He Wasn't Even A Boy! - Part 20

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"Stephanie, are you ready to go public?" "What do you mean?" "There's a CNN team on their way to your school right now. They'd like to interview you about your experience and your goals."

I felt a wave of nervousness. "I... I'm..."

"Don't worry, Stephanie, you'll do fine. All you have to do is be yourself." But that was the sixty-four-dollar question. Who am I? Mr. Martin continued. "By the way, what are you wearing?"

"My cheerleading uniform."

"You're kidding," I told him about being invited onto the squad, though I left out the hazing part. "That's priceless! We couldn't have planned it any better. You're going to be perfect. I've already made arrangements with your Principal Grogan. He was very accommodating and spoke highly of you." I'll just bet he did. "When will they get here?"

"About twenty minutes. Just relax, Stephanie, and let your femininity carry the day." We said goodbye.

My mind was in a whir.l I was about to be interviewed by one of the largest news organizations in the world. CNN's audience ran upwards of a billion people each week. And they were going to learn about me? What in heaven's name am I going to do?

I didn't even want my deadbeat father to know I'd changed sex, and now I was going to broadcast it to the planet?

I prayed Mr. Martin knew what he was doing. Sure enough, I was summoned to the principal's office a short time later. Knees shaking, I walked in to find a lovely blonde woman, very professionally dressed, talking with Mr. Grogan.

She smiled as I entered, while my principal was taken aback. I suddenly realized he'd not seen me in a cheerleader's outfit before. Our eyes met, and I knew the same image was flashing through both our minds: me, lying across his lap, with my short pleated skirt hiked up while he... disciplined me.

Even more disconcerting was the brief sexual thrill that ran through my body, and the realization that a part of me wanted to recreate what we had done together last week. I shook myself back to reality and was introduced to the reporter. Her name was Connie Hart, and she was a pro. She had a knack for making people feel at ease while simultaneously taking charge.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Stephanie. Mr. Grogan has kindly granted us to talk and to show a little bit about what you're going through."

I found myself envying her gracious manner and elegant style. I was a girl she was a woman. I realized I had a long way to go before I'd ever reach her level of sophistication. Amazingly, though, I felt like I wanted to get there someday. We spoke in a conference room for a few minutes while the camera crew set up. Then we did some takes under the lights before the formal interview began.

It was nerve-wracking at first, but like any skilled journalist, she was adept at drawing people out. I was relaxing more and more while I told my story, to the point where I was revealing my emotions to a greater degree than I ever intended. Without meaning to, I teared up as she gently questioned my reaction to being barred from running.

After I got back under control, she asked a number of background queries. Then they did some candid shots me with my friends, working out on the track, and so forth. I cringed as they caught me on camera holding hands with Hal.

All the other kids were intrigued as the TV crew traveled with me through my daily routine.

It was over before I knew it. As the gear was being packed up, Ms. Hart came back to me.

"I must say, Stephanie, I am very impressed by you. I've always been fascinated by boys who've been forced to deal with GB, but you've put a novel twist on things.

As a journalist, I strive for objectivity, but that doesn't prevent me from wishing for happy endings."

"I was scared of this whole idea," I responded. "I wasn't sure what I was getting int,o but thanks for going easy on me."

"Don't worry, Stephanie. Just watch tonight's broadcast. I think you'll find I'm more than fair."

There was a glint of humor in her eyes as she said goodbye. That night, Mom and I waited in front of the TV with great anticipation.

My stomach seemed to go into a spin cycle as the announcer introduced the story. Then it began. Connie Hart did the voiceover. "Meet Stephanie Lind.

By all appearances, a normal teenage girl. She's a student (shot of me in class), a cheerleader (shot of me in uniform), and an athlete (shot of me on the track). She gossips with her girlfriends (shot of Becky, Sue, and me giggling) and has a place in her heart for a special guy." (shot of Hal and me). I groaned upon seeing that.

"But Stephanie is no ordinary girl, for just a couple of weeks ago... she was a boy." (File footage of an earlier race to see my old self on the screen).

"Now GB is not a new phenomenon, and many stories have already been told.

But what makes Stephanie unique is a court injunction that implies she's not really a girl after all, and that may cost her the dream of a lifetime.

Stephanie is arguably the best high-school miler in the United States.

As a schoolboy, she recently became the first to run a sub-four-minute mile in three decades. Although struck by GB, she refused to be stopped in her quest for athletic excellence. She bravely rejoined the team as a girl and produced one of the fastest female times in the country this year.

"Yet her hopes for the future are in jeopardy, because a rival school recently blocked Stephanie from competing.

Their reason despite all scientific evidence to the contrary, they are claiming she should not be considered a biological girl and should be prohibited from competing against other females."

The camera shots shifted to a close-up of the Oxton coach. Extreme close-up, making him look rather sinister. And it was then I realized this was turning into a classic '60 Minutes-style hatchet job.

"Coach Jenkins, you say Stephanie should not be allowed to compete. Every major scientific body in the country has defined GB girls as truly female. Why is your position different?" I was amazed at the change in Ms. Hart's tone aggressive and scornful.

"Well, I just want to be sure she doesn't have an unfair advantage due to her previous status as a boy. We don't know..." Ms. Hart interrupted him. "Despite the overwhelming evidence that no such advantage exists?"

"Well... there's no absolute proof of that. She could still have an edge that science cannot detect." "And the fact that you have a star athlete of your own isn't motivating your actions at all?

If Stephanie's out of the picture, then your girl is much more likely to win the national championships, isn't she?" Ms. Hart's tone became accusatory. An unflattering picture of Melody McCarthy was shown. God, did these newscasters have an agenda or what?

"It's not about that," Coach Jenkins replied awkwardly. "We just want to make sure things are fair, that's all."

Instant cut to me being interviewed by Ms Hart at school. A tear was running down my face. "All I'm asking is a fair chance to compete." There was a little more of the Oxton side, with Ms. Hart listening disdainfully to Coach Jenkins.

At one point, he obliquely attempted to imply I wasn't a real girl, which led to another instant cut of me in my cheerleader's uniform caught in a very flattering light. My breasts pushed out my top quite nicely, and I noted for the first time that I had really good legs.

It was certain I was as feminine as could be. When that image was juxtaposed with Coach Jenkins's comments, he appeared silly. Which was the whole point. There were more interviews with my friends, including Coach Bradford and Sue.

"What was your reaction when you learned your boyfriend was turning into a girl?"

"I was so scared for him about how he was going to handle it. And I was so sad to realize our romance would be over." There was a poignant look on Sue's lovely face. "And how have things been since he became Stephanie?" Ms. Hart asked. Her expression brightened.

"She's amazing! I'm very proud of her. She's adjusted so well, and she's determined to be the best girl she can be. I think of her as my sister, now." The piece ended with a shot of me gazing pensively across the school's 400-meter track, my long hair blowing gently in the breeze.

Ms. Hart gave the voiceover. "Stephanie Lind has already faced more challenges in her few years than most.

Tomorrow, a court will decide if this young girl's dreams will stay alive, or if they'll be taken from her the way her previous life was.

Reporting for CNN, this is Connie Hart." Wow. They'd certainly done a number on Oxton. The phone rang; it was Jim Martin. "Did I not tell you?" There was a satisfied tone to his voice.

"You sure did, Mr. Martin. They couldn't have been better if we paid them. Um... we didn't pay them, right?"

"Don't worry, Stephanie, I don't play that way. I just gave them what they wanted."

"And what was that?"

"A story that writes itself. Modern journalism isn't about facts or truth anymore. What editors want nowadays are simple morality plays. They want heroes and villains, good guys and bad guys. All neatly packaged up in a few sound bites. We opened the door and let their stereotypes carry the day.

Of course, Oxton did make it easy for us." "You ARE good." "Thank you, young lady. And you were great. Now get some rest. We've got a big day tomorrow." Hal called me then to wish me luck.

"You looked very, very nice," he said.

"So did you. You don't mind that we were outed?"

"Nope," he replied with certainty.

"I... I was a little worried, Hal. I keep thinking you're going to figure out I used to be a guy and then run away from me. I'm amazed you're not embarrassed."

"Yeah, sometimes it's kind of weird.

You'll get a certain expression or make a move, and I'll remember you used to be Jack. But now, you're so... so girly! Don't take this the wrong way, I'm kind of glad this happened. I'm... happier with you than I ever imagined. You're a real lady... through and through.

You're Stephanie now, and the fact that you were born a boy doesn't mean you're not truly female. I can... sense it." "Like a disturbance in the Force."

"You know what I mean. There's something different about girls that resonates with a guy. I feel that with you, if you were still male in some way, I wouldn't have these same... emotions.

And if other people can't deal with that, fuck 'em." "I'd rather you did that to me." Jesus! Did I just say that? I felt my face flush - damn hormones. I had a vision of a new movie: "Milford Girls Are Easy".

He paused for a moment, and I swear I could sense his erection over the phone. There was an almost palpable sexual tension in the air in reaction to what I'd said. However crudely, I'd just confirmed what we both had anticipated: that sooner or later, we were going to make love.

My heart fluttered, and my panties grew wet. Then Hal took a ragged breath. Finally, he chuckled.

"All in good time. And now I have to... attend to certain matters." Being a former boy, I knew exactly what he meant. He wished me luck again ,and we said good night. I was in a state of arousal myself, as I envisioned him... relieving certain pressures with me in his thoughts.

I spent a little extra time in the shower with my new friend, Mr. Nozzle. I kept imagining a tumescent Hal, him fantasizing about being inside me, while the fact that I could turn him on excited me even more.

I struggled to keep silent as the intense girl's orgasm washed across my body (ever so gooood!), but a few soft moans were inevitable.

I had an uneasy night's sleep. I was nervous about appearing in court, and I also felt a little guilt as I recalled the CNN story. Oxton really had been set up to lose, and I wasn't sure if that was fair. But then I remembered the insulting attitude of the Oxton coach and Melody's snide remark about bra-stuffing.

That kept me from feeling too remorseful. The next morning offered two more feminine firsts. Tampons and nylons. There's probably a song in there somewhere:

"Oh, he was a good boy, real good, yes sir.

But now it's tampons and nylons for her." My period had reached the point where I could no longer rely on pantyliners to keep things under control. Instead, I would have to rely on... Rely.

I was forced to ask my mother for help. The whole application process was intimidating. Once again, no dignity for me as I squatted slightly to insert the plastic and cotton assembly into my...

Like before, whenever I was doing something new that drove home how female I'd become, I felt a little less sure about my new life. Jack seemed to manifest himself in protest of the girl he was trying not to be. But it was useless.

He... I... we... were irreversibly a member of the fair sex doomed to endure every facet of femininity. And we would never return a point driven home as I adjusted to the awkward feeling of the tampon deep inside me. It felt so large! How was a penis supposed to fit down there?

Meanwhile, Mom was swooning over her little girl growing up and becoming a woman. After all, this was supposed to be one of those classic mother-daughter bonding moments. I tried not to grumble too much, but I did come across as a little bitchy.

Was I having PMS? At least the stockings were better. Yeah, it was a hassle pulling them up into place over my panties, but my, they felt nice. Warm, yet cool and very sensuous, especially when combined with my lacy white slip. The dress, a soft, light green number, was next, ending just below my knees.

Still more adjusting as Mom helped me into my first pair of heels. Jesus! With all this frilly underwear, I was reaching new levels of girlishness. Walking in this body and with these clothes was more than a simple motion I felt as if I were... gliding.

Mom carefully brushed my hair, and then it was off to the mirror once again to see how yet another outfit displayed my feminine charms.

I looked so young, so pretty, and ever so female. I felt my confidence rise a bit.

There was no way anyone could look at me and see a boy. Mom had done a great job. I turned to see her beaming at me, and I could tell she was pleased with her efforts.

"You're so lovely, sweetheart."

"You've worked a miracle, Mom."

"Well, considering what I had to work with." We both chuckled. "You always wanted to do this, didn't you?" I asked her.

"Stephanie, it's not PC, but I can say it now. Every mother dreams of having a daughter she can dress up and make beautiful. I guess it's some extension from our doll-playing days.

But of course, when a mom only has a son, she can never act on it. Although I used to imagine you'd be in some school play where you'd have to be a girl. I even had a wig picked out."

I shuddered. Even now, the thought of dressing in girls' clothes was still a touch intimidating. I was glad Mom never had a chance to experiment when I was still a boy. We drove to the county courthouse in Norville, about fifteen miles away. My anxiety rose as the minutes ticked off.

At least I was distracted by the constant play of my dress, slip, and stockings caressing me all over.

I felt ultra-feminine... and I liked it. Mom smiled at me. "It's fun, isn't it?"

I no longer tried to deny it. "Yeah. It's weird being in these clothes, but it's nice." I was finally past the stage where I felt I had to pretend I didn't like wearing a dress, and all the rest.

I really did like it... and to hell with anyone who thought I shouldn't!

When we arrived at the county courthouse, I wasn't surprised to see all the TV trucks and media throng gathered outside. Last night's CNN broadcast, combined with the tight deadline of the court docket, meant this story would burn hot and fast.

If I were lucky, it would all play out in the next day or so, and the press could turn its attention to the latest celebrity marriage or which of the 9 (90? 900?) candidates for president made the silliest gaffe of the week.

And though I'd be grateful when this circus came to an end, it was serving a useful purpose. So as I walked through the crowd of reporters (still amazed at being in nylons and heels!)

I was careful to put on a nice smile and politely answer a couple of the hundreds of questions being tossed at me.

"How do you like being a girl?"

"More and more every day!"

"Why are you challenging the injunction?"

"I'm an athlete and I'm just hoping for a fair chance."

"Do you think it's fair for you to compete against girls?" "Why not? I am one." "Do you like wearing dresses?"

"Yes, although I could do without bras."

"No, you couldn't!" the female journalist replied jealously, prompting some good-natured chuckles.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"I'm not supposed to take the fifth until I'm inside the courtroom." A few more chuckles at that. Jim Martin met us at the top of the steps and quickly escorted us to a restricted conference room where we could speak in private.

"Well done, Stephanie, you handled them just fine," he complimented me. "I've got a feeling that will be the easy part," I said apprehensively.

"Don't worry, Stephanie. Yes, Oxton is going to be challenging but I'm confident you'll be up to it. Remember, the facts and the law are on our side. You really are a girl, and we have the legal precedents.

They'll try to trip you up and make you act like a boy because their best chance is to show you still some hint of maleness within you. Bear with me, for this will sound sexist, but I want you to be a demure, albeit determined, young woman. It's very important for you to appear as feminine as possible on the stand. Are you ready?"

Was he kidding? I was wearing stockings across sleek, smooth legs. My full breasts pushed out the front of my silk dress. My long hair hung well past my shoulders. I could feel the bra stretching across my back.

I had a cute guy as my boyfriend. And deep inside me lurked the tampon that was catching the flow of my period. I didn't just feel feminine, I felt like the girliest girl who ever girled!

And I got another boost as we headed for the courtroom. Tamara (formerly Todd) and Jerome from GRS were waiting! I squealed in delight as I ran to embrace them. We'd traded some e-mails over the last few weeks, but I never expected to see them today.

"I can't believe you're here!"

"I saw the CNN story last night. I figured you could use a show of support. Jerome decided to tag along," Tamara replied. I smiled at the cute blonde girl, who was wearing a dress even frillier than mine and with an expertly applied make-up job.

"I see your sisters have been busy." "All four of them. It's damn tough to resist them; they never give me a break. Every few minutes, one of them has another skirt, or a new shade of lipstick, or a bra and panty set they're just dying to have me put on. They're like tag-team wrestlers. After a while, I just gave up."

She had a rueful look on her face, but I could see underneath itthat she really liked being this way. I turned to Jerome and, in a more serious tone, asked her how she was doing.

Unlike Tamara, she was wearing a simple blouse and jeans combo, with no make-up.

I knew how much she was struggling with the femininity she was forced to endure. I remembered the last time I saw her, hysterical with horror at her female condition.

"Better, now. I've been working with the GRS staff a lot, and Tamara's been a big help. It's so cool that we both go to the same school. I finally picked a name as well.

I'm Jeri." She sighed.

"Good adaptation." But I could see the sad look in her eyes. It was so hard to match that sadness with her remarkable beauty. Tamara and I may have been passing pretty, but Jerome Jeri was sensational.

Once again, I was struck by her flawless dark complexion, even better than mine. Her African features were elegant, aristocratic, and sensual all at once.

And her figure! Most women would have sold their souls to look half as good as she. And yet, Jeri would forever be a boy trapped in a girl's body.

No amount of counseling could help her make the journey that Tamara and I were making to full acceptance of our destinies as women. For Jeri, even the simple act of putting on a pair of panties would daily force her to confront an unwanted girlhood she could never escape.

My heart went out to her I told her she was looking good, but I was careful not to gush about her beauty. I knew that was the last thing she wanted to hear.

"Don't worry, Stephanie. I know I can live with this now, but don't look for me on the cover of Vogue anytime soon."

I refrained from commenting; she was easily lovely enough to model for the magazine. Both Jeri and Tamara then praised my own look, with many comments about how I was so cute, so adorable, so girly, yadda, yadda, yadda.

We exchanged hugs, and I thanked them for their support. Then my attorney and I took our seats at the defendant's side of the courtroom. Bright TV lights everywhere. I noted the presence of two attorneys on the plaintiff side. Their eyes widened as they saw Mr. Martin would be their opposing counsel.

A big-time lawyer from the nation's capital was not what they expected today.

Cool! Behind them sat Oxton's Coach Jenkins and that... that... deep breath. Okay

I have to be ladylike here so that 'rhymes with witch' Melody McCarthy.

Both of them had sour looks on their faces. I could tell they were still dismayed about last night's CNN story, and they certainly must not have had much fun running the gauntlet of reporters this morning.

I smiled inwardly, even if I lost today, it was still worth seeing their expressions of dismay.

All across America, these two had been painted as bigoted opportunists. Couldn't have happened to a nicer pair. And then it began. The bailiff called the court to order.

"All rise for the honorable Judge William Burrell." The tall, robed figure of the county judge entered and took his seat upon the high bench. He had thinning silver hair and a serious, but not stern, visage. After the clerk identified the case for the record, the judge spoke:

"Before we start, I want to hear opening statements from both sides. And no soliloquies, please. Let's stay on point." His voice was a very deep bass and clearly in command. The Oxton attorney, a sharply-dressed woman in her forties, began.

"Your honor, our goal today is not to heap misfortune upon the young person we see before us. We appreciate the challenge presented by the phenomenon of Gender Biomorphism, and we are sympathetic to the plight of this child. We have no wish to cause more pain.

Having said that, we are determined to seek fairness. Melody McCarthy is an outstanding athlete with a proven record of excellence. But her record assumes honorable competition among equals.

"That assumption, however, is placed in jeopardy by the participation of young Lind running as a female. We will show today that the uncertainties of GB's origins, its effects on the human body, and the unknown ramifications of GB over the long run render any attempt to categorize a GB victim as fully female premature at best.

"We wish to reassure the court that we are not motivated by a desire to prevent a competitor from achieving his or her goals... (a couple of snorts from the gallery at that) but rather, by a sincere intent to ensure a level playing field where those who are truly females can compete against each other in the spirit of equality, and can then take comfort in knowing they have measured themselves against the best of their kind.

Perhaps one day, when the phenomenon of GB is more fully understood, it will be appropriate for young Lind to join such a competition. But that time is not now." It was a very smooth argument, I thought. Oxton's strategy was exactly as Mr. Martin had predicted, casting seeds of doubt over the true status of my gender by demonstrating all that was unknown about GB.

And using a female attorney, expressing a superficial concern for my emotions was clever as well. Finally, the near artful avoidance of any gender pronouns for me, adding to my sexual ambiguity.

Then it was Mr. Martin's turn. He stood and looked not at Judge Burrell, but rather at the Oxton table.

"'But that time is not now.'" he replayed the last quote.

"If not now, when? It is rather convenient for Oxton to defer Miss Lind's opportunity to compete until after she no longer represents an impediment to their own athlete. And since opposing counsel raised the issue, I look forward to exploring the motivation behind Oxton's legal action in due time."

"But most relevant here is a simple reality. Stephanie Lind is a girl fully female in every way.

We will establish that today. She easily passes every reasonable standard of femininity science and society can set. And once we've proven her gender is as undeniable as that of any young woman, we will demonstrate the overwhelming precedents in American case law that mandate she be granted what she has already earned: a fair chance to compete."

"That is the true 'level playing field' Oxton claims to desire, one where all female athletes may take said field in honorable contest, free from prejudice, bigotry or... greed."

He gave just the briefest of contemptuous glances at the Oxton side. Addressing the judge once more, he concluded: "If Oxton's petition succeeds, it will serve to legitimize the stigma associated with the transgendered, and score a victory for the forces of intolerance.

But even more importantly, justice will be denied for this young girl. We can... we must do better for her." There was a smattering of applause as my attorney sat down. Judge Burrell banged the gavel and called for order. "Now it's my turn," he said.

"Contrary to what you may have seen at the O.J. trial, I run a very efficient courtroom. There will be no tolerance for showboating or theatrics.

We have no jury in this matter, and despite the remarkable attention from the media (he looked at Mr. Martin with an irritated expression), I will not be influenced by any outside interest.