Merle was exotic, beautiful, a dancer and creature of the night whose exquisite features and soft glances drove Douglas to distraction and penetrated his soul. Sometimes she was there, fully present, alive to his senses and electrifying the very essence of him; other times he caught only glimpses of her but was drawn nevertheless to her aura and captivating sensuality.

Life without her, in denial of her, had become increasingly difficult. There was tangible pain, the physical sequelae of stress and longing, despair and hope, an inevitable reliance on others to help him through.

Although Douglas had first known about Merle when he was barely six years old, he had not known who or what she was or anticipated the delicious but excruciating hold she would come to have over him. Unable to speak to his family, he had cried bitter tears when, especially as he grew, the constraints placed on him seemed designed to exclude her, to deny her existence, to denigrate all that she was.

Still, whatever the world thought or each day delivered, he found he could often steal a covert glance or be reminded of her with the swish or swirl of a soft fabric and so Merle remained a part of his life, an unacknowledged icon of beauty, eroticism, elegance and gentility. Trapped outside his everyday experience, she nevertheless drove his dreams, dictated his ambitions and shaped the mask through which he viewed his life.

Douglas ached to introduce her to his friends although he could not be sure how they would react. Well, it would sort the men from the boys, or indeed the girls, he imagined. Douglas allowed himself a smile at that, especially as the day approached when he would be able to launch Merle onto society, his society, changing his life forever.

For the time being he had satisfied himself with brief encounters, reaching out to her as she reached out to him, longing to be in the same space and to show off the wonder of her grace and style. He bought clothes and cosmetics for her, booked appointments for hair and nails, sought out a photographer for the befores and afters. He had gradually re-designed his apartment to reflect her tastes so that there were more mirrors, more drapes, more decorative artefacts, fewer hard edges and masculine accoutrements.

Friends had commented of course, making the obvious joke that Douglas was subtly outing himself and waiting for them to guess. Admittedly, this was inconveniently incompatible with his apparent obsession with Merle who, by all accounts, was as all-girl as it was possible to be. Not that anyone had seen her, these were Douglas’s accounts. There were no photographs, no videos, no independent sightings – in fact no evidence at all of this woman who filled their friend’s mind, heart and increasingly, every waking thought. Douglas kept his counsel. When the time was right, they would all meet Merle and then they would understand.

Today he has packed a bag with Merle’s clothes, cancelled the milk and papers, set off for the station. He would be away for some time, ostensibly on extended travel leave, but he was not travelling far. At least not in terms of mileage. The distance he was travelling and the journey he was making would transcend mundane measures such as these and touch on the core of his humanity.

The people who were going to assist him understood his need, had explored every nuance of it, penetrated every defence and denial along the way and finally agreed to make it possible. He would not be returning, instead Merle would emerge from the prison that had held her all his life, the wrongly coded body that looked and felt unwieldy and incompatible with the person Douglas knew he was. Merle would take her place finally in front of the mirror in which Douglas had first glimpsed her as a child. Exotic and free, she would fulfil the dreams denied to him and consolidate finally the spirit, soul and psyche that had existed only in hiding until now.

Conboy-Hill, 2015, published 2025