The Football Player

You may remember my story. I was the football player who was seriously injured in an accident when the oncoming driver ignored a red light. Because of the accident, my penis and right leg got cut off. What made the accident even freakier was the fact that I was wearing a slip and petticoat when it happened, so getting turned into a girl wasn't quite as traumatic as you might have expected. However, it was still a shock.

Going back to school was a bit of an adventure. My junior year, I was a star cornerback on the football team. Now, I would be the stat girl. But first things first. I had all my P.E. credits, so I didn't have to decide which locker room to go into. Going to the bathroom wasn't a problem, either, as my injuries had left me having to wear a couple of bags to hold the discharge. Fortunately, I was able to conceal all the equipment under my dress, along with the tubes—"hoses," we called them—that connected the bags to me. Still, I was told that, once some of the surgeries healed, I would at least be able to urinate like a girl.

I had to wear a dress for another reason that I haven't mentioned yet. You see, the accident left me largely without a right hip. Pants, even girls' pants, were out of the question, as they would fall down too easily. However, I also could not wear a skirt, for similar reasons—unless it was attached with pins to a blouse or T-shirt. So I got stuck with wearing denim dresses. Although I found them quite comfortable, even on cool early fall mornings, I knew I'd get sick of wearing the same damn thing every day. But most other dresses were too girlish for me, so I didn't have much of a choice.

"Today's the day they take out that catheter," Mom said over breakfast.

Dad grumbled. "Do you have to mention that now?"

"She won't be going to school today, so after they take the thing out, we'll go shopping."

Dad gave Mom a look that would have killed the devil, but she didn't seem to care.

I sat as best I could, given my condition, and ate my cereal. "I guess removing the tubes is not too complicated. Mainly, they're removing bandages. It's not like anything was stitched in."

Dad got up and left, mumbling something about doctors, a catheter, and skinning my aunt alive. A few minutes later, he slammed the door on his way to the bus stop and work.

I put on my shortest denim dress (which still ended below my knee), a boot, and went to the doctor's for my ten o'clock appointment. After filling out some forms and answering some questions, Mom and I went into the doctor's office and prepared for the procedure.

"This may hurt where you've grown some hair, but there shouldn't be any bleeding," the doctor said. He was right. It stung for a moment, but once the hoses were out, the pain went away. "Now if you would go and wet in the toilet. Try to stop the pee in the middle of things," he said.

I went to the bathroom and forced myself to stop peeing several times. I was surprised I could do it.

"Make sure when you go back to school that you take frequent potty breaks. Trust your body, it will help you out."

Half an hour later, we were at the mall. Most of the boutiques had clothes that were way too small for me, but we found some dresses in the department stores. "I like the small floral pattern," I said looking at a long dress in the tall juniors' shop. "It's not too girlish, but different from this thing I'm wearing."

We found a couple of other dresses, including one that looked like a top with a long skirt. "Here's something you can wear around Christmastime," said Mom, pointing out a dark blue dress that looked like a formal gown, except that it was barely knee length.

"I'll freeze to death in that. Remember I can't wear pantyhose."

We settled on a floral-print jumper as well as a reversible dress, along with one or two others that didn't look like jean dresses, then went and got some full slips. "I think we've found enough for you," she said, and I agreed.

The next day, I went to school in one of my new dresses. I realized that for my first and second period classes, there were bathrooms with just one toilet that I could use. The portable classrooms were next to what had been the auto shop building, and a one-stall girls' bathroom had been provided as an afterthought for the few girls who actually took the class. It was still rarely used, even though auto shop was no longer offered at our school.

My afternoon classes were at the other end of the school, so going to the bathroom there was a totally different experience. I couldn't expect privacy, so I hoped wearing my new dress would calm any fears that other girls might have if they remembered I was once a guy. Well, one of them asked to see my new plumbing. I slowly raised my skirt to let her see, whereby she fainted. One of her friends caught her.

The next day, the principal called me into her office and we had a chat. "What were you doing in the girls' bathroom?"

"Taking a le—pee—going potty," I said.

"Do you consider yourself a girl?" she asked.

I looked down at my dress, the hem of my lacy slip which was sticking out, my nylon stocking and my high heel. "Yes," I said, wondering where the conversation was going.

"It takes more than a lacy slip peeking out from under your dress to make you a girl, young lady." She looked at me. I looked at her. "Go back to class. Who's your teacher?"

I told her and hobbled back to my fourth period classroom, stopping at a bathroom along the way. What did she mean by that?

A year or so later, it dawned on me. I was out of school and preparing for college. I was at a meeting of crossdressers and transgendered people when I saw a familiar face. I don't think she saw me there, or, if she did, she pretended not to. Great, she used to be a man, too. When had she had the operation? Did the school district know? Well, I decided it was none of my business.

It's none of yours, either.

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