This story contains a small amount of crude language and
briefly depicts one or two sexual situations. If such
things offend you, please go no further. If the concept of
two people of the same sex sharing a relationship upsets
you, then please don't read this story.
The Bard of Avon
By Jane Howard
First Ted got divorced and then I got divorced. Neither one
of us could handle the stresses and demands of marriage.
Our wives both felt that we were irresponsible and too
inattentive to their needs. They were also jealous that Ted
and I were spending most of our time with each other
instead of them. In fact, my wife Deborah, her voice
dripping with venom, had told me during the last of our
numerous arguments about what was wrong with our
relationship that I should have married Ted and not her. My
response was that if she wasn't such a castrating bitch,
she would have gotten all my time, but since she was, I
stayed out late as a simple act of self-preservation. Well,
that did it for her. She promptly threw my clothes out of
the bedroom window and the next day she changed the locks.
The first thing I did was to call Ted and tell him what
happened. He asked me if I had anywhere to stay, and since
I didn't he told me to bring my stuff over to his place and
said that I could live there until I figured out my next
move.
As I drove out to Long Island, I thought about my life. The
traffic on the Expressway was horrible so I had a lot of
time to mull things over. The first conclusion I reached
was that as painful as it was, I was happy that my
relationship with Deborah was over. We had gotten together
when we were very young, and both of us had changed so much
over the three years of our marriage that had we met now
instead of then, the first few dates would have convinced
us that we had nothing in common. And that would have been
the end of it.
I was twenty-two. It was hardly the end of the world. I had
plenty of time to start my life over again.
As the lane of cars I was in crawled over the line into
Nassau County, I began to feel a swell of gratitude that I
had Ted for a friend. He was a rarity.
Loyal, strong, patient, understanding, a good listener and
adviser, he had taken me under his wing when I first joined
the corporation. He was several years old than I was, and
although still young himself already a unit manager. I
liked him right away. He was funny and he was fair. He saw
threw all the bullshit of corporate life, but he knew how
to work the system. Within a few weeks of starting to work
for him, we got into the habit of staying late and then
going to a bar he liked near the office for a few beers
before heading home. At first, we only stayed for an hour,
or even less sometimes. But as we came to know each other
better, it got harder to leave that bar, and we started
staying out several hours every night. There was just so
much to learn from him about work and life and all kinds of
subjects.
Within a few months we were bosom buddies. Eventually, we
got into the habit of meeting on weekends, too. And perhaps
it was the alcohol, or the intensity of our personalities,
but a certain (and I use this word cautiously) "passion"
began to filter into our discussions. I guess both of us
were pretty emotional under the surface. We cared about
many of the same things so much, that as time went on we
became very, very honest with each other about topics that
a boss with career ambitions would ordinarily never discuss
with a subordinate. Even topics like our sex lives with our
wives, God's true gender, and the safest way to shave the
hair off our balls (which we both liked to do) were not
taboo. Mostly though, Ted talked and I listened.
I noticed that I liked looking at him when he was in the
middle of one of his monologues. Don't get me wrong, I was
listening to everything he had to say. But I used to watch
him, too. He was very tall. He had a ruddy complexion, a
strong profile and the bluest eyes. He had been a
linebacker in college, and he still had the physique of an
athlete although he admitted that he hadn't worked out
since he got his degree. He seemed to me to be the
quintessence of masculinity. In contrast, I was rather
short for a man and I was slightly built and pale. My
auburn hair was too long and wild, and Ted was always
telling me to get a hair cut. Because my lips were too full
and my green eyes too large, I had to really ratchet up my
machismo in my business dealings with customers or else
they would think I was a wimp, or worse.
However, I didn't have to put on my fake personality with
him. I felt that I could be myself with him. Ted was an
extreme extrovert and I was the opposite-sensitive and a
bit of a romantic, too. There were times when Ted would
make the rounds of the circular bar. He'd introduce himself
to all the men there and talk sports, politics, real estate
and who knows what and hit on the few women who dropped in
(they were usually sitting in groups of three or four),
with the suave confidence of a man who had really been
around. I would simply sit there and watch him go through
his routine. I don't know what I was thinking about at
those times. Him, of course. But, what about him? Just that
he was so cool, I guess, and that I admired him for it.
If there was one flaw in our relationship, it was that Ted
had a devilish streak. He liked to make mischief,
especially when he was a little high. And I was the perfect
foil for him.
He knew that I was more vulnerable to temptation after a
few hours of drinking at the bar. I could handle beer, but
not the hard stuff. Around 10pm he would start ordering
cognac for me from the bartender. Cognac and I do not get
along. It's too strong. I would tell him that I wasn't
going to drink it and that he was just wasting his money
but he would order it anyway. It would sit there for a
while and he would whisper and tell me all the reasons why
I should drink it. And in the end I always did. The first
cognac was followed by another and then another after that
until I was wasted. As soon as he had me in the proper
state of suggestibility, he would implement the second
phase of whatever his plan was for the evening. Sometimes
he wanted us to go see a porno movie together. Then he
would sit next to me in the theater and critique the sex
scenes, commenting on the size of the actors' cocks, or
their technique. He always spoke dispassionately and rather
loudly, just as if he was conducting a class in human
sexuality for a bunch of college students. I knew that the
other men dotting the audience were sitting with erections
and that some were even masturbating in their seats or
being explored by the hands of perverts. The last thing
they wanted to hear was Ted pontificating about the film. I
would feel terribly embarrassed. But Ted seemed oblivious
to all that.
Then he would begin to cross-examine me about my own sexual
experience. Had I ever done a three-way? A circle jerk? It
was really quite strange, but I was so intoxicated after
the cognacs that the strangeness of it all didn't occur to
me until well afterwards. And no, I had never done any of
those things he asked me about.
Once, he drove me out to his apartment against my will to
watch a sex video he had taken of himself and his wife (he
was still married at the time). I had never seen Ted's wife
before. She had green eyes like me. The video showed her
giving him a hand job and the only part of him that
appeared on the screen was his dick. It was truly awesome.
To say that it was very, very large and stiffer than any
board I had ever seen is not to do it the justice it
deserves.
As I watched the video, I noticed that his wife came across
as cooperative but very clinical as she pursued the task at
hand, so to speak. It took a long time for him to come, and
while I was waiting for the "money shot" (Ted taught me
that term during one of his porno lectures), I stole
several discreet glances at his lap to see if watching
himself on the video was having any effect on him. As far
as I could tell, it wasn't. I also began to think that if
it had been me giving him that hand job instead of his
wife, the video would have been ten minutes shorter. But
that was the cognac talking.
Several times Ted insisted that we go to a massage parlor
he knew of and have one of the girls there blow us both at
the same time. That was the one thing I refused to do,
cognac or no cognac.
There had been many other incidents like that with Ted, but
the details are unimportant. The one constant in all those
episodes was that he seemed determined to have me with him
while some kind of sexual activity was going on. It made me
nervous and confused, and I worried all the time about what
it meant and where it was all headed, but not enough to
ever want to give up our friendship. My life would have
been pure shit without him in it. I think he knew that. I
believed that at least part of the explanation for his
behavior had to do with his determination to find out how
much I could take before I would bail out on him. I think
he had a problem with trust and he felt compelled to test
me over and over again. And as our relationship deepened
and became more comfortable, and he saw that I accepted all
his eccentricities, he became more secure. But I also knew
that there was something more to it than that. But what?
I promised myself that if I was going to write this all
down I was going to tell the complete truth and not leave
anything out. Part of the reason for my uneasiness about
Ted lay in the fact that I had a secret. They say a guilty
conscience needs no accuser and I was afraid that somehow,
some way, Ted had discovered the one thing about me I had
never told to anyone. He had seen through me and found it
out.
As a teenager I had experimented with cross-dressing. It
had been the usual stereotypical situation that many cross-
dressers go through. I borrowed my sister's clothes and put
them on whenever I was sure that I was completely alone in
the house. My sister and I were close in size and
Kathleen's sweaters and skirts fit me well. Feeling that my
body was just whatever it was-I was willowy, with thin
arms, and narrow shoulders, but a nice butt and really good
legs-- I concentrated most of my time around make-up and
hair. I knew that my face was my best feature and cosmetics
helped to complete the illusion better than anything else.
I got pretty good at it, actually. And when I had done
making myself up and looked at myself in the bathroom
mirror I saw this cute girl staring back at me. I realized
from the first time I did it that I had freed another
personality which had lain dormant inside me until then.
There was no doubt in my mind that (Sorry, this part is
going to get a bit complicated!) when I was made up as her
I was really transformed into a different person with
different values and thoughts and (especially) different
feelings. I discovered a whole other range of emotions,
which were completely unknown to my male self. I gave my
female side the name Moira, which was what my mother
intended to name me if I had been born a girl.
Moira was still me but at the same time she (I) was not me.
It was as if the left side of my brain had gone on dimmer
switch and the right side glowed more brightly. My tastes
changed. I felt much, much more giving. I felt an
overwhelming need to be connected to people, to form
relationships, whereas the male me was much more self-
contained and a loner by nature. The paradox was that as
Moira I couldn't socialize, but the boy I was most of the
time could be with other people whenever I wanted. There
were more superficial changes, too. I walked differently,
sat differently, moved my hands differently, even sounded
different, all without any effort. It seemed like a case of
galloping schizophrenia, but I was quite clear headed at
those times-- much more together (and happier) than I had
ever been as a boy, and certainly lucid enough to know that
I could never share myself as Moira with anyone else. And,
with one exception, I never did.
When I was sixteen, my sister married and moved away-taking
with her the clothes, shoes, jewelry and cosmetics that
Moira needed in order to be fully realized as a girl. I
didn't have the nerve to replace any of it. I resigned
myself to losing Moira forever. It was hard. I won't deny
that I cried and cried the day my sister left the house,
not only because I loved her and would miss her terribly,
but also because I had to say good-bye to Moira, too. I
lost my two best friends that day.
Still, I thought, it was all for the best. What chance did
Moira have, really? None. I was a boy, not a girl. Even
though I had read many articles on the subject and had once
even gone to a lecture moderated by that great lady
Christine Jorgensen herself, I understood and accepted the
fact that transvestites and transsexuals were almost
universally rejected by society and therefore had no
future. After that realization, I went about the business
of becoming the manliest man I could become. It was not
easy, given the limitations of my face and body. Nor could
I ever forget that somewhere inside me was Moira, patiently
waiting for an opportunity to show herself to the world.
Her opportunity finally came when I was a senior in high
school, but that wasn't my doing, and because the situation
was so unique I was able to deal with it without any major
harm being done.
Whenever Ted spoke to someone he always looked him straight
in the eye. A lot of people found him very disconcerting
that way, because he seemed to be boring in on their
deepest secrets. People with something to hide tended to
look away from Ted when he was talking to them. But for me,
Ted's look was almost hypnotic and I found myself staring
right back into his eyes! I couldn't help but do it because
I trusted him and I liked him and I didn't want him to
think I had anything to hide like those other people who
would turn away when he looked at them, even though I did.
Then I would go home and lie awake questioning myself about
what his searching look might have uncovered in me. I began
to worry that he had found Moira living her secret life
inside my body, and if he had, how that discovery would
influence what he thought about me.
But then I would tell myself that I was just being paranoid
and that he couldn't really have done that. It was
impossible.
Except the idea did fit in very well with the strange games
he played with me all the time. I wasn't a psychologist,
but I knew enough about human behavior to know that there
was something vaguely homosexual about our nightly
escapades. But I was not gay, and, as far as I could tell,
neither was he. And now I was going to live with him, at
least for a while until I could decide what to do with
myself. With both of us living so closely in the same
environment, whatever had been building up between us to
this point would quickly come to a head. I mean, either he
was going to hit on me or, on the other hand, if it had all
been a product of my overactive imagination and super
sensitivity about Moira, I would find that out soon enough
as well, because in that case he wouldn't hit on me. At
least that was the logic I used at the time.
Traffic finally began to loosen up around the Glen Cove
exit on the Expressway. I called Ted on my cell phone to
tell him that I would be there in about fifteen minutes.
Then I forgot about my worries temporarily, concentrating
instead on the DeBussy symphony I had slipped into my car's
CD player, and humming the bits I knew by heart under my
breath as I got nearer to Ted's apartment.
Ted liked music, too. When he opened the door to let me in
I could hear the Beachboys "Wouldn't It Be Nice?" playing
in the background. His sound system was top of the line.
He showed me a place in the closet that he claimed to have
cleared for me to put my things in, and a shelf in the
bathroom that he said he had reserved for my toiletries.
Then he excused himself to wash his dinner dishes, and I
used the time to walk around the living room. As he shouted
small talk to me over the noise of running water in the
kitchen, I surveyed the room. I liked it. Lining the walls
were several blond bookshelves decorated with tasteful
curios, many of which appeared to be made of real silver
and porcelain. The prevailing color scheme in the room was
beige and tan. The rug was neutral. The furniture was
Scandinavian in style. It was the same apartment Ted had
lived in when he was married. I assumed his ex-wife had
picked out all the furnishings.
"I like your ex-wife's taste," I said.
"You should," he replied loudly from the kitchen. "You and
she share the same sun sign. In fact, you're practically
time twins. You were both born in the same year but you're
three days older than she is-which is good-it gives you a
better moon sign."
All I knew about astrology was that I was a Cancer. I also
knew that Ted was a Taurus. Sometimes I read the astrology
column in the newspaper. Otherwise, I had no clue. Ted
might as well have been talking about advanced calculus as
far as I was concerned, but I played along.
"What's her moon sign?" I asked.
"Scorpio. You have a Libra moon. Much better..."
"Oh? That's good..."
I didn't have the slightest idea why a Libra moon was
better. I changed the subject. It was getting late and we
both had to work the next day.
"Where do you want me to sleep?"
He turned the water off in the kitchen and came into the
living room still drying his hands on a red and white
checked dishtowel and looking rather apologetic.
"There's only one bed," he said.
I assured him that was no problem. I would just sleep on
the couch. But he explained that the couch was too
uncomfortable, which he knew from personal experience. He
said that his former wife had often exiled him to the couch
and he hadn't gotten any sleep at all on those nights. No.
There was nothing for it but that I would have to share his
own bed with him. In fact, he insisted.
This was not going well. I had only been there for twenty
minutes and he had already arranged for me to put the
things I'd brought with me where his wife used to keep
hers, done an astrological analysis of her planets to mine,
and now he was making me go to bed with him. True, it could
all be very innocent, but I was starting to get that
nervous feeling again. Particularly when I thought about
the lines from that Beachboys' song he'd been playing:
Oh, we could be married...
We could be happy...
Wouldn't it be nice?
We sat down on Ted's couch and started to watch the news
together on CNN. The couch seemed comfortable enough to me.
I asked about sleeping on it again but he was adamant that
the bed was the only option. A few minutes later, he got up
and brought me back a cognac. I sat there pretending to sip
the cognac and thinking this thing through. I had nowhere
else to go. I was probably overreacting. If it got too
weird, I could just leave. He was my boss and I should be
very grateful that he was being so nice to me. I really did
trust him. When the news was over I decided that it was
time to kick, punt, or pass. Okay. I stood up.
"May I see the bedroom, please?" I asked.
The bedroom was about average in size for a suburban Long
Island apartment, but it seemed crowded because the bed was
so large. Although the top and one side of it were stuck up
against the wall and were a potential trap for the person
lying on the inside, I'd still be able to maintain a safe
and conservative amount of space between the two of us.
"Which side do you like to sleep on?" I asked Ted.
"The side near the door," he replied. "I always sleep
there."
"So do I," I said, hoping he would offer it to me.
He shrugged. I took that to mean that I was not getting it.
Since it was so obvious that his wife must have slept on
the inside too, that just reinforced the crazy idea I had
that Ted wanted me to replace her in every way. If he
started grabbing at me in the middle of the night I'd be
pinned against the wall with no way to get away from him.
Ted left, which gave me a chance to study the rest of the
bedroom. He came back with a couple of towels, a wash cloth
and a bar of Camay soap still in the wrapper.
"Take a shower," he said. "I'll be up late tonight working
on a presentation. If you're tired you can go straight to
sleep."
I usually slept in my briefs. But in my current state of
mind, I had no intention of doing that.
"Do you have any pajamas I could borrow?" I asked.
"No, I never wear them. But I do have this," he said,
rooting around in the closet.
He produced an emerald green nightshirt that looked to be
made out of satin, or a synthetic material like satin. It
buttoned down the front. The buttons were on the wrong
side, and the cuffs were ruffled.
"Thanks."
What else could I say? My heart was sinking. I had screwed
myself again. Ted must have seen the reaction on my face.
He smiled.
"One size fits all," he said. He paused. Then he laughed.
When Ted laughed, as he often did, the laughter came from
deep inside him, sort of like a volcano rumbling and then
exploding lava into the air, except in his case it was
laughter not lava.
"Just kidding," he said, once he stopped laughing.
He put the nightshirt back in the closet and drew out
another one made of cotton, which he held out for me to
inspect. Although it still buttoned on the wrong side, at
least it was cut like a man's shirt, except longer, of
course, and it was the same color blue as the winter sky
just after sunset. I'm not sure what shade of blue that is
exactly, but I think it's quite beautiful.
Taking the nightshirt from him, I think I must have turned
as red as a ripe tomato. Ted had put one over on me again.
It was so embarrassing. I picked up the towels and soap and
went into the bathroom without saying anything. I didn't
even look at him, but I knew he had a smirk on his face.
I spent a long time in the shower. It calmed me down. I
found a razor in the medicine cabinet and shaved my body,
which is something I normally do anyway-and Ted already
knew that I was in the habit of doing that, so it wasn't a
big deal-- doing it the first night I was there, I mean. I
put on a pair of black briefs. I sniffed the nightshirt. It
was clean. There was no trace of another person's perfume
or body scent on it. I put the nightshirt over my head and
went in to bed.
Despite all the stress I had been feeling, I fell asleep
immediately, lying on my stomach and hugging my pillow for
all it was worth. I must have really been worn out. I only
woke up once during the night, and that was when Ted came
in. He stroked my back briefly, mumbled something
unintelligible, and then rolled over and went to sleep. In
a few minutes he was snoring like a buzz saw. I didn't mind
at all. Tomorrow I would get him some of those nasal-
dilating clips that football players wore. They said in the
commercials that they were one hundred percent effective to
stop snoring. Then I fell back to sleep myself.
I woke up the next morning to bright sunlight. Ted had
already gone to the office. He left me a note on the
nightstand saying that I was excused from work for the day
because he knew I had a lot to do. I sat there on the edge
of the bed for a few minutes with Ted's note in my hand and
I started tearing up. I felt like an ungrateful rat. All I
had been thinking about was myself. And here was this
wonderful man opening up his home to me and being as good a
friend as he could be. And I was so worried that he was
trying to exploit me, when all he was trying to do was help
me. I felt so guilty. I had to make it up to him.
I moved like a Texas tornado that day. In addition to
calling my mother and reporting my change of address to
those who needed to know and contacting a lawyer and doing
all the other things a newly separated man has to do, I
also vacuumed, dusted, scrubbed the bathroom, did the
laundry, found the local supermarket and had a steak dinner
waiting for Ted when he got home. He loved steak.
That pretty much set a pattern for us for the next several
weeks. We drove to work together and came home together. We
stopped going out to the bar every night because there just
didn't seem to be any need to go there anymore. I did the
cooking and the cleaning and the laundry. Ted helped with
the shopping and set up a budget for us and managed the
household accounts-he put away a certain amount from our
pay each week to cover the electricity and rent and
telephone and car insurance and different credit card
accounts.
On the weekends we went to the movies or the mall. Each
night I would go to bed first and Ted would come in much
later. He was still something of a night owl. Nothing ever
happened and my confidence grew that he just wanted me as a
friend and nothing more. But I continued to wear the
nightshirts, just as a precaution, eventually even the
emerald green one once, when I got a little behind with the
washing. The most he ever did was to pet me briefly before
he went to sleep, but I think he did that as his way of
letting me know he was there for me during a difficult
time. The days passed quickly. We were so busy that somehow
I never got a chance to look for my own apartment.
One Saturday afternoon in late August we had just finished
listening to the score of "Pacific Overtures." It had been
raining very hard all day and neither of us felt like going
out. I was curled up in a chair with the libretto in my
hands and Ted was lying on the couch with his arms behind
his head and his eyes closed. I thought he was taking a nap
because he didn't care for Sondheim all that much (he was
strictly retro-- Fleetwood Mac, Beatles, and Brian Wilson-
so we took turns listening to music and it was my turn),
but he hadn't been napping, he'd been thinking.
"Have you found a place to live, yet?" he asked.
He knew darn well I hadn't, so I took the question as
rhetorical.
"No," I replied cautiously, wondering where he was going
with this?
I thought we had really worked things out well and we were
both happy with our arrangement even if we had said at the
beginning that it might only be temporary. Was he going to
ask me to leave?
"It's been working out for us, hasn't it?" he asked,
raising his head from the chocolate colored toss pillow
he'd been resting it on. From the tone of his voice and the
leading way he had phrased the question, I gathered he only
wanted one response from me. I gave it to him.
"Yes," I said.
He sat up and started clearing his throat. I began to feel
that he was about to say something important. I realized
that I was clutching the libretto to my chest. I put in on
my lap.
His eyes narrowed in a way that was more self-protective
than calculating, as if he really had something big at risk
when he asked me the next question.
"Then why don't you just stay here with me?"
"You don't mind?" I wanted to be sure that he was sure. I
knew I was sure.
"Not at all!" he replied with his typical jock-in-the-
locker-room enthusiasm.
"Yes, I would very much like to stay," I said, suddenly
feeling that I had made some sort of commitment to him.
Well, I guess I had.
"Good! That's what I wanted to hear."
Whatever apparent uncertainty Ted may have been
experiencing evaporated immediately after I answered him.
He bounced up from the couch and disappeared. Instead of
returning with champagne and a couple of glasses, which was
what I thought he was going to do, he came back in with a
scissors, some combs, a towel, and an old fashioned
straight razor.
"Since we're official roomies now, I'm going to do
something I've wanted to do for a long time," he announced,
clicking the scissors for emphasis and giving me a very
rapacious look.
If he was the wolf, I had a feeling that I was going to be
the sheep. I cringed. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into
the bathroom where the light was better than anywhere else
in the apartment and proceeded to wash, cut and set my
hair. I admit that I was passive throughout the whole
process. What could I do? The man had just given me
permission to stay with him permanently. Besides, Ted was
unstoppable when he got like that, anyway.
I was curious about his qualifications, though. "Where did
you learn to cut hair?" I asked.
"In the Army," he said, snipping away.
Oh, God!
When he was finished, I thought at first that I should
pretend I wasn't at all interested in whatever he'd done to
me, just to piss him off a little and get back at him for
being so high handed. But I was too apprehensive that he
had me looking like a recruit fresh out of boot camp. I had
to see the new look. Especially after I saw that he had
that mischievous smirk on his face again. (Sometimes, Ted
acted just like a little boy.) So I pretended to wipe the
bathroom mirror with a towel while I assessed the damage.
It was a new look, all right! But instead of giving me a
crew cut, Ted had parted my hair in the middle and brushed
it back and cut it in layers so that when it came forward
again, it framed my face in a way that made me look, um....
Dare I use the word? It made me look, um.... I couldn't say
it. Ted said it for me.
"Beautiful! It came out beautiful! Don't you think?"
I couldn't answer him. My face felt hot. I started cleaning
the sink.
"What's the matter?" Ted was puzzled and disappointed. I
wasn't reacting the way he thought I would.
"It's very nice. But I don't think it's going to fly at the
office," I said.
"Oh, yes it will!" Ted argued. "We'll just mousse it up a
little and..."
He made me look in the mirror again while he pulled the
sides back with his hands to demonstrate what he meant. Not
too bad! I probably could get way with going out in public
like that. But that wasn't the real problem. The real
problem was that the style he had chosen made me look too
much like you-know-who. And that made me afraid. And it
thrilled me, which made me even more afraid. Of course, I
couldn't tell Ted what I was thinking. I needed an excuse
to get way from that mirror.
"You didn't learn how to cut hair this way in the Army! You
were never in the Army!" I said, turning around and poking
him in the chest. He laughed like the sneaky person he was.
"My mother was a beautician. I practically grew up in a
salon. Didn't I ever tell you that?" He had an amazed like
on his face, like "How could I not know that about him?"
"You never told me that!" I couldn't believe his act!
"I didn't?" He was all innocence.
"No!" I knew he was full of shit.
He'd never shared anything with me concerning his family.
But for some unknown reason, I suddenly wanted to know
everything about them. Ted agreed to tell me, but only on
condition that I admit what a magnificent job he had done
with my hair and also that we go out to eat Chinese food at
the Szechuan Dynasty Restaurant. I accepted-provided it had
stopped raining. It had. A strong wave of gratitude washed
over me. So I hugged him for the first time ever and
thanked him for letting me stay with him and I told him how
talented he was (because I knew that he meant it when he
said that he wanted praise for the haircut). He never
noticed that I started getting weepy after that because I
explained to him that some of the conditioner had gotten in
my eye.
We had an intense time at the restaurant. First, we ordered
"Happy Family," because it seemed like an appropriate
choice to celebrate both our decision to stay together, and
the subject of our dinner conversation. Then Ted began to
tell me about his family.
It was no surprise to learn that they were all a little
nuts, because he certainly was. They had come from a part
of Germany that was near the Polish border. Both his
parents had grown up in a small farming community. The
years after World War Two had been very hard for them and
their own parents because the East German government had
taken their land away and collectivized all the farmers.
That's why his mother and father had decided to immigrate
to the United States once they were old enough to make a
decision like that. It was a dangerous decision and
planning it took a long time because it meant sneaking over
the border into the West. They could have been shot trying
to escape.
Ted and his only sister had been born here after some
naturalized American relatives had helped his parents to
get settled in New York in the early seventies. The father
was good with his hands and got work as a machinist. The
mother stayed home and raised the children. They wanted to
live the American dream. They wanted a house of their own.
One income wasn't enough. As soon as Ted and his sister
Karin were in school full time, the mother sought out a
career for herself. She became a shampoo girl in a local
beauty salon, liked it, went for training and eventually
became a hairdresser, just as Ted had said.
Ted's childhood hadn't exactly been a bed or roses. The
parents were thrifty and he and Karin had been denied many
of the things other children in the neighborhood took for
granted. There was no TV set in the house until they were
almost teenagers. Most of their toys were home made.
Clothes were worn until they were completely used up. Ted
remembered going to school in pants that barely covered the
tops of his socks. But he made sure that no one dared make
fun of him or his sister by developing a reputation for
being the toughest kid in the school. Football was the
perfect outlet for a boy who enjoyed hitting people, and he
liked the extra respect he got from the other students in
high school because he was such a competent athlete. But
despite the recognition he got from everyone because of his
physical abilities, and despite his engaging personality,
he confessed to me that he still always felt like an
outsider.
The father was difficult. He worked as much overtime as he
could. When he wasn't working he was usually drunk. He did
not interact much with his son and daughter except to
criticize them, or smack them, particularly Ted. The mother
tried to compensate for the father's deficiencies by over-
involving herself with the children. She told them that
everything they did was wonderful, and the father told them
that everything they did was wrong. In order to protect
themselves, Ted and Karin had to develop real strength of
character or else they would have dissolved into a pair of
insecure neurotics.
"Winning is very important to me," Ted said.
Then he told me about the Bowl game he had played as a
senior in college. His father had never come to a single
football game throughout his high school and college
careers, dismissing football as a crude perversion of the
real game of football that was played In Europe. This time,
Ted really wanted him there. It was the most important game
he would ever play. It was also his last. He did everything
but beg his father to come to watch him play.
"Did he come?" I asked, knowing the answer before he gave
it, but needing to see how he would react when he said it.
"No, of course not." He replied without a trace of
disappointment in his voice.
Linebackers hit people hard. Ted set records for a
linebacker in that Bowl game that have yet to be broken.
True, he had won a football game, but I think he won
something more important that day than just a football
game. He won freedom from the need to have other people's
approval for what he did. He became his own person that
day.
I wished I were more like him. I told him how much I
admired what he had done with his life.
Then it was my turn. I didn't want to really tell him
anything about my childhood. It had been pretty grim. I
didn't want him to know that. I didn't want him to know
that, unlike him, hard times hadn't made me stronger,
they'd made me weaker. I didn't want him feeling sorry for
me. But he had been very open about himself and I could see
that he expected me to reciprocate. I told him as little as
I could-that I had grown up in Manhattan, and that our
lives shared some similarities because I was very close to
my sister, and my parents, like his, had also been
dysfunctional. After I went silent, he started giving me
the third degree, and I started giving him short answers
back.
"What was the story with your father?"
"He left," I said.
"And your mother?"
"She was depressed most of the time."
When he saw that I was beginning to get really upset, he
changed his line of questioning.
"Where did you go to high school?"
"I went to The High School for the Performing Arts," I told
him.
"Really? What was your major?"
"Theatre."
"Theatre!" For some reason, completely unknown to me, Ted
got excited all of a sudden. "Did you study Shakespeare?"
"Of course! He's worshipped like a god in that school! I
had so much exposure to Shakespeare that the Bard of Avon
was practically coming out of my butt!" I laughed too much
after I said it. But it struck me as being very funny.
"He's the man! I've read it all! What's your favorite
play?"
I didn't want to tell him. It would sound too corny. "Oh, I
don't know. It's hard to say. All his plays are
fantastic..." Instead of sounding corny, I was sounding
like a dope.
"I know what it is," Ted concluded, after giving the
question some thought.
He wouldn't know! I decided to challenge him. "What?" I
asked him, looking defiant.
"Romeo and Juliet!" One corner of his mouth was turned up
in a smile.
"Yes, you're right! That's amazing!!" I exclaimed.
Actually, I blurted, I didn't exclaim.
This man knew me too well. I not only loved the play more
than any other, but I had performed in it as my senior
project. My beloved teacher Mr. Hartley, who had served as
a father-figure for me in place of my own missing father,
had chosen it and then cast it in the Elizabethan
tradition-meaning that he had cast boys to play the female
parts.
I was shocked almost to the point of passing out when he
cast me as Juliet. Only Mr. Hartley could have given me the
confidence to play that part in front of an audience full
of teenagers who, even if they were "artsier" than the
average, could still be very cruel. But I had one thing
going for me that no one else knew about. I had Moira. And
she came through.
We performed it right in the school's main auditorium, with
a set, in full costume and makeup, for the entire senior
class. There had been some snorting and general rudeness
and cat calling when Lady Capulet and the Nurse (played by
a very fat classmate of mine named Rocco Baldamente) first
made their appearance. But even the most delinquent boys
got quiet and interested when Romeo and I did the party and
balcony scenes. By the time I said my last lines as Juliet
in the tomb and killed myself, there wasn't a girl in that
audience who wasn't crying her eyes out. But all the senior
boys avoided being seen with me after that, except for the
extremely gay ones. And, of course, they were the very
people I didn't want to be seen with. So, I was kind of
lonely those last few weeks of school.
After Moira made her one and only public appearance, I
never acted again.
Ted brought me back to the present when he said, "It
couldn't have been any other play. I know you."
I thought he was getting too cocky for his own good. "So,
what's your favorite?" I asked, hoping to put the focus
back on him.
"Titus Andronicus, of course."
"Really and truly?" That was such a bloody and mean revenge
play! Shakespeare had probably not even written most of it.
"Just kidding" he replied. "Actually, it's Hamlet! It
taught me a lot."
"What did you learn?" I was just starting to appreciate how
deep Ted really was.
"I learned how to get what I want. No matter what I have to
do, no matter how long it takes. I know how to get it," he
told me.
I didn't quite understand. Hamlet's obsession had led to
his destruction and the deaths of all the people he loved
the most.
When I tested Ted on that he simply said, "Sometimes you
have to do what you have to do. Once you've set things in
motion, you follow through, no matter what. That's what a
real man does."
This was a side of Ted I didn't know. I was disturbed by
what he was saying. I wanted to ask him more questions, but
it was way past time to leave. The check had been sitting
there for a long time, all the other customers had already
left, and the waiter was hovering nearby looking very
tired. After Ted paid the check, the cashier wished the
gentleman and his lady a good evening. I was confused for a
moment, but then I guessed that the new hairstyle combined
with the androgynous jogging suit I was wearing caused her
to make a mistake. Ted just smiled and held the door open
for me.
That night Ted was the one to fall asleep first. I kept
lying there, wide awake, thinking about what he had told me
at dinner. I had never had a friend like him. His honesty
really affected me. I realized that our friendship was
becoming more and more intimate. We had been close before
but now we were taking it to a whole other level. I hoped
we could both handle it. I hoped I could handle it. When we
were in the restaurant and he was speaking to me in that
direct way of his about his childhood and his family, my
emotions had almost gotten out of control. Underneath all
that confidence and humor and steel determination of his, I
knew he was hurting. We hadn't even spoken about his failed
marriage yet. I felt so much sympathy for him that I wanted
to cry, I wanted him to cry, and I had had this crazy urge
to hold his hand because I felt so badly for him. I
couldn't imagine what his reaction would have been if I had
actually done it. I must be going out of my mind. I needed
rest. But I couldn't fall asleep.
Ted was snoring louder than usual. I got one of those nasal
dilators out of the medicine cabinet and gently pressed it
across the bridge of his nose without waking him. It
worked, and the best part of it was that the inside of my
head got quieter the minute the room got quieter. I finally
went to sleep. But not before spending a few minutes
pushing my extraordinary friend's hair away from his face
with my fingers. Then I did the weirdest thing. I kissed
him right on the forehead.
The following week, Ted announced that we were going to get
in shape. He took me down to the local gym and signed us
both up for a year. I told him I had no intention of going
into the weight room and having a bunch of muscle guys
staring at my puny body. But after looking at the programs,
I agreed to take a class in aerobics and another one in
yoga. We also began running together in the morning. Ted
bought a juicer and he started us both gulping vitamins. I
noticed his bottles were different from mine. He told me
that every person's metabolism and body weight were
completely unique and so we needed different combinations
and dosages of vitamins and minerals. We ate fruits and
vegetables and fish and rice until neither of us could
stand it anymore. The yogurt and cottage cheese weren't so
bad. We cheated though. On Saturday nights we dined out and
had anything we wanted. Our rationale was that it kept us
motivated.
I started to notice that my body was changing about a month
after we began our diet and fitness routine. I had lost
five pounds and almost two inches from my waist, which was
good. But my hips were actually getting larger. My butt,
which had been a mite too heart-shaped to begin with,
appeared to be becoming more so, and there was definitely
more total butt there than before. My chest also seemed to
be enlarging. I tried to think of a reason why that would
be happening. I ended up blaming it on the very moderate
weight training I did as part of the aerobics workout. But
I concluded that the overall effect that exercising was
having on me so far was that I was getting curvier except
for the waistline. I must be taking in too many dead
calories. Damn! Now I'd have to give up our Saturday night
food fests!
A week before Halloween, Ted told me that we'd been invited
to a costume party. I had never been to one in my life. I
didn't like the idea at all. I asked him if we could skip
it. He said we couldn't. Besides, he told me, he had
already ordered the costumes.
"What costumes?" I demanded to know. I felt like I was
being railroaded. I should at least have the right to
choose my own costume!
"You'll love them," Ted assured me. "We're going as one of
history's most famous twosomes." Then he laughed. I didn't
like the sound of that laugh.
I started guessing. "What famous twosome? Mutt and Jeff?
Stanley and Livingston? Rogers and Hammerstein?" When he
just sat there looking smug, I started hitting him with a
throw pillow. "Gin and Tonic? Ali and Frazier? Snow White
and Rose Red?" I was running out of famous twosomes.
"No, but you're getting closer," he said.
He absolutely refused to tell me. He said he wanted it to
be a surprise. He assured me that I'd love what he'd picked
out. I doubted that very much.
Halloween was on a Friday. We both took the day off. I woke
up, alone, lying on my right side. My chest felt lopsided
somehow. I looked down. I had cleavage. That's why my chest
felt strange, it was listing to starboard. Oh, my God! I
got up and unbuttoned the top five buttons on my nightshirt
and examined myself in the mirrored doors on the bedroom
closet. Two breasts the sizes of half-grapefruits were
staring back at me. I bent over at the waist. That really
made them large.
I stood up straight, closed my eyes and opened them again
for a second reality check. My new boobs were still there.
I thought how amazing it was that people could go through
their daily routine and never notice major changes taking
place in their own body. True, I had been aware that my
chest size was increasing, but I'd never considered that
the reason for it was because I was developing a bust.
There had been times, especially when I was running, when I
had felt some sensation in my chest, and I had been more
aware of sensitivity in my nipples recently when I wore
certain fabrics, especially without an undershirt, but I
hadn't given any of that a serious thought. I supposed that
was how someone could develop a giant tumor on his head and
then tell the doctor quite honestly that he had no idea how
it got there, believing it had just appeared overnight-when
in reality, it had been festering for quite some time.
Not that I thought of my new bosoms as festering tumors, in
fact they looked quite healthy. I am just saying that we
operate on automatic so much of the time, that things like
this can happen, and we are totally oblivious to them. In
any event, that was what I was thinking as I stared at my
new pulchritude, that and the fact that I had no intention
of telling Ted about this. No way.
I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. I threw
myself back under the covers and buttoned my shirt. Ted
came into the bedroom with two huge boxes and dumped them
on the bed. He returned a minute later with several
shopping bags.
"Hi! You awake yet?" He looked very pleased.
I watched him pile everything onto his side of the bed
until I couldn't see over the top. I sat up, but I pulled
the covers up with me. Ted left the room. I really was
curious to see those costumes. I reached out for one of the
shopping bags just to tip it a little bit and take a peek
but Ted came right back in with even more bags and asked me
to make breakfast. Rats.
We spent the afternoon watching horror movies and answering
the occasional doorbell to give candy to trick-or-treaters.
Some of the little ones were so cute. They came dressed as
vegetables, and storybook characters, and one little red
headed girl about five years old was the most adorable
fairy princess I had ever seen.
When it was time to get ready, I left two tubs of candy
outside our door along with a note instructing the children
to take no more than three pieces of candy each. I hoped
they would all do the right thing.
Ted told me to shower before he did because my costume
would take more time than his. As soon as I was done, I
went into the bedroom and opened those mysterious boxes. It
took me a second to figure out what I was looking at. The
first outfit was obviously inspired by the Renaissance.
There were tights, a doublet, hose, boots and a dagger.
None of that clothing looked like it had ever been worn.
Partially hidden in the tissue paper that lined the inside
of the box was a very small package wrapped in black and
tied with silver thread. There was a tag attached to the
string that said, "Do Not Open On Pain of Death." Ted was
such a child.
The second box contained a beautiful pale green velvet gown
covered with gold netting around the skirt, with an
elaborately embroidered and daring bodice. The dress, like
the male costume, also looked very expensive and brand new.
These clothes were not rentals from a costume shop. The
other bags contained all sorts of things meant to support
the second costume. I found a pair of gold slippers, good
quality costume jewelry including a pair of bangled
earrings, a bracelet, and several rings, one of which was
set with what I guessed were synthetic emeralds. The best
piece was an exquisite gold choker inlaid with emeralds
similar to those in the ring. A small white box contained a
snood made of the same gold netting that decorated the
gown.
Another package held a ton of cosmetics, fake nails, nail
polishes and a manicure set. There was perfume in another.
I discovered a complete array of delicate silk
undergarments and pale green hosiery from a very trendy
store in a shopping bag marked with the trendy store's
logo. The last thing I discovered was a short corset that
looked painfully narrow. Ted couldn't have shopped for all
these accessories in one day. He must have been buying them
for weeks and hiding them in the trunk of his car.
I knew that Ted meant for me to wear that gown. But I
couldn't! I just couldn't! Could I? A lot of money had been
invested in all those beautiful clothes. Ted must be
serious. But how could he do this to me? How could he put
me in this position? How could he take me for granted like
this? I was so mad at him I wanted to slap his face.
Ted was controlling. Well, he wasn't going to be in control
of me anymore! I decided that the best way to punish him
was to let him see me made up and dressed and then to tell
him that he had to stop being so manipulative. To show him
how serious I was, I was also going to tell him that I
wasn't going to the party. That ought to teach him a lesson
he wouldn't forget. I started unpacking and organizing
everything.
I did the best I could, considering that a real Renaissance
woman would have required the assistance of two or three
maids to get everything right. At least I wouldn't need to
pad my chest. The hardest part was the corset. I sat down
on the floor and I tied the laces around the frame of the
bed and pulled myself forward as hard as I could. When I
couldn't take a decent breath without the room spinning
around, I knew the corset was tight enough.
I really wanted Ted to suffer, so I put everything I had
into becoming as beautiful as I could be. The makeup was no
problem thanks to my high school theatre training and my
extra experience in secret as Moira. I chose a very light
base, a subtle rouge and a pale pink lip gloss that would
make me look as young and innocent as possible. I used
green eye shadow and exaggerated the size of my eyes with
some liner and mascara. I applied the nails, and painted
them a shade of pearl to match the pearls dangling from the
golden circlet that went around the top of my head. I used
a small amount of perfume. The snood was a pain, because my
hair wasn't quite long enough, but I experimented and found
that if I rolled the ends under it looked credible. I
stepped into the slippers and I was done, except for one
final check in the mirror. Although it had taken me over
two hours to do it, the image I saw reflected there was
that of one delectable little sixteenth century chick with
a very decent rack swelling out of her bodice. I was ready
for Teddy.
I picked up my skirts and flounced into the living room,
all set to rock his chauvinistic world, even if he was
almost a foot taller than I was! And I would have, too-if
he hadn't done the most amazing thing when he saw me.
He was standing there in a bath towel holding a book in his
hand. He had a look on his face that I'm not sure how to
describe. Okay, I do know how to describe it. It was, um...
adoring. My greatest fears had been fulfilled. Ted adored
me.
Then he held up his right hand and said, reading from the
book, "If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy
shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing
pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a
tender kiss..."
How well I knew those words! I had to answer him, even
though part of me didn't want to. I was also melting, and I
didn't want to do that either...
"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which
mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that
pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers'
kiss."
As I recited Juliet's lines, which I had learned so long
ago, I brought my trembling right hand up and pressed it
against his own and we began to circle each other in a slow
imitation of a dance made popular about four hundred years
ago called a sarabande.
Then Ted responded to Juliet's demure refusal to kiss him.
"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"
I spoke Juliet's reply right back to him. "Aye, pilgrim,
lips that they must use in prayer." I wasn't in the
slightest angry with him anymore, but I wasn't going to
kiss him!
Romeo/Ted pressed his case. "O, then, dear saint, let lips
do what hands do. They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to
despair." He looked very serious.
I stopped dancing and put my hand down. A Beachboys' CD was
playing in the background. I hadn't noticed it before,
because the sound was set so low, but in the sudden
stillness, with the two of us standing frozen like that, I
could suddenly hear the opening notes of "Wouldn't It Be
Nice?"
What did I want? I didn't know anymore. I let Juliet answer
that question for me. "Saints do not move, though grant for
prayers' sake."
My whole body was shaking after I said it. I was sure that
I was going to faint. I looked at him. It was his move.
Ted didn't need the book any more. He knew the next lines
by heart. "Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take,"
he said, coming up to me and putting his arms around me.
"Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged." And having
said that he kissed me.
I had only experienced ecstasy once before in my life. The
memory is hazy, more like a dream, and it was only recently
that I'd begun to remember it at all. But as a small child
of three or four I had been standing in the middle of a
field of blue bonnets one summer afternoon. The sky was as
blue as the flowers and the flowers went on and on and on
in every direction and I knew that I was at one with those
infinite fields of flowers and the infinite sky above them.
The second time was when Ted kissed me. And just like the
fields of blue bonnets, that kiss went on and on and on. I
really did faint. But I don't think Ted realized I had,
because when I opened my eyes again he was still kissing
me.
When he stopped, I looked up at him for a moment in pure
wonder. He looked happier than I had ever seen him. In
fact, he looked as ecstatic as I was feeling. But I still
hesitated to say the next line. Juliet's last words in that
scene were fateful, because in saying them she had made a
commitment that not even death itself could break. I looked
down. If I said them now, I knew that I would be just as
committed as she had been. When I brought my face up again,
I could see the look of hope in Ted's eyes; and I never
stopped gazing into those lovely blue bonnet blue eyes of
his when I murmured,
"Then have my lips the sin that they have took."
I brought my arms, which had been hanging limply at my
sides all that time, up around his neck, and he finished
our scene and finished me too because there was nothing
left of me by then.
He said, "Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give
me my sin again."
I had no will or desire or thought or care except to kiss
him back.
To say that we ended up going to the costume party and
having a great time sounds a little anticlimactic after
everything that had happened that afternoon, but that's
what we did.
Our relationship since then has been what relationships are
meant to be-- loving, caring and supportive. I only dress
as a male for work now. Nights and weekends belong to my
female side. It may be that soon I will be female all the
time, because people like me really can have a future. I
was wrong about that. But in my case, with Ted's help, the
realization didn't come too late. I've often asked him if
he planned all this from the start, but he won't give me a
straight answer. I think he did. I think he is a very
cunning man. Someday I will coax the truth out of him. I
have my ways.
We're still playing the game. Ted calls it "doing the Bard
of Avon." Out of the blue, he'll just say, "Hey, Moira!
Let's do the Bard of Avon!"
So far we've played Petruchio and Kate in the Taming of the
Shrew, and Valentine and Silvia in Two Gentlemen of Verona,
but we always come back to Romeo and Juliet. We've already
done the balcony scene. Ted bought me a white linen shift
for that one, and we used the kitchen counter for the
balcony. After that we did the lines in Act Two, Scene
Five, where Romeo and I meet to exchange marriage vows.
Tomorrow, we are doing Act Five, Scene Three. Romeo poisons
himself and I kill myself with a dagger when I realize he
is dead. We're going to do it in the bedroom. Ted's very
excited about it. Naturally, he is. Romeo has his last and
finest monologue in Act Five.
Ted is so talented! When he's playing his roles, I don't
see any lying in him. I think it's a shame that he never
wanted to be an actor. I can tell he wants the death scene
to go well because we've rehearsed it a lot. By the time
we've run it over and over again, we're both emotional
wrecks. Still, he keeps asking me if I'll know what to do.
Of course, I'll know what to do! Besides, I love him so
much that I want to please him in everything. There isn't
anything I wouldn't do for him.
I rented a DVD for Ted and I to watch tomorrow-- to get us
in the right mood for the final scene. It's about two young
people who fall so deeply in love that they don't care for
either context or consequences as long as they can be
together. Can you guess what it is? It's art imitating real
life. That's what it is.
End