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Valentine's Daze By Dee Eon I wasn't into being smarmy or mushy, but I was moved to do the quaint corny thing during the Valentine's Day Ball at the mall teen center. "Er...here," I said, passing the pink envelope over to the tenth-grade looker-and-a-half across our table. Camellia's pink-polished fingernails picked open the envelope and took out the lacy red valentine greeting card. "Er, happy Valentine's Day!" I managed to chuckle out. Camellia blushed then smiled as though she was going to break into tears and suddenly my chest puffed up and I felt like the luckiest guy in the world, and Camellia was my super catch. Well, the jock in me would like to brag that I bagged her after a spirited hunt, but in reality she hooked me during my football team mate Reggie's party six months ago. I couldn't miss her coyly watching me all the time, and the way her eyes shyly dropped as I drifted up to her between jostling dance partners and boogied on since. How to describe Camellia? If you saw Amanda Peterson from that sci-fi "Explorers" movie then you've almost her southern belle clone in Camellia except she had wavy cornsilk tresses and bright green eyes. Sleekly curved in sweater tops and pleated tartan skirts flaunting slender ivory-filmed legs from mid-thigh over nice knees to her shiny jet skimmer pumps, Camellia was one hourglass dish, and it was too bad she wasn't in my high school. Then, maybe I would've had more time and chances to break through her country-coy which was frustrating and thrilling at the same time. Unlike most other chicks in school who can't wait to get into someone's jeans, Camellia was as demure as a debutante and you just didn't move on a real young lady like that like on some dime-a dozen high school bimbette. Until then, I didn't think it was possible to string an interesting girl for months without even landing a peck on her cheek, but Camellia did just that. She wasn't chilly or withdrawn, just teasingly coy with an engaging personality that sidetracked your mind from her shy bod with a wit and sassy humor and deep interest in things jock that surprised me. She was like a best buddy all wrapped up in a babe's bod, and maybe for the first time was the one knockout who I really respected as a person rather than a trophy Barbie. Still, I waited, hoping in a selfish way for at last that long awaited peck of her coral-glossed lips on my cheek at least, but my luck was still out. "Thank you," her almost whispery voice said, her pale eyelashes dropping if more than just shy of meeting mine. "You...you don't know what this does for me, Greg." "You don't know what you do to me!" I japed and her eyes flicked up to me in a strange way, almost if hinting that somehow in the most basic private way she did. She turned her softly sculpt profile to me as she diverted her eyes to aimlessly concentrate on the plaza fountain. "Greg..." My name sounded like a soft gulp or a catch in her throat, her voice suddenly incongruously quiet and somber, as though reluctant and fighting some inner wistfulness. "I...I don't know if--if I..I should..." She laid the valentine down. My heart leaped into a cold bottomless pit. Oh shit no! Blew it! Quick--Quick! Damage control! Jeeze--!! "Camellia, what's wrong? I'm coming on too strong or what?" "It's not you--or anyone else, believe me," she said, her green gaze misting at me. "It's--it's to do with being honest with a nice guy...and I really haven't been." "Camellia, I--I don't get it. I mean, I thought we had something, you know?" "We do! That's--that's my problem. I--I can't let this go on. Not with you." She rose and jumped up faster and held her wrist. "Wait, Camellia. Tell me what's going on!" She looked at me with angst then shied. "When--When I come back from the ladies room, okay?" she said and I let go and she half-skipped off toward the rest room hallway. Something worrisome and anxious compelled me get up and weave the lunch crowd and peek around the corner to just in time catch Camellia pushing out the exit door at the end of the hall. Shit! I scurried after her, quietly cracking the door to watch her wind down the stairway. I wanted to shout but something held me back. Instead I quietly held back, whether to mull over guilt and bewilderment or just to follow her, I saw her hurry out of the mall into the twilight and up the side streets. I was hugging trees and jumping behind hedges keeping a block behind her, all the while wondering what I did wrong and what I could say to salvage the situation. We were on street bordering the woody outskirts of town almost approaching the old abandoned gas station when Camellia suddenly paused and my heart jumped almost as high as my feet did leaping behind some bushes in the dark. Shit! She must've made me! I swore, but it seemed like she was looking up and down the street for people or cars, and during a brief absence of both she ducked behind the gas station. I was puzzled. A classy beauty like her hiding out in a dump like this? I quietly made my way in the bushes behind the station and saw the rest room door's lock broken, and bewildered, I gingerly went down and slowly peeked the keyhole. It's almost funny but I felt embarrassed, like I was peeking into the stall of a girl's bathroom, even if it was a rundown place. There was a battery lantern on the sink and a large duffle bag which had jeans and a shirt and pair of huge nerdy glasses. What was going on?? She bent over the sink and gently touched her eyes and caught two things she carefully put away. Contact lenses. Huh. Wouldn't have guessed. Okay, so she really wears glasses. A slight notch off her ideal score, but then only fools don't make passes at foxes who wear glasses. Then Camellia stepped out of her skimmer pumps and unbuckled her broad belt and her plaid skirt fell past her slender beige-filmed legs and over slim ankles which nimbly stepped out of them. Unconsciously I licked my chops. Damn! If I hadn't screwed up all that could've been mine! I was sure she was a virgin; after doing several cheerleaders since twelve you can tell in their shy fawning eyes-- Suddenly I felt embarrassed. I mean, if it weren't for the fact I was moaning over being dumped I'd be drooling. Maybe this was the last chance I'd ever get now... She reached into her sunny blonde mane...and took them off a short mop of brown locks. What?? I felt my heart sink slightly. I mean, any jock's ideal babe had fluffy blond tresses, not some butchy brunette mop. Oh, well, she couldn't help being born that way, and at least she knows how to turn a foxy blonde. I can let that slide, especially since my buddies won't ever know and that's what also counted in strutting around with a babe in tow. I shrugged and bent into the keyhole as, leggy in a camisole's lacy half-slip, Camellia pulled her sweater up off her satiny slip and over her head, Despite my despair I was held rapt by as she pulled her slips' straps off her slim shoulders. Huh? I blinked, startled by an unveiled well-curved spandex bodyshaper. Jeeze! Don't say her fig's phoney too! I rued, still hoping. Well, maybe her natural bod's not so bad... She drew down the front zipper like a banana from a pudgy abdomen and a thickening waist inches from its former concave pinch. And heaped on that surprise was that from its nicely mounded cups fell two foam baseballs just as she turned her back to me to pick them up and continued peeling and more foam thingies fell out from inside the hips and slim small butt. Dismay rushed me. What?? She's even flatter than I am! Heck, my kid sister's shapelier than this! I felt a tinge of betrayal. It was selfish, yes, I mean my foxy babe had a plain Jane bod! For months I was wondering and wet dreaming about what treasures that matched the beauty of her face laid hidden under her coy fashion. Her back was still to me as she stepped out of her bodyshaper, the only things still on her jewelry and pantyhose, but even then I soberly noticed as she drew down her thick beige hose how slightly less sleek and unblemished her legs were, as though her hose were really filmy molders of beguiling symmetry. Christ! I heard of shit like this! Dogs making themselves over into foxes to fool the wolves. I always thought it was just Hollywood bull, but I just saw it happen! Suddenly I was pissed. No...no, this is wrong! She freakin' duped me! I mean, a wig's one thing, but pumping a bod on the sly with foam and spandex was another animal! That's plain outright deception! She was fooling guys with a fake figure and bogus bod! That's wrong! Worst than wrong! What would've happened in my back seat beside a billboard somewhere? No, she's not gonna get away with this shit! Gritting my teeth I grabbed the doorknob then heard a soft whine, like a short wail of grief that shot through my anger and piqued my wonder and concern to return to the keyhole to see Camellia, her slim back still facing me but stooped on her haunches on the old tile floor, head in her hands, sobbing. Jesus. Suddenly my hot ire cooled into sheepish guilt. So maybe she really was stretched out about fooling me! Man! She was coy about ever kissing me, even touching hands. I chalked it up to her virgin shy, but maybe it was more. Maybe she knew she was fooling me but it was getting to her too. I tried to dream up ways how Camellia could've profited by fooling me, just like how I got noticed and envious looks from towing her around on my elbow, but Camellia didn't have any friends that I noticed. No one to show me off to or flatter herself by. If anything Camellia avoided other guys, and I could tell in her eyes that the way she dressed and laughed and flattered me was all meant for only one person. Damn! I really freakin' misjudged her. Yes, she kind of pulled the cashmere over my eyes getting my attention and dates, but she must've really had it bad for me to go through all this just to please me. Sure, it was kind of desperate, but then would've I even looked twice at a chick with the bod and head of a junior high sissy? Even though her smile and laugher turned me on and she understood my interest and liked everything I did without a peep of giving me a hard time? Heck, I wish some of the cheerleaders I had were as cute and coy and charming as Camellia was! Even if that Camellia wasn't really all reality cracked up to be... I felt an almost corny cavalier swell buoy me. No...no problem. Okay, so she's wigged out and padded up. Disappointing sure, but no mean thing. I can live with that. Besides, she wasn't really all that plain at all in her face, in fact it was still as knockout lovely as it always was, even though it was crowned by a short mousy mop. If she fixed that up she still wouldn't be bad at all, like the kind of pert pixie cuts my cousin wears. I mean, I wouldn't mind if she kept on dolling up a blonde Barbie, don't get me wrong, but just to say maybe my loss was more minimal than it seemed. Maybe if I suggested her to let her hair grow long and maybe even take those fem steroids to develop more like how ex-pancake Amy Hill in seventh grade bloomed into a Dallas cheerleader. I was sure Camellia liked me deep enough to consider that, and chances were that she'd stack into something serious. Yea, it wasn't done! She'd need a little work, but I could still have a brunette babe instead of flaxen fox, and if I played my cards right she might play both! Yes, I'll just tell her that I forgive her for fooling me and there's nothing to feel bad about because we still care about another the same way and can go on like before--well, not exactly, since her truth's excuse of getting too close to me was gone, so we could finally at least pet and neck like crazy, and I can wait some for her bod to bloom before the long dreamt pleasure of popping her cherry. I chuckled at that thought, and if prompted by the salacious notion I checked out the keyhole again, assuaging myself that her waning sobs would be gone for good after I catch a peek of-- Wiping tears, she shakily rose. Ah, she's turning! Don't worry, babe. I'm not gonna dump any chick who cares that much about-- A hammer hit my gut, jarring my soul. My jaw flopped and fell. Wh--What?? No. Can't be! Jeeze, it's not real! Can't!! Like a masochistic voyeur frozen at the keyhole I was held in perverse enthrall and appall fringing horror. It was like suddenly I knew the world was a warped dream and my purulent fascination wanted to stay on to play it out. Then the play was finished and with cold mindless alarm I split I ran till I was five blocks around ten corners and pounding asphalt into gravel. Months of sweet delicious games and laughing innocent nights had evaporated in seconds, chopped like a guillotine and casting me adrift in a limbo of reality and slurred fantasies. I should've been angry. I should've been pissed. Instead I was stunned blind walking all the way home. What I saw didn't register in reality or my comprehension. As a macho guy since the sandbox, it was utterly unthinkable. In some bizarre way my anger was skittish about walking into tenth-grade home room but I did, and I tried not to seem too obvious snatching looks at the scrawny nerd sitting in back of me across my aisle. I had to shake my head, partly praying I was just wrong with delirious rage and trying to keep from tearing the wimpy nerd's head off. Harvey Lacter was a mousy lanky nerd in his jeans and button shirt and hornrim glasses and short brown tousled hair. His glasses were so big and his hair so raggedly that it completed his image of a reclusive weirdo. He was like a stealth wimp because he was so plain and uninviting so few of the bullies in school even noticed him to kick him around like other nerds and sissies. As far as I was concerned he was just furniture, though I often caught him glimpsing at me but I chalked it off to coincidence. But apparently there was far more in those glances than I knew. I held down my rage only because I didn't need by buddies or worst--my ex-babes--catching any idea what was going on. I would've loved a public object lesson, but my reputation as a jock and babe's man would go down the sewer if they ever found out the true story. And to think I dumped cheerleader babes like Yvette Jackson and Pamala Walcott for--for--this!! Lacter was at his opened locker and I made my way over. He must've sensed me coming because he suddenly looked up and seemed to start at my leaning on his locker door. For a moment I felt a weird unreal haze as those nerdy brown eyes looked up behind those big nerdy glasses from a vaguely familiar face. If it weren't the glasses and that scraggly brown mop fringing his face, you can say Lacter was a classic "pretty boy". Those high cheekbones and small rounded chin and delicate features had no business on a guy past ten, and if it weren't for his habit of hanging his head I think more people would've seen the hidden prettiness and hung on his tail. It was bad enough Lacter's vaguely familiar features jarred me silly beyond doubt that yesterday's jolting spectacle was no dream or nightmare. "Uh...hi..." Lacter softly stammered looking away and I felt a fleck of unreal awe at this mousy pretty-boy that was totally inconsistent with another now lost incarnation. I rumbled. "Is there something you wanna tell me?" "Huh?" "I said, is there something you wanna tell be you goddamn sissy?" His slim form seemed brace just shy of cringing. "I--I don't know," he said in a meek voice without raising his head. I slipped the peach envelope out of my vest and shoved it at his flat shirt. "You forgot this in your Cinderella act yesterday, but you didn't say that you turn back into a wormy wimp!" I snapped and his frame seemed to jerk some with my every syllable until I forced my voice down. He seemed to swallow, his small voice a near whimper. "I...I'm so sorry." "Oh you'll be sorry alright when I tie your ass outside, 'Camellia'!" At that name his face jerked up at me and in its familiar subdued prettiness I saw glimpses of another stunning self, like how a teen starlet's brother reflects their common genes, and those images at once startled and outraged me. "I'm not going to beat the snot outta you--yet. I'm not gonna kill my reputation beating the shit outta a pretty-boy here." Lacter's eyes closed and his lanky frame seemed to waver and sway. He was scared shit, great! "I...I...I'm sorry," he barely whispered, paler than milk. "Yeah, should've though about that months ago messing with my head like this, you freakin' drag queer! Hey, take it easy!" I chided but Harvey's shakes continued. Jeesus. The kid was about to friggin' faint! I pulled his elbow off to the far stairwell where we could continue alone and undisturbed. Lacter was sweating like a mother, making him look even more like some pathetic wimp, I couldn't believe this was who I admired and praised and--! "Now spill it!" I snapped, and Harvey's glasses rose like the condemned. "I...I...had to," his slow voice murmured at his shoes. "Pretend you were a chick? Camellia??" I snapped in its wild absurdity. "It was the only way...I mean, I--I...ever since sixth grade, always had a...a crush on you..." It was like brick hit me. "You had a crush? On me??" I gushed and his head feebly nodded. "What are you, a gay fag or something??" "No--I mean, I don't know. I just know that I...I...love you." "Gay!" I muttered and he visibly shook. "A freaking gay guy jerks my nose over six months. I oughta plaster you! Do you know what Camellia--er, you did to me all that time, playing around with my feelings and shit??" "No! It was honest. Camellia wasn't acting, I swear! It's easy being her. I like being her. Even more than--being me!" "That's crazy! You're a guy--kinda!" "I--still feel like her." "Well, she's sure nothing like you!" I quipped, trying to catch myself in the wild conundrum of the statement. "How can be a mousy wimp like you be a such sassy fox like her??" "I'm not her now. It--doesn't work that way. Being her is a different me because it's not." "Right..." "It's true. I watched you and the kinds of girls you dated and tried to find out what about them you liked most." I snickered. "Well, you freakin' get an 'A' because you Ru Paul in the dog pound," I admitted, at once admiring the sly effort. "So you been stalking me around learning my moves too, huh?" "It--It was the only way to see what you liked." "You also sneaked and peeked my dates too I bet, huh?" I accused and he sheepishly nodded. "Man, you were itching for a nose remodeling!" "It'd be worth it. Anything! But I was sure you'd like me when I was ready to finally meet you at Reggie's party. I felt like I knew you like a--a best friend." I had to chuckle past my sneer at that. 'Camellia' sure knew how to touch my buttons at that party alright. Despite the cheerleaders and bimbettes I strung along since junior high, I was kind of jade by chicks in jeans and scruffy sneakers and lumpy sweatshirts and loose mangy hair. I liked girls romantic and lacy and rainbow pastels, and that's just how Camellia stood out in Reggie's party in a soft mint-green dress with a teasing scalloped neckline over her bodice's coy mounds and full skirt hovering just above the nice knees of slender misty mint-filmed gams planted in lime patent skimmer pumps, a silk scarf looped once around her throat and draped over each shoulder and her coral-glossed eyes were sealed for me. I remember the lump in my throat as she shyly dropped her lashes at my approach for a dance and the way her emerald eyes flashed with delirious joy. I felt my chest swell at how friggin' lucky I was and how the guys all hated my luck. I shook my head. "Jeeze, can't believe this! And you did all that just because you've the hots for me?" Harvey slowly nodded at the floor and I mulled the weird warped flattery of it. I mean, it wasn't as though he did it maliciously or as a joke. In fact, quite the opposite. One doesn't thrash their admirers, even if they're queer, and Harvey was sure the queerest girl-guy I ever met. Queer enough to move me in ways that were unsettling as hell. It was wrong, but I can see why he'd be compelled to do it; I mean, I did asshole things in my crushes too, though Harvey's gay dating straight guys on the sly took the cake and a cigar. Besides, somehow my pride didn't feel as piqued as thought I'd be from an outright joke or prank, and that fact was quietly venting the steam from my ire. There was also something else to consider, something I almost overlooked even though it was a glaring pine. "If you're gay, how come you always played coy about me smooching you?" I asked, feeling oddly unabashed about it because my secret pines were true. "We could've pet and necked ourselves soggy and I wouldn't have known for beans until I felt you way up your damn skirt!" Harvey looked up, sheepishness mixed with something like lost wistfulness in his comely face and voice. "I--I wanted to...lots of times, but I--I couldn't taker advantage of your feelings like that. Not with something special and close as touching another like we really care about another, not just for...for fun." "'Fun'"? I quipped, shaking my head and yet feeling oddly gratified. Most everyone straight knew that if there was anything gays loved doing it was getting it on with another or an unwary dude. Had 'Camellia' dropped her demure mein about petting I would've stroked her happy in fluttering heartbeat, and I was sure Harvey's lavender streak would've relished it too, and I would've never known for maybe months, depending on how well 'she' shied me from her panty's fact. "Well...least you're not the others," I admitted and thanked in a half mutter as I pondered the wimpy pretty-faced nerd. Suddenly I was bitter. Bitter that not so much that Camellia wasn't a entity or was a sly subterfuge, but bitter because of all the great times we had and how much I sighed at my luck indulging in her company and beauty and our quiet times the park and the thrill of movies and the fluffy elegance of parties. All that was now gone--no, not really. It happened. It was real. Like Camellia was once, only she was being held hostage inside some wimpy cocoon. I shook wild whimsies from my skull. "You're--pretty good being Camellia," I idly began, not really sure why I started or really meant to say. "You--must've studied how to be a girl a lot." "I watched hundreds of them doing things, ever since fifth grade, I guess." "That's a lot of work, and you got it down pat. Too damn pat." "Thank you..." "Er, you--like being Camellia?" "Yes." "I mean a lot." "Yes. In a way...there's more of her life in me than mine." "So, would you rather be Camellia than gay?" I asked semi-furtively and Harvey mulled for a second and nodded a little abashedly. "To be near you, I...I'd stay a girl...yes." "Huh," I was impressed. I could tell it was life-crisis thing for him, and for him to be willing to make such a big life readjustment... I couldn't help but grudgingly admire that. My ultimate fan. An awfully pretty guy. Who was a dream babe. Whose giggles to my teases and jokes I'll miss. Whose nice different dresses and hairdos and shameless manners and graces cut her apart from guy-clone girls normal today. Whose long slow strolls in the park with me made my days and whose movie dates made my nights. Whose warm snuggles next to me on the warm grass pointing out animals in the clouds I was going to miss. All this I was going to miss just because Camellia wasn't real. All because Camellia was really a--a guy! But--so what? How much difference did it make before, really? It didn't matter what was up inside her skirt or was missing in her blouse that made our times together so great and exciting. It was her beauty, not biology that captivated me and claim her, and Camellia was easily more feminine and romantic than most babes I knew. It was her her charm and laughter and looks that stroked our fires, not getting her all stroked up. We were happy and I barely had to touch her! Yes! Maybe I didn't have to give it all up! Maybe I could have my cake and eat it too! Granted, I'd have to pass up the thrill of getting inside her clothes, but that was way better than losing the excitement and joy of her company. That can't be replaced! There was no substitute for that! Yes! I really don't have to give up virility hanging with a drag princess! We could go on like before, just as long as I never forget who and what Camellia really is my masculinity's safe! My Georgia peach is forbidden fruit, so sweet, so luscious, so lovely-- But one poisoned nibble is curtains for my manhood and reputation. I'll have to hold myself back and remember, but I can do this! Just never forget!... "Er, look..." My excuse began with an understanding voice stifled of any wild inner wistfulness. "All the guys at school are gonna say I'm a loser if they think that Camellia--er, you dumped me. I mean, no one just loses a looker like her--er, you...er, like when you're her. So...so you just--just go on playing her for a while 'till I can figure some cool way outta this, like saying that she--er, you, moved away or something, alright?" Harvey looked up as though I just read a delay of executions. "Yes," he near whispered. "Er, good," I said with relief and anticipation, suddenly feeling peculiarly awkward, as though I were at Camellia's door with her kid brother, asking him for permission. "So...er, how soon can I see her again?" In the middle of the park concert I felt slim warm fingers bump then twine mine and muting the thumps inside my shirt I turned and smiled back at Camellia whose face beamed that I didn't take hir bold move as an macho affront. But I knew s/he was being coy as a black widom spider weaving a web for hir mate; that s/he wouldn't try to stop me or make me remember some wild unreal truth about hir to be repulse from hir lovely gay warmth by. I knew s/he might even coo me to throw caution in the wind and boldly jump where no macho straight guy go ought go. The thought of being seduced by a fairy princess like hir was both terrifying and thrilling. And it was also the spark of our new relationship. "Thank you for not beating Harvey up," s/he gently said as though talking about some bullied kid brother, and I preferred it that way. I shrugged. "I--I don't beat up on nerd--little guys." "You had every right to." "Maybe, but I'm not going to dump on someone who's gone overboard liking me, you know?" Camellia's coral-glossed lips curved and s/he gave a little pert of the head to flounce hir flaxen mane as though subtly asserting hir femininity. "You consider me overboard?" I had to chuckle and behold hir amnesic cosmetic effect and bewitching feminine mein. It was amazing how completely a boy could make over into a babe, and more eerie how much the mind is willing to overlook reality and fact. But then we're all just images in eaches eyes. What does it matter what hir underlying reality is if I simply bask the shine of hir image? "No...you're better. Way better," I said into hir sparkling emerald eyes and feeling a weird peace and longing. Suddenly Harvey and the movie theater and the world didn't exist or manner as my instincts and captivation leaned to hir face and hir pale eyelashes fluttered and knit shut as hir breathless coral-glossed lips slightly parted to berth my curious and anxious press upon hir petal-softness, and after a few moments we parted, and I aglow with a thrilling new life regard. Wow! "Man...I'm starting to think maybe I oughta break off now!" I chuckled and emerald eyes twinkling, Camellia coyly giggled like tinkling bells. Hey, I'm entitled to one slip and lapse of memory, right?? FIN