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
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)
Artistic, fashion minded and pretty, Harold is a lovely boy who finds he must survive in one of the rowdiest fraternity houses on campus. Soon he figures that his very femininity is the charm that will take him through difficult adventures.
By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2008 by Katherine Anne Day)
Chapter Three: Beer Talk
The legal age for drinking in the state was 21, but that didn’t seem to stop the boys of Omega Delta Phi, or the “Megas,” as they were known popularly, from holding one long beer party, beginning Thursday night and continuing into Sunday evening most weekends. Still 17 years old, Harold was the youngest member of the fraternity, but at least three-fourths of the boys had yet to reach the legal drinking age.
Harold often remembered his confusing Thursday night visit early in the semester with his fraternity brother, Kevin, at the gay and lesbian coffee shop located far across campus from fraternity row and the Mega House. Kevin had made a pass at Harold, telling him how “pretty” he was and how he was attracted to Harold. Yet, Kevin, a scholarship student, was smart enough not to push their relationship, telling Harold they were remain cool to each other at the fraternity house.
“You must be less of a sissy,” Kevin had advised Harold, “Or else, you’ll face awful reactions from these jerks.”
“I know, but it seems I can’t help myself.”
“Harold, if you’re to survive in this world, you’ve got to be more manly. Really, my dear. You must,” Kevin had said as they parted. His voice had a pleading quality.
Harold, of course, knew full well that his growing feminine mannerisms were being noticed; yet, he seemed unable to curb his behavior. His happiest times of the week were when he was working backstage in the costume room, fitting costumes, altering them and even designing a few. There, he could be the girl he truly felt he was, joining with the costume crew headed by Prof. Emily Saatchi, the round faced young woman who regularly wore colorful Hindu saris and had said to Harold that he had promise to be a truly great designer.
“You have an understanding of what best fits each actors needs,” she told him in the third week, as they had completed fittings and we deep into alterations.
“Thank you, professor,” he said, feeling so pleased.
The professor had drawn Harold aside one afternoon just as he was about to leave. She said: “It astounds me to see how well you work with the girls. You fit in with us so well, and I hope you don’t mind being in this all-girl atmosphere. I’d hate to lose you.”
Harold blushed, and reassured the professor: “I love it here. I hope you’ll continue to keep me on the crew.”
“Yes, honey. We all like you, and you’re so talented.”
On the days he worked with the costume crew, Harold went to a dressing room and changed into a pair of low-cut girl jeans and a black tank top. He wrapped his long hair in a scarf, as so many of the backstage girls did. As a result, he was accepted there as one of the girls. He even let everyone know that when he was working they should call him “Heidi,” so as to not raise questions as to his gender. As far as anyone knew, he was female; it made it easier for him to work with the actors who expected that a girl would be fitting them.
It was the only time while he was on campus that he could assume the female role, which was becoming so integral to his very being. He knew his slender arms and narrow shoulders carried a natural feminine beauty; also, he was aware that his legs, too, were among the most lovely among the cast and crew.
He and Rachel had become close friends, usually joining each other at the corner of the quad to walk together to the Theater for their costume work. Their friendship was an easy one; it was not a boy-girl friendship, but a friendship of peers. It was unspoken, too, that they would not become romantically involved.
On a Thursday night in late October, as they were leaving, Rachel suggested stopping at a fast-food place that specialized in vegetarian food for a snack.
“Great,” Harold said. “The frat food is so heavy and disgusting.”
After they were seated, Rachel said, her slender, plain face taking on a serious look, “Harold, I think you may be my best friend.”
“Oh, I like you, too, Rachel. We both seem to have so much in common.”
“I know,” she said, a twinkle seeming to grow in her eye. “And I hope you don’t mind what I’ll say now.”
“Oh, I won’t mind. I want you to be honest with me.”
Rachel had large hands for a girl, and she took reached over, grabbing Harold’s two slender and soft hands, and she held them gently.
“I consider you to be a girl friend. I hope you don’t mind me saying that. I just loved it when you told us to call you Heidi.”
Harold looked into her earnest green eyes, seeing the basic honesty that rested there. Rachel was one of the most unpretentious persons he’d ever seen, and he felt a close kinship to her.
“I’m glad we can be girl friends,” he said finally.
“I was afraid I’d hurt your feelings if I said that.”
“Oh Rachel. I feel I’m more girl than boy. Am I so weird?”
“I guess you’re different,” she said. “It must be terrible for you in that frat house.”
“I hate it, but so far it’s not been too bad.”
“They must tease you, I bet.” She let go of his hands to finish eating here vegetarian quiche plate.
“A little. It’s not too bad. My roommate acts like a jerk sometimes, but he’s actually been very nice. I try to spend as little time there as possible.”
“Why did you pledge that house? It’s supposed to be the rowdiest.”
“It is,” Harold replied. “But my dad went there, and he was a big football hero in his day and he died in the First Gulf War, so I get free housing there. It’s some kind of a grant that provides for kids of deceased vets to be there. And mom doesn’t have much money, so I take what I can get.”
She reached over, grabbing his left hand, holding it loosely. “I’m so sorry for you, but you have such talent, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“As long as I can be Heidi,” he said, bursting out with a laugh.
She joined him in the laugh. “You’ll always be Heidi with me.”
With anyone else, Harold reasoned, his ready admission that he liked the idea of being a girl would have been humiliating. But with Rachel and her seemingly unassuming nature he felt comfortable; perhaps it helped that she was not a particularly pretty girl and was indeed a bit too tall and gangly. No doubt, he felt, Rachel must have been felt somewhat “left out” from the “in-crowd” at school, as well.
Nonetheless, there was a beauty to Rachel’s smile and her sparkling eyes that would do her well as she grew older. He was pleased to be able to be Rachel’s girl friend.
Back at Omega House, even though it was only 7 p.m., the Thursday night party had already begun. Harold, who had been dreaming thoughts of being “Heidi” on his long walk to the house, suddenly was shocked to a terrible reality: Already there would be drunks on the porch and in the living room that he’d have to pass to enter the house.
And true to his worst expectations, the crude boys of Mega House were blocking the stairs to the porch, sitting on every step, beer cups in hand, yelling taunts at passing girls, some throwing footballs back and forth and several already out of it, sitting there staring vacantly.
“Excuse me,” Harold said tentatively, in trying to wend his way through the groups.
“Let the little girl through,” yelled one of the noisiest of boys. “Want a beer, little girl?”
The noisy boy, his large body, decked out in a football jersey, and already stained with spilled beer, blocked Harold’s way. The boy tried to shove a beer into Harold hands, still not letting him through, keeping his huge sweaty body in front of Harold’s progress up the stairs.
Harold tried to look unconcerned, to show these boys didn’t bother him, but the truth was he was scared almost to the point of tears, knowing that it wouldn’t take much beer in any of these boys to start pushing Harold around. No one would defend him, he was sure, and he knew he was not strong enough to force the issue.
“What’s it like to kiss a fairy queen like her?” taunted a sinewy, slender dark haired boy.
“Look at her. We got a beauty queen in our house,” said the first boy, whose name of Thomas.
“Leave me alone,” Harold said, almost so softly that no one heard. His book bag was heavy on his back and he was tired, and he wanted so badly to get to his room. Suddenly the slender boy engulfed Harold in his arms, and began to kiss him. Harold felt the scruffy beard on the boy’s face, smelled the beer that coated his mouth area and felt revulsion.
He was too weak to resist the boy’s lips as they smacked upon his. What was he to do? He was powerless and he had heard stories of how boys with feminine tendencies were assaulted and raped. Was this happen to him now? The boys in the frat house were succumbing to the mob rule in which he would likely be thrown to the ground, his clothes torn from him, his puny body and tiny bit of manhood ridiculed and laughed at. In his terror, Harold could no longer hold on to his book bag and it slid off his narrow shoulders crashing to the ground, spilling its contents down the stairs.
The boy’s lips continued to press upon Harold’s and his hands reached down toward Harold crotch. Harold began to cry, tears flowing down his face. He was so defenseless.
His fright was heightened, when he heard Thomas, the large, husky lad, yell out: “Look at this. She’s a girl.”
The boy kissing Harold removed his lips and loosened his hold on Harold as he stopped kissing to look at what the other boy had found.
Thomas was holding up all of the evidence he would need to portray Harold as the “girl.” It was a clear plastic pouch containing all of Harold makeup items: his lipstick, lip gloss, eyeliner, mascara and combs.
“And look at this,” he continued, holding up a pink tank top he had worn at the rehearsal in the costume room.
“Leave me be!” Harold protested. His voice cracked, reaching a high girlish register, and he began to cry more noticeably.
“Where are all your dresses?” Thomas demanded.
Harold knew it was fruitless to fight back; there were too many of them. He was too weak to resist whatever they wanted to do to him. Finally, it dawned on him: Maybe he could play along with them, try to join in the fun, make himself the focus of their fun rather than the victim of their meanness.
Still in the hold of the slender boy, whose name he finally heard was “Mark,” he squirmed and wriggled, but till found himself powerless. As the boy tried to kiss him again, he did the one thing he knew would free him. He kneed the boy in the crotch, nailing him hard and direct and finally gaining his freedom from Mark, who squealed with a loud: “Owwwwwwww. You sissy bitch.”
Momentarily free, and Harold realized he had to come up with something. His kneeing of Mark had slowed the mob behavior, and he heard someone yell, “Leave him alone. We don’t pick on our brothers in the frat.”
The plea, from the Henry Williamston III, the frat president who had appeared on the porch, seemed to stop the taunting, and Harold said to Thomas: “Gimme my stuff back. I need it for the Theater group.”
“Theater group?” Thomas asked derisively. “A bunch of fairies prancing together?”
“No the University players,” Harold said, loud and firm, gaining some confidence now.
“Oh you going to act there?” asked the president.
“I’m trying out. Right now I’m in backstage crew.”
“Cool,” said another boy.
“Trying out to be a girl?” Thomas continued his nasty tone.
Harold blushed, knowing he might have liked that idea, but he answered, feeling even more committed to standing up to his taunters: “I just need that makeup stuff for my work on the crew. Now, gimme my bag and stuff back.”
With the fraternity president watching, Thomas and Mark handed over the book bag and the cosmetic pouch to Harold, who was fighting to overcome his fear and humiliation with his sudden appearance of bravado.
He knew now that the only thing he had going for himself now was his basic femininity, and he decided to make a theatrical exit, giving an exaggerated flourish of his hands, coupled with a quick turn of his head that caused his long hair to flair out and speak out in a faux soprano voice: “You boys have been just fabulous, but alas I must leave your lovely company.”
And into the house, Harold marched, wiggling his behind in a most girlish manner, bringing out loud hoots and whistles.
Despite his outward bravado, Harold was nearly in tears as he approached the stairs on the way to his second floor room. He was stopped by the fraternity president at the foot of the stairs.
“Wow, you really are quite a performer,” Williamston said. “Doing that girl stuff really shut them up. You were marvelous.”
Suddenly Harold’s composure broke, and he began crying out loud, quickly finding the president’s strong arms around him, leading him up the stairs. He was so embarrassed and was certain he’d be kicked out of the frat house now after that performance.
But Williamston said nothing, leading Harold silently into his room. Fortunately, his roommate was not there. Harold was now sobbing uncontrollably, and was still being held up by the muscular arm of the fraternity president.
“Harold, go ahead and cry,” Williamston said. He now drew the sobbing Harold toward him, holding him tightly against his hard, bulging chest. One of the larger boy’s hands caressed his head gently while the other held Harold firmly.
The warmth of their bodies added to the sweetness of the moment, and Harold found himself welcoming the manly scent of the older boy’s body, the sweat from his armpits. It was an exquisite moment, one that Harold had rarely felt from any human being, except his mother. This large commanding young man was holding him tenderly, exhibiting a kindness that was so generous and welcoming. The hug was different from Kevin’s caresses which felt sensual and sexual.
He stopped crying, and raised his head from Henry’s shirt, to look in the older boy’s eyes. They were clear, bright and blue eyes, and they were also wet, almost teary. The other boy’s lips were surprisingly full and lush, and his face was freshly shaved, with a slight scent of a spicy aftershave lotion.
Henry finally broke the silence, saying: “Are you OK now, Harold?”
“Yes. Thank you, Henry,” Harold said, now drying his eyes.
The two separated, Harold going to his bed, sitting down. Henry stood over him for a moment, saying, “Harold, I want you to know I’ll help you out. Your mother told me to keep an eye on you, knowing how young you are. By the way, no one around here calls me ‘Henry.’ So, you can call me ‘Willy.’ OK?”
“OK, . . . ah . . . Willy, I guess I needed your help out there,” Harold said.
“I don’t know if you did,” the older boy said. “I thought you handled the situation pretty good. Kneeing that leaker Mark for one thing.”
Harold smiled. He had looked on an Internet site that told women how to defend themselves, and read up on various defensive moves the so-called weaker sex could use.
“Well, it was the only thing I knew to do.”
“And, putting on that girly act. That stopped them in their tracks.”
Harold blushed, knowing full well the “girly act” was indeed fairly natural for him.
“You know you pledges need to do a show for the house next month,” Henry said. “Why don’t you go in drag, and really ham it up. I think they’d love it.”
Harold said: “Really. Won’t they think I’m gay or something?”
“Not if you ham it up enough. You could probably go as Britney Spears or Lindsey Lohan before they both got so bent out of shape, and really act it up. You gotta stand out here in this house, for your own defense.”
“Well, I’m going out for cross country,” Harold said. “I can run pretty good.”
Henry smiled. “I don’t know exactly if you’ll ever be an athlete, but try it out.”
“Guess I’m better as a girl, right?” Harold said, with a flirty smile.
Henry blushed. “Perhaps you are. I better go now. Get changed and come on down; you don’t need to drink beer. I’ll see you have some fun.”
With that, Henry left the room. Harold was confused; was this huge, masculine, handsome young man really his friend? What was this weird feeling he had of wanting to kiss him, to feel wrapped into his warm body? He wondered, too, whether he was feeling the same feeling girls get when they are being loved and admired and protected by a strong boy.
Chapter Four: The Princess of Mega House Appears
Harold decided he needed to shower and clean up. He went down the hall to the shower room, feeling comfortable with the knowledge there’d be no other boys there since they’d all be downstairs at the party. He hated using the group shower, where his naked body betrayed his fragile daintiness, his muscular weakness and his tiny piece of manhood. When others were there, he always tried to position himself so that his pathetic penis was not open to the eyes of other boys.
The fraternity president had encouraged him to join the party; Harold wondered whether Henry was sincere, or was he merely setting him up for further humiliation. Yet, the advice he seemed to be hearing from people like Kevin and Henry was that he should stand up to the cruel taunting and teasing.
That evening, having faced cruel taunting in various settings during the weeks he was at college, Harold looked into the mirror of the shower room, the fog only now slowing diminishing, the mirror surface clearing from the top. He was entranced by the slow retreat downward of the misty surface, exposing first the top of his head and the wet light brown hair. Soon he saw his forehead and its smooth pale skin; then came the brow, and his light, slender wafts of hair, leading to his blue, sparkling eyes and his rather high cheekbones. The view then offered up lips, full and luscious, with the view continuing down to his narrow chin and his skinny neck. The mirror bottomed out, displaying only the top of almost dainty shoulders and tender arms.
With a light, airy movement of his hand, he flicked several strands of wet hair from his face, smiling. His face was beautiful, almost porcelain in appearance, smooth and lovely.
“Yes, you’re very pretty,” came a soft gentle male voice, disturbing his reverie.
Harold was startled: “What? Who?” He grabbed a towel and draped it around his waist quickly, seeking to cover his nudity and his shamefully small manhood. Into the mirror, now cleared of it mist came the face of Jason, the fat boy who had initially assaulted him in a drunken stupor early in the semester.
“Hi, Harold,” Jason said. “I’m sorry I surprised you.”
Harold smiled, noting a kindness in the other boy’s demeanor. He continued to cover himself.
“Oh, I was hot, and needed to clean up,” Harold said, not knowing why he needed to explain himself.
“I’m sorry for that scene on the porch. You know us ‘Mega’s’ when we get drunk.”
“I don’t know if I can continue to stay here. No one accepts me for what I am.”
“That’s not true,” Jason said quickly. “I do. I think you’re cool.”
Harold wasn’t sure where this was going. Why was he suddenly getting such positive attention from people like Willy, the frat president, and now Jason. It was true Jason had become friendly after his first boorish behavior, but Harold realized it might have been Jason knuckling under to the mob pressures that affect many groups, particularly boys in fraternity houses, where it’s expected they are to be hard drinkers, champion whore-mongers and jocks.
In his own way, Jason was a bit of an outcast, like Harold himself. Jason had an intellectual streak, Harold had discovered in their earlier conversations. Coupled with his pudginess, his interest in the arts and studies must have made Jason, too, feel he was not “one of the boys.”
“I loved how you kicked Thomas in the balls. It reminded me of the first night we met,” Jason laughed.
Harold smiled, remembering how he ended Jason’s beery assault with a knee in that boy’s manhood. “It’s what a girl has to do to defend herself.”
The minute he said those words he regretted them. He had just seemed to acknowledge openly his girliness to this boy. The fact was he knew he could never fight off boys bent on beating him up or sexually assaulting him without using weapons that women had used for years: biting or kicking the assailant in the crotch.
Jason merely laughed. “Well, you gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Actually, Willy was worried about you,” Jason finally said. “He hopes you’ll come down and join the party. I said I’d check on you.”
“Really?” Harold said. “Well let me get dressed then.”
Harold was tired of being bullied, and of trying to look more masculine than he really felt was natural. As he walked back to his room, Harold began debating with himself; he was pleased to see that he seemed to have developed some friends among the frat boys, and therefore he felt he should probably dress as masculine as possible, in order not to embarrass them.
Yet, he felt he should be able to show who he truly was. He was tempted to dress in a short skirt and camisole, and march into the party showing them how lovely a girl he could be. He smiled to himself as he contemplated that eventuality. As he approached his room, he realized that Jason was following alongside. The other boy touched Harold’s arm as if to slow him down.
“What?” Harold said.
“You have any girl clothes in there?” Jason said, nodding his head toward Harold’s room.
“Why?”
“I think you probably do, Harold.”
Harold suddenly felt fear in his heart. What was Jason getting at? Did he want to humiliate him again? Harold refused to answer, and instead began entering his room.
“Harold, listen to me,” the other boy pleaded. “I’m not being funny. I think you should dress up like a pretty girl and go down there and challenge those guys. Stand up to them.”
“As a girl?” Harold asked incredulously.
“Yes, as a girl,” Jason said, now grabbing both of Harold’s slim arms, his face now close to Harold’s emitting a slight beer odor.
“Are you drunk or something, Jason?”
“No, and I’m dead serious. I’ve watched you, and I think you’d like to dress like a girl. And, I think you’re really a special person. Really, I do.”
Harold could see the serious expression in Jason’s pudgy, but earnest face. It was obvious the boy had detected Harold natural feminine characteristics. Harold wondered why the boy was taking such an interest in him now; yet, there was a sincerity that emanated from the lad’s demeanor.
“I should go down there dressed as a girl, you say?”
“Yes, Harold. Stick it right in their face! Otherwise, they’ll challenge you the rest of your days here. Let them know you’re different.”
“Oh, that might just make them tease me more,” Harold protested.
“Nah, if you challenge them, they’ll back off. The ones that are bullying you are spoiled brats and cowards. They’ve already seen you know how to fight back. You’re no pushover.”
Harold was beginning to like this idea. And, it was true, he had learned how to protect himself, in spite of being so small and seemingly unmuscular.
“Harold,” Jason persisted. “You can just act tonight like it’s a big joke. Dress up, and I’ll escort you down the stairs as your date.”
“Really? You’d do that?”
Jason smiled. “Yes. I’d be proud to. That’s if you’ll have me as your date. I’m not the handsomest boy in the House. And, you’d be the prettiest date I ever had.”
Harold giggled, a high, girly giggle, and he lifted up on the balls of his feet, planting a kiss smack on Jason’s face. Suddenly, he stopped, exclaiming: “My God, what did I do? I’m sorry Jason.”
Jason was flushed now. “I liked it.”
They both stepped away from each other, realizing this innocent act of joy might be misconstrued if anyone else saw the kiss.
“I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” Harold said. “But, let’s do it.”
“Do you have something to wear?”
“Yes, it’s not much, but it’ll do. Gimme ten minutes and I’ll be ready. Come back then.”
At the back of his computer case, Harold had hidden several panties, a bra with breast forms, a pair of light blue colored girl shorts and a pink sleeveless tee-shirt with bunnies on the front. From deep in a garment bag, he uncovered a pair of sequined silver short sandals and a pair of short white girl’s socks.
From the makeup kit he carried to and from play rehearsal, he removed lipstick, rouge and eyeliner. He also found two pink hair ribbons; he’d ask Jason to help him tie his hair into two pigtails when he got there. That would test Jason’s commitment to this project, Harold thought.
Jason’s commitment would also be tested, Harold realized, if he’d really come back in ten minutes, and if he’d comeback not to tease or harass Harold but to escort him down the large central staircase before the eyes of the Frat boys; and, Harold wondered, too, what the Frat boys’ reactions as his tender, slight form, dressed as a cute teen girl, was guided down the wide central staircase on the arms of this tub of a boy named Jason.
A rap on the door interrupted Harold’s fearful thoughts: “Are you ready, Harold?”
“Come, in, Jason,” Harold answered in a high, almost sweet voice, he adopted when he dressed as a girl.
“Wow,” Jason gasped. He was speechless for a moment as he looked at Harold, finally uttering only: “You’re so cute.”
Jason had changed his clothes, too, in the intervening ten minutes, putting on a clean light blue shirt with a button down collar and a pair of pressed khaki slacks. When the boy cleaned himself up, his apparently inherent sloppiness was gone, and he looked quite handsome.
Harold twirled about, in a light, girlish motion, his hair still hanging loose and flowing freely.
“Jason, would you be a dear and help me tie ribbons in my hair?” Harold asked in a bit of theatrical excess.
“Er. I don’t know how.”
“Come, I’ll help you,” Harold said.
Jason came over slowly, and awkwardly tied the strands of Harold long light brown into two bobs at the back. Jason’s big fingers tussled a bit with the process, but finally finished, and he stepped back to look.
“You’re unbelievable, Harold,” the bigger boy said. “I’ve never dated a girl as cute or pretty as you. Never. But, then I never had lots of dates, but I bet when all the girls from sororities get here, you’ll still be the prettiest.”
“You’re a sweet boy,” Harold said, adding a coquettish flourish with the tilt of his now lovely head.
“We better go, Harold. Oh, but I can’t call my girl Harold all night, can I?”
Harold smiled: “No, I’m Heidi.”
Despite their outward bravado, Harold and Jason suddenly realized the gravity of what they were about to do. There was hope not too much beer had been consumed, and their reception would be at least somewhat respectful and orderly. Jason had them pause at the top of the central stairs, with the frat boys and perhaps a dozen girls mingling on the first floor.
Harold was astounded to see Henry “Willy” Williamston, the frat president, bound up the stairs to greet them, carrying a portable electric bullhorn. He held his hand up, in a motion to stop Harold and Jason from continuing down the stairs. Jason whispered something in Henry’s ear, and the president put the bullhorn to his mouth, gave it a brief screech to quiet everyone, yelling:
“Ladies and gentlemen. The men of Mega House and their guests. Let me present to you tonight our Pledge Queen for the Class of 2011: Heidi Cochran and her escort, Jason Conrad. Let’s give Heidi applause for being the prettiest pledge in the 102 year history of Mega House.”
A giant cheer went up, followed by hoots and whistles. Jason and Harold (now Heidi) stood at the head of the stairs milking in the cheers, until Harold decided to play along with the fun. He did an eloquent, lovely curtsey, prompting Jason to bow, although a bit more awkwardly.
There were more cheers, and Jason slowly led his lovely partner down the stairs. Already Harold could hear voices from several of the visiting sorority girls saying: “Who is she?” “My God, she’s still a teeny-bopper.” “I have to admit she’s a cutie.”
Jason turned out to be the perfect date; he gently held the lovely Harold by the arm, steering her to meet some of the other fraternity brothers, with “Heidi” playing the demure shy maiden. He introduced her to a pair of girls from the Kappa Gamma Gamma sorority across the street, and left Harold in their company while he ventured for some soda for his date.
“Don’t you drink?” one of the girls, a blonde with a milky white complexion, a bit of fleshiness oozing from the spaghetti strapped camisole she wore.
“No,” Harold said softly, using the high register voice he had cultivated through the years. “I’m only 17, and I’m afraid to drink.”
“Oh,” she said. “I guess you’ll learn soon enough.”
“What sorority are you in?” said the other, a short, almost emaciated appearing girl with a narrow face whose name Harold soon learned was Jennifer.
“Ah,” Harold hesitated, moving his hand shyly to his face. “Just a friend of Jason’s.”
“You’re not his date?” Jennifer asked.
Harold moved his head in a flirty tilt, and laughed lightly. He was beginning to warm to his role as the petite, sparklingly pretty Heidi. “No, just friends, we’re from same part of the state. He’s been nice enough to show me around.”
Jennifer seemed to smile at that, saying, “Oh, that’s nice of him. He’s very nice.”
The other girl smiled and put her hand on Jennifer’s shoulder. “I think Jennifer was jealous. She dated Jason a few times last year.”
“No, I’m not, Jason’s just a nice boy.” Jennifer’s quick response, a bit aggressive, exhibited just a bit of enviousness. It was obvious she had felt threatened by the appearance of Harold as a lovely young maiden on the arm of her former date.
Jason appeared, a beer and a soda in his hands, handing the soda to Harold, who took it and held the plastic cup primly.
“How are you Jennifer?” the boy asked. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“I guess not,” the girl said, a sarcastic tone now sounding obvious.
“Oh,” he laughed, a bit defensively. “Heidi is new in school, and she was lonely and she’s so young. I was just showing her around and the boys in the frat house were glad to welcome her.”
“Oh,” Jennifer said, recovering her form. “That’s nice of you, Jason. Meet my friend, Missy. She’s a Kappa, too.”
Jennifer had now moved close to Jason, her hand occasionally touching his forearm as they talked. Harold could see the session was becoming uneasy, as Jennifer, it was apparent, had a crush on this big lummox of a boy, who beneath his chubby exterior seemed to have a warmth and depth not easily seen.
“What you majoring in?” Missy asked Harold, letting Jennifer and Jason begin a conversation.
“Oh, I’m not declaring a major yet,” he said, taking a prim sip from the straw of his soda. He was holding it in two hands, standing stiffly erect, taking the pose he imagined a young lady would hold.
“I’m in design,” Missy announced. “I’m a junior now.”
Harold smiled. Since Missy was dressed in the “sorority girl” uniform that evening, he wasn’t too sure how much design consciousness the girl might actually have. Then, he realized he was being snobbish, and giggled silently to himself, thinking he was obviously acting like any other girl would in judging another.
“Well. I’m applying for drama school,” he said finally.
“To be an actress?”
Harold giggled. “No, I’m too shy for that. Backstage crew, maybe costume design.”
“Cool,” Missy said, as she appeared to seek to ask Harold more questions, which Harold had hoped to avoid. Jason, now being monopolized by Jennifer, looked desperately at Harold as if to say, “I’m sorry, dear. I’d rather be with you.”
Harold was becoming uneasy, and was trying to figure out a way to escape this, when Henry “Willy” Williamston, the frat president, came by and broke into the crowd, acknowledging Missy, whom he obviously knew.
“Jason, can I steal this lovely lady from you for a few minutes?” Henry said, his voice in a commanding tone.
Before Jason could answer, Harold felt his arm begin held firmly by a huge hand and he was guided away in the grasp of the fraternity president.
“They think I’m a girl!” was all Harold could say, as the two ventured through the crowd. Willy led Harold to the back porch, which for the moment was empty of others, and Harold wondered what was on the frat president’s mind, and Harold was fearful the husky young man might be wanting to sexually approach him; Wlly had ben so affectionate before.
It was obvious that Willy must have sensed Harold’s fears, for he took Harold’s left hand and held it gently, but firmly, in his right hand, and looking into Harold’s eyes in the dim light, he said: “Heidi? Do you mind if I call you that now?”
Harold looked into the older boy’s eyes, reflected from the hallway light that beamed out onto the dark porch, and felt reassured.
“No,” Harold said slowly, carefully. “I kind of like being called ‘Heidi.”
“I was hoping you’d say that, Heidi. We’d like you to become the first girl member of Mega House.”
“What?” Harold asked.
“Why not? You can see the hit you made tonight. I think all the boys are in love with you,” he said with a smile.
Harold was confused now. It didn’t make sense that there’d be a “girl” in the frat house, except to be there in the Biblical sense, that is, as a sex object and perhaps even the target of a gang sex game.
“I can’t do that, Willy,” Harold finally said. “They like me only as Heidi. They’d tease me, bother me. I’m afraid.”
“Harold, don’t think that. The guys are impressed with you; first of all, you so easily turn yourself into a dainty, lovely girl. It’s seems so natural for you.
“And second, you can live here as a boy all you want and become our ‘Heidi’ when you’d like, or for special occasions.”
“Oh that’d be so weird. I couldn’t do that. Besides, Mega House might be kicked out of the Greek Council or censured by the national for having a girl live in, even a girl like me.”
“No, I’ve talked with others of my leadership. We like the idea. It’d help our image to the fact that we would openly accept transgendered persons; I think we probably have some gay members now who won’t own up to it.”
“Oh Willy, I don’t know if I feel like such a pioneer.”
“You won’t have to be. You can stay here as a boy all you want, but if you want to dress up pretty for us from time to time, that would be so cool.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, my dear Heidi,” he said giving Harold’s hand a gentle squeeze.
Harold suddenly felt safe and protected by this strong, handsome young man.
“And, Heidi,” Willy continued, “We have a single room for you, with a private bath, so you could keep all you girl stuff to yourself. And, you could lock your door.”
Harold explained there was a vacant room on the second floor, which had once been occupied by a graduate student who acted as “floor monitor.” The position had been abolished as no longer necessary in the days of “liberated” students, and thus the room had been opened up for use.
“Now, Harold,” Willy said, reverting to Harold’s male name, “I want you to know that I will never abuse you; I know you are very intelligent and, besides, you are a strong guy in your own way. I think you were afraid I might assault you, like the boys did on the porch. No, I’m interested in my own future, Harold, and acting like a drunken frat boy is not one of them.”
“Thank you, Willy.” Harold was certain his trust in this young man was warranted.
The pair returned to the party, and Harold saw Jason was still entangled with Jennifer. In his absence, Harold saw that another frat boy commandeered Missy. Jason looked hopelessly at Harold, as Jennifer prattled on and on.
Harold gave Jason a dainty little wave, bringing a desperate smile to the boy’s face. When Missy saw Harold, she motioned the lovely “Heidi” to join them.
“Are you pledged to any sorority, Heidi?” she asked when Harold joined their circle.
“Um, no.” he replied.
“We’d love to have you pledge the Kappa’s, wouldn’t we Jennifer?”
Jennifer nodded eagerly.
“She could be our candidate for the Greek Princess contest,” Jennifer said. “You’re so lovely and sweet.”
“I bet she’d win,” said Jason, with a wink at Harold.
Harold tilted his head in a shy response, brushing his flowing hair with a light wispy flick of his hand.
“You’re the cutest thing,” Missy said. “What d’ya’ say, Heidi?”
Jason interrupted. “Heidi’s already settled in where she’s at.”
With that, Jason grabbed Harold’s arm and with a dismissive wave said “goodbye” to Missy and Jennifer, stating, “I need to get Heidi home now.”
Before their protests got too aggressive, Jason had guided Harold out of the frat house and into the warm autumn night.
“Thank you, Jason. You’re a sweetheart,” Harold said, now happily walking hand-in-hand down the street along fraternity row, looking very much like young lovers.
Jason led Harold to a local coffee house, where they enjoyed some lattes, sitting at an outdoor table along the street. The student beer joints were already hopping, but Jason seemed happy to be with Harold at the coffee house. They shared some small talk for a while, generally agreeing that, as frat president, Willy was most unusual.
“It was his decision that you should be free to express yourself as a girl,” Jason said. “And he’s ready to protect you from the other boys.”
“I guessed he’s honest about that,” Harold said.
“We both realize Mega House has had a bad rep, and accepting you for whom you are would help in that regard.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for being a guinea pig, though.”
“Oh, I think you are, Heidi. Oh I hope you don’t mind that I call you that. You really look so much like a ‘Heidi.’”
Harold blushed and nodded an “OK.”
“You know what Jennifer said: About you being the Greek Princess?”
“Yes, I heard that. What is that?”
“Every April, the Greeks hold a Pompeii Party, and all the sororities nominate a girl to be the Princess of Pompeii. Usually, the girl of the greatest beauty, along with good grades and some extra activities wins.”
“Oh?” Harold blushed. “But, I’m a boy.”
“Not so as you can tell now. You fooled both Missy and Jennifer. And you’re easily as a pretty as any of the girls I know.”
Harold knew his natural femininity was apparent at first glance, and he smiled at the prospect of parading about as a girl in a beauty contest.
“You think so. That I pass totally as a girl?”
“Oh my God yes. But I was thinking something special.”
“What is that?”
“That Mega House should nominate you, as Heidi, to represent the frat house as the Princess of Pompeii.”
Harold was startled. Why would a frat house want one of their own members to compete as a girl?
“No way.”
“Think about it. Willy thinks it would be a great idea.”
Harold was stunned. This was all going too far.
While they were seated, a friend of Jason’s from his hometown stopped by the table, and said: “I’d like to be introduced to your lovely girl friend, Jason.”
“This is Heidi,” Jason said in a proud tone.
“Wow, I didn’t know you had such good taste, Jason. She’s a beauty.”
Jason took the occasion to caress Harold’s arm in front of his friend. “And, she’s all mine. Aren’t you honey?”
“Oh yes, Jason’s been so sweet to me,” Harold said, nestling closer to Jason, and then suddenly giving him a light kiss on his cheek.
“Nice meeting you, Heidi,” the other boy said. “If he treats you bad, please call me. I’m Kirk. I’m at the Delta house.”
“Get away Kirk,” Jason said in a good-natured dismissal of his friend, who was obviously impressed that Jason, as a chubby boy, had found such a pretty girl friend.
That night, as the stood before Mega House talking, Jason took Harold in his arms, and leaned down to kiss. Their kiss was long and sweet.
Harold entered the frat house holding hands with Jason, now playing the role of Heidi. The party had grown more drunken, and Jason quickly escorted Harold up to his room, leaving him there to contemplate his new life as “Heidi,” the Mega House Nominee for Princess of Pompeii.”
Harold knew his new role would not be easy. This evening might bring new challenges, since there was no way to lock the door, and he wasn’t too sure a Mega boy might not find his new femininity a lure for a sexual assault.
Harold did get a visitor later that night; it was nearly midnight and Harold roommate was still not home.
“You in there Harold,” said the voice as Harold was trying to fall asleep in the darkened room.
“Oh it’s you, Kevin. Yeah, I’m here. Come in.”
Kevin snapped on the light, blinding Harold for a minute and when he could see, Harold noticed Kevin was in an angry mood.
“What do you think you were doing tonight, Harold?” Kevin asked sternly.
“What do you mean?”
“I heard that you pranced around like a damned girl tonight, like a sissy girl.”
Harold looked at his friend, astonished at his sudden anger. Harold had felt a love for this boy, a strange new feeling in that he had never before felt such a love for any human being.
“Ah, yes. Willy suggested it as a way to challenge these bullies. And, I liked it. Even got invited to join a sorority.”
“I heard all that,” Kevin said, and after pause said in a sarcastic tone, “Heidi.”
“Are you mad at me, Kevin. I thought we were friends.”
“I thought so too. But now you’re going all girly on me.”
Harold suddenly felt his confusion turn to sorrow and tears began to flow. He felt he had loved this tall slender boy, but that love as now being rejected.
“I loved you, Harold. I loved you, so hard. I wanted you as Harold, my darling Harold. I don’t want you as Heidi.”
Harold got up off the bed and moved toward Kevin attempting to put his arms around the angered boy, only to have Kevin wave him off. “Stay away from me, you . . . you . . . girl. I want my Harold back, my lovely sweet Harold.”
“Harold, please. I’m so confused. I feel so natural as Heidi, as a girl.”
Kevin looked at Harold with a harsh stare. “You’re disgusting,” Kevin said, turning and bolting from the room. Harold thought he heard the other boy crying as he left.
Harold turned the room light off, closed his door and returned to his bed, assuming the fetal position he took whenever he was sad or moody. Harold had so enjoyed Kevin, finding him a warm and interesting friend; he had developed affection for the slender older boy, even wanting to be held in his arms and to feel their lips together in sweet kisses.
He thought Kevin felt the same toward him, a closeness that may even be true love. Then it dawned on Harold; Kevin wanted a lover, a male lover, and he wanted a lover who could comfort him in sex. Harold finally realized as he lay there in the dark: Kevin felt revulsion at having a female lover, and now, to Kevin, he, Harold, would always be “Heidi,” a girl.
Harold finally felt a comfort come over him: he now knew he was in all truth a girl, and with that truth he knew he would face many trials ahead. Yet, he knew the truth also brings overwhelming joy that comes with realizing one’s true identity.
“I am the Princess of Mega House,” he said aloud, but softly to himself, as he fell into a sweet sleep.
Harold is a slight and effeminate boy who finds both friends and tormenters as he begins his freshman year in college in one of the rowdiest of frat houses. Sometimes he is a lovely girl named Heidi and his beauty is stunning and convincing. Yet, he finds joy as well by being a boy named Harold. He struggles to find the best direction for his future.
The Girl in the Frat House — Part Three
By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2008 by Katherine Anne Day)
The Story So Far: Harold Cochran enters the fraternity house where his deceased father had been a football hero; Harold, however, yearns to be Heidi, and exhibits an obvious girliness to match his tender, fragile body. He repells the assaults of some of the boorish boys, using feminine defenses, but soon wins friends from among some of the other boys. His dressing as Heidi for a frat party was so convincing he was invited to join a sorority. In his role working in costumes for the university theater group, he is accepted as one of the girls, setting up a quandary: Is he to remain a boy? Or, follow his desire to be a girl?
Chapter Five
On the morning after Harold dazzled the frat boys and the visiting sorority girls when he dressed as “Heidi,” he awoke to hear the light snoring of his roommate, obviously sleeping off a beery night. The room had a staleness created out of beer and sweat and probably some errant passing of gas.
He lay there for a few moments, feeling some strange comfort in Will Hampton’s steady breathing. He knew his roomie would likely miss his Friday morning classes as he nursed a beer hangover up to noontime. Harold contemplated his immediate future, knowing that he’d soon be making some life-changing decisions.
The previous night he had, through his own perseverance and the unexpected support from the fraternity president, Willy Williamston, and his new friend, Jason, experienced the joys of being a girl. He had become Heidi in the eyes of his frat brothers and their girl friends from neighboring sororities, and he felt that being a college coed was so natural.
“I’m a girl. I’m a girl,” he repeated softly to himself. It felt so good, and it seemed so right. He continued to lay there, his left hand reaching over to caress his slender, soft upper right arm, recognizing that his body structure was truly that of a female.
As he did so, his penis grew hard, and his pressed it between his thighs as he lay on his side. The nipples of his tiny breasts hardened and he dreamed of himself dressing that day in a mini skirt and tank top, putting a pink baseball cap on his head and tucking his long light brown hair through the hole in the back, and tying it in a bob. With a pair of pink tennis shoes and white ankles socks he knew he’d certainly be Heidi again, as he was the previous night.
Willy had proposed that he move out of the double room he shared with the beer-sotted Will Hampton and move into a private room, with a lock, where he could be Heidi all he wanted. And, Willy had proposed also, that he could live the life of either Harold or Heidi as he saw fit, but that the fraternity might enjoy him as Heidi for special events, perhaps even running as Princess of Pompeii at the fraternity-sorority big event of the spring.
Oh, but could he do it? What would his mother say? How about other students who knew him as a boy? Would he not be shunted or teased or humiliated?
This being a Friday, Harold only had English and French classes in the morning; then he was scheduled to go to the Theater and work on fitting costumes for the coming play. As much as he wanted to dress as Heidi, he knew it was probably too soon to declare himself the girl he wanted to be. The frat boys seemed to enjoy his exhibitionism last night, but he knew that might not last long.
For a while, he knew he would have to continue as Harold, giving into his desires to be a girl by wearing a pair of low-riding girl jeans with panties underneath. Nonetheless, with his flowing hair, slight stature and rather effeminate mannerisms he knew at least half the people he met would take him to be female. Underneath his short sleeved male shirt, he wore a girl’s tee-shirt and he’d remove the outer shirt at the theater where just about everyone now called him “Heidi.”
It had become routine for Harold to meet Grace, the girl he had befriended in his English class, for coffee in the student union about a half hour before the 9 a.m. class. Grace also had been in the backstage crew at the Theater, and the two had become close friends.
“You look prettier every day,” Grace said as the two met at a tiny table next to a window in the union. “I’m envious, Harold. Or, should I call you Heidi, now?”
Harold smiled. “No, I’m still Harold. But, I like being Heidi, too.”
“I like you either way,” she said. “You’re always cheerful, not moody. Don’t you ever feel sad?”
Harold didn’t know how to answer that question. He knew he had been able to put on a cheerful front, hiding the fears that gnawed at him constantly and the sadness that accompanied his feelings of inadequacies.
Grace sensed his hesitancy in answering, realizing that Harold must have demons on his own, just as she always had. Recognizing her own physical features that would forever limit her from being a “beautiful girl,” she had hidden her shortcomings in oversided clothes that covered her tendency to gather weight in the tummy and hips.
Yet, Grace has lively eyes and a round freckled face that most people found very charming. Grace had never had a boyfriend, even though she was now 19 and a college freshman.
“Oh Harold, I guess we all have demons that make us sad. Sorry I asked.”
Harold smiled: “No Grace, you’re sweet to ask. And, I guess I do feel sad . . . quite often in fact. But, I like to smile and be cheerful for other people.”
“You do, Harold. Everybody seems to like you. And, you know, right now you’re the best friend I have on campus.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I feel I can talk to you, share things with you I’d never share with anyone else. And certainly, I would never talk to things with another boy, as I do with you.”
“Thanks, Grace. I feel the same.”
Grace reached over to grab his hands: “You know, I think of you as a girl friend. And, that we can be together as girls.”
Harold smiled: “I love that thought. I’d like to be your girl friend as well.”
Harold wanted to share with Grace the questions he had before him now: should he come “out” and be Heidi in the fraternity house; or should he try to remain Harold. Should he take on the role of being the “Princess” of the house, or try to become manly?
It was funny being with Grace. There friendship truly was growing as it would between two girls; there was no apparent feeling on the part of either of them of a sexual encounter as between a boy and a girl. They both it was obvious were afraid of sexual encounters, since both were inexperienced in sex. In their naiveté they had found comfort in each other.
Harold had problems concentrating that morning as the teacher was discussing the Poet Byron. One student raised the question whether Byron was homosexual and whether that influenced his poetry, a topic that the class began debating in earnest. Harold had stayed out of the discussion, which was out of character for him since he usually had his hand raised in class daily to the consternation of others.
“How about you, Harold? You certainly should have a thought about this!” It was a nastily phrased comment from Bobby, the bully who had accosted him in the first day of classes.
Harold reddened, but decided to hold his cool. He replied pointedly: “All of the rest of you seem to know so much about the topic, I figured I better stay out of it.”
As he said it, he noticed Grace giving him a smile and a “thumbs up” gesture. It gave Harold the confidence to forge ahead and give his own answer.
“You should know that Byron was born with a club foot and was raised in very poor surroundings,” he began. “He needed affection, I think, badly and being shunned because of his physical shortcomings probably made him very sensitive. I guess he was bisexual, but he did marry and fathered a daughter; he also had some notorious love affairs with other women. It seems whether he was gay or not was immaterial. He was very talented.”
The professor, whose own prissiness was obvious to all, applauded Harold’s explanation, saying: “I think Mr. Cochran has summed it up well, now let’s get on discussing Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimmage.”
Harold during that class had been day-dreaming about Kevin. Had he lost Kevin forever? He still pictured the boy’s long face with it scraggly beard and felt he wanted to feel Kevin’s lips upon his. Did he love Kevin, he wondered? Was he indeed homosexual? What did all this mean?
He wanted so bad to be with Kevin and to talk through their relationship. Why had Kevin rejected him so suddenly, and with such meanness? Was it because when Harold had dressed as Heidi he had looked so totally feminine, and maybe was attracting other boys? Was Kevin jealous? His musing ended with the question in class, but he found he would not soon lose feeling sad over the apparent loss of Kevin’s fondness for him. His thoughts in the coming days would be filled with yearning for the comfort of being with the slender older boy.
As was their custom, Grace and Harold walked out of the class together. It was Grace who spoke first: “You seemed to be day-dreaming in class, like you didn’t even hear what Prof was saying. Something wrong?”
“Oh just lots of stuff going on in my mind, I guess,” Harold answered, purposely avoiding a direct reply. He certainly didn’t want to share with Grace his sadness over Kevin’s rejection.
“I sensed there’s a bit of Lord Byron in you,” she offered hesitantly.
Harold didn’t answer, but walked straight ahead, hoping Grace would change the subject. He was shocked by her observation. It was right on the mark; how observant this plain looking girl was. He had indeed read much about Byron after learning about the poet’s life in high school literature class. Byron’s deformity as a child affected him, just as his own tiny body and feminine features had marked him as a “different” kind of boy.
“Oh, Harold, I’m sorry,” Grace said, sensing she had hit a sensitive nerve.
“Don’t be, Grace. I guess you’re probably right. I’ve read a biography about Byron and was fascinated by his life.”
“Didn’t he really become quite heroic later in his life?”
“In a way he did,” Harold replied. “Later in his life he commissioned a brig to help the Greeks fight against the Ottoman oppressors, but he died of fever before entering any battle. I think he was always trying to prove himself a man.”
Harold could sense’s Grace’s hesitancy in commenting further. He broke the moments of silence, saying, “I guess I somewhat identify with Byron. I don’t consider myself talented, like he was, but sometimes I wish I was more macho, I guess. Can you imagine me ever dreaming of being a star quarterback? But I have.”
He laughed, and she joined in.
“Yet, I feel so happy when I’m with the girls in the Theater, both you and Rachel. You’re so good to me.”
“Well Mr. Star Quarterback,” Grace replied. “We think of you as just one of the girls.”
Harold reached, grabbed her free hand, and squeezed it softly, with affection. The two parted for their next class.
*****
That afternoon, Harold went to the Theater to continue fitting costumes for the play, Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet,” scheduled to be performed in mid November.
Harold felt right at home with the backstage crew. It was easily the sweetest part of the day. There, he could show his great skill as a seamstress and costume designer. Along with Rachel, another freshman who had been selected with Harold for the crew, there were three others, two seniors and a junior who made up the costume crew. Of course, the others were girls, but after some questioning glances when he was first introduced, there seemed to be little issue among them over the fact that he was a boy.
Harold was eager to be accepted by the whole crew and cast of the group, and he was agreeable to all the tasks assigned to him, which often included cleaning up the costume room, sorting out the costumes and sweeping up cuttings and threat remains from the floor.
His easy-going nature and somewhat feminine mannerisms seemed to win acceptance by the other girls. Harold smiled to himself, knowing that they certainly would never look upon him as someone they should seek as a future boy friend. His slender, short stature made him nonthreatening, he was sure.
While working in the backstage rooms, Harold often wrapped his long hair in a scarf, wore either a tank top or tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants, cut off just below his crotch, to looking like shorts. He wore white tennis shoes and short white socks, the kind usually worn by girls. On this Friday, he was in his girl jeans and he removed his shirt to reveal the pink short sleeved tee shirt. The straps of the padded bra he had put on that morning were apparent through the thin fabric of the shirt. From all appearances, he was sure, he must have looked like a slender, flat breasted girl.
Professor Saatchi, the costume director, soon noticed Harold’s skill at measuring the actors, and adjusting the clothes to fit.
“You’re better at the sewing machine than any of the girls,” commented Daisy Ann Sweet, who was a senior. She was the lead “costume girl,” a beefy, red-faced tall girl, who had a benign expression that hid a profound intelligence. Like the others on the crew, they dressed sloppily and did little to enhance their looks.
Daisy Ann had been watching Harold take out a dress for one of the minor characters, ripping the seams, and then stitching them back so that no one could tell there had been alterations.
“My, you handle that stitching marvelously. How did you learn that?”
“Thank you,” he said. “My mother taught me.”
“We’re so happy you’ve joined us,” Daisy said, smiling.
Harold continued his work on the dress, moving swiftly and deftly. He knew the girls were watching, and he actually worked, moving his hands about with a little extra flair that might exaggerate his girlish mannerism.
“And you have the prettiest hands,” Rachel told him later, after she had watched him work.
Harold blushed, realizing that perhaps he had gone too far in exhibiting his femininity that was becoming to feel more and more natural to him. He knew, too, that to a person casually looking into the room would mistake him for being just one of the girls on the costume crew. He admitted to himself, as well, that he enjoyed the idea that he was being mistaken for a girl, and a pretty one at that.
“What’s your name, honey?” Harold was startled at the question coming from one of the male actors whom he was fitting for a costume.
Harold, who was one his knees, measuring the actor’s inner seam, looked up, saying: “Who, me?”
“Yes, you,” said the actor a dark-haired muscular lad, with several days’ growth of beard.
“Oh, why?”
“Well, you’re cute. I thought maybe you’d like to get a coffee later, after rehearsal.”
Harold blushed, not knowing what to say. He realized that the boy, seeing him with his hair wrapped in a colorful scarf and his slender arms and narrow shoulders, had mistaken him for a girl.
“Oh, I don’t date boys,” he finally said, hoping to discourage the boy.
“Well I just thought . . .” the boy said, not completing the sentence as he walked away with the fitting ended.
Later, as Rachel and he left the rehearsal, she said: “I got something funny to tell you, Harold,” she said.
“Oh?”
“Lionel, the boy you measured for one of the characters in the play, asked me what was wrong with you.”
“Why?”
“He wondered whether you were a lesbian,” Rachel said, beginning to laugh. “He said you told him you don’t date boys.”
“Of course, I don’t date boys. Why would I?”
Rachel’s giggles continued: “He was so certain you were a girl.”
Harold smiled so pleased to be taken for a girl.
“It’s funny,” Rachel said.
“What is?”
“Well, you know what snob those actors are! They treat us backstage people like peons, like slaves.”
“I know, they always seem so in love with themselves,” Harold agreed.
Rachel said: “I should be mad at you! It takes a pretty girl like you to even get one of them to acknowledge us. And, you’re not even a girl!”
At that, Harold skipped ahead down the sidewalk most girlishly.
“I hate you!” Rachel said, but she was also laughing.
They continued down to the campus main quadrangle, where they would split, Harold to go on to the Mega House and Rachel to the women’s dormitories. Plain girls like Rachel who came from working class families rarely were pledged to sororities and were subject to housing placement by the vagaries of a large college bureaucracy.
“Hey, Rachel,” Harold said. “I got an idea.”
“What?”
“I’d like you to meet Jason, one of the boys in my frat. He looks like a typical frat boy, but he’s really very sweet.”
“You trying to fix me up?”
Harold smiled. “I guess. But he’s nice.”
“Oh he wouldn’t want me. He’s got all those sorority girls.”
Harold considered her objection for a moment, realizing that Rachel’s hesitancy probably was more due to her shyness about boys and the feeling that she was not pretty.
“Look her, Rachel,” he said. “Let me design a nice outfit for you. There’s a Harvest Dance coming up, and Jason has no girl friend now. I think he’d like you.”
“Oh Harold, please no!”
“Yes, I insist. I promise I’ll make you pretty. You know I know about dresses and makeup and all this stuff. OK?”
“No Harold, please.”
“Listen, let me do this. I’ll agree to meet Jason for coffee sometime and you’ll just happen to be there, and if you two like each other, maybe he’ll ask you out. If not, nothing is lost, right?”
Rachel shook her head. “Please,” Harold pleaded.
In truth, he knew Jason was developing a romantic attachment to him in his Heidi mode and he didn’t want to nurture that. Maybe if he found an attraction to Rachel, he’d be freed of that situation.
Rachel finally nodded a tentative “OK.”
The two agreed that Harold would meet with Rachel Saturday morning at the Theater where he’d take Rachel’s measurements so that he could design a dress for his friend. Rachel didn’t seem too happy with the idea, but Harold was excited. He truly loved to design dresses and to make women pretty. And, he could envision how pretty he could make Rachel, whose lively eyes and fresh face offered all sorts of potential beauty.
*****
In two weeks, on the second Saturday of November, the campus would celebrate Homecoming Weekend. The university’s Vikings football team was struggling as usual to win games, its record being under .500 for the season. The school hadn’t had a championship season for 25 years since Harold’s father, the famous Scotty Cochran, had been all-conference and lead the team to the league championship, only to lose a heart-breaker Bowl game. Nonetheless, Scotty’s jersey number had been retired after his untimely death in the first “Desert Storm,” and his memory was revered throughout the Frat House and the entire university.
Plenty of alumni would be descending upon the school that week, and Mega House was preparing for the event, hoping to impress the alumni of the House so that they’d continue making contributions to the Frat building fund.
Harold loved his mother, but he wished she would not come for the weekend. His femininity was well-known in the frat house, and most of the brothers still talked about his performance on the recent Thursday night. Harold had wowed them all by dressing as a girl so convincingly that visiting sorority girls were inviting him to pledge their houses. He was so afraid he’d embarrass her with his sissified nature.
“I’ve got a boy friend, Harold. He’s a lovely man, and I’m sure you’ll like him,” his mother told him on a phone call on Saturday afternoon after he returned from the Theater where he measured Rachel.
“Oh mother, that’s OK,” Harold said. He knew his mother needed male companionship; yet, he couldn’t help feel jealous, and also wonder if she was dishonoring his father by dating again.
“Harold, please. Your father has been gone over 16 years now. I loved him so much, you know, but I need to get on with my life.”
“Yes mother. I know.” And Harold did know she was right, but it still hurt.
“He’s coming with me on homecoming weekend. He wants to meet you.”
“Oh mother, no. Please no. Come some other time.”
“Something wrong, darling?”
“No,” Harold protested. “I’m just not ready to meet your friend.”
His mother was firm, however. She said they would arrive late Friday afternoon and that they had made reservations at the Viking Inn. They wanted to take Harold, and any friend of his choosing, out to a nice dinner that night.
“Have you met any girls?” his mother asked.
“Not as girl friends, mother. You know how I am?”
“Don’t be so shy, Harold. You’re very handsome lad.”
Mothers never really knew their sons, Harold felt. They never saw their sons having any shortcomings; his mother knew her son was neither athletic nor handsome in a masculine sense. She had to have recognized how feminine he truly was; she had even taught him some feminine skills, such as sewing.
Harold hung up the phone with a sick feeling. She hadn’t identified her boy friend, and Harold wondered why. Nonetheless, he had to spend two weeks trying to become more masculine so that he could survive the horrid homecoming weekend, with its partying, drinking, alumni curiosities and his mother and her new boy friend. How he wished he could introduce Heidi that weekend. Wouldn’t that be something?
*****
After dinner on Friday, Harold found the fraternity president, Willy Williamston, in his room. Willy was laying on his back, but wasn’t sleeping.
“Am I bothering you, Willy?” Harold asked.
“No Harold, come on in. I’m just resting for a while. The guys wanna hit the bars tonight, but I’m not so sure I feel like it.”
“Oh. Guess you must have busy days, Willy.”
Willy smiled and motion Harold to sit at his desk chair. “What can I do for you?”
“Willy. I’m not so sure I want to change rooms, to have that single room.”
“Oh, why, Harold? I thought you’d feel more comfortable in that room. I’m not sure all the boys are going to leave you alone, particularly if you dress as Heidi.”
Harold blushed. He knew what the frat president was saying was accurate; since he had performed as a cute college girl, he must have stirred the juices of some of the brothers and some might lose control after a few beers.
“I heard some grumbling about that from some of the other boys, wondering why a pledge should get a private room,” Harold explained. “I don’t want any special treatment.”
“I can handle such comments,” Willy said. “I cleared it with the house council.”
“I suppose, but still I’ll stay with Will Hampton. He’s been nice to me.”
Willy now sat up, perching on the side of his bed, looking directly at Harold. “And what about Heidi? Are you going to dress as her anymore?”
Harold blushed, not sure what to say. He knew in his heart he’ll always be a girl, and that Heidi may indeed become more and more a part of his life.
“I better try to be more of a boy for a while, at least through homecoming weekend.”
Willy smiled, knowing that the slender person in his room was truly someday going to be a lovely woman. The frat president had looked into transgendered persons once Harold had entered the frat house, and he realized the difficult situations such persons faced. He felt, too, that a boy’s desire to be a girl was probably something the boy could not overcome. Willy was unusual among the leaders of “Greek houses” in that he was serious about his future career in public service. Contrary to his upbringing in a wealthy, conservative family, Willy had developed a liberal mind as it related to discriminatory practices, including gay and now transgender rights.
“I guess that’s best, Harold. I know your mother will be here, and the alumni are planning a special 25th year anniversary celebration for the last football championship season. And, I know they’re planning to honor your father.”
Harold had become aware of that, and the possibility that he, as the only son of the frat house’s alumni hero, would be in the spotlight.
“I guess I better be the most masculine I can be, at least for a couple more weeks,” Harold said. “Not that it’ll be easy to do.”
“No, I guess not, but why don’t you join the touch football team? Can you catch a pass?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t played football for a long time. They always said I caught like a girl.”
“Well, why don’t you and I try it out?” Willy said. “Jason and Hampton and I are going to the park tomorrow after lunch to goof around, maybe throw the football. Why not come along? We’ll see.”
Harold agreed that might be OK. The two talked for several minutes. As Harold got up to leave, Willy said: “You know Harold. You really are pretty as Heidi.”
Harold smiled back, and gave a feminine wave, as he left the room.
*****
Harold was excited about dressing Rachel up and making her attractive and lovely. Despite her rather gawky appearance, being too tall at about 5’ 10,” having sloping shoulders, a slender neck, almost nonexistent breasts and too wide hips, Rachel’s facial features were soft and feminine and her eyes always radiated with a brightness that seemed to cheer her companions. In addition, she had long flowing hair that could be easily fashioned.
As he measured her that Saturday morning at the Theater’s wardrobe area, Grace happened in on the scene. The three of them looked over dress designs, and Harold even sketched out some ideas. They argued, even in anger at times, trying to decide on the best design for Rachel.
Harold finally sketch out a layered dress that actually draped to below her knees. “She has lovely legs, I know,” he said in arguing with Grace that the dress should be shorter to show them off. “But she’s so tall, it’ll just exaggerate her height.”
“But to hide her pretty legs, Harold, that’s a shame,” Grace argued.
“One of the secrets in fashion,” he said, “is to leave something to the imagination. Rachel has perfectly lovely ankles and lower legs. Most guys will let their own lust imagine the rest.”
They all laughed at that.
Rachel kissed Harold with a light, gentle kiss that girls often share. “I think Heidi knows her business,” she said, using his girl’s name.
The dress also draped from faux broadened shoulders with a V-shaped bodice that nearly was open to Rachel’s navel. She would wear no bra, and Harold thought it would make Rachel look terribly provocative, if not downright sexy. There would be a cloth belt positioned at a high waist level, so as to not accentuate her hips.
Rachel blushed when she saw the design. “For me? I’m not fit to wear something that sexy or pretty. I’ve never worn anything like that.”
“Rachel,” said Grace, “Heidi here has brought out the true woman in you. She’s such a talent.”
Harold, now performing the role as Heidi, smiled. He loved the idea of making a person feel beautiful and proud.
“Now, Heidi,” Rachel said. “You must design something nice for Grace.”
The three joined in a group hug, and Harold felt so good to be accepted as Heidi with the two girls.
When they finished, he realized that he had to hurry back if he was to join Willy, Jason and his roommate, Will Hampton, for touch football in the park. He suddenly had a brainstorm.
“Why don’t both of you come to University Park about 1:30 today? We’re having a touch football game and I bet you’d have fun.”
“You play football?” Rachel asked unbelievingly.
“Not really, but they asked me to play, and I think they’d enjoy having you two join us. I play like a girl, anyway.”
They giggled. “Well, maybe we girls can compete against the boys,” Rachel said. “I’ve always been kind of a tomboy.”
“And I belong on the girls team, for sure,” Harold said, doing a little prance, drawing a laugh from Rachel.
It was agreed. The girls would show up at the park that afternoon to join Harold, Willy, Jason and Will Hampton in some touch football.
As he walked back to the fraternity house, Harold realized that this would be an ideal way for Rachel to meet Jason; he wondered how he and Grace would fit in, though.
*****
Harold had studiously avoided sports throughout his childhood, always finding excuses to stay away from shaming himself at baseball or at facing certain physical humiliation at football. His behavior, he expected, would have upset his athletic father had he survived the first Gulf War.
“Mother,” he asked several times I his teen years. “Do you feel dad would be ashamed of me? He was such a star athlete and I hate that so much.”
Her answer was always the same: “You’re father was a marvelous man, honey, and he would have wanted you to be happy. I’m sure he’d be proud of you. You’re so talented and good in school.”
“But, mom, I’ll never be like dad.”
“No one could be. He was one of a kind.”
With that, his mother would hug him, his slender, almost dainty body surrendering to her gentle caresses. She always then kissed him lightly on the forehead and ran her fingers through his long hair. These moments of tenderness were so special to him; he enjoyed his mother’s fresh, soapy smell. The protective cover of her arms was so sweet.
Now, she was bringing a man, possibly a lover and perhaps even a future husband and stepfather, to homecoming weekend. All the years since his father’s death in Iraq his mother had stayed away from dating and any male relationships; it had been only his mom and himself. Now, they were separated as he began at the university and she had taken on a male friend.
For the next few weeks he vowed to make himself more masculine, a task he felt was hopeless. How could he develop muscles, transforming his skinny, soft toned arms from their pathetic nature? How could he change his effeminate mannerisms that had seemed to grow so naturally?
The group gathered at the lakeside park, a vast green space dotted by picnic areas, groves of oaks and maples and makeshift softball diamonds and soccer fields.
Willy the frat president dashed their hopes of pitting the boys against the girls; he felt that Harold should be on his team so that he could impart some rudimentary skills about football into his pathetic trainee.
The teams had Willy, Rachel, and Harold on one side; on the other side was Jason, Grace and Will Hampton. To be sure, Harold was the most pathetic of the crew, having problems catching even the gentlest ball thrown at him. He always fought the ball, and it usually bounced off his hands.
To make matters worse, he had tied his long hair back in a ribbon and he wore a pair of old Capri pants with girls tennis shoes, the only pair he had. He certainly looked like a girl as they played on the green.
After several fruitless tries, Harold finally got the hang of gathering the ball in as it approached him; his efforts at throwing a decent pass, however, always seemed to end in failure. It wobbled off his small hands when he tried.
It turned out that both Rachel and Grace were quite athletic, and both tried to instruct the hapless Harold on throwing a pass. Nobody said it, but he felt they all must be thinking ”he throws like a girl.” He had heard that so often as a kid, but his friends here were too kind to say it out loud.
The game was played with lots of laughs, some awkward tumbles and much good-natured chiding of each other. Harold soon was breathing so heavily that he wondered whether he could continue, but the girls were still fresh, and he felt shamed to stop.
It turned out that Jason and Rachel were often covering each other, and it appeared that Rachel often got the upperhand over the chubby Jason; she easily outran him, but he had native athletic skills and often upended her. She would get up and get mad, hitting him with her fists in his beefy arm.
They giggled a lot together, several times ending up with Jason hugging the girl to end her punching. They were almost the same size.
Harold surprised everyone by taking a pass from Rachel and dodging both Will Hampton and Grace in scoring a touchdown. It ended the game and Willy ran down the field, picking Harold up, carrying him high on his shoulders.
“Heidi, Heidi, Heidi,” they all yelled, using his girl’s name.
Soon they were all sitting on the ground, breathing heavily, laughing and taking water from the bottles they brought along.
Willy sat down next to Harold, commenting, “See that wasn’t so bad. You did ok.”
“I guess,” he replied, feeling Willy’s hand gently pat his back.
Rachel and Jason were engaged in an earnest discussion and Grace came over to join Willy and Harold, while the other two boys said their goodbyes.
When it came time to leave, Harold noticed Jason and Rachel took off together, headed to what he believed may have been Rachel’s dorm. Willy said he had to go to the Student Bookstore for some notepaper, leaving Grace and Harold together.
“Did you have fun, Harold?” the girl asked.
“I did. Really, I did. I never played much football.”
“I could tell,” she said, laughing. “But you got the hang of it. You’re cute.”
“What?”
“Oh what did I say?” she caught herself.
Harold blushed.
“You’re truly unique Harold. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“I guess that’s a compliment,” he said warily.
“Oh my yes, you’re not like the other boys I’ve met. You’re so sensitive and sweet.”
Harold blushed. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
She was, and the two walked to the Student Union for ice cream. They talked about about their hometowns and the theatrical production they were both working on, the University Player’s performance of “Romeo and Juliet.”
“Heidi … oh darn, I meant Harold, I love the dress you made for Juliet in the balcony scene,” Grace said. “You made her look so feminine and dainty.”
He smiled at her use of the feminine name and was so pleased to hear her praise his designing skills.
“Oh, you can call me Heidi anytime,” he said.
“Not now, because today you’re Harold,” she said. “Say you were pretty good out there; you faked me and Will out pretty good on the touchdown.”
“But Jason said I still looked like a girl when I ran,” he said.
She took his hand in hers; Grace was easily as tall as Harold and with a large-boned athletic body. She had brown, short, straight hair that she wore in bangs. She had a square-jawed, smooth and freckled complexion with blue eyes; she did little to enhance her femininity and Harold felt she could easily be made up to be a striking young woman.
His hands felt dwarfed in her larger, beefy hands, but her hold was gentle.
“Harold, please don’t talk like that,” she said, pressing his hand a bit harder. “You’re a very handsome boy, you know.”
Harold just nodded, not sure if Grace really meant it. She had shown nothing but kindness to him since they first met; Harold felt so good to know a person like her.
“Grace, I’d like to ask you something,” he said.
“Well, ask.”
“I feel embarrassed about it though,” he said.
“It’s just between you and I. Ask, silly.”
He smiled and began.
“My mother is coming for homecoming weekend,” he started.
“So?”
“Well, ah. Anyway, she wants to take me and a friend out to a nice dinner, and I . . .”
He stopped short, realizing he was going to say he had no one else to ask. That would be rude to Grace.
“Yes, what?”
“Anyway, would you like to be my friend that night?”
“I’m your friend now, aren’t I?” She said, smiling.
“Well, yes. Then you’ll come with me that night?”
“Oh you silly boy. Of course,” she leaned over to kiss him.
“It might be a difficult night,” he said. “My mother is bringing a boy friend. I’ve never met him, and as far as I know it’s the first real man she’s had since my dad died.”
Grace patted his hand. “We’ll make a special night for them, Harold.”
“Of course, you’ll have to not say anything about Heidi,” he added.
“I know. We’ll bury Heidi for that weekend, anyway.”
Harold knew he would have to figure out how to subdue his seemingly natural tendencies to act feminine for that weekend; he had become more and more effeminate since he arrived on campus, and this would be the first time his mother saw him since she dropped him off in the frat house in September.
Chapter Six
In the two weeks until the Homecoming weekend, Harold was careful not to wear one piece of clothing that was not male; the sole exception was for the time he was in the costume shop at the Theater, when he dressed in the clothes of “Heidi,” the costume girl.
Harold also tried hard to eliminate his feminine mannerisms that had become second nature; his erect walk that exaggerated his hip sway and was accompanied by the swing of his arms. He could not rid himself of the feeling that he was a female, that his slender, fragile body was that of a girl. Yet, he was trying.
At the end of the first week of this effort to be more masculine, he came face-to-face with Kevin, who had so terribly snubbed him after his evening of being dressed as “Heidi.”
They met on the front steps as Harold was returning home in the late afternoon; Harold sought at first to avoid eye contact, but Kevin stopped in front of him, forcing Harold to pause and look directly at his onetime friend.
“Hi, Harold,” Kevin said, tentatively.
“Hi,” Harold said in a hardly audible voice. He looked into the tall, pale, slender boy’s eyes, and felt a sudden warmth and connection, revitalizing their brief but earlier intense friendship.
“I’ve missed you,” the older boy said.
Harold didn’t respond, but looked at Kevin intently. It was Kevin who broke off the friendship; now, Harold wondered, did he want to renew it?
Harold agreed to join Kevin in a walk into a wooded area near the lake that adjoined the campus; the two walked the several blocks without comment, and as soon as they headed into the more hidden paths, he felt Kevin long fingers on his forearm. It felt so good to again feel the other boy’s touch. They found an empty bench and sat together, knees touching, with Kevin taking both of Harold’s hands in his.
“I’m sorry I was so mean to you,” Kevin apologized. “But, I can’t see you as a girl.”
“Oh. I was a girl just for the night.”
“I know. But, Harold, my dearest, I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Harold was shocked to hear Kevin say the word, “love.” He had felt a strong affection for the other boy, had wanted to kiss him even, but “love” between two males was a strange concept to Harold.
Harold looked into Kevin’s eyes, saying nothing, seeing a moistness appear in the older boy’s blue eyes. Kevin had a sorry excuse for a beard, but Harold again felt the need to kiss the other boy.
“Oh Harold, when I saw you dressed up as a girl, and looking so much like a girl, I couldn’t help it. You looked so real as a girl that I couldn’t imagine being in love with you. And I snapped, yelled at you. I’m so sorry.”
“You love me as a boy?” Harold replied, somewhat mystified by the conversation.
“Oh yes, Harold, I cried almost every night since then, thinking you will be a tranny or CD or something. I want you as the boy you are. You’re not a girl! Not to me, anyway.”
Suddenly the two were embracing, kissing madly, but they stopped after a few seconds when they heard footsteps on the path.
Harold was now confused; he felt strong affection for Kevin, wanted to feel his caresses and kisses. He couldn’t understand why the other boy could not love him when he was “Heidi.”
For the next week at least, he realized that while he was Harold his love for Kevin would be realized. But would Kevin, who was obviously gay, ever accept Heidi? That question remained to be answered.
*****
It was in the costume room where Harold felt most at home, most comfortable. There, he donned a pair of sweat shorts, a tee-shirt and girl tennis shoes, covering it all with a floral designed smock. He tied his hair in the back, putting various combs and materials in his hair. There, all the crew knew him as Heidi as his natural femininity seemed to take over take over his entire demeanor.
Harold was putting the finishing touches on Rachel’s dress, but the work of the play kept interrupting his completion of the dress. He was beginning to worry that he’d not get it done in time for the dance. She loved the dress he had designed for her, and said she wanted to pay for the material.
“Oh no, I don’t want that, Rachel,” Harold protested. He knew she was struggling to pay her rent and tuition, coming from a family with a low income.
“But the dress is going to be so beautiful,” she said. “I love to see you sew, Harold. You have such pretty hands and they move so daintily as you work.”
Harold smiled, knowing that to the backstage crew and the actors, he was known only as “Heidi,” the costume girl. Harold had learned early in his work that actors usually are so rapped up in themselves they pay no attention to the backstage crew, treating them almost as their slaves. “Go see the costume girl,” he had heard more than one actor told when they had a costume problem.
He loved the reference and he accepted the role of Heidi with great eagerness. He found that for several hours as day in the costume room he could be the person he truly felt he was: a lovely young woman.
The Harvest Dance was to be held on Saturday night of Homecoming Weekend, and Harold had but three days to complete Rachel’s dress; to finish it in time to give Harold time to fix any problems with the fit, he decided to work Wednesday night in the costume shop, hoping to complete the work by 9 p.m.
Grace had agreed to come back with Rachel about then to try the dress on, and Harold had been working feverishly applying sequins to the bodice. Except for three actors rehearing lines on stage, the theater was quiet. The heat had been turned up for some reason and the costume shop was stifling; Harold was wearing only his shorts and a pink tank top and his hair had straggled loose, some strands falling across his face. He was constantly flicking the hair away, and he knew he was sweaty and dirty.
He finally completed the dress about 8:30 p.m. and stood up, holding it in front of himself as he looked in a full-length mirror to get an idea about how it might look on Rachel. He sashayed a bit, holding the dress first one way, and then another.
He was deep in concentration, when suddenly a male figure appeared in the mirror, standing behind him.
“That’s a lovely dress,” the man said. The room was dimly lit and it took a minute for Harold to realize it was the Theater Group’s director, Milton Kastner.
“Oh, Mr. Kastner, I didn’t hear you come in,” Harold said, his voice in the high register it often hits when he’s stressed or surprised.
“Is that for the play?” he asked.
Harold was nonplussed. What should he say? Should he admit it was a personal project?
“Ah, no, Mr. Kastner. I’m doing it for a friend for the Harvest Dance. But I’m not using any theater group materials. I bought all . . .”
“Oh no, honey, I wasn’t worried about that.”
Harold put the dress down, and brushed his hair from his face, realizing he must look awful, being so sweaty and dirty.
“You’re the costume girl for our play, aren’t you? Aren’t you Heidi?”
Harold hesitated. “Ah, ah, yes. They call me Heidi.”
“Well Heidi, I saw your light on here as we’re about to leave, and wanted to tell you what a great job you’re doing on the costumes.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kastner.” Harold was indeed pleased to hear that; he had never spoken to the director.
“No really, all of the actors have said how easy you are to work with and how quickly you fix their costumes to fit. And, I love what you’re done for Juliet. You’re truly a talented girl.”
Harold blushed, knowing that it would be fruitless to point out to the director that the “costume girl” was really a guy.
The director moved close to Harold, and lightly pulled back some of the loose strands of hair from Harold face. He looked closely at Harold. He smiled.
“You know, you have a very pretty face, Heidi,” he said. “Have you ever acted?”
Harold was puzzled. What was Mr. Kastner asking?
“Not really. I only did costumes in high school. I did play the oldest daughter in ‘Fiddler’ for one night when the actress got sick. I had been asked to memorize her lines just in case.”
“Well, you’re very lovely girl, but I’d hate to take you away from the costumes,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Kastner. It’s kind of you to recognize our work.”
“You know, Heidi, the play can’t go on without everyone’s contributions.”
With that, he leaned over, hugging Harold lightly, and kissing him on the cheek; it was the typical theatrical embrace that usually meant nothing, but it excited Harold anyway. This marvelous director (Mr. Kastner was recognized throughout the theater world for his talents) had kissed him; actually, Harold realized, he had kissed Heidi.
Harold was still ecstatic over the incident when Rachel and Grace arrived. Rachel tried the dress on, and they all were thrilled as to how she looked in it.
Grace looked at Harold, as if to say: When will you make me pretty?
Harold sensed her question, realizing that he had treated Grace rather perfunctorily. “I’d like to make you a dress too sometime, Grace,” he said.
“Heidi,” Grace replied. “I mean you need to make me pretty for your mother tomorrow night. I don’t know how to dress so I look nice and attractive. I’ve never dressed for a nice date, before.”
Harold looked at her in surprise: “You are a very attractive person, Grace. You have such a nice face and pretty eyes.”
“Pretty eyes. Pretty eyes. That’s what my mommy says. Look how fat I am,” she literally burst into tears.
“Damn, Grace. You’re not fat,” Rachel chimed in.
“I am, too.”
“Grace, I think we can dress you up pretty,” Harold said. “Let me meet your tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll get you into a nice dress and fix you hair and makeup.”
“Would you Harold?”
“Yes, Grace, I’d love to do it.”
“Oh Harold, you know so much more about how a girl should look than I do. Would you help me?”
Harold smiled: “Yes, and so will Rachel.”
She hugged Harold, pulling his slender body next to her, kissing him firmly and with an unusual passion. The moment ended far too quickly, and Harold changed out of his “costume girl” clothes and into his male outfits for the walk back to the frat house.
*****
Harold’s mother called him at the frat house late on Friday afternoon. “Bill and I are at the hotel now, darling. We’re in room 312.”
“Hi mom. His name’s Bill?”
“Yes darling. I guess I didn’t tell you. He was a friend of daddy’s from Bloomington; they grew up together. He’s a sweetheart.”
“That’s good, mom. I’ll look forward to meeting him.” Harold said this without any real enthusiasm, fearing what her boy friend was going to think about him.
“He’s a widower and he was feeling lonely, Harold. He’s really very nice. I think you’ll like him.”
They agreed to pickup Harold at 6 p.m. for supper; he was to arrange to have Grace ready by 6:30 p.m. when they’d pick her up.
“Is she a sweet girl, darling?” his mother asked.
“Yes, mother. She’s very nice, but we’re not the boy/girl thing you know. We’re just friends from the backstage crew.”
“I wish you’d get a real girl friend sometime, honey,” she said.
“Oh mom.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” she backtracked.
“Oh mom, that’s OK, I know you just want me to be happy. And, mom, I am happy now.”
“That’s great son. I know you’ll like Bill. He and your dad were very good friends.”
They ended the conversation with each sharing, “I love you.”
Harold loved his mother very much; she had spent her entire life after his father’s death caring for him. She seemed to understand his feminine nature, even though she was confused by it. A slender, smallish woman, she had married a muscular athlete, and their only son turned out to be more like her.
She had noticed how interested Harold had been in her clothes and how she dressed; when he expressed an interest in learning to sew and use the sewing machine, she was shocked at first. Then she realized how important it was for him to have an interest in something, particularly since he would never be athletic.
And, indeed, it developed that it was those skills at the womanly art of sewing and dress designing that would help him achieve in high school.
Her son’s growing effeminate behavior haunted Elisa Cochran; she was shocked when she saw the high school play program list “Harold Cochran Jr.,” as “Head Costume Girl.” She worried that she had done wrong by encouraging him to sew, particularly since she may be doing dishonor to the memory of her late athletic husband.
Now, she wondered whether placing Harold into his father’s fraternity house would change him, make him aspire to more masculine activities. Or, would he become victimized by the cruel behavior that sometimes featured frat houses?
Harold knew instinctively what his mother was hoping; and he knew that he was betraying her desires.
His stomach began to churn as he considered what might occur that night. He could see Bill, his mother’s new boy friend, examining him closely, comparing Harold slight, somewhat effeminate body with his old friend’s muscular, athletic physique. His mother, he realized, might be very tense, too. Perhaps that was why she inquired if the girl he was bringing might not be a real “girl friend.” Harold knew he was under scrutiny.
Harold had told Willy, the frat president, that his mother was coming for a visit; he informed the brothers, and the frat was excited to hear of the visit by Scotty Cochran’s widow and Harold’s mother. Even though there was to be a reception the following day on Saturday, Willy said he’d be there on Friday night to greet Mrs. Cochran, and introduce her around. Harold was not happy with this, since he was afraid someone would mention how Harold dressed one night as girl, and was easily the prettiest girl at the party.
When his mother and her boy friend arrived finally, exactly at 6 p.m., Harold was fully dressed, having put on light grey slacks, a blue button-down shirt and a Navy Blue blazer with cold buttons. He had combed his hair back, seeking to de-emphasize its length, which tended to make him look feminine.
“Should I wear a tie?” he asked Jason, who had helped him get ready for the evening’s events. Jason had become a most understanding friend.
“No, I think you look very handsome as you are,” he said. “I’m sure your mom and Grace will like you too.
“I hope they like Grace,” Harold said.
“Oh they will, Harold. It was so cool how we helped her pick out a nice dress last night.”
Harold, Jason and Rachel had all tended to helping Grace find the appropriate clothes. Like Rachel, Grace had never been particularly fashion conscious, having been more interested in social justice and anti-Iraq war causes than in dressing pretty.
Again, it was Harold’s advice that most helped make Grace’s choices. When they finished, Grace was transformed into a very pretty young lady. Her round face was framed by fixing her hair to fall down about her ears, then curling the ends. Harold suggested she wear a full floral skirt of knee length and a light blue camisole covered by a dark jacket. She was to wear two-inch sandals, so that she would not tower over Harold too noticeably. Even without heels, she was an inch taller than Harold.
“Bill, this is my son, Harold,” his mother said as the two entered the foyer of the frat house. “And, Harold, this is Bill Forster.”
Harold, putting on his most gentlemanly manners, extended his hand to the tall, handsome middle-aged man before him, saying “Nice to meet you, Mr. Forster.”
“It’s Bill, please, Harold.”
Harold tried to provide a firm handshake as his slender, tiny hand would permit, and to his credit, his mother’s boy friend, grasped his hands gently, but firmly. The pleasantries were brief, and Willy, the frat president, joined them.
To his relief, the visit to the frat house went off without a hitch. Harold had purged his part of his room of any feminine traits, and no one, mercifully, mentioned his evening as a girl.
Grace looked absolutely ravishing when they picked her up, and the evening began with great promise. Bill turned out to be a warm, friendly person. He was slightly bald, but with his fringe of grey hair looked astonishingly handsome. It turned out both he had Harold were dressed alike, grey trousers, blue blazer and light blue button-down shirt.
It turned out that Bill Forster had played football with Harold’s father, playing center. He was a big-boned man, but had maintained a slender, mildly muscular body. Bill's wife of 14 years had died unexpectedly of cancer, leaving him to raise their two children, both slightly older than Harold, all attending colleges in other cities.
Harold could see his mother was happy with this man, and he hoped he would do nothing to ruin that friendship. Bill held his mother’s hand as they walked, assisted in opening doors, and pulling out chairs. He was a perfect gentleman, and Harold followed suit, following all the proper gentlemanly behaviors with Grace.
“How did you two meet?” Bill asked as the meal was being served.
“Oh, we’re in the same English class, and we’re also on the backstage crew of the Theater group,” Harold explained.
“Nice. You moving scenery, Harold?”
“No. Just backstage stuff,” Harold answered, fudging the answer.
He looked at his mother in desperation.
“You can tell him, Harold, what you really do. Bill might find that interesting.”
“Oh mom, really?”
Grace patted his hand, as if to tell Harold to be quiet for a minute.
“Harold is in the costume department,” Grace said. “He’s absolutely very talented in designing and fitting the clothes for the play.”
Harold knew his face must have reddened. What would this man think now?
His mother added: “Bill, you must know that Harold has very artistic talents. We’re very proud of him.”
“Yes, Mr. Forster, Harold was quickly recognized for that talent and he’s the head of costumes now,” Grace said.
Bill looked at Harold closely, saying nothing for a minute. Finally, he said: “Yes, I can see he must be talented.”
The comment was neutral and Bill’s face gave away no obvious positive or negative feelings towards the revelation about Harold’s talents, as feminine oriented as they were.
“Well, Harold, you should know that Scotty had an artistic side to him as well,” Bill said. “He wasn’t just a macho football player.”
“I guess I never told you that, Harold,” his mother said. “He liked acting in the school plays.”
The evening turned out to be a great success; Harold realized his mother had found a good boy friend, one who understood Harold may be a bit different, but for whom that was no problem.
He even found himself holding hands with Grace, looking at her as someone other than a classmate or platonic friend. They giggled as they both related how Harold had found new athletic prowess in the touch football game.
“Because of his size, he never played football,” his mother said.
“Oh he’s fast, Mrs. Cochran,” Grace said. “And we even taught him to throw the football.”
“Yeh, mom,” Harold said laughing. “You always said I threw like a girl.”
“Well, we taught him, Rachel and I did,” Grace added.
“Rachel and you?” Bill asked inquisitively.
“Rachel’s another costume crew member,” Grace added. “We’re all friends and we’ve started this co-ed football game.”
Harold blushed. “The girls are still better players than me, but I’m working on it. We’re having fun.
It felt good for Harold to be talking openly about his lack of athletic ability and to also be recognized for his unique talents in dress-making.
“Harold, I find it’s important to feel good about yourself,” Bill said. “I see you’re going to be a success in life. I saw from the frat president here and from Grace here that they have a great respect for you. You have some nice friends.”
“I don’t know about all that, Bill, but I’ll keep trying. I might even play quarterback sometime.”
They all laughed as the dessert course began. After the meal, Harold asked that Bill and his mother drop both he and Grace off at her residence, saying he would walk back to the his frat house later. His mother gave him a knowing wink, perhaps encouraging his venture into the world of college romance.
He took Grace’s hand as they walked up to her residence.
“Won’t you come in for a while,” she asked. “There’s a lounge where we can talk.”
They found an isolated corner in a lounge area of the residence hall; Grace was not in a sorority, but lived in a large dormitory. They sat together on a small couch, thigh to thigh.
“Grace you were so lovely tonight,” Harold said.
“Thanks to you, I’ve never felt so pretty,” she said. “I never dated in high school, you know.”
“I didn’t either. I was always smaller than most of the girls.”
“Oh, you are so handsome, Harold, really. And your mom and her friend are so nice.”
They talked for a full hour, finally ending with Grace coming close to Harold, raising her face to his, and inviting a kiss. The two began with a soft, tentative kiss, which soon grew to a full-lipped connection and passionate embraces.
Harold’s penis hardened as they kissed, but Grace suddenly cut off the connection. “We better not get too hot,” she said.
In Harold’s innocence and naiveté, he quickly retreated, thanking her for the nice evening. They broke apart, with Grace taking the elevator to her room, and Harold walking out into the cool autumn evening, still feeling very spacey. It was a wonderful feeling; he had never had such a feeling before.
*****
The walk home gave him time to think about the happenings of the last few weeks, and the confusion he now felt. Even though he was dressed as a very proper male, he realized he was walking with the lilting step of a girl. He had developed his feminine mannerisms so easily, and they seemed to have taken over his whole being.
Being female, he believed, was his natural self; yet, he had spent the night playing the role of a handsome young man, and he liked that as well. The long kisses with Grace had made him excited and a bit spacey; then, too there was Kevin and his affection for Harold, but only in his male mode.
“I am a girl,” he said to himself out loud, hoping no one was walking nearby as he said it. His fragile, almost dainty body, he realized, was that of a girl’s, and he was fond of thinking how pretty he could be as a girl. As he continued back to the frat house, he realized he was still walking with that feminine quality, hands swinging, hips swaying and chest thrust forward.
“I am a girl,” he said again, smiling to himself. Yes, he was a girl, but somehow he’d have to figure out how to bring that fact into reality.
As the school year continues, Harold's femininity becomes more apparent and he finds comfort in being 'Heidi.' Harold's confusion grows as he faces the loss of his first friend and his mother's disappointment if he continues his journey into girlhood. Yet, being a girl seems to come naturally. He ponders his future.
The Girl in the Frat House — Part Four
(Copyright 2008 by Katherine Anne Day)
Chapter Seven
Henry “Willy” Williamston III, the fraternity president, had asked Harold if he’d mind becoming part of the committee that was planning the reception for the alumni of the frat house for homecoming weekend.
“I’m kinda busy, Willy,” Harold replied, using that as an excuse.
While Harold was busy with his schooling and his work in the costume crew of the University Players, he really was still feeling shy and tentative among many of the brothers, some of whom still seemed to view him as a “sissy” or “girl” unfit to be a Mega. Only the support of Willy and others like his friend Jason and roommate Will Hampton was keeping him from being bullied and harassed.
“I know you are,” Willy said, “But, you always seem to have some good ideas, and you’re the most artistic brother we got. Please, help me on this, Harold.”
“I don’t know.”
“Jason has agreed to work on this too. You and he will well work together, I know.”
Willy’s trust in him, Harold felt, was reason enough to agree to help out. Willy had also assured him that working on the committee might gain him more acceptance from among the brothers. The committee work had involved several planning meetings, and an agreement to help clean up the House , set up decorations, arrange for the refreshments and food and a brief program with some home-grown entertainment thrown in.
Jason, it turned out, was the chair of the committee, and was proving to be a most responsible, hard-working leader for the group. Four others were original members of the committee, and Harold hardly knew them. They were, like Harold, boys that were usually in the background, and didn’t seem to be the “party boys” of the house. It seemed to Harold that Willy was exhibiting some crucial leadership here, trying to involve boys that were “outsiders” to help them become feel more accepted as Mega brothers.
As a result, the entire group seemed to accept their chore of planning the reception with great enthusiasm, developing a camaraderie that comes out of working on a difficult chore. One late addition to the group was Kevin, the upper classman for whom Harold had developed a strong attraction, his first experience of wanting to kiss and embrace another boy. Kevin volunteered once he saw the group begin to work, and Harold felt he had done so to find more excuses to be close to Harold.
Kevin had rejected Harold for a while after Harold had dressed so convincingly as a girl for the frat house party several weeks back; now that Harold had seemed to be acting with more masculine behaviors, Kevin had reopened their friendship.
Jason had decided that each boy would be given the responsibility for planning and developing a certain part of the reception. “Why don’t you work on the program, Harold?” Jason had suggested. “You’ll plan out who should speak, what kind of a theme we should have and maybe some brief entertainment.”
“I guess I can do that,” he agreed tentatively.
“I’ll help him on that committee,” Kevin volunteered.
Harold blushed when he heard Kevin volunteer, and he hoped no one noticed. It meant he and Kevin would be together more often now, a prospect that he both welcomed and feared. He dreamed of being smothered in the slender, sinewy arms of the tall, lanky blonde Kevin, their lips meeting in passionate kisses and sweet words of love passing their lips. Harold was puzzled by his desire to be with this gangly boy. Until meeting Kevin, Harold had never even wondered about kissing or hugging another boy, but his attraction to Kevin was so compelling.
The two meet in Harold’s room several times to plan the events, with Kevin bringing a chair next to Harold as they sat at Harold’s desk working on the program. Their thighs met, and Kevin put his arm around Harold’s shoulders, as they worked, his hand lightly caressing Harold slender arm. Harold could smell the stale sweat on the older boy’s tee shirt, but he found the scent strangely alluring. They kissed only briefly, once during their planning meetings, since they were afraid someone might pop in on them.
“I love you, Harold,” Kevin whispered as they were nearing the end of their last meeting. His fingers were walking up Harold’s slender, white bare arm, making Harold penis harden.
It was so exciting to be admired, Harold felt, to hear the words, “I love you.” He didn’t respond, since he had never heard the words “I love you” directed toward him, except from his mother. He looked at the uneven, thin hatch of Kevin’s light beard, and struggled to resist kissing him.
“You’re so pretty, Harold as a boy,” Kevin continued. “I want us to be friends.”
“I do, too.”
“But, honey, you’re not a girl: you’re a boy. Please remember that Harold.”
Their conversation had been carried on in whispers, and it ended abruptly as they heard steps in the hallway and by the time Harold’s roommate, Will Hampton, entered, they had separated. Harold felt he was flushed, and hoped Will had not noticed.
“Hey Harold, Kevin,” Will said cheerfully. “Got the program all set?”
“Yeh, we do, Will,” Kevin answered with a devilish grin. “You’re going to dressed as a baby, signifying the Mega, class of 2027.”
“What?” Will exploded.
Kevin responded with a loud laugh and Harold followed suit.
“Damn, you two,” Will said, joining in the fun. “Just for that, I think Harold should dress as ‘Heidi’ and be Miss Homecoming.”
“No way,” said Kevin firmly, and quickly, before Harold could respond.
“I don’t think so,” Harold added, even though deep down he liked the idea. With his mother and her friend and all the alumni, however, that clearly was a bad idea, and Harold could see that Will was kidding.
“Harold should never dress as a girl again,” Kevin added, his demeanor suddenly getting serious.
“Oh don’t worry, Kevin,” Harold said, wanting to put his friend at ease. He wasn’t going to dress as a girl, at least for the weekend.
Harold then explained the program, but said he needed help in putting together a male quartet to sing for the group. Will joined the two boys in seeing whom to nominate for the event, and the committee meeting, such as it was, ended.
On Saturday of Homecoming weekend, Harold and Grace joined his mother and her new boy friend for brunch at their hotel. Harold wore jeans and a Huskies Sweatshirt for the brunch. The brunch was prelude to attending the homecoming game, where Harold and Grace would sit in the student section and his mother and Bill would sit in a special section for parents.
Grace looked so cute that morning; until this weekend, Grace had rarely worn anything but jeans and a sweatshirt over a tee shirt; she wore old tennis shoes and covered her brown hair with a scarf, with some flowing out the back. She wore no makeup, and the whole effect was that of a sloppy, almost chubby young woman. Harold saw before him as he picked her up at her dormitory the same freckled-faced girl with her laughing eyes, but now she appeared as a lovely college girl. Her hair had been combed straight back, and secured with a pink headband; she wore tapered blue slacks and a cardinal colored sweater with a Northern Illinois Huskie Logo over a light blue camisole.
“You’re so lovely this morning, Grace,” his mother told her as they were seated at the hotel’s restaurant.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cochran. Rachel helped me dress. I borrowed the sweater from my roommate,” she explained.
“You make a cute couple,” commented Bill, his mother’s friend.
Harold looked at Grace, who blushed openly, and felt that he, too, must be blushing. He was so pleased to see Grace looking so lovely and happy. Grace had told him in their long talks how she had never dated in high school and had always considered herself an ugly duckling. Her mother had criticized her often for never dressing up and being too fat.
*****
On Friday night, after their dinner with Harold’s mother and her friend, Harold and Grace had spent more than an hour in conversation which soon progressed to tentative caresses and light kisses. Both Harold and Grace had admitted stuff to each other they had never before told others.
“I was kinda fat,” she admitted to Harold in their talk the other night. “I still am.”
She did tend to have a heavy waist and the slight beginning of a double chin; her legs were somewhat heavy. Nonetheless, Harold felt she was a very attractive girl.
“I worked at a restaurant on the Interstate during my last year, and had to wear skirts that I thought were too short,” she had told Harold.
“I think you’d look so cute, dressed as a peasant girl, with a colorful full print skirt and a nice white or pink blouse, with a scooped bodice and puffed short sleeves,” Harold told her.
“I like that Harold.”
“I’d love to design that for you, and even create it for you, like I did for Rachel.”
“Would you?” she asked, and kissing him lightly when he nodded “yes.”
She went on to tell him she never was asked for a date in high school, but that in her restaurant job she was always given teasing, sometimes lewd or suggestive, remarks from truckdrivers and other customers. The restaurant manager, a middle-aged guy with a potbelly, hit on her constantly until she threatened to go to complain to the state.
“He knew if he fired me, I’d squeal sexual harassment,” she explained. “Besides, I was a good waitress and the customers liked me.”
“Oh, that must have been awful for you,” Harold responded.
“It wasn’t so bad,” she smiled. “I must admit I liked being noticed as a sex object.”
“Grace, I think you are very attractive,” Harold said, cautiously avoiding the word “sexy.” His shyness with girls was still ruling his actions.
“I never dated in high school, either,” he told her that night.
“And you’re so handsome, Harold.”
“Not really, I always felt I wasn’t much of a boy, that girls wanted football players, not the ‘costume girl’ from the play.”
“I do, Harold, I do,” she said, kissing him, their lips meeting with Grace pressing hard and passionately in the dormitory lounge.
Harold had never kissed a girl before, except his mother and aunts and cousins. His tiny penis hardened as they kissed and he became all consumed with the passion, losing all sense of place and time. His hands caressed her soft, white arms as they kissed, and she cuddled him tightly to her ample breasts.
“Oh we better be careful,” she finally said, breaking off the embrace.
Harold left the dormitory that night in the same funk he had felt weeks earlier when he kissed and cuddled with Kevin.
*****
That morning in the restaurant, the conversation eventually went to the coming football game. Grace fortunately knew more about the Huskies football fortunes than Harold did, since he had not attended any games that year. He enjoyed the quiet of the fraternity house then, when all the brothers were at the game, before they returned to empty beer kegs for the rest of the day.
The game itself was played in bright November sunshine, which bathed the fans across the field in bright sunshine; Harold and Grace sat tight against each other, with Grace telling Harold about the key players from Northern Iowa University, the opponents for the game. Harold knew nothing about the game, but his recent exploits in the co-ed touch football game were fresh in his memory and he tended to watch the receivers; he particularly liked a small, wiry player on the opponent’s team, who seemed to get free to catch passes regularly and then use his speed and craftiness to elude the Huskies’ tacklers.
“That’s Eric Swinton, he’s their all-conference wide receiver,” Grace said.
“He looks small, almost small as me,” Harold said, yelling into Grace’s ear, as the crowd roared as a Husky defender intercepted a pass.
She smiled: “About the same height. You thinking of going out for football, now?”
“Only if there’s a girls’ team for me,” he giggled. They both laughed.
As expected, the Huskies lost again, but not without putting up an heroic rally in the 4th Quarter. Their record had dropped to 3 wins and 7 losses. “But most of our players will be back next year,” Grace said. “We’ll do better then.”
“How do you know so much, Grace?” his mother asked later.
“I had two brothers and a dad, and we always played football together. Guess I was more of a tomboy.”
“Well, you’re very lovely now, honey,” Bill said.
*****
After the game, they all made their way to the fraternity house for the reception. The house was already jammed and the beer was flowing freely when they entered. His mother suddenly was engulfed by many of her late husband’s friends, and drifted away, leaving Harold and Grace together with Bill Forster, his mother’s new boy friend.
“Guess I’m a bachelor again,” he said, with a laugh.
Grace put her hand on his arm and directed him and Harold to the dining room. “Let’s see what they’re set up in here.”
Other committees had set up easels with photos of past Mega House events, plus one easel with pictures from this year’s fraternity.
“Oh look here,” said Grace, “Here’s a group picture of all the fraternity this year.”
She directed them to an easel showing a colored large 9 x12 photo of the fraternity brothers gathered on the front steps; also on the easel were other candid photos of activities.
“Oh, there’s Harold,” Grace said, pointing to him sitting in the front row with two other of the shorter boys in the house.
“I didn’t know they were going to do this,” Harold said.
“Cute,” Bill said. “And what’s this?”
He pointed to a picture showing Harold, dressed as Heidi on the night of the party walking down the stairwell on the arm of Jason. The caption read: “Jason and Heidi, the prettiest couple of the night.”
Harold wanted to rip the picture off the easel; he didn’t want his mother to see it since she’d surely recognize the girl as her son. Who would do this? He wondered.
“She’s a lovely girl,” Bill said. “And here’s another picture of her.”
His finger was aimed at still another photo of Heidi, now talking with two girls visiting from the sorority. A caption read: “One of these is a Mega brother. Can you tell which one?”
“What’s going on here?” Harold heard his mother’s voice.
“Just looking at the pictures, dear,” Bill said.
“I heard you admiring one of the girls here,” she said. “I thought I better get over and tak you away.”
“Look here,” he said.
Harold could have killed Bill for drawing his mother’s attention to the photos. They were all now trying to identify which of the three girls in the second photo was the “mega brother.”
“They all look like girls to me,” Bill said.
His mother examined both of the photos, suddenly turning on Harold. “You and I have to talk. Privately. Now. Where can we go?”
He could see anger in her eyes, and he led her upstairs and into his room, closing the door. He sat on his bed and beckoned her to sit in his desk chair. She stood, however.
“I thought you’d lose that girly stuff, but my God, you’re acting more and more feminine,” she said.
Harold said nothing, and merely looked down at the floor.
“And then to dress as a girl for the party. My God. Have you no respect for me? For yourself? For the memory of your father?”
“Mom, I’m sorry,” was all he could get out of his mouth before he started to cry, sobs becoming all-consuming.
“What’s going on here? I thought you might become a man here.” Her voice was strong and firm and demanding.
“I don’t know,” he said, words coming in between sobs.
He turned to lie on his bed, in the fetal position, as his crying continued. He wanted everyone to go away now, to leave him alone. He had shamed his mother, the only person in the world who loved him.
“I can’t help it mommy,” he said, using the words a girl might use. “I feel so happy being . . . well . . . being like a girl, I guess.”
“But, you’re a boy soon to be a man,” she said. “You have a lovely girl friend. Grace is so sweet and I can see she loves you.”
“Oh mommy, we’re just friends. I’ve never had a girl friend, you know that.”
His sobs continued, and his mother sat on the bed, leaning over to hug him, and wipe his eyes.
“My darling, I know you’re such a sweet son, and I love you so much.”
“I know mommy, and I hate to disappoint you.”
His crying stopped and the two sat and talked for another 10 minutes. Harold explained that he had found acceptance in the fraternity by playing up his femininity, by his fending off some bullies and by his play-acting as “Heidi” at the frat party. He said he had support from the president of the fraternity, plus other boys like Jason and Will. In a sense, he had become sort of a mascot for the frat house, he told her.
“That’s nice,” she said. “But what’s your future to be?”
“I don’t know, mommy, but I feel more like a girl than a guy.”
“Well, we can’t resolve this now. Dry your tears and let’s go down and enjoy the party. Bill and Grace will be wondering what happened to us.”
“Mommy, I’m so sorry I’m not the son you and dad wanted. I feel so awful.” He continued to sob, soothed only by his mother’s gentle rubbing of his shoulder and arm.
“No darling, you’re a beautiful child. You really are, so talented and so kind to other people. You deserve only the best for yourself.”
His crying soon ended, and he got up off the bed, and his mother hugged him. She was short and slight, and his nose was buried into her graying, light brown hair; her hair smelled fresh to him. He always liked that his mother smelled of soap and subtle sweet perfumes.
“You’re so skinny, darling,” she said to him. “But then I guess you take after me.”
They kissed, just light brushes of their lips, but affectionate touches, and Harold realized how deeply his mother loved him. That made his worry grow, realizing that his girlish behaviors might break her heart.
“Let’s talk about this when you get home for Christmas vacation,” his mother said. “We’ll have some time to examine the subject more.”
“Oh mommy,” he said, hugging her more tightly now. “I love you.”
When they returned to the reception, Willy, the frat president, made a point of reintroducing himself to Harold’s mother.
“I just wanted to tell you how happy we are that Harold has joined our fraternity,” he said.
“Really, Mr. Williamston,” his mother replied, a bit testily.
“Yes, Mrs. Cochran, really. Your son has already shown leadership here.”
His mother looked at the young man, quizzically.
“When he was harassed by some of the boys, he took control of the situation, and then he played along with it, by dressing up,” the president continued.
“I know I saw that, and I was afraid he was going to be hurt by that,” his mother said.
“Well, some of us made sure the rest of the brothers knew how special he was, Mrs. Cochran. And, he agreed to take leadership of planning tonight’s program. He’s really special, ma’am.”
“Willy,” she said. “Thank you. I think he’s special, too, but I do worry about this girl dressup stuff.”
“Well, if it’s any comfort, as long as I’m here, Harold’s going to be welcome and safe. And, I hope he’ll be happy, too.”
His mother smiled, and left to join Bill, Grace and Harold, who seemed to be enjoying their conversation. The reception turned out to be a great success and the program went well with lots of cheering and laughter. Even the rowdiest of the frat boys were on their good behavior and kept their drinking to a minimum.
*****
When the festivities ended, Harold mother and Bill took Grace and Harold to a campus bar and grill for a light supper. The conversation went easily, with Bill telling the group about Harold’s father.
“You know, Harold, your mother tells me you’re very special to her, and I can see why she feels that way. You’re very special person, and you’re really more like your dad than you might think.”
“I can’t see how,” Harold said. “I am hardly athletic like he was.”
“No, but you have the same sensitivity that he had. Honey,” his mother said.
“Yes, Harold, he was a very kind man, always wanted to be sure he was fair to everyone, Bill continued. “On the football field, he played hard, but fair, and even opposing players respected him. He never trash-talked.”
“And, like you,” his mother said. “He had an artistic side to himself. He loved theater and wanted some day to act or write plays.”
“My dad?” Harold asked in astonishment.
“Oh yes, Harold,” Bill said. “He was an unusual person, and he helped to integrate the Mega House. When he was House President he persuaded all of us to welcome the first black into the house.”
“And, honey, he would have wanted you to be happy in whatever you did,” his mother said.
By now, Grace had taken Harold’s tiny hand and held it hard against her own thigh, slowly caressing it with her finger. She had a soft pudgy hand, and Harold enjoyed the warmth he felt.
*****
It was an unusually warm night for November and Harold walked Grace back to her dorm, holding hands and kicking loose leaves. There was a mist in the air, and mixed smell of auto fumes and musky leaves gave out a sweetness that was nearly intoxicating.
“Your mom and her friend are so nice,” Grace said as they continued down Illinois Avenue to her dorm, dodging others, but never leaving go of each other’s hands.
Harold realized that he and Grace shared an innocence are among college students; neither had ever had a romantic relationship before and they didn’t quite know how to handle it.
“I like Bill a lot,” Harold replied. “I hope he and mom stay friends.”
“Do you think they should marry?” Grace asked.
“Oh I don’t know. Mom and I are so close, and he might come between us, but she’s so happy with him.”
“He likes you, too, Harold,” Grace said. “Besides her happiness is important.”
“I know. I shouldn’t be selfish.”
“You aren’t, Harold,” she said as they crossed 2nd Avenue, heading toward her dorm.
They were able to find the same quiet corner of the dorm lounge where they sat the previous night, sitting next to each other, holding hands.
“Harold, you’re the first really best friend I ever had,” Grace finally said after they had sat in silence.
“I think I can say the same, Grace.”
“I hope you don’t mind what I say now, but I think of you as a girl friend, like you and I are girl friends, you know?”
Harold was silent, and just squeezed her hand a bit more firmly.
“I like us as girl friends, too,” he said. “I like being Heidi.”
“I know you do. You’re so . . . oh, what shall I say? . . . girly.”
They both laughed. “I really love working on costumes, sewing, and designing dresses,” he said. “I often try them on, just see how they look, and I look pretty in them, too.”
“I know you look so much like a girl; I loved the pictures of you from that fraternity party. You were the prettiest girl in those pictures.”
“Not really.”
“Yes, you were. I’m really jealous; you’re so much more pretty than me.”
“Grace, you’re very lovely girl.”
“You’re just saying that, but I love you saying it.” She gave him a quick kiss on his lips.
They talked for a bit, did some awkward hugging and kissing. She finally moved away from him.
“Harold, it feels funny being with you; I keep thinking of you as a girl, and it doesn’t seem right for us to be doing this, you know, kissing and hugging like boy-girl lovers.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, moving away, shocked at what she was saying.
“But I want you always as my closest friend,” Grace added, tears in her eyes.
“We will be,” he said.
“I tried so hard to think of you as my boy friend, but I see you only as Heidi, my dear sweet friend, Heidi.”
“Oh Grace, think of me as Heidi. I do most of the time. I think I’m Heidi.”
She giggled, and returned close to him, hugging him now, but the hug now was different. They were hugging as girl friends; there would be no pretense that theirs was a boy-girl love affair.
“I like being with Heidi so much,” Grace said. “She’s so much fun and so pretty.”
They began giggling as they talked, discussing how Rachel’s date with Jason was going; the couple had gone to the Harvest Dance together. They ended the night, pledging to be girl friends the rest of their lives. Harold (now feeling so much like Heidi) almost skipped back to the frat house that night. It had been a wonderful weekend, after all.
Chapter Eight
The University Players were to perform Romeo and Juliet on the first weekend of December, and dress rehearsals began in earnest on the Monday after Thanksgiving weekend. Harold had stayed at school over the holiday, spending most of his time with the rest of the costume crew finishing up the outfits for the play.
The frat house was largely empty and he and Grace enjoyed the Thanksgiving Day meal that the frat house cook put together for the handful of boys who stayed on campus, plus a few of their friends as guests. Harold asked Grace to join him.
After the meal they called his mother, and the two of them talked to her for about half an hour. She said she was so happy Harold had found a nice friend in Grace, and tried, without much luck, to learn whether they had been intimate.
“Mother, we’re just friends,” Harold said.
“I know, Harold, but Grace is so nice, so smart and so attractive,” she said.
Harold had opened the phone so that Grace, holding her head next to his, could hear the conversation.
“Yes, mother, she is very pretty,” he said, and Grace mouthed “liar” to him.
They both start giggling. “What’s so funny, Harold?” she asked.
“Oh I’m tickling him, Mrs. Cochran,” Grace quickly interjected.
“Well it sounds like you two are having fun.”
After they hung up, they started laughing almost uncontrollably.
“She wants me to be your boy friend, Grace.”
“I know, but you’re really my girl friend.”
*****
The rest of the weekend was spent at the costume shop. Rachel and the others were there as well, and they worked steadily, but with good collaboration. It was acknowledged by all of them to leave the key decisions on costumes up to Harold; he had demonstrated his skill and knowledge of seamstress work and design.
“You really have feel for this, Heidi,” the Daisy Ann Sweet, the lead costume girl, said, using his girl’s name as everyone in the theater group was doing. “I appreciate you doing so much.”
“I love doing it,” he said honestly. “I was afraid, Daisy, that I might be stepping on your toes, being too much of a self-promoter.”
“Oh no, honey,” Daisy said, with a smile. “You’re doing just fine. You’re really so artistic. I thank you for being willing to work so hard.”
He was the same size as both the actresses playing Juliet and her nurse, two of the lead female parts. Several times during the weekend, he tried on the costumes, having the other girls mark up the materials where corrections were needed.
“You oughta be Juliet,” the Daisy said. “You look just like she would at 14.”
“Yeh, Carla is really too old to play Juliet,” Rachel said. “I think Heidi’s prettier anyway.”
Harold blushed, but he loved the idea. The dress he had created for Juliet was made of white, sheer material, layered with lace overlays; underneath, Juliet would wear a camisole; her shoulders were to be fully covered, with puffed, short sleeves. A medium sized bow was tied at the top of her bodice.
“That has such an airy, fresh look,” commented Daisy.
Late Saturday afternoon, when he had finally completed the final work on Juliet’s dress, he put it on, with the assistance of Rachel. When everything was tied and fastened, he put on Juliet’s silver slippers and wrapped a light scarf, made of the same material, over his head.
“Oh my God,” Rachel said. “You’re absolutely divine. You’re all Juliet. Girls, come here.”
She summoned the others to look and they all entered, dumbstruck at the young beautiful girl standing before them. Harold rewarded them was a quick twirl about the room, prancing lightly on his feet, ending before the full length mirror, and finding himself pleased with what he saw.
“I feel just like Juliet,” he said.
“You should. You may be the prettiest Juliet ever,” agreed Rachel and the others agreed.
Harold felt inspired by their comments and what he saw in the mirror. He so desired now to play the part of Juliet.
“I think I’ll read a few lines now,” he said picking up a copy of the play that was lying on the cutting table. “Grab that other script, Rachel, and read with me. You can be my nurse.”
He directed them to Act 3, Scene 2, where Juliet is commenting on her love for Romeo. He began halfway into Juliet’s speech, reading in a soft, but stage-commanding tone; his voice took on a wispy, breathless eagerness, and his own naturally high register of a voice made it sound convincingly girlish, almost fitting for a love-struck 14-year-old girl.
“Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.”
When he finished, the girls clapped. And, before Rachel could begin saying the nurse’s lines, there was a loud clap of hands from the door of the costume shop. It stopped them in their tracks.
“That was lovely, dear girl.” The words came from Milton Kastner, the Theater Group’s director. Kastner was the epitome of a professional theatrical director, complete with long, flowing hair, exaggerated arm movements and an affected voice. Nonetheless, he was a recognized genius, with a worldwide recognition, and commanded respect.
Harold blushed, and the others all looked at the director, who stood there with a smile on his face.
“You captured the excitement of a young girl in love, young lady,” Kastner said to Harold. “I’ve been trying to get the lead to carry that tone, and you do it so naturally, it seems. You even look 14 years old in that dress.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harold said. “I’m sorry. We were just trying the dress on to make sure it would be ok. I guess I got carried away and wanted to say the words of Juliet, too.”
“Oh that’s fine,” Kastner said. “I like my actors to be enthused, and also the costume girls and stage crews. You’re Heidi, right?”
“Yes, they call me that,” Harold fudged, hearing a bit of tittering from Rachel.
“Well, Heidi, can you read the rest of the scene for me, and that young lady, I guess, will read the nurse’s parts,” Kastner said, pointing to Rachel. “Don’t get too excited now, dear, just do what you were doing before.”
Harold’s heart began to pump harder; he felt so panic-stricken. How could he perform in front of this great director? He looked at Rachel, and she nodded in encouragement.
“Start with the next line, Heidi” Kastner said.
Harold read them, his voice almost in a screech now, which he tried to tone down. He had to continue to sound like a girl, and was so afraid his voice would betray his masculinity.
“Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords
That Romeo bid thee fetch?”
“No, no, no,” Kastner said, a bit impatiently. “Say it like you were before I got here. Forget I’m here.”
Harold repeated the lines, more softly now, in the same breathless, eagerness he showed in the earlier recitation.
“Good, good,” Kastner said, encouragingly. “Now, nurse, do your lines.”
Harold soon was in the throes of the play. He had read the tragic story of teen lovers, Romeo and Juliet, several times, in hopes of getting in a mood to design an appropriate dress. He loved the part of Juliet, and yearned in a way to become a pretty teen girl in love, but of course, without the tragic ending. He was fearful that the director might soon notice that the young lady before him was really a guy.
“Oh my, that was marvelous, Heidi,” Kastner said when they finished, with applause from others following. “And, you, nurse, said those well, too.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harold said. “I guess this dress is fine then?”
“Oh my yes, it so captures the sweetness and light of a girl in love,” Kastner said.
Kastner beckoned Harold to come out into the hallway with him, away from the others. “You told me the other day that you did some acting, right Heidi?” he asked.
“Yes, but very little.”
“I know, but you seem to be a natural. Now, here’s what I have in mind, Heidi. I’d like you to memorize the lines of the nurse in the play between now and dress rehearsal on Wednesday. Do you think you could do that?”
“Well there’s some work still to be done on the costumes, Mr, Kastner.”
“I think the major designing and sewing is done, and I’m sure Professor Saatchi and Daisy can spare you now. I’d like you to be standin and backup for the Nurse’s part. The girl who was to do that has gotten terribly ill and won’t be with us next week.”
“Oh Mr. Kastner, I couldn’t do that. The other actors might resent me from costumes.”
“Posh,” Kastner said, demonstrating a bit of femininity that often creeps into professional actor’s mannerisms. “You’ll do fine. I’ll just need you for backup.”
“I guess I can. The nurse has a lot of lines and I hope I can memorize them all,” Harold said, still retaining his feminine voice and mannerisms.
“Good, then. Study them over the weekend and come prepared to rehearse with the girl who is backup Juliet on Monday. I’ll clear this with Professor Saatchi and Daisy.”
The director leaned down and gave Harold one of those theaterical hugs and kisses. Harold felt so much like Heidi and Juliet at that moment. It was so magical.
“You know Heidi, I almost wish I had seen you first, before we cast the Juliet part. You’d have been perfect for it. You’re such a wisp of a girl, so lovely.”
*****
Harold was almost weak with both excitement and apprehension as he walked back to the costume room. His natural feminine characteristics had shown so brightly during the mock rehearsal of Scene 2 that he was now considered to be a girl by the director of the play. Could he continue to be seen as Heidi, the onetime costume girl who is now a budding actress?
The director went back into the room with Harold, and motioned for Daisy to join them.
“Daisy,” he said. “I’m wondering if I could use Heidi here from now on through the production. I need a standin for the nurse; Angelica has gotten sick, and I love how Heidi reads her lines. She could easily fill in, and I’m sure she’d fit in the nurse’s outfit.”
“Mr. Kastner,” Daisy began, looking strangely at Harold. “I think that’s . . . yes . . . that’s OK with me.”
“Good, Daisy, that’s settled then. Heidi, you’ll have to be here from 2 to 7 p.m. every day this week for rehearsals.”
Harold now was blushing, realizing that Daisy, of course, knew he was a boy. He wondered what the director would think once he found out the truth. He’d find out soon enough; Harold wondered whether he should tell him now. Yes, he figured, as embarrassing as it was, he better do it now.
Daisy, however, began talking first: “Mr. Kastner, there’s something you should know.”
“Yes, Daisy. What is it?”
Daisy looked at Harold, seeming to hesitate. She was growing beet red in the face, and Harold decided to tell the director himself.
“Mr, Kastner. I’m a boy. My name is Harold.”
He said it in the same high register, with the same feminine inflections.
“You’re what?”
“Yes, Mr. Kastner, Heidi here . . . er . . . Harold . . . we all call him Heidi . . . is a boy.”
“My God, a boy? You? You’re so lovely, so feminine. A boy?” The director was beside himself. Then he started laughing.
Everyone had gathered around, with Rachel adding: “We treat him like one of the girls. Oh Harold, I’m sorry I said that.”
“Rachel, that’s OK. I like being one of the girls, as you say,” Harold smiled.
Mr. Kastner came and hugged Harold again, and then moved arm’s length away, holding Harold by his arms.
“You’re precious. So precious,” he continued. “This is even better. You know in Shakespeare’s time, men always played female parts. I’d have loved to cast Heidi here — or Harold — as my Juliet, but alas there’s no time.”
The director left; he was smiling broadly. The girls gathered around Harold; he suddenly felt faint and Rachel took him by the arm, leading him to a chair, where they undressed him, and helped him get back into his male clothes.
“Oh Harold,” Daisy said. “I’m sorry I forced you to tell him. I just felt he should know.”
“I don’t know why, Daisy. No one here thinks of him as anyone but Heidi, the costume girl,” Rachel said.
“No Rachel, Daisy was right,” Harold said. “It’s dishonest not to tell him.”
*****
As they walked back to the campus, Rachel said: “May I ask you something? It’s personal?”
Harold was day-dreaming and thinking of how he felt so real to be playing the part of Juliet, telling of her love for a boy, only to learn the boy may have died. He loved feeling so feminine, so dainty and fragile.
“Did you hear me?” Rachel asked again.
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry, I was day-dreaming.”
“Were you dreaming about how marvelous you felt while being Juliet?” she asked.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I could see it on your face, Harold. Or, should I say Heidi? I think you wish you were a girl, right?”
Harold didn’t answer, but his smile broadened. Rachel knew the answer; she stopped grabbed Harold, drawing him to her body and saying quietly in his ear: “I love you, girl friend.”
Harold at that moment accepted the fact: he had to be female. It felt so natural and so right. That may be a fact, but there would be plenty of hurdles ahead if he would ever truly be the girl he was meant to be. The reality was that in a few minutes he’d have to return to the frat house, where his femininity could pose further humiliations and even physical danger for him.
“Harold, or may I call you Heidi when it’s just you and me?” Rachel asked as they walked on.
“I’d love that, Rachel. I feel just like I’m your girl friend. That’s so nice.”
“You know, Heidi, I was thinking you could come to my place to rehearse those lines,” she said as they were approaching the street where they’d split and go in different directions.
“That would be nice, but aren’t you doing anything with Jason tonight or tomorrow?”
“Jason’s hanging around with the guys until about 9 tonight,” she said. “You could come now, and then maybe we could have a pizza or something.”
*****
Harold agreed that would be great idea, and he joined her in walking to her dormitory. Her roommate was gone for the weekend, and they could rehearse in Rachel’s room for a while. Rachel lived in an all-girls dormitory, one of the few on campus, since most now were co-ed; the rules allowed boys in rooms as long as the door was open and until 9 p.m. most nights.
The dormitory was named for Ethel Marie Carmody, who had been one of the earliest female deans in the University’s history. She had been legendary for leading the fight for women’s equality during the 1940s. The lobby was fairly quiet, but Harold felt very comfortable as he entered it. He felt he would have enjoyed living here; the girls he saw were largely giggling, although he did see two of them yelling at each other.
“Oh those two,” Rachel explained as they headed for the elevator. “They’ve been fighting over the same boy all semester.”
“I hope he’s worth it,” Harold said.
“Nah, he’s a slob,” Rachel said and they both laughed.
Just as the elevator door closed a short girl, with dark hair in bangs and wearing what appeared to be a jogging suit, entered. “Oh hi, Rachel,” she said breathlessly.
The elevator door closed, and Rachel introduced Harold to her. “Heidi,” she said, looking at Harold and winking, “I’d like you to meet Susie. She’s a friend from my home town. Lives a floor above me. And Heidi here is in the costume crew with me on the play.”
“Hi Susie,” was all Harold could say before the elevator door opened on Rachel’s floor, the third.
“Nice meeting you, Heidi,” the other girl said as the doors closed.
“You called me Heidi in there,” Harold said as the walked to Rachel’s room.
“Well you look so girlish now, really, with that blouse you’re wearing and girls often wear boys jeans. And your hair, too.”
“I guess I do,” he smiled.
“You do, believe me. Besides if she noticed your were a boy, which I doubt, she probably thought I was pretending you’re a girl to get you in the room.”
Harold almost pranced the rest of the way to Rachel’s room. He loved the smell in the corridor; a mixture of hair spray, perfumes, soap and maybe even the musty smell of unwashed clothes. What girls he saw were wearing shorts and tank tops, or tee shirts, no shoes and looking so lovely. He loved seeing their soft, smooth youthful skin, realizing that he could easily be one of them.
Rachel’s room was the typical narrow dormitory room, containing two less than twin-sized beds and two desks and shelves, with dresser drawers built in. Rachel’s side of the room was kept neat; she had a bed cover with pink and blue bunnies cavorting on the white quilt; and she had a large white stuffed bunny rabbit propped against the wall on her bed.
She had a Huskies pennant on the wall, and also a colored picture of a middle-aged woman and two girls, one of who was Rachel, posed in front of a small white Cape Cod style home.
“That’s our house, and my sister, Wendy. She’s 15 now. That picture was taken last year in spring.”
Rachel, he had to admit, looked a bit awkward in the picture; her outfit was a straight skirt, low heels and a turquoise blouse. Already, since she had been dating Jason, Harold could see there now was a pretty young lady developing in that once lanky body.
“Here,” she said, handing him a sleeveless, pink girl’s tee shirt. “Put this on, and also these earrings and this necklace.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I think you want to be one of the girls here! And besides it will stop the other girls teasing me about having two boy friends.”
He took off his shirt, exposing his slender, smooth chest and narrow shoulders and skinny arms.
“You better put this on first,” she said, giving him a white bra she pulled out of the drawer. “And here’s a pair of socks to stuff ‘em.”
He giggled now, so pleased he was being asked to dress as a dorm girl. When he was finished, she had him sit in her desk chair, while she sat on the bed, brushing his hair for several minutes, and then adding a hair band over the top of the head.
“There now, look at yourself Heidi,” she ordered. No one, he realized, would now think of him as anything but a girl. He loved what he saw.
*****
The two read and re-read the nurse’s lines from the play for about two hours, Harold sitting, cross-legged on the floor while Rachel lounged on the bed. She read the other parts, giving Harold a flavor of the words.
They had been committed to the task, and didn’t notice when Susie, Rachel’s friend from her hometown, entered the room, breaking their concentration with a comment:
“You girls are really studying, aren’t you?” she laughed.
Startled, Harold and Rachel just nodded as the intrusion burst into their deep concentration.
“Oh, hi Susie,” Rachel finally said. “We’re going over Heidi’s lines for the play.”
“Oh, what are you playing, Heidi?”
“Actually, I’m just the standin for the nurse in ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ It’s actually quite a large part and I was only told today that I should be prepared to be standin. The first girl they had got sick.”
“Ok, don’t mean to interrupt, but I just wondered whether Rachel wanted to go out to supper with me,” Susie said. “That is, unless Jason is coming over, or you two are doing anything.”
Rachel smiled, looking at Harold, getting an impish look on her face: “No we aren’t. We were just going to go for pizza in a few minutes. We’re just about done here. You can join us.”
“Oh I’d like that,” Susie said. “But where is Jason?”
“Out with the boys,” Rachel said. “He’s coming over about 9.”
They agreed to meet in the lobby in about 30 minutes; then the three of them would go eat. Harold was tickled that Susie would know him only as a lovely young girl named Heidi. When Susie left, he leaned over and kissed Rachel, hoping she would take it as a kiss between two girl friends.
“Thank you, Rachel,” he said as their lips parted.
“What for?”
“For introducing me as a girl here. That’s so sweet.”
“Well, Heidi, I think you’re all girl, and so does everyone else.”
But, thought Harold, the fact was he was still Harold Cochran, Jr., a boy only now becoming to develop into a man with a penis and with the peach fuzz on his face soon becoming a beard. And, he lived in a fraternity house, not a girls’ dormitory. He felt so comfortable in the dormitory with Rachel, his legs curled under him, lounging about like all the other girls. He loved the scent of the girls dorm, its mixture of hair spray, soap, perfumes and, of course, the lingering sourness of dirty clothes and female hygiene. He loved seeing the stockings and bras that Rachel’s sloppier roommate left lying about.
Most of all, Harold felt safe here, and felt he belonged. He loved hearing the high-pitched giggles up and down the hall; he even preferred the insistent whine of one girl complaining about the others stealing her hairbrush.
He wanted to be one of them, as he watched them freely run up and down the halls braless, wearing shorts and tee shirts, or wearing only panties and bra, as many were doing that afternoon. He looked at all of this young, mainly white sweet flesh, not with a sexual lust, but rather with a desire to be one of them.
As he thought this, Harold Cochran Jr. pondered his future.
(To Be Continued)
To be or not to be (a female). Harold finds his role as an effeminate boy in a fraternity house has changed him and the crude brothers of the House in critical ways, and he is at a crossroads. He makes the decision after a jarring incident.
The Girl in the Frat House — Part Five
Harold spent most of Sunday with Rachel in her dormitory room, rehearsing lines for the part of the nurse in Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet.” He had been asked to be the understudy for the part, just a week before the play was to open because the girl who had been to handle those duties had gotten suddenly ill. Rachel and he went over the lines with intensity, since the memorizing had to be accomplished in such a short time. They took breaks, of course, and gadded about the dorm, chatting with other girls. Sometimes girls would wander in to chat with them, interrupting their work, but Harold enjoyed the interruptions and the girl talk it engendered. Harold, of course, had been dressed like amnyt of the girls in the large girls’ dormitory, wearing jeans, sandals, white socks and a tank top, covered with a pink cardigan sweater.
With his narrow shoulders, slender arms and flowing hair, there was little chance anyone would notice he was actually male. Rachel introduced him as Heidi, of course, and if there was any hint of masculinity it might have come from his voice, which had a somewhat husky tone. Harold, however, had learned to disguise it, having studied the way girls talked in order to discover how to provide girlish inflections and use feminine terminology.
It was a magical day for Harold, having spent it naturally as Heidi, being accepted as Heidi and enjoying giddiness that seemed to feature college girls who were usually in their first or second year at the University. It was typical that most girls moved off-campus, sharing flats or apartments in groups of two or three or four by their sophomore or junior years.
By mid-afternoon, tiring of rehearsal and realizing that Harold had done a good job in memorizing the lines of the Nurse in “Romeo and Juliet” that the University Players were putting on, Rachel and Harold (as Heidi) decided to take a break. Susie, Rachel’s girl friend from her hometown, joined them. Susie had accepted Harold totally as a girl, even though they had spent much of the previous night together.
“Let’s paint our nails now,” suggested Susie, a slight young woman with a pixie cut to her hair that made her immensely cute.
“Yes, let’s,” echoed Rachel, who had become in a few weeks a totally different and unexpectedly lovely girl. She had recognized that she could change her careless, almost dowdy dressing habits and begin to dress like a pretty young woman. This had all happened after Harold introduced her to Jason, from his fraternity house, and the two hit it off famously.
“I bought some really hot gloss,” Rachel said, going to her dresser drawer. “It’s a deep red.”
“Let’s do Heidi first,” Susie suggested.
“Yes, yes,” cheered Rachel.
They had Harold sit on the bed; by now he had changed out of his jeans and into a pair of denim shorts that Rachel had. They fit him perfectly.
He held out his right leg first, and Rachel held his heel firmly as Susie applied the polish.
“Heidi, you have beauty queen legs,” Susie gushed. “Such a lovely shape. I just love your slender ankles and feet.”
Harold blushed, having always realized that his legs indeed were feminine and pretty. They were smooth, not at all muscular and still hairless. As he sat down, his thighs, soft as they neared his crotch, widened on the bed’s blanket.
Harold later applied the polish to the other two girls’ fingernails and toenails, demonstrating his always gentle and delicate mannerisms. Later the three fixed each other’s hair, finally agreeing to go down to the Student Union for a few cokes or an ice cream.
Several other girls joined them as they left the dormitory, giggling and skipping along the way; since it was a cool early December day, they all had put on jeans or pants, and wore jackets. There were five girls and Harold who began engaging them in a funny story about the lead that was playing Romeo.
“Oh, you mean Hector James?” asked one of the girls. “I think he’s cute.”
“Oh he is,” Harold said. “But he’s such a fuss, always wondering how he looks. He never liked the costumes, it seems.”
“It drives us all nuts on the costume crew,” Rachel agreed. “And Heidi’s the best girl we’ve ever had trying to fit these prima donnas.”
They all giggled, but Harold’s humor ended when he saw Willy Williamston, Jason and Will Hampton from his frat house walking toward them as they approached the Union.
Rachel had seen them first, grabbing Harold arm and whispering, “Harold . . . ah . . . Heidi, look who’s coming ahead.”
“Oh my God,” he almost screamed, cutting his shout short and back into a whisper. “Where can I hide?”
“You can’t,” she said. “They’ve seen us and here they come.”
Of course, it had to be Will Hampton, Harold’s roommate, who had to speak first; he could be a boorish loudmouth, although he and Harold had become close and understanding of each other, a rarity among two with such differing personalities.
“Oh, look at the prettiest girls on campus,” he yelled as they approached. “Where you all headed?”
The girls, all except Rachel and Harold (now Heidi), giggled and waved encouragingly to the three frat boys.
“Rachel,” Jason said, his eyes brightening at the sight of his new girl friend. He approached and hugged her.
“Heidi,” Willy Williamston said, spotting Harold, and approaching him, quickly putting a friendly arm around him.
“It’s nice to see Heidi here, isn’t it, Hampton?” Willy said, winking at the other boy, letting him know that he was to treat Harold as “Heidi.”
“This is an all-girl Sunday,” Susie interjected, as the boys began to intermingle.
“You’d chase away such handsome boys as us?” laughed Will Hampton.
“Especially you,” Susie chided.
Some good-natured kidding and flirting developed as they stood under a barren oak tree, its leaves gone in the last week in the approaching winter. The sun was already descending, casting a mauve tone over the landscape.
Willy guided Harold out of the midst of the group, several feet away, and in a low tone asked: “I presume the girls only know you as Heidi?”
“Yes, except, of course, for Rachel.”
“We won’t spoil your fun, Heidi, and if you’d like let me be your ‘boy friend’ for the day.”
Harold blushed, “You don’t have to.”
“Heidi,” he said, kissing Harold lightly on the forehead, “It’s an honor to escort the prettiest girl on campus.”
“Oh Willy, you’re so sweet,” Harold said, demonstrably kissing him back, gaining the attention of the others.
“I didn’t know you had a boy friend,” Susie queried.
“Oh he’s just a friend,” Harold said, lying and feeling so happy to be looked upon as the girl friend of such a handsome, strong upper classman.
The girls all gave out a disbelieving hoot.
“Heidi, he’s such a hunk and so cute, too,” one of the other girls gushed.
“What about me?” Will Hampton said, laughing but hoping to gain attention.
“I think you’re cute, too,” said Susie sidling over to Harold’s roommate, and putting her hands on his arm, flirtatiously linking their arms.
The group all continued on to the Union, where they occupied a large roundtable in the corner of the room under the Husky banner. It was a happy, carefree group that assembled, but soon it was apparent there was a pairing off, Will Hampton with Susie, Jason with Rachel (which was expected, since their budding romance had become apparent to all) and Harold (as Heidi) with Willy. Soon the other three girls drifted off to other activities.
“I can’t believe this,” Willy whispered to Harold, at the same time finding Harold’s tiny hand under the table and covering it with his own on Harold’s thigh. “You’re just one of the girls today. And I think you’re the prettiest one here.”
“Shhhhhh,” Harold said, his excitement growing, as he felt Willy’s fingers begin a light caress on his wrist. “Susie doesn’t know about me. Thinks I’m just a girl.”
“Well, it’s hard to convince me you’re not a girl,” Willy replied, smiling at Harold.
Then Susie piped up to announce: “Do you boys know that Heidi here has been asked to be that understudy for a major role in the play, ‘Romeo and Juliet?’”
“What role,” asked Jason.
“The nurse, which is a major part,” Susie said enthusiastically. “She and Rachel have been practicing lines all weekend.”
The three boys looked at Harold incredulously. “You’re going to play the ‘nurse?’” Will Hampton asked.
“Well, I’m just the understudy. I’ll only play if the girl playing the nurse can’t go on.”
“Oh, Heidi reads those lines perfectly,” Susie continued, enthused about the topic. “In fact, Rachel said that Heidi was trying on Juliet’s clothes the other day, to see if they looked ok. Heidi designed and sewed the costume, you know, and the director came in and saw how pretty she looked in them.”
“I bet she did,” Willy said, giving Harold a wink.
“Oh yes, she was just reading Juliet’s lines for fun then,” Rachel butted in. “And the director came in, listened for a bit and decided that Heidi should fill in for the understudy, who had gotten sick.”
“That’s why we’ve been practicing here all weekend,” Harold said, wishing the whole topic had never come up. He watched the three boys who were all looking at him in varying degrees of amazement.
Rachel continued, in spite of realizing that Harold may be facing further embarrassment: “And the director said he wished he’d seen Heidi perform earlier and that she’d have been perfect for playing Juliet.”
Willy’s hand had progressed up Harold forearm, his huge hand gently massaging Harold slenderness. Harold’s penis was hardening within his panties as the kneading fingers of the fraternity president’s hands worked their magic.
“Isn’t Juliet supposed to be about a 15 year old girl?” Jason asked.
“Yes,” Rachel replied. “And that’s what he saw in Har . . . er . . . Heidi. A cute teen girl. She would have been perfect for the part, he said, but he had already cast the part and the play opens on Friday.”
The boys accompanied the girls (including Harold) back to the dormitory after their late afternoon of partying in the Union; for Harold it was a dream of a day, having lived it as a girl and being accepted as Heidi by everyone in the dorms.
Will Hampton had hooked up with Susie and Jason stayed with Rachel. As Willy and Harold left them, they were still pondering where to go for supper.
“Would you like to join me somewhere for dinner, Heidi?” Willy asked as they walked back to the fraternity house.
“Heidi?” Harold repeated, wondering if he heard Willy correctly.
“Yes, Heidi,” Willy smiled, suddenly stopping their walk, and grabbing Harold around the waist, drawing him close.
Harold looked up at Willy, seeing his square jaw and all-American boy looks, and feeling safe in his strong grasp. He felt so comfortable, even natural, to be held tightly and affectionately by this strong young man.
The pair stopped on the sidewalk, with Willy now embracing Harold as he would any girl friend; gently Willy guided the two of them to the side of the path. The late autumn darkness had descended upon them, and Willy moved them to a shaded area, hidden by bushes, and kissed Harold, gently and slowly. Harold could feel his own penis hardening as he felt the press of Willy’s penis, no doubt quite large, against his own body.
Harold now had gathered Harold so completely in his grasp that Harold felt helpless; yet, he felt safe in the bigger boy’s arms, protected, and most importantly, at home. It felt right and good.
As quickly as Willy had begun the embrace, he broke it off, leaving go of Harold and stepping back a few feet.
“I’m sorry, Harold,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Harold was still in a daze, and finally uttered: “Oh I liked that.”
Willy looked down at him: “You know ever since you dressed as Heidi for the house party last month, I have been thinking of you.”
Harold was astounded. Here was the fraternity house president, the typical macho senior in college expressing his warmth and love to him, a soft, slender girly boy. This was something Harold was having trouble understanding; two boys had shown signs of sexual attraction toward him, one because he was merely a slender boy and the other because he was a pretty young lady. Harold enjoyed both of the signs of love.
The two stood silent for what seemed to be hours, but Harold realized may have been less than a minute. Harold again wanted to be hugged and held by Willy, but kept silent.
“Let’s head back, Harold,” Willy said.
A few steps later, back on the walk, Willy again took Harold’s small left hand into his large, hard right hand, holding it firmly, but gently.
“I think of you only as Heidi,” Willy said, finally breaking the silence.
“I like that, Willy,” Harold said. He looked up, smiling, seeing there were tears in the larger boy’s eyes.
“You’re so lovely,” Willy said. “And I’d love you to be my girl friend. Oh my, I said it. I’ve thought about it so much, but I’m not gay. I can’t have you.”
“Oh, Willy, you’re such a good friend,” Harold said, suddenly stopping, and holding hard onto Willy’s hand forcing him to stop too.
They kissed again; it was a short kiss, but with more passion and harder.
“Then, you’ll go to dinner with me tonight?” Willy asked again.
“Yes, but how should I dress. I don’t have any nice clothes here; all my pretty dresses are at Rachel’s.”
“You can go as you are; if you don’t mind, we’ll go to a grill I know out in the Gradytown area, away from campus. It’s not fancy, but the food is good.”
“Oh that sounds cool,” Harold said. “I was going to take my hair down, and clean off my makeup before we get to the frat house. Don’t wanna look girly there.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Willy said. “There’s the McCormick Dorm; let’s go in there; they have a public lounge area, and there is a woman’s rest room there. You can spruce up there and then we can go.”
In the woman’s room of the dormitory, two other girls, also bent on fixing their makeup, joined Harold. As he began to brush his long hair, one of the girls said: “Let me do that, and then you can help me.”
“Is that nice hunk out there your boy friend?” the girl asked as she brushed.
Harold blushed. “Not exactly; this is our first date, I guess.”
“Well, if he tires of you or you don’t like him, my name is Terri.” They all laughed; Harold high-pitched giggle fitting in perfectly with their voices.
Willy had a car; it was a ten-year-old Ford Escort, which ran quite smoothly, but was hardly an attractive car for such a “hunk,” Harold thought as they headed for the grill in Gradytown.
Harold sat as close to Willy as the seat belts would allow, and was pleased to feel Harold’s hand find his thigh occasionally during the trip. Harold related the woman’s room conversation to him.
“They said if you got tired of me, they’d be glad to be yours,” Harold said, adding a little giggle. “They called you a ‘hunk.’”
“No, Heidi,” he said as they waited at a stoplight, the red showing on his smiling face. “I saw those two; you were far prettier. Besides, I think you’re hot.”
“But I’m not all girl.”
“Maybe not, but you’re ‘more girl’ than lots of them. You’re so sweet.”
It turned out to be an absolutely smashing evening; the bar and grill had a family atmosphere, with many of the Saturday night customers being families with children. The bartender and several of the waitresses hailed Willy as they entered. Willy introduced him as Heidi, and they all responded with smiles. The bartender an older portly man who Harold learned later was the owner even gave Willy a knowing wink, as men are prone to do over a sexual reference.
“I thought you were going to wait for my divorce, and now you bring this pretty young thing in here,” commented a slightly overweight and older waitress named Nancy.
“You had your chance,” Willy chided her, “But you kept talking about your four kids.”
“Yeh, I guess you’d have a long wait for me,” Nancy laughed, and then directed her gaze to Harold. “Don’t worry honey; I’m hooked tightly to a loser named Harry, but I love him.”
They all laughed. It turned out Willy had worked as a bus boy and dishwasher at the establishment during his freshman and sophomore years.
“And Heidi,” warned the waitress named Nancy. “Treat him right. He’s one in a million. Remember the old song, ‘A Good Man is Hard to Find.’”
“Oh I will,” Harold responded in his most flirty tone of voice. He leaned over to kiss Willy lightly on the lips.
“See, they all saw you as my girl friend,” Willy said, reaching across from the driver’s seat to hold Harold’s hand as they began the drive back to the frat house.
“Willy, I’m so excited,” Harold said. “This has been such a special day for me, and you’ve made it even better.”
“You’re a special girl. You deserve everything special.”
“Oh, Willy, you’ve made me feel so wonderful. You’re treating me just like you real girl friend.”
Willy smiled. “Would you like that? To be my girl friend?”
Harold, now feeling natural in his identity as Heidi, felt like kissing this hunk of a young man right now as he was driving.
“Don’t you have a girl friend? How about Stephanie?”
“We broke up, Heidi. I’m not sure I ever felt close to her, like I seem to be with you.”
“Willy, you know I’m not physically a girl. I’m just a boy who happens to be more like a girl.”
Harold began to cry; suddenly his day of great sweetness had soured as he considered his own reality. He was physically a male, although not very masculine; in his mind and feelings, however, he felt he was female.
“Oh darling Heidi, please don’t cry,” Willy reached with his right hand to gently touch Harold’s face.
The tears continued to flow from Harold’s face, sobs becoming audible now to Willy. As the tears became more intense, the car was cruising past Riverside Park, and Willy suddenly made a right turn into the parkway road, stopping at the side of the road several hundred feet into the park.
“Heidi,” Willy began talking, softly, soothingly. “Honey, I know you have a difficult situation. I want to be there to help you. Believe me, you’re special person, and I think you’re a woman, a girl . . . really, you are.”
Harold’s sobs subsided a bit, and finally he responded: “I know, Willy. I know. But what can I do?”
“I’ve done some research, darling. Thousands of guys find themselves in same place, thinking they’re girls.”
“I know, but what will my mother think? And her new boy friend? And, I live in the frat house?”
Willy turned off the engine, and gathered Harold in his arms, holding him firmly, gently patting the slender youth’s back. Soon, they were kissing, their lips pressed firmly. Eventually, their mouths opened and they began to passionately French kiss, tongues intermingling.
Willy’s advances went no further than the kisses and gentle caresses; his whole behavior was that of a caring loving person.
“Heidi, I want you to know that I’m attracted to you as a girl and as a person,” the fraternity president said, breaking his hold on Harold, and removing his hands from around Harold’s shoulders.
“I know, Willy, and I can’t believe it. You’ve been so wonderful. I’m such a disaster as a frat boy, I know.”
“Oh Heidi, don’t be such a ninny,” Willy said. “You’ll eventually fly head and shoulders over all those spoiled brats in the house. I wouldn’t have been there either, except for my father being an alumnus also.”
Willy then explained he was planning to go into Law School after graduation, and would be leaving the house in June. He also said he had contacted the Student Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Student organization about Harold’s situation, and indicated Harold might get some help there. He assured Harold that his inquiries were anonymous, and that he hadn’t mentioned Harold by name.
Harold replied that his mother was making an appointment for him with a gender specialist when he was home in Milwaukee for the holidays.
“I hope he’s a good specialist,” Willy said.
“My mom would try to find the best.”
“I know, but some of the specialists only try to persuade a boy to abandon his desire to be a girl,” Willy said. “I think you should go to the LGBT student group here before you go home. I have a good friend who volunteers there.”
Harold agreed to meet with Willy’s friend in the week after the play is completed.
“Are you in a hurry to get back to the frat house?” Willy asked. “It’s only 9:30 and I’d like to show you something.”
They were now holding hands; Harold’s hands felt small and soft in the firm, larger hands of Willy. Harold felt a warmth and ease with Willy that was hard to explain. The older boy asked nothing of Harold other than to be himself, to be, as it were, herself, to be Heidi. This strong, confident older boy seemed to pose no threat, no expectation that he would attack Harold, whose physical weakness would make it impossible for him to protect himself.
“I’m in no hurry,” he said.
“I know of a special place,” Willy said, a twinkle appearing in his eye that Harold could see thanks to a streetlight’s projection.
They drove further out of town, finding an obscure town road that turned to gravel several hundred yards off the main highway, and wound up a hill through a forested area. Gravel stones clicked against the metal of the fenders of the car and headlights moved onto shrubbery now denuded of leaves and onto the gravel road, adjoining a narrow ditch.
Willy drove slowly, his right hand on Harold’s thigh. As they reached what seemed to be the summit, there was a clearing on the left. Willy pulled the Escort onto the area, which apparently was used as a parking spot.
“Look,” he said, turning off the engine and the lights.
Suddenly the car was in pitch darkness, but spread out before them through the windshield were a thousand lights of the city before them. They could see the lighted bell tower of the main University Administration Building, towering over the campus, and the reflected lights off the ribbon of river that wound through the city and the campus.
“Oh Willy, this is so lovely,” Harold said, unclasping his seat belt, and moving tightly against Willy, snuggling closely into his warmth.
“Don’t say anything, honey,” Willy said, placing a finger lightly upon Harold’s lips. “Just drink in the solitude and beauty of the night.”
Harold was silent then, feeling Willy’s hands caress him, the hands strong and firm yet gentle in their touch. He loved it when Willy’s hand found his slender forearm, caressing its softness, knowing that his weak arms added to his femininity.
They kissed, alternately with a soft gentleness and then a hard passion. Harold felt his own penis harden and grow painful as he fought to hold back ejaculation. Willy made no effort to move his hands into Harold’s crotch, and Harold did nothing to encourage that. He moved his own hands inside Willy’s jacket, to feel the smooth, fine blonde hair that covered Willy’s muscular chest.
Harold felt it so natural now to be in the arms of a loving man, to be the man’s female lover.
Willy broke the silence finally: “I’ve been here only once before, with my old girl friend, but being with you now is even better.”
“Oh, Willy, I feel so special to be with you.”
“You are special, darling, so special to me,” Willy said, now kissing Harold.
When they broke their long kiss, Harold began to cry again, only this time it was a silent crying that was accompanied by a shivering of his body that was transmitted to Willy, who responded by holding Harold even more tightly.
“I’ve never been happier, Willy,” Harold finally said.
“I’m so happy to hear you say that.”
“You’ve brought me so much happiness, my dear, dear Willy. You’ve accepted me as both Harold and Heidi, and not treated me as some sort of weirdo.”
“Oh,” Willy said. “I’ve accepted you as Harold, but I love you as Heidi. You are a girl to me, and I want you to be my girl friend, if you wish.”
“But how can I? I’m still a boy physically and a boy in the frat house.”
“No, honey, you’re a girl in the frat house.”
They both laughed.
Willy continued: “I see you as girl, and a woman in the years to come. For the time being you’ll have to live your double life. You need to see my friend and your mom’s doctor or therapist to see what can be done. But, I think you’re basically a girl.”
“You think so, Willy? You don’t think I’m some sort of a creep?”
“Oh my sweet darling, no. You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever met.”
Harold smiled, snuggling closer to Willy, looking up into his face, but unable to see much due to the darkness. He felt comfortable now as Heidi, and knew that once the play ended next Sunday, he’d be free to begin to explore what he needed to live as a girl and woman.
Another car made its way into the parking area, which Harold realized, must have been a popular lover’s lane destination, and secretly pleased that Willy chose to take him there and treat him as his girl friend.
The arrival of the other car seemed to end the magic of the encounter, and Willy turned on the ignition and started the car. Harold felt better as they continued back to the frat house. He wiped off makeup and other signs of his girliness before they returned to the house. Since his clothes were gender neutral, and the other brothers were used to seeing Harold look a bit effeminate, he felt there would be no unusual responses from the other boys. Harold slept that night the sleep of the contented.
Chapter 10: The Play’s the Thing
Cast call for Monday through Wednesday was at 3 p.m. each day; all members of the cast, backstage crews and others were to be there on time and for the week anyone whose classes may have conflicted were told to get their assignments in advance. Harold walked with Grace, as usual, to the Monday session, fear and uneasiness dominating his being.
“I know the Director will have to tell them I’m the nurse understudy, and he’ll probably reveal that I’m a boy, too. I’m afraid that won’t go over very well.”
“Oh Harold, you know most of these people. They’re so in love with themselves that they won’t care much either way.”
“But still . . .”
“But still, nothing. You showed to me that you’re a great actress, Heidi. You’ll do OK and that’s all that counts.”
He gave her a sisterly hug as they walked on, pleased with the understanding she showed to him.
Grace was right; the cast listened casually to the announcement that Harold, who despite his apparent femininity was really a boy, would be the nurse understudy. Who cares about understudies, anyway?
The only problem came with Jason, the one actor who had once tried to ask “Heidi” out for a coffee or date. He came up after the announcement: “God, how weird. Am I glad you refused me! I’m not one of those gay actor types.”
Harold said nothing, merely turned around and walked off to find the girl who was to understudy Juliet. Director Milton Kastner had said the two should rehearse together, since most of their scenes were together.
“I always thought of you as the costume girl, Heidi,” Mary Anne Lynch, the understudy said. “Wow, this is really something, you being a boy and all?”
“I’m sorry,” Harold answered. “I didn’t ask for this, but the Director said I was good for the part.”
“Well, I must say you talk like a girl and look like one. I guess it’ll be OK.”
They retired to a small room, used by one of the stage crews, to rehearse their lines. The rehearsal went easily, with Mary Anne being a cooperative, cheerful person to deal with. She was a pink-fleshed sophomore drama student, about the same 5’7” height as Harold. She probably outweighed him by a few pounds.
“You read those lines well,” Mary Anne said as they finished their first run-through.
“Thank you, Mary Anne. You did, too. I can see you’re a good actress.”
The girl blushed. “Well I’ve been acting since grade school. Mom sent me to perform in our local repertory company in 4th grade.”
“I only performed once,” he admitted.
“But, Heidi,” she said, using his girl’s name. “I’m such a chunky girl, not as dainty as you. You’d be a perfect Juliet. I’d love to see you in that outfit.”
“I’ve already worn it,” he admitted, telling her had designed it and was modeling it when Director Kastner walked in on them and heard him saying Juliet’s lines.
“You did? Well, I bet you were lovely in it.”
Harold blushed. “I guess I was. Kastner thought I was a girl, too. But we set him straight.”
“Does that bother you? Being mistaken for a girl?”
“It does a bit, but I’ve always been kinda small and girly.”
“Well, you’re lovely and I admit to being jealous of your beauty.” She smiled.
“Thank you. I guess I like doing girl stuff. Weird eh?”
“Oh I don’t know. You’re just a bit different, I guess. So what?”
The last performance was a Sunday matinee, and the girl who played the nurse called in sick at 10 a.m. Sunday morning. It appeared she had imbibed too much at the cast party the previous night and was terribly sick, sick enough to be admitted inpatient in the student infirmary.
The director, Kastner, called Harold at the fraternity house a few minutes after 10 a.m. and told him to prepare to play the nurse.
“Oh my, God, really?” Harold said, in shock.
“Yes, really,” the director had said. “Just relax. You know your lines and you’re perfect for the part.”
He asked Harold to arrive two hours before the 2 p.m. curtain to be costumed and to go over some details with the girl playing Juliet.
Natalie McCord, a senior drama student, was performing as Juliet. She was an inch taller than Harold, and though an excellent actress, had a deep, raspy voice that she worked hard at trying to keep under control so that it would sound like a love-struck 15year-old Juliet.
Natalie was easily the “star” of the University Players and had performed some truly dynamic parts during her career at the school. Needless so say, having always been in the spotlight, Natalie had a high opinion of herself. She displayed her disdain for Harold, as a boy, playing the part of the nurse.
“Well, I guess the show must go on,” she said, as the director advised her that Harold would play the nurse that day. “Damn, such a charade, such a travesty, to have a guy playing the role. This is an affront to the theater.”
“Natalie, just do your usual good job. I’m sure Heidi will do just fine.”
“As you say,” she replied to the director. Yet, she treated Harold like a slave during her own fitting while he was costuming her; now she ordered him around during their rehearsal, telling him precisely that he was to follow her lead on stage.
Once the curtain went up that afternoon, Natalie, as Juliet, performed in her usual professional and outstanding manner, even showing affection on stage for the “nurse,” as performed by Harold. The audience had been told earlier that an understudy would be performing the part of the nurse, naming the understudy as “Heidi Cochran.” There were some groans from the audience most of whom felt an understudy’s performance might be flawed.
Will Hampton, Harold roommate, had heard about the phone call he had received telling him he was to perform that day.
“Really,” Will asked. “What part?”
“Oh just a small part, nothing special,” Harold fudged.
“Tell me.” Will started to fake like he was going to hold Harold’s arm and twist it behind his back unless he told.
“OK, the nurse.”
“The nurse, to Juliet?” Will asked. “That’s a big part. And you’re doing it?”
“Yes.” Harold reddened.
As a result, Harold realized some of the boys from the frat house would be there, since Will could hardly be restrained from spreading the word.
And when the name “Heidi Cochran” was read, Harold heard some hooting a hollering from a corner of the theater. It sounded like the bunch from the Mega House. Harold’s stomach went sick, wondering how they would react to having him, playing a female part and living in the Mega House.
As Harold stood in the wings awaiting the “nurse’s” entrance on stage, his stomach did all sorts of flips, but once he made his entrance, to the welcoming gestures from Natalie he felt at ease. His voice cracked a bit at first, but by the time he was into his first long set of lines, he had found his girlish tone, kept slightly coarse as an older woman’s voice might be.
The curtain went down to end each act with hearty applause from the audience; the performance was a great one, all the cast agreed as they gathered for final curtain calls. Both Harold and Natalie got huge applause and when Harold moved forward to give his curtsies, it seemed the applause was even louder than that for Juliet, probably due to the whistles and hooting from the boys of Mega House.
To everyone’s surprise, as the applause was beginning to weaken after the third set of bows, Natalie stepped forward, raising her hand, in a sign for the audience to become silent.
“I’d like everyone here to give a special extra applause today for the girl, or should I say, boy, who performed the nurse part today. He’s been with us as one of our lead costumers and designed and sewed this lovely dress I am wearing. Today, he was asked to be the nurse. Don’t you think he did a great job? Please come forward, Harold Cochran, also known backstage as Heidi?”
The audience burst into applause, so loud that even the hoots from Mega House were drowned out. Harold obliged by giving a lovely curtsey and Natalie came forward and kissed him on stage, whispering in his ear: “I think you were great.”
Later at a pizza parlor where most of the cast had gone, Natalie came up to Harold and said: “You’re very lovely, and I’m so sorry I gave you a hard time in rehearsal.”
“Natalie, that was what I needed, I guess. I wanted to do the performance of my life to prove to you I could.”
“Well, you did, and, you know, I’d love to see you as Juliet sometime. You’re made for the part.”
Harold smiled, not telling her that he had already worn her dress and performed some of Juliet’s lines. He’d love to be Juliet.
Back at Mega House, Harold arrived to see a makeshift banner across the entrance lobby: “Congrats, Heidi.”
As he entered, he heard someone yell, “Here she comes.” There was a thunder of feet on the stairs and Harold frat brothers descended into the main room of the House, where drinks were being prepared. Everyone seemed genuinely pleased to see Harold and to praise him for his performance.
Willy, the frat president, interrupted the noise of the gathering, to present a bouquet of pink roses to Harold, saying: “To Heidi, the queen of Mega House.”
He even kissed Harold lightly in the presentation. Harold was still dressed in his gender neutral clothes with his hair flowing freely; he looked very girlish. Harold even pranced about the room, accepting the congratulations of most of the boys. He could see a couple of boys avoiding his looks, and talking among themselves, obviously expressing disapproval of Harold’s feminine antics. Yet, no one stepped forward to be critical. Harold looked around the room in vain to see whether his other lover, Kevin, was there; Kevin was nowhere to be seen. Harold was both disappointed and relieved, knowing that Kevin would be disappointed to see Harold again acting like a girl. He truly was fond of Kevin, felt warm towards him; but in the last few weeks he had also found warm embraces and kisses with Grace and later with Willy.
Later in his room, he wondered about what he was doing. He felt a strange attraction toward Kevin, loved their embraces and the taste of Kevin’s mouth in their kisses. With Grace, he felt awkward and unnatural, not sure of how to be intimate with a girl. He smiled to himself, recalling the comfort he felt in Willy’s arms, how easy it was to nestle close to the older boy and how wonderful he felt when being kissed by Willy.
If anything, this wonderful, sweet weekend had proved one thing: that he was meant to be a girl. It only seemed right.
The Daily Husky, the campus student newspaper, somehow had gotten word in advance that Harold was to play the nurse in “Romeo and Juliet,” and their reviewer had attended his debut. There, for everyone to see, was a picture of Harold, dressed as the nurse in a long brown gown, with a white collar, and his long brown hair tucked under a nurses broad brimmed hat. The review read:
“The audience at Sunday’s final performance of “Romeo and Juliet” at the University Players were treated to an outstanding performance by an understudy who took over the part of Juliet’s nurse.
“It is one of Shakespeare’s most demanding supporting roles for an actor, and the understudy nailed it solidly. Despite her appearance as a fragile wisp of a girl, the actor’s recitations of the nurse’s lines were clear, precise and full of feeling, making the nurse live as a strong character.
“Saved for last was the announcement that the understudy was not a girl, but a young man, Harold Cochran, Jr. He played the part without being ‘campy,’ but with a femininity that was truthful and honest.
“In an interview after the play, Director Milton Kastner said young Cochran, a freshman from Milwaukee, had worked with the costume crew, and had been responsible for designing the lovely dress worn by Juliet. He said he ‘found’ Cochran while checking on the costume crew a week earlier and seeing the boy model Juliet’s outfit, even to the point of saying some of Juliet’s lines.
“’I could see he was a natural actor, and I needed someone quickly to be understudy for the nurse. He was a natural. And, I think he’d have been a delight as Juliet, too.’”
Harold’s new found fame was disturbing to him; everyone would now know he often dressed and acted as a girl. He was sure there’d be trouble in the fraternity house, and among his classmates in other parts of the university. Worst of all, he was certain this would get back to his mother.
Harold didn’t realize the story had appeared until he was in his first class on Monday when one of the students sitting near him asked: “Was that Harold Cochran who played a nurse you?”
“What?”
“Here look at this story, and the picture. That’s you, isn’t it?” The student said, pointing insistently and demonstrably so that the action attracted attention of perhaps another half dozen students.
The boy handed him the newspaper, folded to the review, and sure enough, there he was pictured standing with Natalie (as Juliet), both holding bouquets of flowers and acknowledging applause.
Harold blushed, and nodded yes.
“Oh Harold,” commented an eager looking red-haired girl with sparkling eyes. “You look so . . . ah . . . I guess . . . real.”
“Yes, he looks just like a girl there,” said another girl. “That’s cool.”
“He was supposed to look like a girl,” said the first girl. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“I didn’t say there was,” replied the second one.
Harold now wished he could crawl under a desk and be forgotten, particularly when he heard some boy remark: “That’s pathetic. Well, he looks like a girl half the time anyway. Pathetic.”
Fortunately, the professor opened the class and told everyone to be quiet. Harold was still flushed in the face as the class began, feeling that he was being viewed as some sort of a circus sideshow attraction, like “The Bearded Lady,” or “The World’s Fattest Woman.”
As the day went on there were more comments. Most were praiseworthy; several remarked how unusual it was for a boy to play a female part, as well as to be a dress designer and costumer. There were some hushed laughters coming from some, but most of the girls seemed genuinely happy to be associated with Harold. As a rule, most of the boys either said nothing, averted their eyes from Harold or made some crude remark, such as saying Harold was “a fag,” “queer,” “fruitcake” or worse.
Try as he might, Harold could not avoid the attention that day and he was pleased to see Grace awaiting him as he approached the classroom for his last class of the day.
“Oh Harold, my dear, how are you holding up?” She asked, grabbing his arm and guiding him toward the classroom.
“Oh, OK I guess,” he said tears beginning to well up in his eyes.
He wanted to fall into her arms right there in the hallway and cry his eyes out. He was bothered with how often he seemed to cry these days; he felt it was a feminine trait, and it was beginning to be so natural to him.
Grace held him a bit tightly, as they stopped, moving into a small alcove to avoid the oncoming rush of classroom-bound students. Each of her hands caressed his slender upper arms, and she drew him close to her, his head resting now on her shoulder.
“You were simply great yesterday, Heidi,” she said softly into his ear. “You should be so proud.”
“But everybody’s talking about me, saying I’m queer or strange or something,” he said, his crying finally ending.
“Heidi,” she said, still using his girl’s name, “You’re just different but you’re really, really special. The people who matter think you’re just great. We all love you.”
She found a tissue in her purse and wiped his face of the tears, and they entered the last class of the day.
“I understand you had a lovely time Sunday afternoon with Willy and the other boys from your frat house,” she said as they were walking out of class.
“Yes, Willy has been just great to me,” Harold said.
“You fooled all the girls in Rachel’s dorm, I heard?”
Harold just nodded, feeling a bit sheepish as she opened the discussion about how much he was being accepted as a girl.
“Just like most of the people in the play thought you were a girl, until the director told them otherwise,” Grace added. “And you know, I feel we are girl friends, too.”
He stopped, grabbing Grace’s hand, and asking her to halt the walk, directing her to a bench; even though the cold December wind was biting their faces, he felt like talking with her for a few minutes.
“Is it so wrong to be the way I am?” he began. “To be more like a girl than a guy?”
“Harold, or should I say, Heidi, I don’t know. But I do know we have to be ourselves, whatever that is.”
“You’re so understanding, Grace,” he said, leaning over to kiss her lightly on the cheek.
Grace merely smiled and Harold continued: “You know, I felt just like one of the girls in Rachel’s dorm. I just wanted to be there with them, doing all the stuff they do.”
“I know you do,” Grace said. “I was kind of hoping your manhood might emerge on those nights when we dated, but I don’t think you’re comfortable being a boy, or even acting like a boy.”
“Oh Grace, I’m sorry. You and Rachel are the best friends I’ve ever had, but I think of you as my girl friends. Well, not as girl friends, but as girl-to-girl friends. Oh, you know what I mean.”
“I do too, Heidi. You weren’t too eager to act like a boy with me.” She laughed.
“I guess I wasn’t. I really don’t know how to be a boy, I think.”
“That’s OK. I think you really should consider living as a girl eventually.”
“I know,” Harold said. “Willy suggested that too, and wants me to see a counselor here. I know my mother wants me to see a shrink over the Christmas holidays.”
They resumed their walk, splitting off to go in other directions to reach their houses. Harold continued on to the Mega House, feeling good now that he had talked openly with Grace about his feelings and thoughts. He was day-dreaming as he continued the walk, thinking about continuing college as a girl, living among girls and wearing all sorts of pretty frocks.
“Oh there you are!”
Harold’s pleasant musings were interrupted by the angry voice of Kevin. He was within a block of Mega House.
“Oh hi, Kevin,” Harold said, recovering from the shock of the tall young man’s voice.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, loudly.
“What you mean?”
“Acting in a play as a girl? My God, Harold, I thought you were done with that girl shit.”
Kevin walked in front of Harold, stopping him cold. He grabbed Harold by his arms, kissing him. It was a hard, angry kiss.
“God I love you so much,” Kevin said when he finally released Harold.
“Oh Kevin,” was all Harold could say in reply, noticing the angry look in the other’s face.
“You’re so hot, Harold. You’re my darling, darling, darling,” he repeated, tears filling his face. “But I can’t love you as a girl. I see you only as my sweet young boy, my sweet young lover. You have the sweetest kisses.”
Kevin tried to kiss him again, but Harold freed himself from the taller boy’s grasp, taking command of the situation. He could see Kevin crying now, and Harold took him into his arms on the street there; other students walked by, but in the darkness of late afternoon, few noticed the two boys caressing. In fact, to most people, it looked as if it was a boy-girl hugging together, Harold flowing hair and girlish jacket pegging him as female.
Harold agreed to go with Kevin to a nearby MacDonald’s where they each ordered diet drinks and settled into a remote booth. There, Harold explained that he realized he must be a transgendered person, and that his mind truly was set to make him female. He said further that he was going to go to psychiatrists or other counselors to discuss his future.
“I can’t help what I feel, Kevin. You know how innocent and naíve I am; you were the first person to ever kiss me, except for my mom.”
“Oh Harold, I feel I love you so much. Maybe it is your sweet innocence; I love how slender and pretty you are. Oh Harold.”
Kevin’s words came out as pleas, even though he knew that Harold may indeed have to consider his future and that Harold’s future may lay in being a girl called Heidi.
The two walked to Mega House, holding hands. Kevin had told Harold he would hoped the two would continue to be friends, and Harold replied he wanted to continue to be a friend. Harold knew his friend was crushed; he saw that the boy’s tears continued to flow as they walked. Harold had a strong desire to embrace and kiss Kevin, but he knew that would lead to further problems.
Kevin, it was obvious, would continue to be in Harold life, at least for a while, in the hopes that Harold would end his quest to become female, and instead become the pretty boy he had fancied.
Willy was waiting for Harold as he and Kevin entered the frat house. He looked at Kevin oddly, apparently seeing the boy had been crying. Yet, he said nothing, and merely nodded at both of them.
Harold left Kevin, telling him he needed to clean up after the day and lay down to rest a bit before dinner. The other boy seemed to accept that explanation, but there was a sadness that filled his eyes.
Harold wondered as he lay upon his bed whether he had been Kevin’s first real love, whether this once confident boy who had befriended him early as he entered the frat house was being incapacitated by his unconditional love toward Harold. It was a disquieting feeling, since Harold hated the idea of hurting anyone’s feelings. He wished so much that Kevin could accept him as Heidi and love him as the girl he truly felt he was.
That night, after dinner, Harold left for the Student Library to finish his research for an essay paper he was doing on Walt Whitman for an English literature course; as a freshman, he was not writing anything deep, but wanted to add a perspective whether Whitman’s apparent homosexuality influenced his poetry.
It was nearly 9 p.m. when he left the library and began the two-block return to the frat house. By now, the early December cold had turned bitter, largely due to a brisk northwest wind that stung his face. He walked with his head down, hoping to lessen the effect of the biting cold, thinking again about his friend Kevin, still unable to shake his guilt at having caused Kevin to cry and be disappointed.
“There she is,” he heard a loud, nastily toned voice, interrupt his musing about Kevin.
In an instant, he felt a push from the side as a large dark figure loomed from the left, knocking him into the arms of a huge young man, smelling of beer.
“Here’s the fairy girl of Mega House,” said the second. “Come on kiss me, you faggot.”
They rushed Harold into the bushes, where they pinned him to the ground, taking off his hat, while the second boy, whom he recognized as Tommy from the House, began kissing him roughly and rudely, the beer-sotted mouth sickening Harold, who tried vainly to scream. He was too weak to fight back, and this time the boys knew enough to pin his legs so that he couldn’t kick them in the crotch.
“So you won’t kiss back, you bitch?” said Tommy. “I’ll fix you and your pretty face.”
The boy began hitting Harold in the face now, scratching his face as well. Harold let out a scream that was shortlived as Tommy quit hitting him and placed a hand hard upon his face.
“Let’s see what her pussy looks like,” said the other boy, who Harold thought was also a frat boy, but whom he couldn’t identify.
He felt his pants being removed to expose the girl’s panties he had begun wearing regularly. This brought hoots from the other boy, and soon he was slapping Harold penis and laughing. “My god, did you see anything so pathetic?”
Harold was now powerless, unable to kick, or scream, and he felt so humiliated. The boy Tommy resumed slugging Harold in the face, even scratching the face violently. The other boy now started squeezing Harold’s testicles, and tweaking his tiny penis. Harold now felt dizzy from all of the hits in the face and the squeezes and slaps in his scrotum. He tried again to scream out, wondering how long he could stand the pain. Suddenly the boys let go of him, and Tommy yelled, “That’s for kicking me in the balls, you bitch.” Tommy kicked Harold hard in the ribs, and abruptly left running after his friend, leaving the scene, as if scared off.
Harold was so in shock he lay there for a minute, freezing in the cold.
A light suddenly blinded him and he heard someone say: “Oh my god, are you all right, miss?”
“Yes,” he said softly, weakly, hardly able to speak. “I think so, but I hurt down there.”
“Oh dear, you’re also bleeding in the face, you’ve been cut.”
Harold reached up and found his hand, the light finally left his face and he soon was able to see a uniformed police officer was standing before him. The officer removed his coat and placed it over the shivering Harold. “Just lay there a minute, I’m calling an ambulance, miss.”
“No don’t I just live near here. I’ll be all right,” Harold protested. All he wanted was to forget this moment; he didn’t want police involved and to be examined at a hospital only to find that the “girl” this officer rescued was really a “boy.” It would be so humiliating.
“No, you’re hurt.” Harold could see the officer call into his handheld phone. It was then he lost consciousness.
“We have a possible rape here.” The voice awakened him as he felt himself being moved along on a gurney in the bright lights of a hospital corridor.
“You’ll be fine, miss,” he heard the same voice, looking up in a daze to see the concerned face of a young male paramedic wheeling him along the hallway.
His mind was a confused mess now; what was he doing in this hospital being called “miss?” He hurt so bad, his head ached, his penis and balls felt like they’d explode. His eyes were crusted. He slowly began remembering beaten and attacked by Tommy and another boy, as he was wheeled into an examining room.
“My god, this girl’s got balls and a cock,” Harold heard a nurse say.
Harold realized the nurse had removed Harold jeans and the panties underneath and saw the truth of the situation, something he had feared. Another woman was carefully and gently sponging off Harold’s bloodied face, and she stopped abruptly.
They covered Harold with a sheet, and the nurse parted the curtain that had shielded Harold from the bustle of the emergency room. “Officer, come in here,” she demanded.
It was humiliating to Harold as he told the officer what had happened. He started to cry several times, only to be given a hard look from the officer as he was quizzed. The officer didn’t seem to be interested; it was obvious that he considered this a boy-on-boy fight.
“But, officer,” the nurse demanded, “Can’t you see this boy was assaulted, and if you hadn’t come along he’d have been raped, I’m sure.”
Eventually, a special officer and a social worker from the police department’s victim’s unit arrived, providing Harold with a more understanding interview. “Well,” said the special officer, a tall, hard-looking blonde woman, “I must say you’re the first male I’ve seen here as a victim of a sexual assault, but you were terribly hurt, and we need to treat you as we would any woman or girl.”
Harold was kept overnight for observation and Willy and Jason visited him, having been informed by the police who came to the frat house to get information about Harold and also to see if anyone had seen any part of the attack.
“Did you know who attacked you, Harold,” Willy asked during their visit just before midnight.
“No. It was too dark,” Harold replied.
“You were near the frat house, Harold. Was it Tommy? He had it in for you.”
Harold didn’t answer immediately, saying finally, “I need to rest.”
“Harold, I think you know who attacked you,” Willy persisted.
“It was too dark,” Harold mumbled, closing his eyes, feigning sleep.
By now Harold, though in pain, was lucid; he realized that if he identified Tommy as his attacker that would mean more attention from the police, more discussion of how he was mistaken for a girl and more talking about his girlishness.
Since he was still 17 (his 18th birthday would be Dec. 20), the police had to call his mother. When she got him on the phone, Harold was shocked by her hysterical reaction. She would be driving down first thing Monday from Milwaukee, she said.
“No mom, I’m OK,” he said in a soft, weak voice.
“You sound awful.”
“I’m all drugged up, mom. I’m sorry. Just stay in Milwaukee. I’ll be OK. We only have two more weeks of classes, and then I’ll be home.”
“I’m so worried about you, Harold. This acting like a girl is causing you so much trouble.”
Harold’s voice choked up, and all he could say was, “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
“Harold, we’ll talk about this later, honey,” she said. “Just get some sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As it turned out, Willy had called his mother as well, urging her to come to DeKalb if she could. Willy said he called for two reasons; first, as fraternity house president, he had a responsibility and, secondly, he said, “I think very highly of Harold.”
“I think there are some things we need to talk about, Mrs. Cochran,” Willy had said.
As if sensing what Willy had in mind, Mrs. Cochran didn’t query further, and recognized that she’d take the drive, about two hours long, on Monday morning to DeKalb.
“Only a major snowstorm will stop me, Willy,” she said, having been aware that the TV weather people were predicting all sorts of winter havoc. “But, like most of their predictions, I think I’ll be able to make it.”
“Please try, Mrs. Cochran. I think Harold needs you now.”
Willy had placed the call after 11 p.m. that night, after learning of the assault. He had seen Tommy and the other frat brother, Wayne Weathers, enter the frat house quite drunk and disheveled a bit earlier. The two were laughing and bragging, and Willy heard them say something about “taking care of a faggot,” before they saw him and shut up, looking sheepish. Willy had been concerned about their appearance, and then heard the ambulance stop just short of the house.
He had gone out to find that a female student had been assaulted and was being transported to the hospital. Back in the house, he had checked to see if Harold was in his room and found it empty. “Oh my God, I wonder if the girl who was assaulted is Harold,” he said to Jason who had accompanied him.
“It might be,” Jason said. “Harold’s usually not out this late.”
“Oh that poor kid,” Willy said, his own eyes tearing up. “I knew it was just a matter of time before he was assaulted.”
Willy accompanied Mrs. Cochran to hospital to pick Harold up at his release the next day. The boy’s mother had battled wind and light snow that made caused her to drive carefully and more slowly than she would have liked, given the emergency nature of the trip from Milwaukee to DeKalb. She arrived just after 11 a.m., going first to Mega House to pickup Willy. Then, Willy directed Mrs. Cochran, a slight, short woman with a soft, pale complexion, to the hospital. Willy immediately saw how much Harold, particularly when he was dressed as Heidi, looked like his mother; no doubt, Willy mused, if Harold continued into womanhood he would be an attractive woman when reaching the age of his mother.
“You know, Mrs. Cochran, the police thought he was a girl when they first got to the scene,” Willy said as they drove in the five-minute trip to the hospital.
“I was afraid something like this might happen,” she said. “He’s always been so small.”
“Well, I have to admit he’s been acting more and more girlish for some time now,” Willy said. “I’ve really become quite fond of him, Mrs. Cochran, and don’t want him hurt, either physically or emotionally.”
“Willy, I know you’ve been so helpful to Harold. He’s spoken so highly about you, but I know what you mean. I could see it on homecoming weekend. That stuff with Grace, I think, was all a front, to make us think he had a real girl friend.”
Willy smiled. They had reached the hospital and after some paperwork retrieved Harold to take him back to the fraternity house. His mother hugged Harold gently at first, noticing the boy’s bruised and scared face.
Harold’s hair flowed loosely and was a bit of a tangle. Willy was dressed in boy jeans, a plaid shirt, underwear and a winter jacket, which Willy had taken over earlier in the morning since his the clothes he had been wearing were torn and dirty.
“Mommy,” Harold said. “I’m so sorry about all this. You didn’t have to come.”
“Oh my darling boy, I wanna hug you so hard, but I know your ribs hurt,” she said. She kissed him gently and caressed his head lightly and lovingly.
Willy couldn’t help thinking most people would see this to be a scene between a mother and her daughter, even though Harold was now wearing boy’s clothes. His femininity overshadowed even the masculine clothes he was wearing.
“Is it safe for Harold here?” his mother asked Willy as they gathered in Harold’s room after he had been put to bed to rest.
“I don’t know, Mrs. Cochran,” Willy said. “I knew some of the boys have not been nice to Harold, and have harassed him almost from the beginning. Most of the brothers seem to like Harold, but we have a few bums here, too.”
“Do you know who did this to him?”
“No, ma’am, and I think Harold knows, don’t you, Harold?”
Harold merely turned his body to the wall, hiding his head, saying nothing. He so wanted to forget this horrible and frightening night. He felt so totally defenseless, so humiliated in his lack of masculinity and in his own ongoing fears. Harold felt so pathetic and disgusted with himself for suffering through the scorn and laughter that was being heaped upon him by his attackers. No doubt others in Mega House must have felt the same way.
He laid with his back to his mother and Willy, leg drawn up tight in a fetal position while he caressed his slender right bicep with his left hand, feeling its softness.
Willy smiled at Mrs. Cochran and moved to sit on the bed, next to Harold, putting his hand gently upon his head, leaning down and whispering, “Heidi, dear Heidi, think of what a special day you had Sunday, before the attack. Remember how everyone loves you, Heidi.”
He said it so softly that it was doubtful Harold’s mother heard, and Harold did nothing for a few minutes, finally, turning over, and looking at Willy, offering him a warm smile.
“Now let your mother hug you, honey,” Willy said, getting up from the bed.
“Yes, mother’s here, darling,” she said, moving to the bed.
Willy excused himself, saying he had to get to class, but suggesting that perhaps the three of them could go to supper that night.
“Mommy,” Harold said, sitting up and immersing himself into his mother’s arms, feeling her hands caress his small back. “I’m so sorry I’m such a failure, not the boy I should be.”
“I know, Harold, but you’re the sweetest son a mother could have. You’ve been my joy.”
“But, mommy,” Harold said, reverting almost to a little girl’s voice and using the phrase “mommy” as a girl might. “I don’t want to be your son. I want to be your daughter.”
Mrs. Cochran held Harold more tightly as he began crying. Tears were running down his face, which still showed bruises with purplish and yellowish hues as well as streaks of scars. Fortunately, all of the facial damage would heal and show no permanent signs, keeping Harold’s face as pretty as it ever was. His ribs hurt terribly from him being kicked and his scrotum pained terribly. The ribs were bruised, not fractured, which meant Harold would be in terrible pain for about a week, and the damage to his penis and testicles was only temporary.
Mrs. Cochran, too, cried, the both of them hugging together.
“I know honey, you’ve been so happy when you’re like a girl,” she said. “I used to love putting dresses on you when you were little; you were always so pretty.”
“Oh mommy, those were the best times, even when you took me out in the mall all dressed in the yellow summer dress. I was only eight or nine, then. And everyone said ‘what a pretty little girl.’”
“You were so adorable, my little girl. Remember we called you Heidi then.”
“That’s what everyone calls me in the theater crew, Heidi.”
The talk of his joy of being a girl seemed to settle Harold down. “Now get some sleep, my darling,” his mother said. “I’ll be in the lounge, reading for a while. I’ll check on you from time to time. Maybe later we can get you up and go for a little walk.”
As it turned out, Willy had not gone to class, only using that as an excuse to give Mrs. Cochran time to be alone with Harold. He hailed her as she entered the first floor lounge, asking her to join him in the frat house dining room, which was empty during the mid afternoon.
“Mrs. Cochran, I think Harold is a transgendered person, that he really feels he’s a girl,” Willy began, talking slowly.
“Oh, Willy, I know it looks that way, and maybe it’s because he’s never known a father,” she said. “I thank you for your concern, but I’m not sure that given half a chance he might feel better about himself, given some therapy and guidance.”
“Mrs. Cochran, this is none of my business. . . . well, it is. I think so highly of Harold and he’s got so much talent. I’ve gotten to know him this semester and I can see he feels better about himself when he’s in his girl mode.”
Mrs. Cochran didn’t reply at first, finally saying, “Willy, I’ve made several appointments for Harold with a psychiatrist in Milwaukee over the break to check this over. I know he needs help, and I probably was at fault since I let him dress sometimes as a girl when he was small. But I ended that when he turned about 10.”
“No, Mrs. Cochran, I don’t think you’re dressing him had much to do with it. I think it’s in Harold’s nature to feel feminine. I’ve talked with people from the LGBT group on campus and looked up this on the Internet.”
She smiled. “Willy, I have too, but I still think we need to be sure this is what Harold really wants. That he really wants to be a girl. That’s why I want him to see the psychiatrist.”
Willy replied: “That’s fine, but I have invited several of Harold’s friends over to tell you about Harold this semester. They’ll tell you how much Harold fit in as a girl, and, most importantly, how happy he was as Heidi.”
Mrs. Cochran smiled. She knew what Willy was saying was true: Harold was happy being Heidi. Yet, she didn’t want to admit that to herself, recognizing perhaps the difficulties life holds for a transgendered woman, the fact that she’d never have a grandchild, and finally that it might be a betrayal of her late husband.
Chapter 11: Just Among the Girls
After continual questioning by the police, and further quizzing from Willy, Harold finally admitted that his attackers were Tommy and his friend, Wayne, a fact confirmed once Harold saw him at Mega House. Harold refused to press charges, fearing publicity and further humiliation, in spite of pleas from the LBGT group on campus and Willy, all of whom were concerned that attacks based on gender discrimination should not be overlooked.
“I think they just had it in for me,” Harold said. “I don’t think they’d attack for that reason again.”
“But you were badly beaten,” Willy insisted.
“I recovered OK,” Harold said. “I just want this to end.”
Nonetheless, the police charged both Tommy and Wayne with sexual assault and battery, both felonies. Eventually a plea bargain was reached, with both boys pleading guilty to disorderly conduct and misdemeanor assault; they agreed to expulsion from school and probation.
“I kinda feel sorry for them,” Harold said, as the matter was laid to rest two weeks later, just as he was scheduled to go home for the holidays.
“Oh, you’re too sweet to be true, Harold. They beat the shit out of you, humiliated you and you’re sorry for them?”
Harold was indeed sorry for them; his own behavior, his own almost flamboyant effeminacy had inflamed them and caused them to take actions that may have totally ruined their future.
Dr. Stanley Brezowicz maintained a vigorous practice within one of Milwaukee’s huge health systems. He was located in a wooded campus setting which had been one of the area’s first hospitals for the mentally ill; its setting, almost like a country club, belied the tragedies that were contained among the people who populated the cell-like rooms of the two-story psychiatric hospital and who went for outpatient treatment and group sessions in the pretty white three story colonial office building.
Four days before Christmas, and the day after Harold celebrated his 18th birthday, he went to visit Dr. Brezowicz. A fresh snow covered the pines and lawns of the campus as Harold parked his mother’s Chevy on a snow and ice-covered parking lot. He felt foolish as he walked into the building, not sure how he was going to tell a strange man that he felt he was a girl. That’s what he truly felt and said often to himself: I am a girl. I am a girl. It was a feeling that never seemed to leave him.
The doctor’s office was surprisingly spartan; white walls were covered with about a half dozen framed certificates attesting to his expertise and a trophy prominently shelved behind the doctor’s desk with an award of the National Psychiatric Association. There was no couch, as Harold had pictured there might be. There was however a sitting area, with two upholstered side chairs, a love seat and a coffee table.
The doctor was a medium-sized man, balding, bespectacled and the beginning of a paunch. He wore a white shirt with a drab tie and grey pants. Harold was struck with how ordinary looking this man was.
“Harold, tell me what you’re studying in college now,” he began, after directing Harold to the love seat. The doctor took one of the chairs opposite.
The doctor seemed to listen intently as Harold told about his studies in drama and how much he liked school; he found himself telling about his hero father and his loving mother. It wasn’t until the 45-minute session was half over that he said: “So you feel more like a girl, right?”
Soon, Harold was telling Dr. Brezowicz about his desires, his early dressing in girl’s clothes, his love of sewing and designing women’s clothes, his acting roles as the nurse, his enjoyment about being among girls and his joy about being accepted as a girl. The doctor merely nodded, making short comments such as, “go on,” “yes,” “what else?” As he recited these activities, Harold began to wonder if to the doctor his gender proclivities were just normal behavior and nothing to worry about?
Harold saw the doctor two more times before returning to Northern Illinois in mid-January. The second visit included a long session with his mother, with Harold being excused for about 15 minutes.
The doctor asked both Harold and his mother to come for the third visit. In the tradition of psychiatrists, he began the session by telling them: “In the business of the mind, nothing is for certain, but we can see trends and tendencies that will dominate each of us. In Harold’s case, he’s got what we call gender dysphoria, which means his mind is telling him he’s female, even though he’s got male physical characteristics.”
Both Harold and his mother had researched gender issues and felt the doctor’s diagnosis matched their own. Harold smiled at the news, realizing that his feelings of femininity were not products of an active imagination, but his own reality.
The choices were laid out for him: He should eventually begin living as a woman as often as circumstances would permit. Eventually, perhaps by the summer time, he should try to live fulltime as a female, consider taking hormones and perhaps beginning facial surgery and breasts implants to make him more feminine. The final step of sexual reassignment surgery would have to wait for several years, partly to ensure that the switch to being female was indeed best for Harold.
“I am always hesitant to recommend this course, Harold,” the doctor said. “I can see however that you are uncomfortable as Harold, and when I asked you to describe your times as Heidi your spirit seemed to lift up noticeably.”
“I know, doctor, I seem to feel so comfortable as a girl, when I’m being Heidi,” Harold said. He was sitting next to his mother on the love seat, and as he said those words, he looked at her, hoping to see a sign of approval.
“Yes, I’m becoming more comfortable with the idea of Heidi,” his mother said, looking at him and smiling. “She’s so much more happy I can see that when she’s being Heidi. And the girls she had befriended at the university also accepted her totally as one of them.”
Harold was sitting primly now, his knees together and his hands folded neatly on his lap. He was so happy that his mother was now looking at him as a daughter, as Heidi.
“Oh doctor, I’d so love to put aside this charade of being a boy,” Harold said.
“It won’t be easy for you, Harold, and you’ll face lots of challenges,” the doctor said. “You’ll find it difficult to get a job. And, you’ll never really be a complete woman, even with the surgery, because you’ll never be able to bear children.”
“I know, doctor, but I can’t continue living as I am now. I can’t ever be the man my dad was. I’m such a failure as a boy.”
His mother reached over and hugged him, kissing him now. “Honey, you were never a failure as a person. You’re sweet and lovely and kind, Heidi, my dear.”
“Mommy, you called me Heidi. I love you, mommy,” he said, adopting his girlish tone.
When Harold returned to the university for the second semester, he found his room assignment had been changed. Though he protested, Willy insisted that, because of the attack he suffered, he should have the private room he had been offered before, a room with a lock and with a private bath.
“But Will Hampton and I got along so well,” Harold protested. “And none of the other boys have a single room.”
“I know, but this room is vacant now,” Willy said. “Harold, you know you give us some special challenges here. You’re entitled to some protection, and the national fraternity office recommended it too. They’re worried about liability.”
“Oh Willy, I hate to cause you so much trouble,” he said.
Willy said that his mother had called and said that the doctor wanted Harold to be able to find times when he could dress as Heidi, since he needed to get into the trial period to see if he could live as a female.
“You know, I think you’re lovely as Heidi. Besides, we want to nominate you for the Princess crown this spring.” Since they were in Willy’s private room, Willy took Harold in his arms, held him tightly and kissed him. Harold, now as Heidi, and surrendered to the lips of this tall, broad-shouldered, muscular blonde young man, and the two kissed passionately.
“I don’t really think you’ll have any trouble here this semester,” Willy said as he helped Harold move his clothes and other materials into the new single room. “You know getting Tommy and Wayne expelled sent a lesson to any others here who might want to cause you harm.”
Harold turned into Heidi every afternoon when he worked as part of the Theater crew; he became the head costume girl, since Daisy felt she had no time for the activity as she was getting ready to enter medical school. “Besides, Heidi’s really better at this anyway,” she said.
Heidi also became Princess of Pompeii at the Spring Pompeii Ball. Though everyone by then knew that Heidi was still “Harold Cochran Jr.,” it was generally agreed that once dressed in his gown he was the prettiest of the girls, well-deserving of the title. Tammy Templeton, from one of the sororities, who had expected to win the title, was miffed, and was quoted in the Daily as saying the election of Heidi Cochran was a “travesty” and “an embarrassment to the University.”
The boys of Mega House even built a throne for Heidi, and carried it on their shoulders with Heidi atop, waving to the ballroom crowd.
“This is a triumph for diversity,” said an editorial in the Daily Husky and it was echoed by the Chicago Tribune.
Henry Williamston III (“Willy”) was Heidi’s escort that night, and the two made a “spectacular couple,” said the Daily, “with the dainty, fragile and feminine Heidi on his arm.”
The Evangelistic College Club was not pleased, and issued a statement that to have a boy crowned “princess” and to wear women’s clothes was “an abomination before God.” Any criticism of this was drowned out in the general feeling that the NIU campus had led the way in a progressive and positive action. Besides, observed the captain of the football team: “Heidi was easily the prettiest. What’s all the fuss about?”
Heidi’s “court of honor” that night included Jason teamed with Rachel (who never looked prettier), and Will Hampton with Grace, looking cute and pixie-like.
Also in the “court” was Kevin, who was escorting Susie who was Rachel’s friend from the dormitory; everyone knew that Kevin and Susie were a couple that night only in tribute to their friend, Heidi. Kevin looked surprisingly masculine and handsome in his rented tuxedo, but it was doubtful there would ever be any sexual passion between the two, since Kevin had acknowledged his homosexuality and Susie was indicating she might be lesbian. Harold had tried hard to win over Kevin’s revulsion toward his feminine mannerism, and had succeeded; the two had co-chaired the Mega House’s charity event in conducting the Easter egg hunt for low-income children. Kevin and Harold had even kissed one last time, but the passion was gone from Kevin’s lips. The two would become lifelong friends.
Heidi (the author from here on in will call her Heidi) was most proud with the fact that her mother came down from Milwaukee with her friend Bill; she was so beautiful that night, Heidi felt. Never had she seen her mother so happy.
“Your father would be so proud tonight,” Heidi’s mother said to her after the Grand March. “You’re easily the belle of the ball, honey. I can picture him bursting the buttons off his coat seeing his pretty daughter wearing this crown.”
“Oh mommy, do you think so, really think so?” Heidi said, beginning to cry.
Heidi knew she was a girl now, worrying about her mascara being ruined with tears. These tears however we tears of joy.
Heidi Cochran did take an understudy role in the University Players’ spring production, but the girl who played the part stayed healthy. That was fine with Heidi, whose work with costumes had taken on a major time commitment.
She attended classes dressed usually in jeans and tops that were unisex in style; she was called “miss” repeatedly, but officially she was still Harold Cochran.
Milton Kastner, the Player’s director, had found a scholarship for Heidi, enabling her to attend summer school and to move out of the fraternity house for the remainder of her college undergraduate years. It was the plan that Grace, Rachel and Heidi would share an upper flat in summer and the succeeding year, and that Heidi would register as “Heidi Cochran” beginning with summer classes.
“I want you to audition for Ophelia in our summer production of Hamlet,” Director Kastner told her after the spring production was ended. “I know you’ll make it.”
Heidi’s full transition into womanhood was several years away; the Cochran’s couldn’t afford the breast implants and facial surgery immediately, since it was not covered by Mrs. Cochran’s employee health insurance plan. Hormone therapy is covered and that was to begin in summer.
“You’re my girl and I will be here this summer to protect my interests,” Willy laughed as he and Heidi were hugging and kissing one warm May evening at their lover’s spot overlooking the city. His summer intern job in Rockford would keep him close enough so that he and Heidi could date on weekends.
“And, you’re my man, darling Willy,” Heidi cooed, nestling into his arms, looking at the stars above the city, realizing what a lucky girl she was.