This narrative contains adult subject matter. It should not be read by anyone who is not entitled to have access to adult issues under any and all laws that govern the reader’s rights and privileges. As it relates to transgender issues, those who find the subject matter offensive should stop now and read no further.

This third part of a continuing story is about a teenager with an alcoholic father. It may be read separately, but the context is enhanced if you read the prior two segments: ‘Changes for the Better’ and ‘More changes for the Better’.

 

Some More Changes for the Better                     by: Virginia Kane

 

Chapter One

Miss Morgan dropped me off at the house with instructions to read and clean up the kitchen from the lunch and coffee cups from the visiting neighbors. She said we’d be going to the mall after dinner to pick up a few things, so I might want to bathe and put on clean clothes.

As I walked up toward the house, my neighbor: Rose Sullivan met me along the narrow walk between our two houses. "Hi, Donny. Good to see you. Do you have a moment to spare?" That was amusing. The last time I saw her, she made a sour puss, turned around and snubbed me with her nose in the air.

"Sure. How can I help you?"

"My George sprained his back. If you’d be so kind as to get me the ladder out from in the garage, I’ll be able to finish washing these windows. George isn’t up to it, and frankly, neither am I, but it has to be done."

"Let me do it for you, Mrs. Sullivan. George can hold the ladder for me, can’t he?

"Yes, I’m sure he can. Your help would be wonderful. My sons usually help with these rougher chores, but I hate to bother them. They have their own homes to mind. George will hold the ladder for you later when you wash the windows in your place. They need it too, Donny."

"I know. I’ve been busy."

"Yes, I noticed when I had a talk earlier with Miss Morgan. What were you doing all last night that prompted you sleep the morning away?"

Some neighbor. It didn’t take her long to lash into me with her talons. "With word of dad’s worsening condition from the doctor Saturday, I didn’t sleep well. I spent the past two nights at Miss Morgan’s apartment. I guess I’m not used to sleeping anywhere else except here."

"Did you have trouble sleeping at the camp you went to, as well?"

"No, dad was still at home here. I had trouble the past two nights because he’s not doing well and he’s not here to protect the house and won’t be back for a while. So keeping an eye on things is up to me for a while."

"Nonsense! George and I can keep an eye on the house for you. We’re usually at home. It’s no bother. Molly Brenham and her Tom can keep watch when you, my husband and I aren’t around. We’re neighbors, Donny. We should help each other whenever we can. I assured Miss Morgan that we’d help more, now that your dad is ill. We know it will be hard for you once you go back to school."

"Oh. Thanks Mrs. Sullivan. That’s a relief. Miss Morgan wants me to stay with her at her place. I have to do as she says. She signed papers for the county to be my guardian until dad gets better." The old battleaxe! She knows damned well why I have to stay with Miss Morgan. They don’t want me around if dad gets loose and has a fit when he finds out we poured out all his booze. "Say, if you should see my dad here, leave him alone, uh, please. He might not act neighborly."

"I understand Donny. Miss Morgan explained that there isn’t any ‘temptation’ for him to find in the house. She also advised us whom we should call if we see him. Mind you, I’m only helping because she asked. I don’t want to put my nose where it isn’t wanted. We Sullivan’s don’t meddle."

"Oh, I do understand, Mrs. Sullivan. I want to thank you for your understanding. Let me return the favor by taking care of your windows."

"Would you? That’s nice, Donny. I don’t expect you to help for nothing, mind you. I know young boys need to have some pocket change. How does fifty cent per window sound?"

"Terrific!" Boy, I hope she can spare it! That comes out to about a dollar-fifty an hour. I’ll be rich!

I got the ladder out and pondered the value she put on my helping. Good grief! I could make twice that by delivering newspapers. Hmmm. Not a bad idea, but my bike would be shot in a moth from the wear and tear. I guess retirees haven’t the extra money to spare. Considering that she’s always sitting in one window or another, watching every little thing that happens, anyway, it won’t be a bother to her to keep an eye on the house. The pittance she’s offering me is in exchange for her help. At least she’ll know whom to call if there’s trouble.

Her husband came out with a pail, squeegee and rags. "Hi, Don." I liked George.

"Looks like Rose let me get away with my sore back routine. Sorry to rope you into this." He came closer and crooked his head to one side, making like a spy on a mission, peeking around the corner to spot his wife. "Look, kid. I heard what she offered to pay you. I’ll match that, if you keep your yap shut. All you got to do is be around when she gets into these cleaning moods. Paying for your help will slow her down, and I won’t have to fake my sore back as much."

"I dunno, Mr. Sullivan. I don’t want to make her mad if she finds out."

"She won’t find out. We’ll go out to the garage with the ladder when we’re done and you sweep the garage floor or something. I’ll tell her I paid you for that. Won’t take you but a few minutes. We’ll shoot the breeze for a while. You can tell me all about Jim’s condition in the hospital. We’ll leave other stuff for you to do for later. Every time she pays you a lousy buck or two, I’ll double it."

I looked at George and thought about it for a moment. His eyes were telling me something I wanted to confirm. People are afraid to be nice if they think someone will take advantage of them. With half a chance, they go overboard, when they know better. "Sure, George, but only if the floor needs sweeping. Otherwise, your wife will catch on, and we’ll both be in hot water." I couldn’t refuse. It would have hurt his sense of honor.

While washing each of the six windows, Mrs. S. was inside, pointing to every spot I missed, even before I got to some of them. The squeegee made washing the windows quick work. I was done in half the time I expected. When I finished she was at the foot of the ladder, waiting. "Oh, George. I left a can of soda for Donny sitting on the kitchen table. Be a dear and fetch it while you retrieve the can of beer you were getting when I asked you to hold the ladder for him."

As soon as he was out of sight---"You did twice as good a job as I expected, so I’ll pay you twice what I said. I’m hard of hearing, you know. I learned to read lips. Don’t tell George, but I lip-read him bribe you to sweep the garage. Let him give you the extra three dollars to sweep the floor. It serves him right, faking his sore back to get out of doing a few windows. He couldn’t do them half as well, so I’m glad to pay you for your help."

George returned with two cans of pop. "Where’s your beer, George?"

"Changed my mind, Rose. Donny is going to sweep out the garage for me. Don’t want to be a bad example, drinking in front of the boy in broad daylight. Cutting down on my beer drinking won’t hurt. As long as he helps us out, I’ll have to in order to keep from getting a ‘beer belly’ without the exercise from chores.

"Good idea! See, Donny. You’re a good influence on George!" She went back into the house while the two of us put the ladder away. We two men sat in the garage’s shade to drink the refreshing soda (ugh! DIET).

"So, what did the old lady pay you?"

"She doubled it. Paid me six dollars, instead of three."

"Well, I’ll only give you the three she first offered for sweeping the floor. A deal’s a deal." This was enlightening. First, she tries to play cheap. He covers, offering to double it, but then only doubles the original offer when she ups the ante to six bucks. Adults! I expected three bucks for two hours, and got nine for less than an hour of work, excluding the sweeping of the garage. When I picked up the broom, he told me to put it back down. It was too hot and dry to sweep and he didn’t feel like breathing raised dust or moving stuff around to do the job right. "Consider it an advance. We’ll do it when it’s cooler out."

We spent some time talking about my dad, Miss Morgan and what plans I had for keeping the house. He confided that the two of us, Dad and I, would be far better neighbors than a "passel" of brats running around under foot. He told me Tom and Molly, our neighbors on the other side, to the North, think I was very lucky.

The county caseworker walked from neighbor to neighbor, inquiring about my behavior. He said every neighbor but two told her the truth. I wondered which two badmouthed me. "We figured which two feel different. We’ll talk to them, and see what’s bothering them, Donny. We don’t want to make waves. Let’s keep things just they are around here. You’re a fine boy. I could use you, occasionally."

When I went home, I tried to figure out what changed. What made the neighbors so mean to me at the block party? George and Rose Sullivan were kinder to me today than they’d been in years. What George Sullivan said about Tom and Molly Brenham was odd, too. The Brenhams had reason to be angry. Their new Volvo got trashed. They blamed dad. It was hard to tell if he hit their Volvo it from the looks of dad’s car. It looked like a junk heap, with every fender dented. I knew he didn’t do it, because I was with him in the house at the time.

I did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. Miss Morgan would be home before long, and I still had to cook dinner. Thankfully, I know how to make burgers. I lit the grill and fixed a salad the way she showed me. I sat and waited; counting the nine dollars I took from my otherwise empty wallet, five times. It was quite a wad for me. I closed my eyes and daydreamed about what I could do with nine bucks!

She was there, right on time. "Got the soy burgers ready, Donny?"

"Soy Burgers? I thought these were ground beef?"

"Sorry, no more red meat for a while. Not until you lose a few pounds. I see you still didn’t cook them."

"No, they’d dry out if I put them on too soon, and you were detained."

"Good thinking. Put them on now. I brought a change of clothes with me. I’ll be back by the time the burgers ready, after I change."

"I thought we were going shopping? Why change clothes if we’re going out?"

"I’ve worn this business suit all day, Donny. I want to be comfortable in a casual outfit at the mall. If I see a few things I like, I don’t want to have to do and undo a dozen buttons each time check for a good fit. A pullover blouse and a skirt with an elastic waistband are easier to handle in the cramped changing rooms. We’ll have more time to roam around and I can see what they have on sale."

"Oh, I thought we were going to shop for stuff for me. Men don’t need to bother with trying on the things we wear. All a guy needs to do is pick out the right size, and it fits. We’ll be done in a jiffy. I don’t need much stuff. Maybe a few shirts for school and a pair of new jeans, that’s all."

"You’re forgetting pajamas, polo shirts, a new bathing suit or two, sweat socks, jogging outfit, ‘sweats’ and gym shoes. I’m sure I left something out, Donny. You start exercising at the community center on Wednesday. Remember?"

"What’s wrong with the stuff I have?"

"What stuff? Do you have a jogging outfit or a decent set of ‘sweats’?"

"No, but—"

"No buts. You show Wednesday up in street clothes and you’ll give up before you start, without trying. The correct approach to starting a weight control project is to set up a comprehensive plan, covering all aspects, with no omissions. A plan that is foolproof. Then, stick to the plan to the letter. Rapid success at the start will encourage you to continue. We begin by eating right, without exception, to kick off the program. Then, we introduce mild exercise, until your unused muscles adapt to the changes in activity. Then we kick it into high gear, once you lose a few pounds of water and fat for encouragement and your energy level peaks.

That way, instant failure isn’t a part of the equation. It’s too easy to give up, if you don’t begin with a sound program. You saw how specific and detailed the trainer was in scheduling your aerobics. He designed the exercises to fit your condition. Watch how quickly your body will react to this regimen. Come on, it will be fun!"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes! You ‘have to’. We’ll only buy a few things. They’ll be baggy and not fit you in no time. After you trim down some, we’ll buy clothes to last for a while."

"But I hate exercising. All that sweat and body odor makes me want to puke."

"We both know better, Donny. You don’t care about sweat and odor. You’re just afraid to be seen in a gym. Someone might make fun of your ‘tummy rolls’. That’s what I think. I don’t think a disguise will help either. No matter what you wear, the people there are not going to give a hoot what you look like. Don’t think about the way you look now. Think of how you’ll look after a few weeks of proper diet and good body toning aerobics. Think of the way the girls will see the new you."

"Yeah, right! The girls will think I’m an Adonis. Adonis, the blimp."

"We’ll see. All I ask you to do is give the program a chance. I want you to be able to keep pace with me this fall. We’ll be able to talk, make plans while we exercise in the evenings. Why are you so adamant? It won’t kill you!"

"Why can’t I sit and watch you exercise?"

"Because we’ll be jogging in the park, together some of the time. Don’t expect to comfortably ride your bike along side of me, while I’m running, because we’ll do that too, on weekends. You won’t be able to keep up with me on my bike either, unless you begin, now. I’m sorry, but your resistance is unnerving. What’s the big deal with staying heavy, Donny?"

"People will see me. They’ll make fun of me. They always do."

"Did you ever consider that you might deserve their cruel attitude? See how long that will last, once you start to getting ‘pumped up’. Are you that vain, that you feel you must hide your obesity?"

OBESITY! "Ew! How I hate that word! I’d bet she never had to eat crow from her peers for being overweight! It’s easy for someone to tell you to lose weight. They don’t know how hard it is to drop a few pounds. They don’t know that it’s genetic, not something you want. Could I help it if my ancestors were heavy?

She caught the way I tensed up when she said it. "Oh, so you don’t like the term for your condition, is that it? Well, you’d be surprised at what they used to call me when I was your age: ‘Whale’, ‘blubber butt’ ‘lard ass’! Am I getting warm? Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in your head. I’ve been there, done that, and got the tee shirt: a triple-XL. Forget about what some stupid jerks think you look like. Keep your mind on the goals... Eat your burger. It’s getting late. Got to go."

I could hardly keep up with her at the mall. We zipped through the stores like we had a deadline to keep. I was piled with sports outfits, just what I always wanted.

Three sets of sweats, two pair of gym shoes, two, not one but two jogging outfits, three swim trunks, and piles of street wears. Did she think I was made out of money? How could I pay her back for this stuff? It was a big waste of money as far as I was concerned. I was tired out from lugging it all from store to store.

When we were finished with shopping for me, she took me to a dress shop, well I didn’t know what else to call it. They didn’t sell any dresses. They only sold the kind of stuff pretty girls wear under their dresses. I stood guard by the door. What if someone saw me go in with her? She went in, walked around for a while and came back out without touching a thing. She grabbed my arm, and dragged me back in with her. "Don’t make a scene, Donny. You’ll only draw more attention to yourself. There’s something in here I want to show you."

In the back of the store, near the dressing rooms was a rack full of stuff for men. Well, the packages and rack said it was for men, but it still looked like girl’s stuff to me, slinky and made of shiny fabric. "See, these are what I was telling you about, Donny. They are made especially for guys that like the feel of nice things.

Want some? Just for the fun of it?"

"No way! They’d never fit! That’s girl’s stuff!"

"No it isn’t, Donny. Look at the tags! The sizes go all the way up to three XL. You don’t need anything that large. A two X is big enough, and will probably be loose on you. How about a nice pair of black skivvies to go with a new pair of pajamas?

You don’t have to wear mine anymore, unless you want to. You can have your own sexy pajamas to wear, just like mine."

I jerked my head toward her when she said it. She knew I wanted to wear hers. I’d have to admit I like them because they were hers or agree to her buying me a set of my own. I chickened out. "Sure! Why not! I’ll take some of the ’panties’ too! You don’t have to worry about me wanting yours any more."

She shocked me. She grabbed several packages of briefs, and four pajama sets.

"Good! These will cover you better. The underwear you brought with you to my place was so thin and worn out, I could see through them. Now you have some that are new and decent. So, they’re bold and racy. So what! Bout time you try to keep up with the times. Men don’t have to be plain, Donny. Live a little."

The cashier didn’t even look up when she rang up the sale. Maybe guys do wear this stuff. The place still made me queasy. I wanted to get out of there. Looking at rows and rows of sexy feminine underwear was getting to me. If we didn’t leave soon, I’d have to carry the packages much lower than I had been.

We made it to the car without a hitch! I was shaking like a leaf. Miss Morgan was aware of it, but she didn’t comment on it. She drove straight to her apartment, not over to my house, as I thought she would.

"We’ll keep these things at my place. You’ll be getting dressed there more often than not for the time being."

Whew! I got myself under control as we sped toward her place. If nosy Rosy saw what we were lugging into my house instead of into Miss Morgan’s apartment, she’d have had a fit. We bought more clothes in one trip than I already owned. Guys don’t need a lot of variety like girls do. I was still worried about how much she spent on me. It must have cost her a small fortune. Her budget for clothes might be sky high because she was a high price lawyer, but mine wasn’t and I had to remind her that I was living on dad’s very limited unemployment benefits.

"How am I going to pay for all this stuff, Miss Morgan? I can’t afford any of it!"

"By being a good sport and sticking to the program that the aerobics teacher has ready for you to begin on Wednesday. Since I have to work and you’ll be on your own all tomorrow afternoon, I want you spend the time taking all of your clothes out of the drawers and the closets at your place and lay them out across the bed.

We’ll go through the pile tomorrow night and bag up what isn’t worth keeping. We’ll drop the worst stuff off at ‘Goodwill’, the rest you can wear to do chores and help the neighbors. I mean it, Donny. That wasn’t a request, it was an instruction I expect you to follow without griping about it. You can’t go around in shabby clothes anymore. It won’t look good and I don’t want a hassle from the county or from your neighbors over the way you look in public. I want everyone to see a new and improved version of Don Henderson from now on.

I don’t know a way to candy coat how to tell you that you lack sufficient pride in your appearance. Maybe you aren’t to blame for it up until to now, but we can’t continue to use that excuse. I have adequate means to provide you with a better wardrobe and steer you toward improving your lax dietary concern.

While I am your guardian, and you stay with me, I expect you to comply with my standards. I mean it, Donny. I want all the junk clothes you have to go. We’ll go shopping again in the evening tomorrow and pick up more new clothes for you. What we bought tonight is only the beginning. We’ll look for the type of clothes that hide the extra weight you carry for a while. I don’t care what it costs. That’s my worry. Your job is to learn how to look as best you can in public from now on. Don’t you care about what people think when they see you?"

I slid my hand under my right armpit. The polo shirt I was wearing had a big hole. I didn’t think it could be seen. The other armpit was threadbare. I was a fat slob. I looked down at the faded jeans in the flashing, hypnotic beams of light from the street lamps we past. The knees were worn out and frayed. Miss Morgan was embarrassed to be seen with me. I shouldn’t have complained to her about the new clothes she got me. I really needed them.

She resented my not being exuberant over her shelling out all that dough. I could have been more considerate and shown more gratitude in a way she expected of me. How was I to know she’d get ticked off? Now, she didn’t sound pleased with my comment about her wasting all the money.

First, she was embarrassed by the way my fat body looks, now she’s upset over the way my clothes look. Mom or Dad never complained about the way I look. Can I help it if my family was broke all the time? We didn’t have money to join a fancy health club for a ‘body beautiful’ or buy tons of fancy duds. My clothes all came from the discount stores, not from the kind of place we went shopping in tonight. She has to cut me some slack. My neighbors don’t wear that kind of stuff either. I belong with them, not with her.

"Take me back home, Miss Morgan. I belong back there, with a common people, like me, not with upscale yuppies. I appreciate your zeal, but I’m not cut out to be a high roller, like you are. I knew it was too good to last.

I’m sorry, but I can’t fake fitting into your standards. Take me home. If you want to use me to satisfy your ego, you can stop by every day to check up on me and keep the county caseworker happy, but you don’t have to dress me up like the people in your neighborhood to look good enough to be seen with me in public. I don’t want to be that much of a bother. Please turn the car around and take me back. Return all this fancy stuff for a refund and go find someone to care for that fits in where you live. If I stay with you, I’ll feel as if I’m living a bold-faced lie."

She pulled over to the curb and set the hand brake. She stared at me with her mouth open. Then she broke out in tears, and threw herself at me, shocking me, drawing me into her soft bosom, wrapping her arms around me.

"Oh, Donny. I’m so sorry! Was I being that condescending? I wasn’t criticizing the way your family lives, was I? I thought you’d jump at the chance to live with me in a nicer part of town with better clothes and lifestyle. I’m sorry. Lord above, back when I was orphaned and destitute, with worse problems than you have, I’d have jumped at the chance to get out of the cesspool I was in. I didn’t mean to be insulting. There’s nothing wrong with lacking nice things. You keep them clean and do the best you can. I wanted to give you nicer things to cheer you up and take your mind off of your problems." She paused and thought for a few seconds to see what I would say. I felt like dirt inside, unable to say how I felt at the time.

 

"Damn, I was rude. Wasn’t I? I must have sounded like an immature, unfeeling snob. Do I come across as a high-falooting airhead that can’t see straight? I’m not, you know. I thought I made it clear to you that my own teen years were far worse than yours are. Am I so blind that I didn’t realize I was insulting you and the way you live? I must seem cruel to you, instead of what I hoped you would find in me. I want to help you, not hurt you. Please, Donny. Forgive me."

I continued to be quiet and think before I said anything. If I spouted off and told her how she made me feel, she’d slap my face and leave me to the wolves. I had to save the house. If it meant I’d have to suck up to a woman with an agenda for helping destitute young men, why not play the game, too? She wants to play ‘big sister’? Fine we’ll play. We’ll play until she gets a belly full of me. I’ll let her buy me so much stuff; she’ll OD on her credit cards and then, when she throws in the towel, I’ll sell the clothes and use the money wisely to pay off the creditors. It was time to lay it on the line. She’d either back off or throw me out. I was ready…

"The dig about my clothes looking like rags is the truth. I can’t help that, but you don’t have the right to dictate when, where and how I get rid of them. They’re mine. The things I have are worn out and weather beaten, sure, but they’re my things, not yours to dispose of.

I don’t think I have to accept any changes in the way I live, nor do you have any right to use me to prove something to all your upscale friends. I am what I am. Trying to make me become some image you have in your head, that I’m not, isn’t going to work. I like you, but if you keep trying to change me into some figment of your imagination, some ‘ideal’ kid brother or stepson, we’re both going to have a very rough time of it, to see who comes out on top.

I like what I am. If you don’t like it, I’d appreciate your saying what you expect of me, and ask me, not demand me to change for your benefit. Depending on what you expect is reasonable, I want to be able to agree or disagree, so we both can come to a mutual understanding. I won’t become your puppy-dog to pat on the head and throw a few bones once in a while, even if those bones are expensive and fit your lifestyle. It isn’t my lifestyle. I’m sorry, but it isn’t me.

Try to see it from where I’m sitting. None of this was my idea, although I thought of you right away when the caseworker wanted me to suggest someone to act as my guardian. All I expected was someone that would stop by and check up on me, not someone that wants to rebuild me, like some kind of project or hobby. My being your ward wasn’t your idea either, but now you expect me to do whatever you say, just because I need a guardian while my dad isn’t able to be around.

Somehow, I think I’d rather take my chances with the county caseworker than become some kind of social endeavor of yours. With any luck, they’ll put me in a decent foster home and the bank can sell the house to pay everybody off. Now please drop me off at my house. In the morning, I’ll call the caseworker. She can take it from there. I’ll pack up and be ready for her by the time she can get there."

It was her turn to think before she replied. She took her time, wiped her tears and stared out into space looking straight into the windshield. I gave her a mouthful to think about. She was a lawyer. I knew I was outclassed, but I didn’t care. I was knee deep in her shit and didn’t give a damn what she thought.

"Well, EXCUUUSSSE me! That was some ultimatum, Donny! You little snot, you! I suppose I had that coming for being so pushy. I didn’t think you had that in you. I had you figured all wrong. I thought you’d want a strong willed guardian. Boy, did I have you figured out wrong! What am I saying? I was hoping you’d want me to be strong and protect you the way I once needed someone. You don’t need me at all. That puts things in a completely different light, but I still want to help.

You certainly have the guts to say what you mean. I’m proud of you. You’re no wimp when cornered. Let’s not go overboard, yet. We’ll start all over. Give me a chance. I’ll try to listen to what you want, instead of ignoring you because you’re still young. I’ve never done something like this, so I’m bound to mess things up as we go along. If you forgive me, I’ll try to comply with what you want. Deal?"

It was my turn to hesitate again. I didn’t want to appear anxious. I had trouble looking at her. If I flinched, she’d know I was bluffing, baiting her. I had to play a cool hand, even if I was burning up inside. I didn’t want to go to a foster home any more than I wanted to live with crabby Mrs. Sullivan next door. That would be a living hell. Yikes! 100, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, can’t stall too long. She’ll balk!

"Yeah, sure. Why not? We can talk things out and see what happens. Most of the things you want me to do are okay with me, except the exercize program. It won’t work, because I don’t want to look like someone enrolled in a ‘fat farm’ for girls. If they don’t wrestle, use weights or do guy’s gymnastics, count me out." I looked out the side window of the car. A man stood in the shadows, watching us. "Start the car, ma’am. We’ve got an audience outside. He must think I’m your boyfriend and we’re having a spat, or he expects to see some X-rated action."

She reacted like a robot, putting the car into gear, peeling away from the curb, while we laughed like two kids who were caught making out in a car. Her nice apartment was only a few blocks from where we were parked. "I hope he wasn’t a neighbor of yours. Imagine what he’s going to tell his wife when he gets home. He’ll say you were a ‘cradle robber’ with bad eyesight." We roared in unison until the car was inside her stall in the three-sided carport.

It took me four trips to drag all the stuff up to her apartment. She didn’t help me. Said women have to ‘go’ more often. I lined everything up on the sofa and waited for her. She was taking a long time in the ‘john’. I turned around as she opened the door and joined me. My eyes almost popped out of my head. She had this short see-through thing on, that left almost all of her body show. Her long legs were covered in a glimmering pair of stockings held up by three suspenders on each leg, and her huge breasts were plain as day above her corset. GULP!

She had a black silk lounging jacket thrown back over one shoulder, suspended by her long index finger which was next to her left breast, drawing attention to it as she wiggled it back and forth.

"Well, Donny. Let’s discuss your clothes. Which would you rather be wearing at this time? Want to keep your faded jeans and that threadbare rag you call a shirt on, or would you prefer to sit next to me in this lounge coat, wearing a sexy pair of your new silk underwear? Take your pick!"

"I-I-I, the coat,"

"Then first get into the shower and wash that filth off of your body." She tossed the jacket to me and rummaged through the pile on the couch until she found the one package she was looking for. When she bent over, I could see the darkness of her crease between the twin globes of her tempting lower cheeks. She wiggled it in my face a few seconds, and stood up quickly, catching my frozen gaze.

"See something you like, or do you want to wear these black ones I bought for you earlier? You tried to act all grown up with me in the car. What’s wrong, now? Don’t you want to assert that macho power anymore? In two years you’ll be in your prime. You’ll be eighteen, going on Twenty-five. By then you’ll beg me to wear an outfit like this. Why wait? You wanted to act like a man in the car, why stop now? I’ll be as accommodating as you’d like me to be. All you have to do is be my big, strong hero. Make demands of me like you did in the car. I’m yours."

"I, uh, one year. I’ll be eighteen in one year and three weeks."

"Well, what do you know? I thought I’d have to wait for two whole long years for you, before you would make any adult demands of me. Here you are all grown up and ready to go. If you want to be treated like an adult, all you have to do is charm my panties off, handsome. Who knows? I may fall in love with you and keep you, my pet! Do you want me? You think you’re a prize worthy of my admiration, don’t you? Go ahead, you’d like to take what you see, don’t you?"

"Yes, no. I mean no, yes. I don’t think I’m a prize but I’d like to take what, no I don’t. I mean I’d like to but I haven’t the right to take..."

"No you don’t, do you?"

"No, ma’am."

"You don’t because I have the kind of body that is something beautiful to behold and you don’t think you can face the challenge of becoming worthy to take any woman like me for your own. Take a good look in the mirror once you’re in there, Donny. Ask yourself if a girl like me should cower in your masterful presence if you desire her. Ask yourself if you’re that worthy. I wanted to help you to become worthy of knowing what a beautiful woman wants to see in a man. I wanted to help you become a heartthrob. What’s the use! All you want to do is to lie around and blubber, wallow in your own self-pity, and strike out at someone in spite.

Oh, you’d rather question my motives and make demands of me, instead. Fine. Get clean, put a nice set of clothes on and see how you look. See if you think I like what you see. See if you want to continue being an overweight nerd. Go!"

"Yes, ma’am."

"Wait! Don’t go yet. Think about this, after you take a good long, look at yourself. In a year, you could be that man, Donny. But you’ll have to follow my guidance and do what I suggest to you. I’ve never done it before, so I may not always say things in a nice way. Go ahead, and resist me! Tell me where to get off! After all, who am I to tell you what you should do? In a year, you can write me off. Give me my walking papers. You don’t have to do anything I ask of you. We’ll see what you look like if you continue doing things your own way.

On the other hand, you can take my advice, no matter how careless I am in the way I present it. If you do, you’ll be very pleasantly surprised and you’ll be able to feel proud in what you’ve accomplished. I know, because I’ve done it, myself. I’m a swan now, and I don’t mind bragging. It took a lot of sweat and strain. See the results! What do you think? Was it worth the effort? Do you want to develop a body with fine lines and smooth curves, to cause others to lust after you? Take your pick, kid. The choice is yours.

Call the caseworker in the morning, if you’d like. I felt like letting you see what a well defined woman looks like up close before you make a decision." She turned around and went into her bedroom and slammed the door in my face.

Whew! She got to me. She showed me what to expect in a sexy body, all right! What I wouldn’t be willing to do to turn the head of a girl like her. I took my hot shower, and turned the hot tap off, finishing with an icy shower, to cool myself off. I previously had a scant, perverted idea what a sexy girl looked like for real. Her body was a lot more vividly vibrant, soft and more provocative than any of the many racy images of women in dad’s filthy sex magazines. They were all good looking, but nothing like Miss Morgan.

I dried off and put on the black briefs she bought me. Half way up my legs, I got as hard as a rock. The cold shower didn’t deter my sex drive much. I donned the smooth jacket and went to bed, and tossed and turned all night. The new briefs kept me erect. I didn’t dare go to the john to relieve the torture. She’d know what I was up to. I wouldn’t give in. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

In the morning we both had toast and black coffee. We sat silently, waiting for the other to back down and give in. Neither of us did. She curtly dropped me off at the house and drove off to the bank without comment. I read for a while, but I had trouble keeping my mind on the book. All I could think of was some way to back off without seeming like a wimp. She was silent all through lunch. Lunch! Hah!

We split a can of tuna on a bed of lots and lots of lettuce, with a few pickle slices and saltine crackers. She handed me another one of her computer-generated lists. She was good at making up lists. No misunderstandings. How can you say you misunderstood or forgot instructions given in writing, clear and precise?

It explained that she wanted to go shopping again, as soon as she arrived. I was not to plan on dinner. We’d eat out for a change.

Reluctantly, I started emptying out my dresser and beat-up chest of drawers. In fear of not having anything to wear, I was lax in discarding stuff that was way too small. I had to do laundry every few days to stay dressed in the same old things that still fit, sort of fit. If I lost some weight as Miss Morgan suggested, I might still be able to squeeze into some of the stuff, but I was kidding myself. I’d never get to wear any of this trash!

The stacks on the bed were meager. The sweats I was wearing were probably almost as heavy as all of my laid-out, worn-out junk. I bagged it all up. No sense kidding myself. All I had beside what was in the bathroom hamper was a few worthless rags, except for all those things she bought for me the evening before.

I thought about my first reaction when she insulted me last night. Glad that I let her have it, both barrels, at close range. I’ll let her get her rocks off by buying me new stuff. Why not? What did I have to lose? I could toss out or ignore the things she buys that I didn’t like. Sure! That’s it! Let her pick out the things she thinks will ‘inspire’ me to lose weight. Wouldn’t hurt to look presentable, but I wasn’t about to let her dictate how I dress. She had to be told. I wanted some latitude in how I dress. Be damned if she’d dress me up in sissy stuff women like!

I flipped the half empty bag over my shoulder and headed for the garbage can in the back yard, next to our empty garage. Maybe a neighbor would be interested in renting the garage. Dad’s car was beyond repair after his last fender bender and went to the junkyard to pay for his booze. Dad sold whatever wasn’t nailed down to support his drinking. I could pay a few more dollars toward the overdue utility bills with rent money from a neighbor for the using the garage

I spotted a business envelope taped to the glass on the back door on my way out and put down the bag of old clothes. At first I thought it was another ‘final’ notice from the gas or electric company about turning off a utility. Then I noticed it was a plain white envelope. I set the bag clothes down and pulled the envelope off of the door. It wasn’t sealed, so I looked inside and took out the single typed out sheet of paper and unfolded it.

Lawyers. They write everything down, to prove they told you something, so you can’t deny that they did. Okay! Let’s see what’s on her mind:

Dear Donny,

Please read this entire note before you throw it away. I’m sorry for being pushy with you last night. Please accept my formal apology. I’m not used to acting as a guardian for someone, so I beg you to forgive my impatience and lack of propriety.

You will need to experience for yourself the difference in the way people will treat you once you lose some weight. I know because I was much heavier than you are when I began. Yes, I wore size 3X clothes when I was your age. People ducked from me, when they could. I ignored the signs and attributed their attitude to my bland personality. I wouldn’t admit it was the prejudice people have against those who are overweight that isolated me from normal social ties.

I was forced to lose weight, completely against my will, by the pain and starvation imposed on me by my uncles like your dad is being forced to abstain from drinking. They only wanted me to become a sex slave, willing to be used for their pleasure and profit whether I wanted to become one or not.

My modifications were achieved quite rapidly by using some severe medical and psychological controls they forced upon me like the team of qualified doctors is forcing a strict alcohol deprivation regimen on your dad to rid his body of his physical dependence on his health destructive addiction.

You have an addiction, too, much like your dad’s, one with a major difference. The difference is: since you resist taking my advice, as you must have resisted the advice of countless others to become as heavy as you are, you must choose to change of your own accord. Mere coercion will not be enough.

Your dad’s change must be imposed on him. No one will force you to control your excessive eating. I can offer a healthy diet on a daily basis, but I can’t constantly stand over you to see that you don’t sneak food when you can. No one will beat you into submission, as my uncles once did to me.

You must WANT to change. For your own sake, I hope you do. Write one word on the face of the envelope. YES, NO, or leave a big question mark. I won’t even ask you again

Terry.

I read the letter twice. Food Addiction! A cruel term for something most people fight to control day in and day out. What’s so bad about being fat? Lot’s of us are heavy as stone. We don’t go around smashing cars, driving over our neighbors’ lawns and bushes or fighting and being nuisances to everyone around us. My compulsive eating harms no one but me.

No one but me! She knew it would be my downfall. People don’t like me because I’m fat. The neighbors only tolerate me and are finally putting aside the prejudice in favor of helping me preserve the house, for their own interests, so they don’t end up with worse new neighbors. George said it yesterday. I’d be better than a ‘passel’ of kids running under foot, a nuisance! Is that what he compares me to?

Am I a lesser nuisance to George? How often did I admonish myself into thinking I shouldn’t lose any weight or the few things I have would hang on me funny, so I could justify my eating food off of dad’s plate, not to waste it. The older things might fit me better if I drop a few pounds. What difference would it make? I’m about to toss all that stuff away, anyway. I’ll have no excuse. Terry will buy me any clothes I want, whether I lose weight or not.

I searched the kitchen for a pencil. I was about to write a big question mark on the envelope. I could always change my mind, later.

Who’s kidding whom? I’ll never lose any weight. I’ll be fat for as long as I live.

Who’s to care? Hey say fat people die younger. Mom died young. The weight was cited as a major factor in her early demise. Liquor kills too! It’s killing dad as sure as if he took poison, slow agonizing poison.

Is that what food is, too? Are we all put on Earth to choose whether we die from the slow agonizing torture we put our bodies through by overeating, or by picking some other torturous way to die? I stared at the blank face of the envelope, and thought about Miss Morgan’s habit of writing things down. The power of words, that’s what lawyers use to win their cases. Research, like the pile of books sitting in the living room, waiting for me to read, that’s the way to eradicate ignorance and prejudice. We read and learn ways to wipe out the vacuum of our stupidity.

The books! They’re not for me to learn how to deal with dad’s addiction! She had me get them to learn to deal with mine! Everything in the books about alcohol abuse applies directly to food, as well. Dad is in qualified hands. Professionals are treating his addiction. It’s my addiction she got the books for!

How stupid of me! She knew! I’d read the books to be of help to dad, who is far beyond my helping. Instead, I’d be learning to deal with my own addition, without guessing why I was doing it. Why didn’t she tell me? Why?

Because, if she did, I wouldn’t bother to read the books! Of course! Well, she’s wrong! I’ll read every last one. Not for dad, but because I need to read them!

I left the bag of old clothes where they were and sat down in the easy chair in the living room. I sorted the books out by what I felt was most germane. I chose one and read it from cover to cover, circling passages that were equally applicable to eating disorders. It was amazing how many times the book made the correlation.

I devoured the book and chose the second. It was small and took no time at all to read. I speed read a third, and a fourth, looking for things that weren’t covered in the first three. After four, I decided to hit the john. The amount of veggies we had added to the diet was making my stomach grumble. I took the fifth book into the john with me.

It was for naught. I never got a chance to read. The recent changes in my diet enabled me to ‘clip a loaf’ as soon as I sat down, unlike my usual fifteen minutes of arduous coaxing. I returned to the living room after getting myself a can of soda, ugh, diet soda. That’s all we had in the house.

Within an hour, I was halfway through reading the fifth book when the sudden urge propelled me into the bathroom. A second bout with my overactive digestion resulted in the rapid expulsion, equal in proportion to the first. That was odd, I couldn’t remember having two urgent movements within an hour of each other.

I had to take better notice of what I was ingesting, or it could be embarrassing.

I dropped the book as I turned to do some paperwork. The list of books from the library slipped out and onto the floor. After hiking up my pants and washing my hands, I retrieved the book and the folded list from the floor. I glanced at the list. The first five books were the ones I had read over the past four hours or so.

They were listed in the same order that I chose earlier, on my own, to read the books. That cinched it. She had me go to the library to get books that applied equally to my addiction to food, not for the problem dad was facing! I was glad the books weren’t long, drawn out theoretical theses. They were quite small, so it didn’t take long for me to see the connection. Question is, did she know I’d see the pattern and understand her motive, without her spelling it all out to me.

 

Miss Morgan’s carefully planned intent was obvious. She wasn’t only interested in my welfare. My health and happiness were higher priorities to her. Otherwise she’d have made a list of the bills that needed to be paid, not the books I needed to read. I paced back and forth across the worn-out living room rug, tapping the envelope in one hand against the other. Time was running out.

I went to the kitchen and wrote one word across the face of the envelope.

 

YES!

 

To be continued.

 

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