everyone sat down at the kitchen table.
“Isn’t he a prince?” Debbie said. “He knows the way to a mother’s heart, I see.”
“Oh mom. You can’t believe anything a man says.”
Adam laughed. “You can believe this man. I mean you’re both beautiful women.”
Corrine soon forgot her earlier reservations about refusing to meet Adam and accepted his invitation to dinner that night. She left Adam to talk with her mother while she took a quick shower and fixed herself up trying desperately to restrain herself from getting too sexy. After all, it was to be a casual outing. After nearly an hour, she emerged wearing a pair of tight-fitting burgundy skinny jeans and a long-sleeved pull-over blouse with ruffles and a scooped bodice. She had brushed her hair so that it hung loosely and she wore a pair of low-heeled black ankle-high boots. She wore light makeup.
Nonetheless, Adam Hartmann gushed over her as she entered the kitchen. She began to think that whatever rags she might wear wouldn’t be enough to ward off this logger from the North.
“Your mother said she’s going to be sleeping over tonight with Michael,” Adam informed her.
Corrine looked angrily at her mother. “You shouldn’t do that mom,” she scolded.
“Why? Because Michael and I haven’t tied the knot yet? Since when have you gotten so Victorian?”
“Mom. Adam’s going to sleep at our apartment with Amy. I’ll be here alone.”
“No you won’t be,” Debbie Sullivan smiled, winking at Adam.
“What have you two cooked up?” Corrine demanded.
The doorbell rang, interrupting the conversation. Corrine ran to get it and was surprised to see her mother’s boyfriend, Michael Gruen, at the door. She liked Michael; he was tall, well-built and handsome. His hands were rough to the touch, obviously due to his plumber’s trade. He wore a bright green and gold jacket with a “G” emblazoned on the front, signifying his allegiance to the Green Bay Packers. Men and women in such jackets were a common sight in the area.
“I’ve come to pick up your mother,” he announced.
“I know. Come on in, I want you to meet someone.”
Michael and Adam quickly moved into a conversation about the Packers’ victory earlier in the afternoon. Adam had listened to the game on the radio while driving and Michael was excitedly giving his analysis of the game, including some indignation over several of the failures of the Packers offense. Adam argued some of the points with Michael, but both men seemed to be enjoying the repartee. Corrine and her mother merely listened. Corrine had never liked football; it was too violent, she thought. Maybe she’d have to learn to like the game, she realized.
*****
Corrine and Adam dined at one of the posh supper clubs in the area, located on the first floor of an art deco apartment building populated by some of the community’s wealthiest and most prestigious citizens. The attendants looked askance when Adam drove up in a pickup truck that showed all signs of being a working truck; they were used to the spiffed-up Mercedes and BMWs, Lincolns and Cadillacs.
They were shown to a quiet booth; both ate light dinners and eschewed any cocktails, opting for a bottle of domestic pinot grigio, which they sipped sparingly. Instead, they talked and talked. They had lots to catch up on, having not conversed for seven months.
They consummated their relationship that night in Corrine’s bed in her mother’s simple home on Dover Street. It was everything and more of what Corrine hoped it would be. Best of all, she felt Adam seemed to be satisfied with her performance in bed. It may have been Corrine’s first sexual encounter, but it had been more than satisfying for her partner. For Corrine she never knew the heaven of a male penis penetrating her could be so lovely. She experienced noisy orgasms three times.
An exhausted Adam whispered into her ear, “Hope you didn’t wake up Mrs. Poplawski with your screams.”
“It’s Polakowski. But fuck her anyway.”
“I love you, Corrine.”
“I love you, Adam. Forever.”
They awoke in each other’s arms the next morning.
*****
Two months later in mid-January, Adam signed an agreement with Larry Wilkins’ organization, Sojourner Enterprises, to develop the Milwaukee assembly plant for the Hartmann Furniture Co. of Pine Valley, Wisconsin. Funding had been arranged through the efforts of Jason Penney and a major area bank, with assured promises from city and federal officials for low-interest loans. Maureen’s boyfriend, Lionel, was retained as general manager of the plant. The assembly would be in an empty rambling two-story factory building along the Thirtieth Street Corridor, an area that once thrived with industry but was now acres of rusting fences, decaying buildings, weeds and discarded liquor bottles and used condoms. The new company pledged to emphasize the hiring of area residents, the creation of a training program and the spirit of community involvement.
“New furniture factory spurs hope for depressed neighborhood” headlined the local newspaper in announcing the agreement.
With the deal settled, Adam announced he would be living nearly full-time in Milwaukee; his brother Aaron would run the business from Pine Valley.
Meanwhile, Corrine’s Creations continued to grow, mainly due to the demand for its off-the-rack clothing that was gaining popularity nationally. The custom dress business grew as well, but more slowly and the company was considering opening a shop in Chicago’s posh N. Michigan Ave. area. Corrine and Larry faced a major decision in January; they were approached by the nation’s second largest big box store chain with an offer that the firm become the exclusive supplier of upscale female clothing. It was a tempting offer, full of promise to make Corrine Sullivan a household name since she would be used in all their advertising.
“You’ll become the new Martha Stewart,” the chain’s CEO predicted.
When it became apparent that Corrine’s Creations goods could not be marketed in any other store but those of the chain, both Larry and Corrine became wary. In consultation with Jason Penney, they were convinced their concern was warranted.
It was Adam, however, who produced the most convincing argument. “You don’t want to become a captive supplier to one company; they’ll soon dictate how you do everything. Besides, Corrine, I think with all that national publicity, we’ll have less time together.”
“We’ve got a good thing going here, Corrine,” Larry told her. The deal was never made.
*****
Corrine Sullivan and Adam Hartmann were married the following April, a week after Easter in a civil ceremony held at a park pavilion along Lake Michigan. More than 200 guests joined the happy couple for the late afternoon ceremony and reception that followed. The couple struggled to limit the event to immediate friends, but Corrine had established such a following from her hairdressing times at her mother’s salon, her school friends and her colleagues from Corrine’s Creations that the invitation list swelled to create a crowd of well-wishers that filled the pavilion to body-squeezing capacity. Corrine felt badly, since Adam’s family and friends were sadly outnumbered.
“Maybe we should have been married in Pine Valley,” she said as they greeted friends at the event.
“No, dear. It’s the bride’s place, you know, and besides your mother and you covered the costs of this reception. I thought we should have just gone off on our own to get married.”
“I know. I love you so. Soon we’ll be able to blow this party, though.”
The marriage ceremony and the reception actually turned out marvelously. Everyone seemed to have a good time and, except for Amy’s boyfriend, Josh, no one seemed to get drunk.
Amy Hartmann was Corrine’s maid of honor and the bridesmaids were Maureen Penney and Helen Comstock. Aaron Hartmann was his brother’s best man and the other attendees were Lionel Higgins and Larry Wilkins. Corrine had questioned Adam about choosing Aaron, due to the brother’s apparent dislike of Corrine.
“Darling, he’s come to love you, really,” Adam assured her.
At the previous night’s rehearsal dinner, Aaron had drawn Corrine aside and given her a brotherly hug. “I’ve learned what Adam has found makes him love you so much. It’s your generosity and your honesty more than it’s your loveliness. You’re so real to him. I’m sorry I was mean to you, and I wish you both a long, happy marriage.”
Corrine stood on her toes to kiss Aaron.
As dusk was descending on their wedding night, the newlyweds left the reception in Adam’s pickup truck, heavily festooned with graffiti (Adam swore he’d get whoever planned the “decorations”). They had also tied tin cans on the back that rattled down city streets. Other wedding party cars followed them, honking their horns. The couple was not headed far; their first night as a married couple would be spent at the city’s most prestigious hotel, just four miles away.
The entourage was stopped within a mile by the police. They were violating noise restrictions and with the cans rattling on the street behind them they were breaking a city ordinance.
A police sergeant told Adam, “We’ll let you go if you untie the cans and no more horn-honking. Plus I have one more condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That we can both kiss the bride,” the sergeant said, smiling.
“It’s a deal, but your kiss can last no more than five seconds,” Adam replied, laughing.
“Let ‘em do ten seconds,” Corrine said, laughing.
“No way.”
The officers smiled warmly, and both gave light pecks on Corrine’s cheek.
“We wish you both a long, happy marriage,” the sergeant said.
“We will, we will,” Adam and Corrine said together.
(Note: Corrine and Adam’s future rests in the reader’s imagination, as does the future of their two business ventures. Credit must go to Eric, whose proofreading and suggestions were helpful and invaluable. The author greatly appreciates hearing from you the reader as to how well you enjoyed this story, including any comments or criticisms.)