The teenage girl snuggled next to her boyfriend in the front seat of his pickup truck. The rhythmic squeak of the windshield wipers was the only sound other than the roar of the engine as the truck bounced along the old, straight but narrow highway.
She was wearing a white blouse, knee-length navy blue skirt, and low-heel pumps. Her feet were propped up on the dashboard, revealing a small gold chain on her left ankle and the hem of a lacy white slip where the skirt had crawled up on her thigh.
The boyfriend was wearing a plaid shirt, new jeans and matching jacket. He was running away with his girlfriend to a state where they could get married even at her young age. Her parents did not want her to get married at all, as she was considered borderline retarded. His parents did not want him to marry someone who was eight years younger than himself--not an unreasonable position considering he was in his mid-20s.
She spread open her legs a little and shifted position. "How much longer?" she asked.
"Ten hours, at least," he answered.
"All night?" she asked. "Can't you go any faster?"
"All night, and half of tomorrow."
"And then we'll be married?"
"Yes," he replied. "Then we'll be married."
"Go faster," she said.
"We'll have an accident," he said.
"Okay," she said. She pulled on the hem of her skirt.
The girl had only recently had surgery to make her a "real" girl. She had been born with both male and female sex organs, and had been raised and dressed as a boy, even though she often felt like a girl, and preferred to play with girls as a child. She was not really used to wearing dresses and skirts, except when playing "dress-up," and still did not feel entirely comfortable in a skirt, though, when with her boyfriend, she wanted to wear nothing else.
About three in the morning, the truck came to a crossroads that featured a truck stop, including a gas station, restaurant, and convenience store. The boyfriend went into the station to pay for the gas while the girl waited by the pick-up. A few minutes later, she heard a "wolf-whistle" and looked to see a trucker smiling as he climbed into his big rig. Her boyfriend then surprised her with a pat on the rear. "Flirting?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," she said, almost crying.
"It's okay," he said. "Your skirt has a slit in the back. It lets the hem of your slip show." He patted her again on the rear. "Let's get something to eat after we pump the gas."
A half-hour later, after they had eaten a light breakfast and bought snack foods and drinks to continue the trip, the two snuggled together in the pick-up and continued their journey. For the next two hours, the truck slowly negotiated sharp turns and steep grades till it came to a long left-hand turn and began to descend from the summit. Snow was occasionally seen along the edge of the road, but nothing on the road created any particular hazard.
After two hours in the mountains, the road became straight and flat--and smooth and wide. "Two and a half hours to the freeway," the boyfriend said.
"Then we can get married?"
"We'll be on the freeway for three hours," he said, rubbing her shoulders. "Then?"
"Then we get married!" she shouted, almost causing him to lose control of the pick-up.
"Easy. We want to get there in one piece."
The hours passed as the truck rolled through one tiny town after another. The highway narrowed and twisted through low hills covered with farms, now visible in the early morning light. Just before eight o'clock, the pick-up stopped at another truck stop. "We need more gas," the boyfriend said.
"Are we at the freeway yet?" the girl asked.
"I think it?s about ten miles away."
The girl stayed in the pick-up as her boyfriend paid for the gas. When he returned, he noticed she was wearing a sweatshirt. "That's going to be kind of hot," he said.
She took off the sweatshirt to reveal only her bra; she had taken off her blouse. She put the blouse back on, but did not tuck it in. "Can I change into my wedding dress now?" she asked before her boyfriend started the truck.
"Why don't you wait till we get to a rest area along the freeway?"
"Okay," she said. "I can't wait."
Half an hour later, the pick-up pulled into a rest area along the freeway. It took the girl a while to change. She insisted on not letting her boyfriend help her. It was bad luck--she'd always heard--for the boyfriend to see the girl in her wedding dress before the ceremony, but she decided it was okay if he didn't see her underwear. She finally came out of the ladies' room still wearing her low-heel pumps, and thus nearly dragged the hem of her dress on the ground. The boyfriend handed her her high-heel sandals. She handed him the sack with her skirt, blouse, and slip. When she had put the sandals on, her dress no longer had to be pulled up to keep from dragging on the ground.
Three hours later, they had found a wedding chapel, gotten married, and checked into a honeymooners' motel. He undressed her first, helping her out of her shoes, thigh-hi nylon stockings, and one of two petticoats. She then undressed him completely, and he had no trouble forgetting that he was having sex with someone who used to be a boy.