He Wasn't Even A Boy! - Chapter 17

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“Read Chapter 16 on my blog since Patreon doesn’t allow me to post this story here.”

Link - https://urbanstoriess101.blogspot.com/2025/08/he-wasnt-even-boy-chapter-16.html

Disclaimer: All characters depicted in this story are 18 years of age or older at the time of the events described. This work is intended for a mature audience and complies with all applicable content guidelines regarding age-appropriate material. It is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only. The content is not meant to promote or endorse any real-life actions. Reader discretion is advised. Enjoy responsibly within the context of fantasy.

Note - This story is a work of fiction. All characters, names, and events are purely imaginary and bear no relation to real people, living or dead. Any resemblance is purely coincidental.

We arrived at Wyndam, where a dozen schools had already set up their 'camps'. The smell of witch-hazel liniment was in the air as we unloaded all the equipment: batons, vaulting poles, discuses, etc. Wyndam had a lovely track set in a natural bowl, which cut down on the wind. It was surrounded by pine trees and a bubbling stream. 

The well-rolled cinder surface was flawlessly marked into lanes by the white lime. The tension was palpable.    

I reveled in the atmosphere. This was what I lived for.  Girl or boy, I didn't care.    

But as our team approached the track, something unusual happened. Melody McCarthy, the Oxton star miler I'd beaten a few days ago, approached us, along with her coach. Two district officials accompanied them. More ominously, there was a county sheriff's deputy in full uniform walking toward us as well. Our team met them, puzzled.    

"Coach Bradford?" one of the officials said.   

"Yes?"    

"I'm afraid I have to serve you with a court order. There's  been a legal motion against a member of your team."    

"What's this about?" my coach asked.    

"The county judge has issued an injunction prohibiting  Stephanie Lind from competing in the girls' mile today."   

 "What the he..." Coach Bradford's face darkened.    The Oxton coach spoke first, his tone dripping with venom.  "It means the hermaphroditic freak that you're trying to pass off as a girl isn't going to be running today. Unless  'she' wants to take on the boys." Behind him, Melody was smirking broadly.    There were gasps all around me as my heart plunged downward.    

"You have to be kidding," Coach Bradford responded. "The state recognizes her as a female, look at her driver's license, for God's sake. Heck, just look at HER!" He gestured at me, and everyone's eyes seemed to fixate on my breasts and hips and the smooth crotch that proved my femininity. I blushed and felt a strong desire to cover up.    

But my skimpy racing briefs weren't going to get the job done this time. The official spoke. "I'm sorry, Coach, but the injunction is in order and the deputy is here to enforce it. The district's hands are tied. Stephanie  cannot compete until the status of her... gender has been  settled in court."    

I was standing there, frozen in shock, while Coach  Bradford protested. "This makes no sense. What reason  would you have for stopping her?"    

Oxton's coach replied. "I'll grant this kid may look like a  female." He ran his eyes lewdly over my half-naked body.  

"But 'she' was a boy just last week. 'She' has no business taking away opportunities for real girls like Melody. 

If you want 'her' to compete, you're going to have to prove  'her' former masculinity doesn't give her any unfair advantage. And while you're at it, Coach Bradford, you can  apologize to my athlete for the humiliation you put her  through running a fake girl against her."    

Coach Bradford was livid. 

"How about I apologize for what  I'm going to put YOU through? Let's start with that brick  wall over there!"    In five years, I'd never seen him like this. 

He stepped up to the Oxton coach, whose mocking attitude evaporated as he took in the size of my coach. One of the brawny Oxton shot-putters tried to head Coach Bradford off, but Mark  Williams (BMW), bigger than any of them, moved to block the  Oxton kid.    

It was getting very ugly, very fast. Fortunately, the deputy quickly calmed everyone down.    The district official spoke again. "Between you and me,  Coach Bradford, I sympathize. But Oxton has the law on their side. You're going to have to settle this in court.  Until then, Stephanie has to stay on the sidelines."    I was finally able to speak. 

"But if I don't race today,  I'm out for the season!"    

"That should give you plenty of time to practice stuffing that bra better," Melody snickered at me.    

"You're just jealous 'cause she's faster than you are,"  Becky snapped back.    "And a helluva lot sexier," Hal chimed in.    

"Damn straight," Becky echoed. "She's twice the woman  you'll ever be, you pathetic bitch!"    

The riot nearly started all over again, but the deputy restored order once more. He was certainly earning his pay today. Coach Bradford studied the injunction, but shook his head sadly.    

"I don't see any way to avoid this, Stephanie. We'll have  to sit this one out."    As we walked away, Coach Bradford called out to Melody's coach. In a tone worthy of Schwarzenegger, he said: "She'll  be back."    

I was surrounded by sympathetic teammates, and I was very grateful for their support. But I shooed them away and told them to get warmed up. They had races to run, and I didn't want my disaster to impact anyone else.    

Alone, feeling glummer than I could ever have imagined, I  headed for the bleachers. Tears formed in my eyes. Again!  I'd had my hopes dashed, then resurrected, then dashed again!    

I was crying openly now. I didn't know how much more of this I could take. Every damn time I tried to make peace with what had been done to me, I suffered another setback.  

I was just a normal boy with a special talent, and all I  ever wanted to do was make the most of it. Then I was turned into a girl against my will. I'd worked to accept my new body, my new life. 

The strange new clothes, the complex social structure, the intricate nature of my feminine sexuality. I'd tried to cope with my reduced athletic ability, not to get too hung up on the 'not bad for a girl' theme.    

But all that was gone now. My season was over. 

No scholarships to carry me into college. My mother was right, I should have had a backup plan. Now, I see myself graduating in a few weeks, with no real prospects. Just a country girl. I thought of the Charlie Daniels song:   

A rich man goes off to college, and a poor man goes to work. 

Poor girl wants to get married, and a rich girl wants to flirt.    

I shuddered at a vision of myself shopping for gingham tablecloths at the local Walmart, while my farmer husband awaited me in the pickup to take us square dancing. I'd reminisce about our honeymoon at Niagara Falls. 

I'd have three kids by the age of twenty-one and spend my precious free time baking pies for the 'girls' at the coffee klatch where we'd trade recipes and compare crop yields.    

Maybe I'd join the military, at least that would get me the hell out of this place.    But then I wondered what would happen if the military decided I wasn't a real girl either? There were no separate dorms for GB kids.    

More despair. Maybe I was doomed never to fit in anywhere.  Shades of Cher, I felt like a halfbreed.    During the meet, I cheered on my teammates. It wasn't easy, the magic, the energy of the competition were gone. 

But I  applauded and called out encouragement when I could, using that damn girly soprano I now had. In between events, some of the other kids visited me in the bleachers, while I  dashed tears from my eyes and tried to put on a brave face.    Even though my heart was breaking.    

The one good thing Oxton's perfidy had really fired up our team. It was obvious from the start that we were going to finish ahead of them in the overall scoring, both boys and girls. 

Mark Williams obliterated all comers in the shot and disc; Hal won the two-mile as well. I chuckled; their coach's strategy had backfired a bit.    

In a perfect world, Becky would have beaten Melody in the girls' mile. But we live on Earth. Melody easily won the division title in 4:52. 

I noted with satisfaction that her time was still slower than the one I turned in earlier this week. At least Becky lowered her personal best by another two seconds and finished second. I was very happy for her; she'd qualified for the district meet next Tuesday.    

But although both the Milford boys and girls teams had performed well, there was still a sense of loss as we boarded the bus for home. Usually, the ride back was a chance to chill, sing songs, tell jokes, etc. 

But my mood was subdued, although I was really trying to be upbeat.    

Coach Bradford took a seat next to me.   

 "Stephanie, do you remember what I said to the Oxton  coach?"    

"Yeah, something about 'I'll be back'. But how can that be? 

Even if we get the injunction overturned by Monday, it's too late. I'm out for the season."    He smiled. "No, you're not. Or have you forgotten  Nationals?"    

My heart suddenly leapt. I HAD forgotten Nationals!    Let me explain. Track is unique among sports, for it crowns a national high-school champion. Sure, every state has tournaments for champions in basketball, football, and so forth. 

But a 50-state tournament for a match-play sport is impractical. There's no way to devise an NCAA-style  'March Madness' to settle the best high-school basketball team in the country, for example. The expense alone makes it impossible.    

But track is different. Because it's based on individual events, it's possible to determine national champions in a single meet. Nike and Footlocker sponsor the National meet every year, moving the competition from state to state.    There were only three requirements. 

One, be 18 years old or younger. Two, you had to be enrolled in an accredited high school. And three, you had to meet the qualifying standard.  

In other words, each event, from 100 meters to the pole vault, mandated a minimum performance that scooped up the 10  or so best athletes, boys and girls, from across the  United States. The standards were set very high to ensure an elite competition, but if you qualified, it didn't matter what other races you missed.    Coach Bradford waited for me to get it. 

"Now you see,  Stephanie. Last Tuesday, you ran a 4:49 in a sanctioned,  certified meet. You may not be able to go to the New York  State championship, but you most certainly meet the requirements for the National race. As I mentioned, you're  ranked third in the country right now."   

 "But what about the injunction?"    

"It won't apply; the National meet is beyond New York  State's jurisdiction. And I'll have to check, but I believe  Nike and Footlocker have not forbidden the inclusion of GB  girls. Besides, once we get Jim Martin on board, we'll get  that damn court order quashed."    

"So there's still hope," I smiled.    "Absolutely. If you win the Nike meet and prove yourself in head-to-head competition to be the fastest girl miler in America, all the colleges will be after you. And if you  get Mary Decker's record well!"    I was still uncertain. "Did you say Jim Martin?"    

"Yep. If anyone can bring this madness to an end, it's him."    I pondered that. Jim Martin was well known to everyone in  Milford. He'd been a high-profile attorney in Washington,  DC. 

He'd even worked on some of the Congressional inquiries that drew so much media attention during the Reagan, Bush, and Clinton administrations. But he'd grown weary of the big-city life and had hung out his own shingle in Milford, his wife's hometown. Now his legal work consisted of wills and property settlements. 

Why anybody would settle down here was a mystery to me, but if he was willing to take my case, then we had an ace in the hole the Oxton side may not have considered.    

So there was hope. But I was still morose as I took Hal up on his offer to give me a lift home.    

We were silent for a few moments. Then I spoke.    "Great race, Hal. I'm looking forward to seeing you run  next week."   

 "Thanks. I just can't get into it, though. I'm royally  pissed about what happened to you."    

"Coach thinks we can beat the injunction so I can run in  Nationals."    

"That's terrific!" Hal exclaimed. "After everything you've  been through, you deserve a chance to show what you've  got."   

 "I hope you weren't referring to my uniform." Was I fishing for compliments?    He laughed. "No. Although you've got a lot to show off  there as well." He paused, then resumed. 

"I just wanted to say how much I respect you, Ja... Stephanie. I don't think  I'd have handled... becoming a... things as well as you  have."    "You can say it, Hal. I'm a girl."   

 "Yeah... that."    

"You know, it's really not all that bad. I think I could deal with it if I could keep running. But if I lose that...  I... I don't know what I'd do! I..."    

And suddenly I was crying. Hal pulled the car over into my driveway and looked at me with concern.    

"It's just that when I'm running, that's the only time I  feel normal. I forget about panties and breasts and all that. I feel like I did when I was Jack. Without it, it's  like I've lost myself..." My voice was shaking, and I  started to sob.    

So Hal did what any boy would do with a girl crying in his front seat. 

He took me into his arms and held me. It was so comforting that his arms were strong, as if he were protecting me. I felt safe, at peace. I didn't even consider the strangeness of having a guy hold me. I just went with it.    

After a few moments, I got myself under control. 

Then I  felt a hand tip my chin up. I looked into Hal's blue eyes, gazing at me with such intensity. There was caring,  compassion, and something more reflected there.    

And I realized at that moment, for the first time in my life, I was about to be kissed by a boy.    

My heart began pounding as his face drew nearer, but I didn't even consider turning away. A tiny gasp came from me as his soft lips met mine. 

It was wonderful! Very intense.  I'd had fantasies about being with him, but this simple reality was so much more. 

Oh! Kissing him was quite different than with Sue. He was the boy, the aggressor, maintaining that ever so sweet contact, gently exploring my lips. And I was the girl letting him make the move while I decided if I liked it.    

I did.   

 His tongue thrust carefully forward. For a brief moment, I  resisted, but then my mouth opened for him, and he entered me. There was an old expression I read once, advice from a  woman to a girl: 

"Do not open thy lips unless thou plannest  to open thy limbs." Now I knew what she meant. 

There was an intimacy about French kissing as a girl that mimicked sex, the male penetrating the female's lips to explore the space within. Oh my.    

My body was responding in every way now pulse racing,  nipples firming, breasts swelling. Somewhere in my frazzled state, I remembered Erin from GRS warning about how easy it was for a girl to lose control. 

Despite every cell of my body screaming for me to hold onto this boy, to let him continue, I managed to pull away. I quickly got out of the car.    

"Stephanie, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to... for us to..."   

 Panting, I stood a few feet from him, then shyly met his eyes. No frustration or anger from him. 

He was genuinely worried about me. I managed a small smile.    "I'm not upset, Hal. How could I be when I was only  wondering what was taking you so long?" I smiled again,  then turned and raced into the house.    

Jesus. I'd just made out with a boy. And I wanted more of it. Lots more! Right now! I showered, but that didn't lower my arousal. 

In fact, as I looked at the shower head, I  remembered the stories I'd heard about girls and nozzles.  Slowly, I undid the head and moved it down... between my legs. A little to the left... no... up a smidgen... and...  Oh YES!    

It took less than thirty seconds for me to have the most spectacular orgasm yet. I was coming in colors, nearly screaming with delight, visions of Hal and me making love adding to the potency of the climax. Oh God... oh God...  how could I ever have been satisfied with a boy's body?    

Trembling, my knees weakened, and I slid to the floor of the shower, water still streaming from the nozzle. I knew there was a dreamy expression on my dazzled face. 

Jesus! 

It seemed every time I came as a girl, it just got better and better! I wasn't sure if I could handle more of this.    

Who was I kidding? Of course, I could, and I wanted to press on. But not right now. At least the orgasm had drained the immediate... need... Hal had inspired me. 

One interesting thing I was learning from all this. Girls were human, too. As a boy, I'd always regarded girls as these mysterious otherworldly creatures, untouched by the base desires that had inspired my male sexuality. At best, I'd seen girls acquiescing to sex out of affection or love, somehow more pure, more ethereal.    

But now that I was female myself, I could see that girls got horny, as well. They, too, had physical needs comparable to guys. A vagina made things a little different, maybe, but the same concept applied.    

After a hot and heavy make-out session with Sue, I'd usually come home to relieve the pressure in private. And as a girl, after a similar encounter with Hal? Same thing, although a shower nozzle was a much more effective... aid.    

I was surprised to find Mom outraged over the court order that had barred me from the track. I'd expected her to be pleased that my running career was most likely over. I knew she would take no delight in it, of course, but I thought she'd be relieved I'd have no more distractions from school.    

I was wrong. Mom had apparently picked up on how important running was to me, and then, too, she detested the idea of someone questioning the femininity of her daughter. In addition, she didn't feel as though it was anyone's business but ours whether or not I ran track. And she could tell I was genuinely hurt by it all. No good parent tolerates a child in pain.    

So the next morning, she drove me down to Jim Martin's office a well-appointed set of rooms on the ground floor of a lovely Victorian mansion near the center of town. The furniture was plush leather, and the carpet was so thick it felt like mud. Mr. Martin may have chosen the quiet country life, but he'd retained a fondness for the trappings of a big-city law firm.    

We were escorted into a spacious conference room by the secretary. She was a pretty young blonde woman in an elegant, albeit feminine, business suit. My first thought on seeing her was how much I liked her hairstyle, followed by curiosity over how I would look wearing her matching jacket/skirt combo.    

Only after that did I consider how full her breasts were, and even then, my reaction was not one of desire, but rather... jealousy.    

God, I was becoming soooo female!  Jim Martin entered the room. He was short for a man, about my height. Close-cropped dark hair with a hint of gray around the temples. 

Despite the casual hour on Saturday morning, he was formally dressed in a well-cut suit. I  felt an instant charisma about him, he carried with him a great sense of confidence. 

Not arrogant in the least, but a powerful man nonetheless.    

He introduced himself to all of us, studying me closely as we shook hands. We sat down, and Coach Bradford recounted the previous day's events. Mr. Martin listened attentively but asked no questions. 

Once the coach was finished, the attorney reviewed the injunction and was silent for a few moments. Then he looked directly at me.    

"Are you a girl, Stephanie?"    

The bluntness of the question startled me. "I... I...  yes..." I stammered.   

 "Let's try again. Are you a girl?"    

"Yes," I said firmly.  

"Much better." He spoke to everyone at the table. "That's something you all will have to prepare for. As we move forward in challenging this injunction, Stephanie will become the target of a great deal of attention.

 Much of that attention will be negative, and all of it will seek to cast doubt on her gender. It's very important for you to banish any lingering questions you may have as to the true nature of Stephanie's femininity. All of you, Stephanie in particular, must act as though her girlhood is an inviolable fact, beyond any debate.   

 "Why is that so important?" my mother asked.    

"Because this case is going to become a media circus."    

"How?"    

"I'm going to make it into one," he said flatly with a hint of a smile. And I knew at that moment we had the right man for the job.    

"So you're willing to be my lawyer?" I asked him.    

"Absolutely. I wouldn't miss this for the world."    

Coach Bradford spoke. "But why make it so public?"    

"There are two possibilities here. One Oxton has filed this injunction because they have a genuine concern to ensure a level playing field for all athletes. Or two, Oxton has filed this injunction because they have a star athlete of their own, and this is an excellent way to eliminate one of her competitors. Which do you think it   is?"    

"The second." Coach Bradford and I spoke simultaneously.    

"Correct. Despite my years in Washington, I retain a sense of idealism. 

However, I'm also honest in my assessment of human nature. 

When one looks at Oxton's position, and one also considers that he rest of the district does not object to  Stephanie's participation, it is obvious that Melody  McCarthy and her coach are motivated by personal ambitions.  That's where the media comes in.    

"You see, American journalism in the 21st century is focused on the so-called human interest element of any given story. 

Facts are not nearly as relevant as emotion. I  intend to present Stephanie as she really is. A lovely young girl, struggling to define her femininity and learn what it means to be a woman. Just like any other teenage girl. Trying to grow up and figure out who she is. Just like any other teenager, boy or girl. A girl with an extraordinary history and an even more extraordinary talent. 

She's not looking for fame, she just wants to be  the best athlete, the best girl, the best person she can  be."    

Wow. With his mellifluous voice and vocabulary, Mr. Martin had defined me better than I'd ever done for myself.    

"In short, the media can't help but present Stephanie to the public as a sympathetic figure. And when I finish contrasting that with the naked self-interest of McCarthy and her coach, the public will see Stephanie as the wronged party. That aids our case because, whether we like it or not, what happens outside the courtroom influences what happens inside it. Recall OJ or the Massachusetts au pair girl."    

The attorney continued. "And this is doubly important for us, Stephanie, because transgender law is ill-defined at best. I started research last night, as soon as your coach called me. 

The good news is that you are recognized as legally female in all fifty states. But that only applies to public institutions, and only in certain ways. It is  still permissible for any private entity to define 'female'  in accordance with their own criteria."   

 "You may remember the story of Renee Richards, back in the 1970s. She became a woman via a sex-change operation. She won the right to be recognized as a female by her home state, her driver's license and amended birth certificate reflect that. But when she attempted to play professional tennis as a woman, the US Open and the USTA invoked a rarely used 'sex test'. 

They defined 'woman' as a function of one's chromosomes. Since Richards still had the XY  genetics of a man, when her cellular structure was put under the microscope, she failed to meet the standard set by the tournaments. Despite her legal status as a woman,  she lost the courtroom battle and was barred from playing  in women's events."   

 "But I'm XX," I said.    

"Exactly. GB goes far beyond any operation. Boys transformed by GB into girls are considered to be females as a matter of settled case law, at both the state and federal levels. 

That was resolved fairly quickly after the advent of GB. What has not been resolved is the status of sports, which remains perhaps the only area of public life where there is a distinct and irreconcilable difference due to gender. 

Because males as a group are more potent athletically than females, crossing that line will inevitably result in conflict. That's what happened to  Renee Richards and what Oxton is hoping will happen to  you."    

"Will it?" I asked nervously.    "Not very likely." He spoke with such confidence I was instantly reassured. "Unlike Renee Richards, there is no conceivable standard of physical femininity you cannot meet. No matter what 'test' Oxton may attempt to invoke,  you will pass it as the girl you are. I confirmed that in  my discussions with the Syracuse GRS this morning."    

I was impressed by how much he had already accomplished.    He continued. 

"The only strategy that can help them is the unknown. Because GB is so mysterious in origin, Oxton will argue that the lack of a scientific explanation as to how GB  functions means there are too many uncertainties to permit you to compete. 

They will claim that you may have some hidden advantage, some hint of masculinity locked away that gives you an unfair edge when competing against girls.  They'll be pushing the intangibles."    

"That sounds like it might work," Coach Bradford said.    

"If this were a criminal case, absolutely not. They would have to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that you were still male in some way, which they cannot possibly do. But since this is a civil matter, there is a chance, albeit slim,  that they could convince a judge. By the way, there will be  no jury trial here; the tort process requires the judge to  make both findings of fact and findings of law."   

 "So the judge that signed this injunction will be deciding," I said morosely.    "Yes, but don't get too pessimistic about that. Judge  Burrell has a fair reputation. He's an old-fashioned guy, and that will work in our favor."   

 "How so?"   

"Stephanie, for all the high-flown legalese, his decision will come down to one simple question: Are you a real girl?  It will be your job to convince him you are. If he sees you as such, we can easily make our case. You've got three more  days to get ready, we'll appear in front of him on  Tuesday."    

"That fast?" I was suddenly nervous again.    "Time is of the essence here. While it's too late to get you into the state competitions, we must conclude this prior to the national championships. 

Yes, I researched all that as well. We need a formal declaration from a court to establish the precedent, once and for all, that you are female in every way. That will not only protect you, but  all the GB girls who come after you as well."    

He continued. "After all, Stephanie, you're the first male national-class athlete to attempt to resume competition as a girl. There was one basketball player who was considered an NBA prospect, but GB took nearly a foot of height away from him, and once female, she never played in the WNBA. I  suspect it was just too much for her to cope with."    

I vaguely remembered the story. I could sure sympathize with her, though!    

"So now you understand. In the end, Oxton will not set the standard for femininity; you will. On Tuesday, you need to  be attired accordingly."    

Mom spoke. "Should we get her a business suit?" I thought back to the secretary.   

 "No," Mr. Martin said. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but she'd look like a little girl playing dress-up in her mommy's clothes. 

Better for her to look like the feminine teenager she is, rather than a contrived attempt at womanhood. I suggest a spring dress, just below the knee, soft pastels, no prints, lightly ruffled collar and sleeves, with matching hose and heels. Something that a  young girl would wear to church."    

I was amazed at his sartorial expertise. 

He was very, very good. I guess you get what you pay for. Speaking of which...   

 He seemed to read my mind. "Don't worry, Stephanie, I'm taking this pro bono. Fact is, you're doing me a favor. I  have no regrets over choosing the peaceful country life, but I do miss the challenge of making new laws, and that's  what we're going to do here."    

He smiled, shook our hands, and reminded us to be at the county courthouse on Tuesday.    

I spent a quiet day doing a few chores and some homework. I  was considering what my attorney had said this morning about how it would all come down to one thing: proving my gender to the judge. And I knew it was much more than just having a woman's chest and vulva. 

After all, Renee Richards had all that too, but it hadn't helped her in the sports arena.    

But could I get the world and the judge in particular, to accept me as a real girl, when I was still trying to accept it myself? 

If I were filled with apprehension about tonight's pool/slumber party, how would I do in the courtroom?    Still, I am stubborn, as you've no doubt concluded by now, I was going to try.    

I pondered it all while mowing the lawn. Sweat poured down into my bra, I grumbled a bit. Wasn't this supposed to be a boy's job? It would have been nice if turning into a girl had gotten me out of some of the more onerous tasks around the house. 

Though it was probably for the best, I wasn't too focused on stereotypes of gender-appropriate labor. After all, despite my newfound femininity, I was still a lousy cook.    

I lost track of time. Mom called me to get ready.   Hurriedly, I raced through my shower.    

"Honey, I'll pack an overnight bag for you."    

"Thanks, Mom – please don't forget my bikini." God, it felt surreal to say that!    I spent a few minutes fussing with my hair in front of the mirror, strangely nervous, and I realized I was actually worried about how I would look for the boys. I ran a brush through my long locks. 

No sense in worrying too much it was just going to get wet again. I pulled on a set of snug denim shorts over pink cotton panties and tugged a cute tee over my chest. I checked my look - simple, but sweet. I  seemed so young!    I raced for the car, where Mom was waiting with my bag. She drove me over to Sue's place.    

"Your first slumber party was how fun?"    

"I don't think they call them that anymore, Mom."  Borrowing from Sue, I was trying to play the sophisticated teenager even though I knew far less than she did.    "Whatever the name, they're all the same. You'll talk and  giggle the whole night long, then sleep until noon." She smiled in indulgent recollection.    

I rolled my eyes, pretending to be jaded. We looked at each other, then burst out laughing.    

"Okay. I admit it. I don't know anything."   

 "You'll be fine, honey. Just relax and have a good time.  And make sure Sue kicks the boys out before bedtime. After  they see you in that bikini, they won't want to leave."    

"Oh, Mother," I said dramatically. But I was a little concerned, as an ex-boy I knew even better than she how right she was. How was Sue going to keep control? We arrived at the house, and I gave Mom a quick kiss before heading inside.