A shy, delicate boy enters one of the rowdiest fraternity houses on campus and finds that his femininity can be used to good advantage to fend off the boorish boys.

The Girl in the Frat House — Part One

How a shy, delicate boy deals with the high jinks
of one of the rowdiest fraternity houses on campus

By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2008 by Katherine Anne Day)

Chapter One: The Boys in the Frat House

Harold had always been shy among groups of boys, having been awkward physically and never much good in sports or in exchanging the tough, rude barbs that boys seemed to fling at each other.

Now, still at the tender age of 17, he was to attend the huge state university and live in the fraternity house where his father had been a standout member nearly 30 years before. Harold felt he was a sorry replica of his father, who had been a star athlete and a leader in the fraternity. But, because of his father’s status, Harold had been admitted to the fraternity without the usual “rush” process.

The frat was excited to have Harold Cochran Jr., the son of Harold “Scotty” Cochran, whose picture stood proudly among the “Stars of the Past” gallery that lined the upstairs hallway. Cochran’s photo frame was draped in black, in memory of his heroic death during the first Gulf War.

“Mom,” Harold had argued when it was determined he would be accepted into the frat, “I’m not sure I wanna stay there. I’m not like dad at all.”

“Oh honey,” she said, hugging him. “You’ll be accepted fine. They’re eager to have you.”

His mother, Annabelle, was a slender, tiny woman, quite in contrast to her athletic husband. In a bit a gender irony, Harold had been born with the delicate body of his mother. He was just turning one year old when his father went off to the Gulf War, never to return. His mother had said his father had been concerned that Harold still wasn’t walking on his 1st birthday, wondering if this infant, with an almost dainty body, would ever develop into an athletic boy.

His mother mourned her husky husband, and never remarried; nor did she date much. She dedicated her life to her two loves: being a 1st grade teacher and caring for her only son, and the namesake of her husband. Harold never did become the athlete his father would have wanted; his 5 foot, 7 inch frame was slender, and he had truly elegant legs and smooth, slender arms. His only sport was swimming, having been a varsity swimmer, which permitted him to shave any hair on his body (of which he had only scant hints) to enhance his swimming speed. His skin took on a smooth, soft white sheen.

Try as she might, his mother sought to have him become a copy of his masculine father, but such was not to be the case. In their suburban middle class neighborhood, there were plenty of boys his age, but Harold shied at playing outside with them, rarely joining in the roughhouse sports of the others. The boy, from early on, enjoyed hanging around his mother, particularly when she dressed.

Every so often, she’d give him a hug as she was putting on makeup, and tease him. “You want your lips colored, too?” she’d ask, and in his younger years he would eagerly pucker up so she could apply lipstick. Harold would relish those moments, rubbing his lips together as he’d seen his mom do.

Until he was seven, his mother sometimes would completely make him up, eyeliner, rouge and lipstick. In those years, his light blonde hair was longish, and she’d brush his hair and tie a ribbon in it.

“Now you’re my little girl,” she’d say, and hug him tightly. These were wonderful bonding moments for both of them.

His mother even bought some little girl dresses home for him, and she’d dress him prettily. Sometimes, particularly in winter, he’d stay dressed all day in the dress, playing with some of the dolls she had also purchased.

“Oh mommy, I love wearing dresses,” he told her one day when he was in 1st grade. “I wish I could wear one on ‘show and tell’ day.”

“No Harold, that wouldn’t be good,” she protested.

“But mommy, I look so pretty in the new yellow dress you got me. I wanna show my dress to Carolyn and Janice.”

“Honey, I don’t think you should wear your dresses out of the house. People want boys to dress like boys.”

“Oh mommy, you make me so pretty, even prettier than Carolyn and Janice. Why can’t I?”

It was then his mother realized she had let things get out of hand by encouraging his dressing. She realized he had no boys as friends, only Carolyn and Janice who lived in his block. He often visited their houses, and their mothers always encouraged his visits, saying, “He’s such a sweet boy. Never rough houses,” said Carolyn’s mother.

“He loves to play ‘house’ with the girls, too,” Janice’s mother commented. “Sometimes Janice is the ‘daddy,’ and he’s the ‘mommy.’ It’s so cute.”

His mother refused to let him wear dresses or makeup after he entered 5th Grade, trying instead to encourage him to join other boys in sports or cops-and-robbers or other games. He did sometimes, but usually would come home after a short while, to curl up with a book or with his drawings.

Harold, however, weathered his grade, middle and high school years, never being ‘one of the boys,’ but by getting good grades, participating in the school plays and joining the swimming team. He had learned, it seems, how to exist as a girlish boy in the boy’s world without drawing too much attention.

As his mother’s car approached the fraternity house, Harold’s fear of “fitting in” as a sweet slender boy in this masculine atmosphere gained momentum. “Oh mommy, I hope you’re right. I’m not like those boys.”

His mother stopped the car at the portico entrance of the massive red sandstone structure, and hugged Harold discreetly, whispering in his ear: “Harold, you’re a smart, likeable young man. You’ll see. You’ll do fine.”

His mother’s words brought him little comfort, and Harold wasn’t sure she really believed them. He released himself from his mother’s hug, and charged with determination out of the car. He had learned years before to present himself with bravado, as false as he felt it was, as the best way to fend off bullies or critics.

“You’re ‘Scotty’ Cochran’s son,” Henry Williamston III, the frat’s president and leader of the house, had greeted Harold on his first day there, grabbing his hand and shaking it briskly, almost breaking Harold’s more fragile hand. Williamston was a senior, tall and muscular with closely cropped blond hair, the very picture of an “All-American” boy.

“Yes, I am,” Harold replied softly.

“We’re glad you’re here, to honor old Scotty’s memory.”

“Thank you, but I’m not sure I’ll ever live up to his reputation.”

“Yes, he had quite a record here, but I’m sure you’ll do us proud.”

Harold wondered about that last statement, thinking that he hardly had the makings of a young man who could do anyone proud. Yet, the frat president had been pleasant and welcoming. Maybe, he thought, it might not be so bad after all.

Williamston showed Harold and his mother to his assigned room, which he was to share with junior student named Will Hampton and who wasn’t due to arrive until the weekend. Hampton, it appeared, had lived in the room the previous school year; the walls on one side of the room were still festooned with posters of bands and a pennant saying “Clearview High School Panthers” in green and yellow, no doubt his home school.

A silver awards cup was placed on the dresser, noting: 2005 Chug-A-Lug Winner: Will Hampton.

“Oh my,” said his mother, pointedly quizzing the frat house president. “I suppose there’s lots of drinking in this house?”

“Oh there’s some,” admitted Williamston. “But we follow university rules.”

“My son is very young yet, you know,” she continued, much to Harold’s embarrassment. “He’s always been a good student. I hope this Will Hampton will understand that.”

“Oh Mrs. Cochran, please don’t worry. Will is a very friendly boy. That’s why we assigned Harold to his room.”

Harold cut his mother short as she tried to continue the conversation. “Oh mom, I’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t so sure he really meant it. Harold had never been a close friend with another boy; he always felt awkward with other boys, never knowing what to say, or how to act tough or make comments about sex and girls. While he had lots of girls with whom he spent time, he had never had what you’d call a “girl friend.”

When he was in the high school drama group, Harold ended up handling the costumes for the group, working with two or three girls to fit the costumes on the actors, altering them and often choosing the right costumes. His drama teacher asked him if he minded working as the “costume person,” noting he’d never seen a boy so skilled at sewing and so attuned to fashions. In fact the play’s program (before proof-reading) had listed Harold Cochran, Jr., as “head costume girl.”

“No,” he assured the drama teacher, “I enjoy it. I learned to sew, helping my mother.”

In fact, he admitted to himself, he loved the work and the giggling and friendship of the other girls in his group. Like so many persons who do the backstage work in theater, Harold’s co-workers were down-to-earth girls; none of them were what you’d call “beauties,” but they were intelligent and they accepted Harold for what he was, a sensitive, lovely, talented boy. They suspected he was gay, but that seemed to endear him to them even moreso.

“I love to watch you work, Harold,” commented Theresa, who was in his class at the time. She was a chunky girl with an eager, ready smile on her round face. “Your hands move so gracefully when you sew.”

“My mom taught me,” he said.

“Well, you’re quite a seamstress,” she said.

Harold blushed, and then Theresa recalled what she said. “Oh, Harold, I’m sorry. I meant . . . ah . . . what is the word for a boy who sews?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, realizing boys rarely were seen at a sewing machine. “Maybe ‘seamster?’ No, that can’t be right.”

“Guess there is no word for it, unless it’s ‘tailor’?” Theresa said.

The two then giggled about the problem of fitting an early Roman costume into the chubby boy who was playing Petruchio.

Harold realized he was indeed different. He knew one thing though; he felt very warm and accepted in the role of “seamstress” for the school play and in the company of girls like Theresa. In such a situation, he would never had to prove himself that he was a “boy.” And that was so comforting.

Of course, he was still a virgin, and he felt that he might be the only boy in the frat house who had never had sex.

They completed bringing his clothes and other belongings to the room, and his mother helped him set up the room. On his own dresser, Harold placed two pictures, one of his mother and the other of the family’s cat, Muffy.

“Honey, I wish I could stay longer with you. You look so alone,” she said, hugging him.

They both began to cry. The fact was that Harold and his mother had never spent a night apart. He had never stayed overnight with other friends or even been to a summer camp. His cousins had called him a “momma’s boy,” and he knew it was true. But now he was to leave her loving care, and enter the masculine world of a fraternity house.

“Oh mommy, I’ll miss you so much.”

“You’ll do fine, honey,” she assured him again, but in her heart she was worried that her hope of making Harold into a “man” his father would be proud of was doomed to failure. He was such a fragile and dainty boy, she felt, and now she was putting him into the house of macho males.

For his part, Harold was determined to give it the “old college try,” and become a proud member of Omega Delta Phi, or the “Megas,” as they were known on campus. He didn’t know how he’d do it, and he was scared as to what would happen as he tried. After the tearful farewell with his mother, Harold retreated to his room, curled up in a fetal position and cried softly, thinking to himself that he’d prefer to be entering the university as a freshman girl setting up a room in a sorority house, arranging dresses in the closet and setting fluffy stuffed kittens and bears up on a pink-covered bed.

Harold’s first few days in the fraternity house went along fine; if anyone detected any bit of a “sissy” in Harold, they didn’t say anything. In those first few days, since it was freshman orientation week, there were few older boys in the house. Most of the boys were like Harold, new to university life and unsure how to act. Since Harold was probably the youngest pledge, having skipped a grade in school, most boys probably accepted his shy, tentative mannerisms as natural.

In the weekend that followed, all of the upper classmen of the fraternity house returned, and the house became a beehive of activity. There were loud yells and hoots as the students returned. Harold largely sat on the side, basically unnoticed by the others; that was fine with him.

All that changed when his roommate finally appeared that Sunday afternoon, accompanied by his father and mother. Will Hampton was a large boy, with huge muscular arms, a wide body and thick neck. He had a scruffy unshaven appearance, which had become the style for so many young men, and light brown hair that tended to tangle into a cowlick.

Along with his equally large father and obese mother, the Hampton family filled the small dormitory room. Harold arose from his bed, quickly dropping the book he had been reading.

“You must be Harold,” the boy said. “Hi.”

“Yes,” he replied holding out his hand. “I’m your roommate this year.”

He realized his voice must have sounded thin and weak to them, as the three Hamptons looked at him, Harold thought, with disdain and perhaps contempt. Nonetheless, the Hamptons all showed the expected courtesy and mumbled words like, “Glad to meet you,” and “Nice meeting you.”

In an instant, the family went about business of moving Will’s clothes and other accouterments (computers and television set and stereos) into the room, and Harold excused himself to let the family complete the process. As he left, he couldn’t help but overhear the senior Hampton say: “Looks like you got a sissy for a roomie.”

Harold reddened, but said nothing, realizing that from the point of view of the Hamptons he must have looked like a sissy, since he had been wearing only shorts and a tank top, along with sandals, which tended to de-emphasize any semblance of masculinity from his slender body.

“Whos’ that?” Will said that night, pointing at his mother’s picture.

“My mom. And, that’s my cat.”

“Oh, your mommy. And, your kitty. Isn’t that sweet?” Will’s voice took on an ironic, nasty tone.

Harold didn’t say anything, but felt sickened that he was being teased now for putting his mother’s picture up.

“Don’t you have a girl friend?” the older boy asked, adding, “That is, besides your mommy?”

“No,” Harold blushed. He was sitting now on the side of his bed, his hands in his lap, knees together, and looking very much like a young woman, his longish hair flowing down to his narrow shoulders.

“Here’s my girl friend,” Will boasted, producing a framed picture of a blonde, round faced and blue-eyed girl. She had a soft, almost chubby look, and Harold figured that Will, whose own once muscular body appeared to be turning to fat, must have enjoyed her immensely.

“She’s pretty,” Harold said.

“Darn right she is. She’s a Kappa and if she comes here for a visit, you better make yourself scarce. You understand, little girl?”

Did Harold hear right? Did Will say “little girl?”

“Yes, I will,” Harold finally said, again in his tiny voice.

“Remember, I’m a junior. You’re a freshman, and you will have to follow my orders, until you’ve fulfilled your probation as a Mega.”

“Yes, I know.”

Harold understood that freshmen had to expect some hazing and had to follow all the orders of upper classman. Unfortunately, it appeared that Will had a mean streak in him, and Harold would be at his mercy.

“Now, I think you’re a girl,” Will began. “Look at you, sitting there just like a little girl.”

Harold began to change his position, hoping to assume a more masculine posture, but Will ordered: “No stay like you were, little girl. Don’t move. I’m going to get others to come and see you and tell me that you’re a girl, too.”

Will got up and went to the door, yelling, “Mark, Damon, Casey, all of you. Come to me room. I need to show you something.”

Soon several boys appeared in the doorway, their attention steered to Harold, as he sat on the bed, his knees tightly together, hands in his lap.

“Look at her,” Will said, laughing. “I’ve got a girl as a roomie. Aren’t I lucky?”

“Ooooohhhhh, she’s so cute.” One boy said.

“Wow, and will you look at her legs,” said another.

Harold started to feel tears coming to his eyes, and he fought back the urge to sob out loud. He was being humiliated, but at the same time, he was feeling some gratification that he was being viewed as a girl. He guessed the boys could easily mistake him for a girl.

“What’s your name little girl?” said a fat, bearded boy, named Jason.

“Harold,” he mumbled in reply.

“No, your name is not Harold. That’s not a girl’s name,” Will replied.

“What’s your name, girl?” said the fat boy again.

Harold began to cry aloud now; he had never felt so awful in his life. The sobs were growing louder, as one of the boys, a tall slender blonde haired boy, sat down next to him, and put his arms gently around his shoulders.

“Don’t cry, now. We’re just having a little fun,” the boy, whose name was Kevin, said.

“But, she should have a girl’s name while she’s a pledge,” Will said.

“Let’s have a contest,” said Jason, the fat boy. “For the prettiest name. She is pretty, I think.”

Kevin, still comforting Harold, said to the others: “Let’s stop this. He’s just a new boy here, and he looks so young. Come on, guys, let’s leave him alone.”

“Oh, you’re such a softy, Kevin,” said Jason. “But, let’s make him the ‘Mega girl’ in this year’s pledge class.”

Kevin explained that every year one of the pledges would be so designated; usually though it was done to a masculine boy, not one who was so slender and girlish as Harold. If he were to be chosen a “Mega girl,” he’d have a girl’s name, yet to be determined, and he would have to wear a dress every Saturday. This would continue through the pledge period.

In October, the Greek community on campus held an annual competition in which the fraternities would each nominate a boy as a candidate for the title of “Queen of the Greeks.” The boys would dress up as girls and compete against one another as Ugliest among the nominees. Each sorority would nominate a girl to complete among the girls for the true “queen.” The winners would be crowned at the annual “Acropolis Dance.”

They ordered Harold to stand up, and walk around. He was still in his shorts, tank top and sandals, and he followed the orders, and walked, taking short steps that developed a sway to his hips.

“Wow, look at those legs,” said one of the boys.

“We have a real beauty here,” said Jason.

“I think Tracy will be jealous, Will,” commented one of the boys, referring to Will’s girl friend. “Not sure Tracy will like you rooming with such a beauty.”

Soon the boys all left, including Will. It appeared they were all going out to the beer joints, no doubt to laugh at Harold and his girliness. He could hear Will laughing about seeing pictures of his mother and cat, and he decided to keep the pictures out for all to see, in stubborn defiance of these bullies. He loved his mother and Muffy, his cat.

He soon was on his bed, crying again, wishing that he indeed was a girl, and not a boy trying to fit into the nasty, cruel atmosphere of a college fraternity house. He wanted so bad to call his mother and say he wanted to leave the fraternity; he yearned so for the comfort and safety of her arms where he could cry his eyes out. But he resisted the temptation: he knew he was here in the university to get an education and he’d make the best of it, somehow.

His tears had nearly dried when he heard a light knocking at his door. “Harold, are you there?” came a soft voice.

Harold didn’t want to see anyone now, and didn’t answer at first. There was another light knocking, and slowly the door opened, and the tall frame of a boy was outlined in the brightness of the hallway. “It’s Kevin, Harold. May I come in?”

Harold sobbed a muffled “yes,” and Kevin entered, not turning on the light, and sitting on the bed, next to Harold.

“You poor lad,” Kevin said. “They really gave it to you.”

Kevin placed a gentle hand on Harold’s forehead, brushing the younger boy’s hair back.

“What do you want?” Harold asked abruptly, wondering who was this student and why was he being friendly.

“Oh, Harold, I’m here to be your friend. And it looks like you need a friend.”

Harold felt the gentleness of the boy’s hands on his forehead, and his soft tone of voice. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, I might be able to find a friend in this house.

“I didn’t think anyone would want me as a friend here,” Harold said. “I just don’t feel like I belong here.”

“Not all the boys are like your roommate or Jason or the others here tonight,” Kevin said.

“I suppose so,” Harold said.

“Now,” Kevin said, “Let’s get up now and freshen yourself up. Wanna go to the coffee shop with me? We can talk.”

They spent nearly two hours at the coffee shop, located just off campus, and had to be told to leave, when the shop was set to close. Harold quickly developed a fondness for this tall, slender junior, and on his way home hoped that Kevin was not just using him, or secretly laughing at him.

Kevin was studying architecture, having switched from engineering. He had always drawn and won some prizes in high school for his paintings. He had long slender fingers, small wrists and narrow shoulders. His blonde hair was longish, ending at the nape of his neck, and it was straight and clean-looking. He had a habit of flicking his hair with his hand, and to Harold the motion seemed to be girlish.

They talked about their home lives; both were brought up by single mothers, and both of their fathers had been “Megas,” thus the both got the opportunity to join the fraternity. Harold told Kevin many things about his life; except he never told him he had dressed sometimes as a girl.

“They teased me in my first semester here, too,” Kevin said. “As you can see, I’m not exactly the macho type either.”

Harold smiled, recognizing the kinship developing between the two.

“You seem to be accepted by the guys now, though. How did that happen?”

“Well, my dear,” Kevin said, in an overly expressive mode, “They need me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’ve tutored most of them so they can pass. You see, my mom can’t afford the cost of room and board here, and I get it covered by tutoring these bozos.”

“Wow.”

“And, I’ve come to like lots of them. We do fine. You’re smart. I can see that. You’ll do fine.”

As they neared the House, Kevin stopped, grabbed Harold hand, and said: “Look, I like you. I don’t want you to leave, so I’ll help you with these guys.”

“Oh Kevin, that’s so great. You seem so special.”

Kevin moved them to a bench, located on the darkened walkway. They sat, facing each other, Kevin taking Harold’s hands in his. “Now let me ask you something, and I want an honest answer.”

“OK.” Harold wondered what was coming. This boy was getting quite close to him and acting strangely affectionate. Because of Harold’s dainty, feminine appearance, he had experience with men making passes at him. He was hoping (or was he?) that this was not another pass.

“They talked about making you the ‘mega girl’ this fall; it’s really kind of an honor. Everyone has fun with it, but usually they choose a boy who is a bit more masculine than you.”

Harold nodded, recognizing his girlish features were obvious.

“Do you want to do it? They were making fun of you tonight, and if you do it, I wouldn’t want that.”

“No, I couldn’t being laughed at anymore.”

“I can get them off you back, if you wish, and talk them out of making you ‘mega girl,’ but it’s up to you. Do you want to do it?”

Harold was dumbstruck. He had never heard of this “mega girl” process before this evening; in truth he was both appalled and excited by the idea. He had gone through most of life wondering why he wasn’t a girl, and now he was given a chance to do it as part of the fraternity hazing process.

“Well,” Kevin persisted. “Do you?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I would if I wouldn’t be laughed at as a weirdo.”

Kevin squeezed Harold’s hands. “Well, I can’t guarantee that. But I can get you out of doing it, since I’m the chairman of this year’s doings.”

“Oh Kevin, you’re so cool,” Harold said, almost moving close as if to kiss the older boy.

“My dear,” Kevin said. “I think you’re cool too.”

Harold felt a sudden desire to hug Kevin, to be taken into the taller boy’s arms and drawn close, as two lovers. He could smell the clean soapy smell of the blond long hair. He saw the pores of his face illuminated by the yellowish glow of the street light. Harold saw, too, the rich, full lips of the older boy, and found this closeness to be so arousing.

Kevin quickly broke the spell, as if sensing things may be getting out of hand. He got up and said, “It’s late. Let’s get back.”

“Thank you, Kevin.”

“My sweet Harold,” was all the older boy said.

Abruptly, Kevin left Harold as they entered the fraternity house foyer, saying “Good night,” and heading inside the house without giving Harold a chance to say “thank you,” or “good night.”

Harold thought Kevin’s change of attitude so strange, occurring as they got within view of the fraternity house. He wondered, too: Did Kevin feel the same attraction for him as he felt? He must have, and he must have felt it best to break off the meeting.

Harold had never felt this way about any boy before; he’d never even considered the prospect of kissing another boy, even though he felt he wanted to feel Kevin’s lips on his right now. In truth, he’d never been intimate with any other person in his life, except his mother. In his shyness, he had never dated a girl or felt himself adequate to be a proper “boy friend.”

He flopped in bed in his room wearing only his briefs, curling up and thinking about Kevin, his own penis growing hard between his legs. His roommate, Will, was still out, no doubt getting drunk.

He was awakened out of a deep sleep when he felt hands caressing his arms and smelled a beer-and-sweat scent. He quickly was wide awake, realizing that Jason, Will’s fat friend had squeezed onto the bed with him; Harold soon realized he had fallen asleep wearing only his shorts, leaving the remainder of his slender, smooth body totally exposed.

“You’re so lovely, my dear,” said the slurred voice of Jason.

He tried to kiss Harold who stiffened and realized the chubby older boy was assaulting him. He must have looked quite girlish and alluring to Jason.

Jason’s large, sloppy body nearly engulfed Harold and he was trying to turn Harold over to expose his rear. But the older boy was clumsy in his drunkenness, and Harold recalled hearing how girls (usually the weaker in such situations) could protect themselves. He knew he was just like a girl, facing a rapist.

Before Jason could turn him over, Harold kneed the fat boy in the crotch, and Jason squealed in pain, falling off the bed. Harold quickly got up and turned on the light, screaming, in his high, girlish voice, “Get outa here, you ugly slob.”

Will who had been returning from the bathroom, turned on Harold saying: “Shut up. Be quiet. You’ll wake the whole house.”

Harold stood there in shock, holding a blanket in front of him, realizing he was about to be raped like a girl.

“He tried to rape me,” Harold screamed.

“Shut up,” Will said, hastening Jason out of the room.

Harold began to cry, and Will returned, saying, “What do you expect? Laying there without any clothes on? You looked just like a girl.”

Harold dropped to his bed, and sobbed quietly, thinking how badly he needed a friend like Kevin to whom he could turn for protection and warm hugs. What was his life going to be if he stayed in this fraternity house? His quiet, gentle life as his mother’s son (and daughter, sometimes) was being abruptly changed.

The next morning, as he dressed for his first classes of university life, Will was still snoring noisily, obviously enjoying the bliss that engulfs those with hangovers, whose only concern was whether they could raise their head off he pillow.

The boy, however, awakened as Harold was gathering his book bag, and he said: “Hey, don’t leave yet. I need to talk to you.”

Harold stopped, saying nothing, looking back of the boy still wrapped in cover, but now raising up on one elbow, his hair disheveled.

“Look about last night?” Will said, his voice still heavy with morning phlegm.

“Yes.”

“You’ll not tell anyone, Harold. Jason had too much to drink. That’s all. He didn’t mean any harm.”

“I don’t know if I should tell anyone,” Harold replied. “Maybe I should.”

“You better not,” Will said. “We don’t squeal on our brothers here.”

“He scared me,” Harold said.

“Well you should have been wearing more clothes. He said you looked hot.”

“Will,” Harold said. “Look I won’t tell anyone. But you better treat me like a brother then. I won’t accept being ridiculed because I’m small.”

Will didn’t answer right away. Harold swallowed hard and then went ahead to press the point even more firmly: “Listen, Will. I expect I’ll eventually be part of this fraternity, and I deserve to be treated like one of you. I may not be a big bully, like so many of you, but I will defend myself the best way I know, even if it means kicking all of you in the balls.”

Harold knew his voice was thin and quivering, but he knew if he didn’t speak up, he’d be bullied forever.

“Oh, Harold, it was just a joke. Forget it.”

“No, I’ll never forget this. But, I’ll not tell anyone as long as you leave me alone.”

Will considered the situation. There was no doubt an assault like happened last night could be cause for suspension, particularly on the word of the son of Harold “Scotty” Cochran.

“I guess you’re right, Harold,” Will said. “We’ll leave you alone. I promise.”

“You better,” Harold said, and left for his classes, still shaking from having to confront his bigger, stronger roommate, and wondering what the future held. He surprised himself, being able to stand up to the bigger, stronger boy. Was he still the little girl he thought he was?

The episode seemed to have settled things down. Harold felt strangely liberated after finding the courage to stand up to the bullies in the frat house. He even felt a sense of power, something he had never experienced before. And, he felt that power came from acknowledging openly his weakness, his girliness.

As the next few days went on, Will Hampton seemed to assume a friendly, openness to Harold that was puzzling. Harold wasn’t quite sure that Will’s attitude had to do more with him standing up for himself, or with the fear of being exposed for his bullying. Will so far hadn’t included Harold in his beer outings, but that was only natural, since Harold was clearly underage. Nonetheless, they found they shared interests in music; surprisingly Will liked classical music and jazz, both of which were Harold favorites.

“At least our room won’t rock with Reggae,” Will laughed when the discussion of music began.

Jason, the boy who attacked Harold, at first avoided Harold. Perhaps it was at Will’s urging, but within a week, Jason fell into a conversation with Harold and the two found they were from the same part of the state, and shared some conversation about places they frequented when home. Eventually, he apologized to Harold, blaming his actions on the beer. Harold forgave him.

Chapter Two: Campus Life and New Friends

What disappointed Harold, however, was that he rarely saw Kevin after that first night together. He continued to be totally infatuated with Kevin, and dreamed so often of dressing up as a lovely girl for him, snuggling with him and awaiting his kisses. When they saw each other, Kevin merely would throw him a silent wave of the hand, or nod discreetly.

Harold tried several times to talk to Kevin, but the older boy merely said coolly, “Not now, Harold.”

It appeared that Kevin wanted to distant himself from Harold, perhaps feeling embarrassed that the two of them seemed to have developed a closeness that was definitely sexual in nature. It was a situation, it was obvious, that neither was willing to pursue, at least, for now.

“Hey, hold up there,” Kevin hailed Harold as he was headed to class during the third week of the semester. It was a cool, brisk, brilliantly sunny fall day, and Harold had been aimlessly kicking the few stray leaves that were among the first of the season to fall, his legs moving in the short steps of a girl. He wore low-rider jeans and a red sweatshirt, and with his long hair flowing over his shoulders, he realized he must look so girlish.

Harold had been trying, vainly it appeared, to shed his feminine mannerisms, but so often he found himself walking, tucking legs under him as he sat or demurely sitting with his knees together, hands in his lap. These acts had become second nature to him, and try as he might, they were indeed part of him.

“Harold,” Kevin said as they began walking together up the main quadrangle to Biltcum Hall where both had English classes. “I almost didn’t know you for a minute, but I’m glad I caught up to you.”

“Hi,” was Harold’s only response. He was still a bit miffed at Kevin’s snubbing of him.

“I could have sworn you were a coed.”

“I know. I should change my ways. But, this is how I’ve been most of my life.”

“Well, don’t fret about it,” Kevin said, placing a hand lightly on Harold’s arm. “We all have our differences.”

“Well, not so you’d notice at the Mega house. They’re almost macho bully types. . . . that is, except you.”

Kevin laughed. “I guess so, but they’re not so bad.”

“I guess. Will has been a nice roommate, it turns out. Leaves me alone usually.”

“That’s good. I thought he had a decent streak in him. But I wanted to tell you something, though. That’s why I stopped you.”

“Yes?”

“They’ve chosen Keith Butler to be the Mega Queen. I hope you hadn’t changed your mind and wanted to be Queen.”

Harold felt so relieved and he almost did a pirouette right there among the students to show his happiness.

“Oh I’m so glad.”

Kevin smiled. “I knew you would be. I could sense it. I made sure they wouldn’t pick you. Some of the guys thought you’d make the prettiest queen ever.”

“How did you do that?”

“Merely telling them that the queen has always been the boy most unlikely to be taken for a girl. That’s the tradition.”

Harold laughed. “Oh my, and Keith is about as hairy and ugly as they come.”

“Yes, that made him a natural, and he’s tickled with the idea. He’ll have lots of fun with it.”

Harold felt so elated, he felt like hugging Kevin right there on the steps of Biltcum Hall. The two stopped, and Kevin looked closely at Harold, his eyes seeming to bore into the younger lad.

“Harold, I couldn’t bear to see you hurt again. I think the world of you.”

He paused, and Harold imagined Kevin wanted to called him “dear,” at the end of that sentence. He felt a renewed longing for this tall, slender upper classman.

Harold was speechless.

“You’re really a special person,” Kevin continued. “We need to get to know each other better.”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

With that, Kevin ended the conversation with the comment. “It’s classtime. What you doing around 4 p.m.?”

“Nothing special.”

“Let’s meet at the coffee shop out by the Stadium. That’s across campus. OK?”

Harold hesitated, and finally said. “Great. 4 p.m.”

He bounded the stairs. He wanted to skip merrily, or even prance about with joy. It was indeed a lovely morning at the University.

His joy was shortlived. As he entered his morning class, he suddenly realized that he was planning to apply for a position in the backstage crew for the University Players at about 3 p.m. He dearly wanted to be in the theater group, given the success he had with the high school theater as the costume director. It was a place he knew he had enough talent to possibly make the group, and be a standout.

The theater tryout was across campus from the coffee shop and Harold knew he would have a difficult time meeting Kevin on time; yet, he as yet had no cell phone and no way to get to him.

Harold’s mannerisms were quickly becoming increasingly effeminate, as if to challenge the macho nature of the frat house. He seemed to think the more outlandish he became the less his frat mates would bother him, and just write him off as a freak, and then hopefully leave him alone.

With his flowing hair, his slender body and his lilting gait he was more often called “Miss” or “hey girl,” and he showed little inclination to correct the assumption that he was a girl. In the warmth of the unusually hot September day, he was wearing tan Capri pants, tan short heeled sandals and a light green sleeveless tee shirt, looking like most any other coeds on campus.

Professor Sonderman, in Survey of 18th Century English Literature, is a small, prissy sort of a man. He’s a teacher who loves precise details, and was taken aback when Harold raised his hand to point to a particularly favored piece of romantic poetry during discussion time. The professor, who used a seating chart and took pride in knowing the names of all the 30 students in his survey class, noticed Harold’s hand and said, “Ah yes, Miss . . . ah . . . “ he paused, looking at the seating chart. “Miss, are you in the right seat? I have a Harold Cochran Jr. listed for that seat.”

“That’s me,” Harold said commandingly, in his somewhat falsetto voice.

The class members were all looking at him now, some began giggling; others were astounded.

“Quiet, class.” The professor said. “Go ahead, Miss . . . ah . . .Mr. Cochran.”

The class guffaws ended quickly, as the professor rapped hard on his desk. “We’re discussing Coleridge class, not Mr. Cochran.”

Harold stood up, flicking strands of his blonde hair from his face, and outlined his point about Coleridge, prompting the professor, to finish up, saying, “Bravo. You’re right on point, Miss . . . ah . . . Mr. Cochran.”

And the class burst into laughter again; Harold punctuated the scene by a histrionic flourish of femininity that caused even more uproar.

Professor Sonderman was at a loss to do anything but laugh along. It was quite a performance, and Harold was learning quickly to use his femininity as an offensive action against nasty remarks and bullying he had become so used to in his young life.

“Well, Mr. Cochran, I see you’re quite a performer. I would hope you’ll be a little less flamboyant in the future. Now, class, back to Coleridge.”

Harold resumed his seat, suddenly feeling embarrassed for being so outwardly and noticeably feminine in class, for drawing such attention to himself. Yet, he felt good about it. He indeed was not performing for the class; he was exactly what the students saw, an effeminate, very girlish-looking boy. He felt so natural and honest for acting as he did in the class.

“Well, you’re disgusting!” The voice came as Harold left the class, and he tried to hurry down the hall to avoid a confrontation. Suddenly he felt his upper arm grabbed, and he was roughly twisted around to face a sturdy, unshaven face of one of his classmates, a boy called “Mr. Balsam” by the professor.

The boy’s strong hand locked tightly to Harold’s thin arm, causing Harold to protest: You’re hurting me. Leave go.”

“God what a pathetic sissy you are. Do we have to go to school with fags like this?” He asked this loudly to a several other students from the class.

The boy’s hold was too much for Harold to wriggle out of, and he could feel tears coming, and he feared so much that he’d cry and make matters worse.

“Bobby, leave go of him.” It was a commanding female voice that he now heard, and the boy’s hold released. Harold knew he’d have a bruise there from the boy’s grip.

“Grace, I was just playing around,” the boy protested.

“No you weren’t. You’re just a big bully,” said the girl called Grace. She was easily as tall as Harold, quite stocky, but not fat, just a fit, athletic brunette with a tanned complexion.

Grace shooed the boys away, and came toward Harold. “Mind if I walk with you, Harold?”

“No. Thank you for doing that.”

“Well Bobby is just a bully. I went to high school with him. I like to shut him up. He loves to bully, but I usually can beat him up.”

She laughed. Grace’s smile was infectious, coming on a broad, face, with dancing dark eyes.

“I’m afraid, I’m not ready for all this,” Harold said.

“Oh Harold, please. I can see you’re a smart, clever boy. You’ll be able to buy all those bullies off ten years out of school, I bet.”

“I don’t know about that,” he laughed.

They walked a while without saying anything; when they reached the door, he turned to thank Grace. “You know, I should be ashamed, having a girl come to my defense,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a boy.”

Grace reached over and gave him a peck on his cheek. “I think you’re just fine. Let’s be friends, OK?”

She held out large smooth hand and they shook, with Harold’s slimmer hand lost in her grip. “Let’s be friends,” he nodded in assent.

Harold got to the auditions at the University Theatre about 30 minutes early in the hope of being able to complete his application quickly, so that he would be in time to meet Kevin at the coffee shop. As he opened the door to the theater, he was shocked to find the orchestra seats already one-third full of students. He’d never get through this in time to meet Kevin, and he was upset that his budding friendship with this loving boy would be ended before it even had a chance to begin.

“And what are you auditioning for?” he heard a voice greet him. In the darkness of the theater, he hadn’t seen the young woman standing there with a clipboard.

“Me? Oh yes. For costumes,” he replied.

“Costumes?” she asked, somewhat incredulously. “You said costumes?”

“Yes. Is that OK?”

The girl, a tall, husky girl dressed in dark slacks and shortsleeved tee shirt, didn’t answer right away. Harold knew what she was thinking: “What’s this boy doing auditioning for costumes?”

“Oh yes, what’s your name?”

He told her, and she looked it up on her clipboard, and directed him to the left section of the theater to be seated. There was no one in that section, and he looked confused. The girl explained: “You’re the first for costumes. Just go be seated.”

Harold suddenly had a mischievous thought, and flicked his hair back in a most exaggerated feminine motion, and sashayed away, saying in a soft, high voice, “Thank you, miss.”

She looked at him oddly, as did two students who came into the theater right behind him.

It was a full 15 minutes before another student joined him in the costume section, a tall, plainly dressed girl without makeup and ratty dark hair. “You here for costumes, too?” she asked. “I’m Rachel.”

“Yes, I am. Harold is my name.”

“Hi Harold. This is first time I’ve seen a boy in costumes.”

“Does that bother you?” Harold replied almost too quickly. It was a defensive, almost guilty response.

“Oh no,” she responded. “Just a comment. Nice to meet you.”

The two sat a seat apart, and said nothing further. Harold wondered: Was this so wise, to be auditioning for costumes, where his girliness would even become more noticeable, while at he was trying to become “one of the boys” at the frat house.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he heard a familiar female voice, accompanied by a tap on his shoulder.

“Grace!” he said in surprise. “What are you here for?”

“Backstage crew. And you?”

“Oh . . . ah . . . costumes, I guess.”

“Aren’t you sure?”

“Oh yes. It’s costumes. Sorry. Meet Rachel, she’s here for costumes, too.”

The two exchanged quick “Hi’s” and then Grace said: “May I ask? Why costumes?”

Harold blushed. “Oh, I don’t know. I kinda took a liking to it.”

Grace merely responded with an “OK.”

Harold realized that perhaps a better explanation was needed. “My mom was a good dressmaker, and she taught me to sew. And I guess I liked it.”

“Oh that’s nice,” Rachel interjected. “I like a boy who can do that.”

“That’s cool, Harold,” Grace added. “I’ll bet you did some pretty ones.”

“That’s what some people said, including the drama teacher in high school. She made me head of the costume crew.”

“Wow. That must have been interesting,” Rachel said.

“Yes, well it was. They weren’t used to a boy measuring the actors and altering costumes,” he blushed. “But everyone liked what I did.”

Grace smiled. “I told you. You’re talented. Hope you make the audition here.”

“You too, Grace.”

Grace left for her assigned seating in the right section of the theater, and Rachel asked: “Your girl friend?”

“No just a girl in my English class. We got talking earlier today. She’s nice.”

Rachel was quiet for a minute. “You know. I hope we both make it into costumes. It might be fun working with you. I was also head costume girl in my high school.”

“Cool,” Harold responded, but Rachel interrupted, saying in a tentative apologetic tone: “Oh I mean head costume person.”

Harold laughed. “Oh that’s OK. When the program was proofed for the first play I did, I was listed as ‘head costume girl.’ I guess boys don’t belong there, but I love dressmaking.”

Rachel smiled. Harold found the eyes of this rather plain tall girl to be bright and cheerful. He felt he too would enjoy working with her. After further conversation about the plays they had worked on, they were about to show each other their portfolios when Harold was called to meet with the professor in the drama department who was to head the costume crews.

As it turned out, Harold and Rachel were the only ones trying out to work in the costume crew, and the Professor Emily Saatchi, a youngish but fleshy woman who was wearing colorful wraps that resembled Indian saris, was only too pleased to accept Harold.

“My, you have a very lovely touch in your designs, Harold,” Professor Saatchi said after viewing his portfolio that showed the dresses he had designed for the high school play, “The Importance of Being Earnest.”

When she saw that he had been the lead costume person for his senior year in his high school performances, a high school well-known for the quality of its drama program, she was eager to have Harold on her crew.

“You’ll be the only young man in our crew. I hope you don’t mind that.”

“Not at all, professor.” He smiled slightly, realizing that he enjoyed being among girls and being accepted by them. In his shy and gentle manner — a demeanor that displayed no fearful masculinity — he knew that he would soon blend in as if he indeed were a girl. It was a role in his life in which he was most comfortable: being looked upon as just another girl.

As he left, he gave a thumbs up to Rachel and said: “Hope to see you on the crew.” She returned a smile, saying, “I do too.”

Harold hurried off, running across the campus to meet Kevin for coffee, dodging students in the early autumn day, brushing into some in his hurry. “Watch where you’re going, girl,” one male student yelled as Harold run by, his hair flowing in the fall breeze. He didn’t stop to correct the boy.

He realized then that he must indeed be running like a girl, carrying his stack of books and dress portfolios in front of him, forcing him to move in a knock-kneed manner, as he’d seen so many girls run. He smiled to himself and continued on.

“You’re right on time,” Kevin greeted him as he entered the coffee house.

“Oh, yes,” Harold said, panting. “I thought I’d be late.”

“Oh, you have a late class?”

Harold finished putting his books down, removing his jacket, still breathing heavily, and perspiring. He brushed his long hair back from his face, with a flick of his hand.

“No,” he said, still getting his breath back. “I had an audition for the University Players at 3 p.m., across campus.”

“Oh, really? You acting?”

“No, just for backstage crew,” he answered; hoping Kevin would not quiz him further. “I just forgot it when you invited me here, and I didn’t want to miss you.”

“Oh we could’ve made it later. But you’re here now; that’s what counts.”

The two got their coffee, and Harold ordered a piece of carrot cake. “Doesn’t that look delicious?” he asked rhetorically.

“Let me pay. I invited you,” Kevin said, refusing to accept Harold’s objections.

Returning to the table, Kevin made only small talk, and Harold was confused as to why Kevin was so eager to meet, especially here, in an out-of-the-way coffee shop, on the other side of the campus from their fraternity house. Harold, however, looked at the other boy, growing into feeling again very attracted to him.

His long dirty blonde, accentuating his lips, and bright blue eyes, framed Kevin’s slender face, with its scruffy blondish goatee. Kevin was tall, with slender arms showing out of a sleeveless dark tee shirt.

Harold had never kissed a boy before, but suddenly he was imaging what if would be like to be held in the arms of this interesting boy, as a girl would be held. He was taken aback by the thought: to be kissed by a boy! He must banish that thought from his mind; it was so weird.

Finally Harold said, softly, in a weak timid voice: “Kevin. Thank you for the coffee. This was so nice to be with you.”

The words came out so quickly, Harold felt embarrassed. His mind imagined he was a young teen age girl finding love in the arms of her lover, Kevin. He was feeling almost faint with the thought.

Kevin must have read the younger boy’s mind, for his left hand reached out, covering Harold’s hand, and caressing it lightly. Harold felt his penis growing hard, and painful, his smaller hand engulfed by the other boy’s hand. Their eyes met, and Harold felt his growing moist.

“You’re such a lovely boy,” Kevin said quietly. “I needed to talk to you so badly.”

The older boy’s hand continued to move lightly over Harold’s and their thighs met under the table. Harold could only blush now; he was so overwhelmed with affection for the other boy. Other than for his mother, Harold had never found anyone before who took such a sensual interest in him. He’d never had a girl friend, and certainly the idea that another boy would hold attraction never crossed his mind. He wasn’t gay, he was sure.

“Harold, I wanted to explain to you why I have avoided you since the first time we met. I felt so badly about that.”

“I wondered what happened. I thought I had done something wrong.”

“Oh my darling boy, you could never do anything wrong with me.”

Harold blushed, realizing that Kevin was feeling the same affection for him as he had for Kevin.

“Oh Kevin, I felt so bad. I thought you deserted me.”

They had now moved their wire-backed ice cream parlor chairs closer together, and were holding hands as two lovers. Harold suddenly was aware how that must have looked to others in the coffee shop; he glanced warily to other tables, and soon realized that all were occupied only with couples of the same sex, and some showing open affections.

This was a coffee shop used mainly by gays and lesbians, he realized. The thought suddenly set off an alarm in his mind, and he removed his hands from Kevin’s soft, gentle grip.

“Oh, Kevin. I’m so confused. I’m sorry. This is so new to me.”

The older boy reached and grabbed Harold’s forearm, holding it firmly and gently. “I know honey. I won’t force anything on you. I just found you so appealing to me. You’re so fragile and tender. And, oh god, how pretty you are!”

Harold was about to cry, having found affection from someone other than his mother for the first time in his life, and realizing he may be headed into a gay relationship, something so mysterious to him in his naivety.

Kevin explained that he avoided Harold in the first weeks of school because he knew the other boys in the frat house would soon recognize their attraction for each other, and begin a hazing of both of them, particularly Harold, that would be cruel and demeaning. He explained that when they’re in the frat house they should ignore each other; their meetings would be only seldom and discreet.

“We’ll be safe here. None of frat boys would be seen dead in this place,” Kevin laughed.

Kevin said he’d work hard to protect Harold from the others; he suggested Harold try to act more masculine, if possible.

“I’m not sure I can do that,” Harold said, now laughing. “I just was accepted to work on costumes for the Players.”

“Oh my god. You’ll be a costume girl,” Kevin said.

Harold blushed, giving Kevin a coquettish wave of his hand and a cute giggle.

“Well maybe I’ll join the touch football team,” Harold said. “I can run pretty fast and I know how to catch a pass.”

“Oh, honey, I’ll be jealous. I can see the boys on the other team wanting tag your cute ass.”

They both laughed. But, as they headed back to the frat house, they both knew Harold’s time with the “Megas” might not be much of a laughing matter.

(To Be Continued)