Friday, October 14, 2016

A Chance Encounter

I was not even aware of my first ever encounter with Carl, Mrs. Greenwood's "nephew."  Carl was two years ahead of me at Harvard and wasn't in any of my classes.  Neither did we run around in the same social circles.  Our family backgrounds couldn't be more different.  Little did I know that we had so much in common.

It was a sunny, cold and windy Friday afternoon when I jumped on the "T" and made my way to downtown Boston from Harvard Square.  My destination was an adult bookstore in Boston's "Combat Zone."  The Combat Zone was the city's officially designated adult entertainment district, apparently an attempt to rein in the number of these establishments and prevent them from making their way to other neighborhoods.

I only frequented one particular shop, a place where I could usually find a copy of Virginia Prince's "Transvestia" magazine and other publications or newspapers dealing with crossdressing.  I wouldn't buy much since my funds were extremely limited.  I was also scared to go into any of the store's back rooms.

On this particular Friday afternoon I didn't stay in the store very long.  A copy of Transvestia was available and I hurriedly picked it up and made my way to the cash where a big, burly older gentleman sat on a stool smoking a cigar.  He eyed me curiously but said nothing.  I avoided eye contact with anyone at the store as much as possible.  It was both shame and fear.  Neither of those emotions were strong enough however to prevent me from going into the store and making a purchase.  He handed me my change and slipped the book into a brown paper bag about the size of a magazine.  I left quickly.

I had no idea that Carl was in the store also.

I had one more stop to make - Boston's most famous shopping landmark, Jordan Marsh.  My first ever trip to the prominent department store had taken place nearly a decade earlier when my i boarded a bus along with my Mom and a girl cousin of mine to visit the store's famous "Enchanted Village" a large and lavish Christmas display that drew crowds from all over the world.

As I made the walk down Washington street towards the store on this cold Friday afternoon, I thought about that trip and how fascinated I was with that Christmas village.  Today's trip to Jordan Marsh was for a different reason.

I would enter the store and make my way through the lingerie section, trying to feign disinterest in the beautiful panties, bras, foundations garments, nightgowns and other feminine things, as if on my way to the men's section or other part of the store.  I would repeat the walk on my way out.

Even if I had the money, I doubted I would have the guts to buy what I really wanted.  Maybe some day.

When I got back on the subway, I had no idea that Carl was on the same train.

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

A World Away

Harvard University was just a shade under 50 miles from where I grew up and lived in a working class neighborhood in southern New Hampshire.  It might as well have been 50 light years away.  That's how different it was.

In Cambridge I was surrounded by a privileged class, many of them second, third and even fourth generation attendees of one of the world's most prestigious universities.  Me?  Neither of my parents had finished high school, nor had my grandparents.  Only my maternal grandmother had even been born in this country.

I had a scholarship but little else.  I was lacking in funds and lonely.  My mother worked in the mills as a seamstress to support our family.  My father spent most of his money on horses and we didn't live on a farm.  The Daily Racing Form was a staple in our house.  Somewhere in those pages was buried the next big purse or so Dad thought.

The same year I entered Harvard my sister Louise also entered college.  She was ten years my senior, married with two kids and, determined to improve her lot in life, enrolled in night classes at a local junior college.  My Mom was proud of both of us, my Dad indifferent.

My childhood was mostly normal.  I was an excellent student and a decent athlete which explains why I had many friends.  Dad wasn't the least bit interested in either my academic or athletic achievements.  And though there was never any physical abuse, there was plenty of emotional abuse.  As a result, I became very close with my Mom and my sister Louise.

Perhaps it was for that reason that somewhere around the age of six or seven, I had an inexplicable infatuation with my sister's clothes.  I don't remember exactly how it started, and I'll never be able to explain why, but the infatuation grew stronger all the time.  When I reached the age of puberty, I began to masturbate with her panties either by my side or in the hand with which I touched myself, careful not to leave any evidence of my perverted habit.

Prior to Louise's wedding, I managed to sneak three pairs of her panties out and they went unnoticed before she left home.  I took them with me to Harvard.  Lost in loneliness, they served as a security blanket of sorts.

Those lonely days at Harvard were difficult.  In the dead of the winter of my freshman year I was miserable.  Christmas had been a difficult one at home and by mid-February, I was sure I didn't want to return for my sophomore year.

Everything changed for me on April 17, 1973.  It was Patriot's Day in Massachusetts, the day on which the Red Sox would play an 11 AM game against the Detroit Tigers and on which the annual Boston Marathon would be run. 

Carl, a new found friend who hailed from Greenwich CT, had invited me to the game and afterwards, dinner at his "aunt's house" in the Beacon Hill section of Boston.  The Red Sox lost but I remember Reggie Smith hitting two home runs, one right handed and one left handed.  A guy named John Anderson won the men's marathon (the Kenyans hadn't yet begun their assault on the marathon), but we missed most of the race because of the game.

So April 17th, 1973 was the day I met Carl's "aunt",  Mrs. Patricia Greenwood

When I began my sophomore year at Harvard, I was one of her gurls.