Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/40

 longer and heavier than the average male's. Maybe they were the reason. Eyes were very noticeable and his were sort of girlish-looking.

And then he wondered what it would be like to be a girl. He thought of the conversations he had heard in the school lavatories. Conversations dealing with sex and female bodies. He pictured himself a girl and what he would do in case some strong male seduced him. Men were always seducing females. Even in school it had occurred. He had heard of these things. It had been repeated over and over again. In fact several boys, younger than himself, had wished for this. Had even had erections right in front of him and several other boys. They didn't seem to mind who saw their sex organs. They weren't embarrassed, but he was. Why was he? They talked and looked as if they knew something more than he had learned. But he had learned lots these past two years. All about doctors girls went to when they were pregnant, about diseases. He got frightened when he realized that awful things could happen to him, and every time he saw a boy the gang called "Gonde" he remembered the disease this boy was supposed to have had. He still shrank away every time he saw Gonde, and thanked God it had not happened to him.

He left the bathroom and strolled into the bedroom. This room had been his idea and now, looking at it, he was aware that he had created a room of harmony and comfort. He loved every bit of it from the tops of the polished tables to the walls of dull satin paint. He had a flair for coloring and good taste in choosing furniture. He often wondered why. Other boys he knew didn't care what kind of room they slept in. But to him, his room was part of his half-dream world.

Carefully folding the bedspread, he placed it on a chair. Freshly turned-down sheets were tucked all the way around the bed. A fold in one was thrown back to a pair of soft pillows with starched slips, their creases still showing.

He kicked off his loafers and flung himself on the bed. The soft light cast shadows of light yellow across him and deepened the colors of the leaves of the hand-printed paper that rose behind his bed, not stopping until they had reached the ceiling. He lay there on his back, not seeing the ceiling, listening to the words, "You're too pretty to be a boy … good-looker too … come on and dance … the finest 30