Autumn in the Blue Ridge

Fall in the southeast Tennessee hill country is usually a pleasant affair. Even as the trees begin to surrender their leaves, days are warm and nights are cool but not frigid. It was such a season in the late nineteen sixties when my life changed forever. America then was experiencing Viet Nam protests, civil rights marches, riots and drugs, but aside from news stories on our old black and white TV, none of that made its way to the sleepy Blue Ridge hamlet I grew up in.

Hello, my name is Tatum, but everybody calls me Tater. That hamlet was called Large Mill, population less than a hundred folks. At one time it was busy lumber area, but the mill at the bottom of the mountain closed after the second world war, and the village gradually dried up, as they say.

My mama, with my afterschool and weekend help, ran a small grocery store on the first floor of our century-old white frame duplex house, right on the main road at the edge of town. We lived upstairs. She was also the town Postmistress, an extra job she got after my daddy was killed in Korea when I was just three.

Short and slightly built, I was a premature baby, arriving more than three months early. After graduation I got my draft notice and tried to join the Navy. I took the bus to the induction center down in Georgia, but I didn't meet the military's minimum height and weight requirement. That spring the government closed the Large Mill Post Office.

Without the salary and rent paid by the Post Office, there wasn't enough money to keep running the store. Mama had a big heart and let a lot of credit accounts get behind, since many of the customers were struggling to make ends meet.

Luckily Mama transferred to a job as a postal clerk, sorting mail on trains going back and forth between cities all over the South and East. She was gone a few days at a time, but I was old enough to stay home alone and not burn the house down, she said as a joke. She'd call collect from whatever YWCA she was staying at to check on me sometimes, always after eleven o'clock at night when long distance rates were cheapest.

So back to our house, Mama decided to hire a handyman to rebuild the first floor into an apartment to rent out. So, I spent the summer helping him.

2

Oscar the handyman was a big fellow, quite muscular and dark skinned with a bit of gray hair. He was what we now would call African American. There were other words people used back then, but Mama said we are all created by the same God and not to use those words or she would whip me good, so I never got in the habit. Besides, Oscar was really nice to me, patient when I messed up a measurement, or handed him the wrong tool. He was frequently touching my arm or back and spent more time looking right at me than anyone ever had before. He worked his way around to asking me about my girlfriends, and I told him I never had one, but pretty Becky May Flynn did show me her big ol' boobies at the creek one time. We were the last two swimming that day, and she just pulled her top down and laughed at my reaction. Oscar then asked if it made my pecker hard. I blushed like a bride and said I guessed so. Luckily a truck pulled up to the house with some plasterboard, so I didn't have to talk about my pecker anymore.

Looking back, I think Oscar missed his calling. He would have been a good salesman or maybe minister. He was always complimenting me, and seemed to show a great interest in everything I had to say. I know I had a reputation as a motor mouth. I also had been warned by my mama not to talk 'so dramatically' and not to gesture so much, because that was considered, 'well... feminine'. That didn't seem to bother Oscar, who sometimes worked in a comment or two about my blue eyes and long lashes, but then after my confused reaction, would hold my back and say not to worry that I'd find a girl soon.

Another nice thing Oscar did was teach me to drive in his old pickup truck. I remember it well, a rust bucket old Dodge with a stiff clutch. I never learned before that time, because a body could walk from one end of the town to the other in a few minutes, so Mama never had a car.

I'll never forget one of the lessons Oscar and I had the night we finished the apartment. All that was left was to paint, which was going to be my job alone. Oscar had me drive up and stop the truck on an old logging trail. So this time he said to cut the motor off and starts some of his usual nice comments, and then said he had something he bet I'd like. I thought he had a tool for me or something. I said "Sure what?" and he grabbed the back of my head and pushed it down toward his lap. I had no idea what he was doing, heck I was looking for a surprise on the floor or something.

I hadn't noticed in the dark that he had snuck his belt and pants open and zipper down, and his jockey shorts too. With my head in his lap there was no light at all, but I felt my lips touch a knob of soft skin. All I could smell was his stale sweat. It was a stronger version of what I had gotten whiffs of when we were working close together in the downstairs. Strangely the scent made me feel closer to him, but now was kind of a shock.

I was so surprised I pulled up a bit and got flustered and froze. Everything made sense now. Oscar supposedly had a wife at home, but he never really mentioned her. I guess he liked men, or at least me, for sex also. This was why he was so nice to me and why he waited until the job was finished, to try to get me to suck him. In case I said no, we wouldn't have to see each other again. My stomach started doing flip flops and my heart started beating really fast.

He asked "Don'tcha like it?"

I didn't answer but I didn't try to pull away either. Even though I was a fellow, I understood even then I had a sort of schoolgirl crush on this large dark man. I really liked Oscar and didn't want him mad at me. I shrugged.

"Aw Tater just give it a try," he said.

"Sorry," I mumbled, chickening out.

3

After I raised up my head, he said we better get back and started zipping up his pants. It was quiet on the bumpy drive back down the logging road. The only sound was the motor in low gear and tree branches scraping the sides of the truck sometimes. Finally Oscar asked if I was mad at him and I shook my head no. Actually I was quiet because of thinking I wouldn't see him after this night, which made me sad. I couldn't think of how to tell him that.

When we had parked in front of my house, the moon was bright and I could see his face when I got out and he shifted over to the driver's side. He said have my mama call him if she needed any other work done. He said he was sorry about what he tried to make me do up in the woods, that he had made a mistake and please don't tell anyone. I just stood there as he put the Dodge in gear. As he looked forward he wasn't smiling and the truck began to roll away.

He wasn't happy, and neither was I. I regretted not sucking his pecker, as I had realized on the way home. This was my last chance. I panicked and ran to catch up with the departing truck and was barely able to reach out and bang on the back fender. He stopped in the middle of the road. The brakes squeaked and the truck's tail lights glowed red as I hopped on the side step, out of breath. I looked into the window at him and said I wished the work wasn't finished yet so he would keep coming over. He said he would come by every once in a while to check on me. Then before I lost my nerve, I said I was sorry about 'up in the woods', and he didn't make a mistake. I did want to suck him but was just nervous and I would do it as much as he wanted. I couldn't hide my smile that I had admitted to my craving out loud. He smiled also and said he had to go, but confirmed my mama's absence the next few nights, and said he would call. I didn't sleep well that night, my imagination spinning with visions of a mouthful of penis.

Sure enough the phone rang the next day at lunchtime. Oscar said he was coming by but couldn't stay, and had something for me, and to listen for his truck. Soon I heard his horn through the open front windows, and dashed down the stairs.

Out at the truck, he reached out of the window and handed me a wrinkled brown grocery bag that didn't seem to have much in it. I peeked inside and at first I thought it was an animal.

"Is it alive?" I asked.

Oscar had a loud, deep laugh, which was now echoing off the side of the house behind me. "Naw! Look at it but don't take it out!"

Further examination revealed it was a dark brown ladies' wig, and a shiny metal tube that turned out to be lipstick. For a split second I thought that they were things for my mom, but that made no sense. Then I blushed as I realized they were for me. My jaw was probably hanging open I when I made myself look back up at him. He glanced up and down the road to make sure no one was nearby.

"Maybe we can pick up where we left off...yew know, up in the woods," he said at a lowered volume, pointing down to his lap, then grinned. "Yew still wanna do that, right?"

I nodded, smiling, thinking about his brown dick and wondering what it was going to look like erect, just as I had done most of last night. "Yes sir!"

"Kinda like dress up. Play actin'...yew know," he said about the wig and lipstick. "Maybe yew can borrow an ol' dress or nightgown of yer mama's!"

I nodded, again unsure what to think about 'dressing up.'

Oscar said he would park on the old trail in the woods downhill behind the house, and come to the back door about dark. He didn't want his truck seen parked in front of the house; gossips would think he was visiting Mama at night.

"Okay!" I said, still sort of in shock, rolling up the top of the bag.

As I hopped back up our front stairs, I was kind of insulted. What was wrong with me the way I was? I realized nothing I guess, since he already tried for a blowjob without me playing a girl. Maybe it just added to the fun for him. I went into mama's bedroom and put on the wig. It was chin length and had bangs across the forehead, and the ends were flipped up into an open curl all the way around the bottom. Standing in front of Mama's full length mirror, I slid the red lipstick around lightly across my mouth and smiled. I unbuttoned my plaid shirt and let it fall off, then covered my chest with a single arm like I was hiding breasts. Imagining myself as a teen girl, I was suddenly, happily intrigued. Headed for some old trunks full of women's clothes, I opened the hallway door to the dusty, narrow attic stairway.

4

Later that same day, nightfall approached as I sat in our kitchen, ready for his visit. I was a bundle of nerves, between my unfamiliar state of dress, doubts about his approval of my outward appearance, and my first time doing any kind of sex act. There was also the remote possibility of Mama returning early.

Back when I helped Mama sort mail downstairs and put it into the various pigeonholes, she would mutter the world 'filth' when curling up and sliding plain, manila, magazine-sized envelopes, all from New York City, into Mr. Cantwell's box. He was an older man with no kin who lived alone, and after he died, Mama stamped his mail 'RETURN - DECEASED' in red ink. Violating postal regulations, I managed to sneak one the mysterious, returned magazines up to my room, expecting pages filled with naked girls. To my surprise, there were no women in sight, just pictures of pants-less men showing off their hairy peckers in settings varying from the beach to a closed factory to a boxing ring. Many of the photos showed close ups of the long, hard, expanded dicks. There were detailed stories of homosexual encounters. My own pecker was stiff as a board as I flipped the pages and read it cover-to-cover. I knew for sure then I was different, but doubted I would ever be able to do anything about it here in the hills.

Well, my opportunity was here, and better than I had ever hoped. I heard a dog barking in the distance and got up to check out the back window for about the twelfth time. I was like a kid waiting for Santa. This time I saw a flashlight beam cutting through the underbrush downhill. My stomach leapt. After what seemed like half an hour but was probably two minutes, there was a knock on the screen door at the back stair landing. I felt my heart pounding rapidly in my chest against the foreign band of elastic surrounding it.

Our back stairs were an exterior addition, at one time open to the elements, but now enclosed, descending to ground level and a small covered stoop. An overhead 'bug' bulb in the wall of the upper landing lit the gray painted stairway, casting a yellow tint down the sloped tunnel. Through the screen door below I could make out a vague image of Oscar, lighting a cigarette, the flashlight apparently stowed. He looked up as my elongated shadow draped itself onto the treads.

"Oh! Sorry ta intrude so late ma'am. My truck broke down on th' Creek Road, an' I's lookin'...for..Tate..." His words slowed and stalled. I realized I was in shadow, backlit by the yellow bulb, and the illusion I had labored to create was momentarily, at least, wholly effective.

I stood on the landing in a peach-colored, knee-length diner waitress dress, trimmed with white rickrack, pockets and cuffed short sleeves. The brown wig was corralled with white ribbon into two youthful pigtails behind my ears, which sported opal teardrop clip-on earrings. Pinned into the crown of the wig was a white caplet, completing the uniform. The seersucker dress was strange feeling enough, but less so than the bra; panties, and open-bottom girdle beneath. To the latter were clasped a pair of taupe stockings. I wore no shoes; my implied shift at the truck stop eatery over for the day.

I hoped Oscar liked my surprise. I planned not only to convey the image, but had practiced the obtuse, malcontented tone and insolent demeanor of many teen girls my age. My research was years of interaction, and more so observation, of such young women from babysitters, schoolmates, store cashiers to the demure suburban girls of television. I had spent that afternoon standing in front of the mirror in Mama's room, working on walking, gestures, and my feminine voice, my dick rock hard while I tried on outfit after outfit. The trousseau apparently had belonged to the teen daughter of Mama's older cousin who had lived with us a couple years when I was in grade school. A dry cleaning receipt confirmed my guess that the trunk's contents were about ten years old, relics of a less turbulent time, and the outfits I planned possibly a reminder to Oscar of his days as a younger man.

On the top landing, I stood with a hand on my hip, the other pressed up against the wall. I could smell my own perfume, one Mama was given but didn't like.

"Hey-ay," I said in my new voice. If I kept my words up in my palate and out of my throat, a reasonable facsimile of an alto, slightly wispy, adenoidal female resulted. There was a hint of apathy in my attitude. "Yer Mister Jones ain'tcha? Tater ain't here. I'm his cousin Tammy."

The name was provided by the plastic tag pinned near the right lapel of the uniform. I began to hop down the stairs, my arms flitting about, hands raised to waist height and palms down with wrists somewhat limply supporting them, as if for balance. Not having negotiated stairs previously in this outfit, I enjoyed how the combination of binding on my hips and ribcage and gentle caress of the lightweight uniform felt on my body.

"Tarnation, let's git yew outta the skeeters!" I said, nearing the bottom. I was worried I was loosing suddenly silent Oscar's spproval. "Nice 'ta meetcha," I said cusorily as I unhooked the door, an errand I had fogotten in my afternoon rush to become a girl.

"My pleasure," he replied, his grin reassuring and visible in the dim light. His broad chest and shoulders were stuffed into a set of dark green coveralls, the name 'Bill' was written in script within the white oval above the left upper pocket. "Yew can call me Oscar, Miss Tammy." He stepped through the doorway onto the stoop, a halo of smoke around his head. The screen door slammed shut.

I was elated at his initial acceptance of my charade, but didn't want to let it show. "It's not polite to call elders by their first name," I sassily corrected, hopefully to emphasize that I was barely old enough to legally flirt with. Behind him, the buzz of the insects in the woods was nearly deafening. There was little room for both of us on the small stoop, so I backed up onto the first stair, putting me within a foot of his height. I began to fidget, and twist my hips slowly back and forth restlessly, looking into his intense brown eyes in the dim light, brows raised, waiting for his response. I bit a nail nervously.

He overtly looked me up and down. I had not only used the red lipstick he gave me, I had made up my eyes with mascara, blue shadow and black liner, mimicking what I had watched Mama do dozens of times until I was deemed, as a male, too old to sit with her while I watched her face transform.

"Well ain't yew somethin'?" Oscar said with a smile. "So Tater leftya all alone, huh?"

"I'm not supposed ta have boys over..." I said, sounding perturbed, "when Rosalie' ain't here." I whined, calling my mama by her name since she was Tammy's 'aunt'. I continued my quest for sympathy. "Yew'd think I was a child the way I get treated." I said .He flipped the cigarette around and pushed the butt toward my pouting lips. I had smoked a few here and there, most of them in Oscar's truck or out in the woods. Mama didn't smoke and didn't allow it in the house because it 'left a stank' she said.

"Yew sho' ain't no child," he concurred. "I think they's worried someone might come 'round with...impure...mmm...intentions." A devious grin spread across his lips. I felt vulnerable and extremely naughty in the women's attire. My dick, which had been flaccid during the nerve-wracking wait upstairs, was growing once more, just from the awareness I was being seen. I closed my lips around the filter tip and inhaled lightly.

Enjoying our little drama, I taunted him after I exhaled. "Well, I'm sorry Tater ain't here. I better git upstairs. It's... well, improper fer me ta be down here alone with a...grown man, without a chaperone." I looked into his eyes, raised my brows and smirked.

"I'm glad yer here instead," he said seriously, without a smile. One of Oscar's large hands was suddenly on my shoulder as he removed the stubby Kool Menthol from my mouth with the other. He flicked it out into the darkness after nudging the screen door open with his work boot. My pulse bounded upward with his touch. He looked into my eyes. "Yer awful purty Tammy." He touched me at the temple. He was so close I could smell the taste of the tobacco on his breath, aside from the smoke.

I felt weak and wanted to drop to my knees right then, but didn't dare interrupt his seduction. My spirit soared. It was the first time I felt sexually adequate, desirable enough to be pursued. Still, the teen petulance resumed. I clutched his wrist next to my face, my short nails painted with red model car paint. "Yer awful prezum'chus Mister." I expected him to guide me down to his dick at any moment.

To my shock he leaned in and kissed me briefly, pulling my lower lip away as he retreated. "Yer also an awful brat," he said. Another kiss lingered and his lips still hovered near mine after he withdrew with a gentle smack.

Kissing? I had never thought of it! Oscar had been looking at the wall switch next to us, and his eyes had followed the conduit up to the yellow bulb over the upper landing. He flipped the lever, its click leaving us in only the dim moonlight. The large man used his forearm at the small of my back, jerking me, or more appropriately Tammy, against the concrete-like wall of muscle that comprised the front of his torso. Instantly his lips were locked on mine. A whimper, high pitched without any special effort, escaped me as I joyously yielded to Oscar's demands.