For a Girl by J.T. D'Arelli (classic literature books TXT) 📕

way I looked at things, the way I interacted with my friends and family, the way I felt about being female."

"What has changed?"

"It reached all... all the way to my soul. It's hard to articulate, but I'm a new person now. I've come to see femininity as more than just wearing dresses and having long hair. It's a separate way of life, a way of... of being. I like the very... idea... of girlhood and I like knowing that I'm going to be a... woman. Somehow, I've become a different human being than before. Not better, not worse... but... different." I spoke softly, occasionally reaching back to brush my tresses from my face.

"But if you're so different, why compete as an athlete? Wouldn't it be easier to just walk away from this — and avoid all the publicity and hassle?"

"No," I said firmly. "I may be physically weaker as a girl, but that doesn't have to mean weak as a person. If someone were an artist, or a mathematician, or a carpenter, or a dancer as a boy, would turning into a girl mean that she should give it all up? I feel most... alive when I'm running... it's like I'm plugged into this... amplifier, a volume control on my life that gets turned up whenever I'm on the track. Running is part of who I am — boy or girl, I couldn't bear to... lose it." My vision grew misty and I brushed tears from my eyes.

I was not playing to an audience — by now, you can probably tell this came from the heart.

Oxton took their turn.

"What makes you think you have the right to steal someone else's dreams?" she asked, gesturing at Melody. No faux sympathy now — she was going for the jugular.

"If a dream is to be realized, it has to be earned, not given. And I've as much right to my dream as she does to hers."

"Yes. Earned. But how can you, ostensibly a boy, consider beating a girl in a race as earning your dream?"

"Because now I'm a girl, too."

"So you say. But are you really? When you first... transformed, what was your reaction?"

"Confusion... fear... curiosity."

"Why curiosity?"

"Everyone wonders from time to time what being the opposite sex would feel like. The genders are so... so... different."

"And yet you believe you've bridged that gap in just a few weeks?"

"My body didn't give me much choice. It's kind of like teaching someone to swim by throwing them into the deep end of the pool. I'd rather have had time to get acclimated but..."

"But..." she prompted.

I knew what was going on here. She was on a fishing expedition to see if I still considered myself a guy in some way, or at least regretted my new life. "But I've learned to deal with it. The mind is part of the body. Being female just... overwhelmed me."

"Come now. Are we to believe that all those years of being a boy could be swept aside simply by growing a pair of breasts?"

"It's so much more than that. Every cell of my body was affected. My voice, my face... After a few days, I couldn't even see myself as a guy anymore. And once that happened, I started to change... mentally... and... emotionally."

"You had a girlfriend, before. Were you still attracted to her after you changed?"

I paused for a moment. I wanted to deny it — the Oxton attorney may have been grasping at straws — but I didn't want to give her the slightest opening. But Mr. Martin had been adamant on the need for honesty. He'd pointed out that competent attorneys are meticulous in their research — the worst thing that could happen was for me to appear dissembling on the stand. I had no idea how she could have found out about my attempt to romance Sue that first night home — but I wasn't taking any chances.

"I repeat, were you still attracted to your girlfriend after you changed?"

"Yes... for a while."

She moved for the kill. "Then if you could retain a boy's sexual desire, why not other elements of your masculinity, either mental or physical?"

"Objection, your honor." Mr. Martin spoke up. "Sexual orientation is not a function of gender, even for an athlete. Or is opposing counsel next going to speak all the alleged lesbians in the world of women's golf?"

"My question is valid, your honor. Sexual orientation is a function of physical brain chemistry at the very least. If this person still thinks like the boy he/she was, then the... completeness of the transition cannot be assumed."

"Objection overruled. Witness will answer the question."

"I repeat, you still retain a boy's sexual desire, correct?"

"Not anymore. Respectfully, ma'am, I already told you — the more time I spent as a girl, the more everything changed. I... I have a boyfriend now."

"Ah, yes. But isn't that just for show? You don't really have such feelings for a boy, do you?"

And that's where she made her fatal mistake.

I started thinking about Hal. About his handsome features, his lean athletic form, his well-muscled legs. Frolicking in the pool. Our first kiss. That moment on the telephone when we openly acknowledged our sexual connection. And most of all — our friendship stretching back over the years. At that moment, in front of an audience of millions — (or at least thousands — this wasn't the Truman Show) — I knew the truth.

I'd fallen in love with him.

Becky and Sue explained it to me later — what they saw watching me on Court TV.

"It was wonderful," Sue laughed. "As soon as you started talking about him, you got this moon-struck, calf-eyed, dreamy, goofy, girly-girl look on your face. It was hilarious and sweet and most of all... real!"

Becky added, "There was no way you could have faked that. And everybody knew it."

I hardly even remember the rest of my testimony. I think at that point Oxton's legal team realized it was over. Their only hope was innuendo, speculation about my still being a boy in some way — and that strategy had just been blown out of the water.

The remainder of the hearing was anticlimactic. Even Mr. Martin relaxed a bit during closing arguments — citing only 5 of the 20 precedents he'd researched. He was, however, careful to refute in advance the few cases Oxton might have used. Their attorneys made a game effort, but they had little to work with — Mr. Martin had been spot on — both the facts and the law were on our side.

We rose as Judge Burrell retired to chambers. In a normal proceeding, it might be months before we had a decision. But the urgency of resolving this matter before the Nationals meant a quick timetable. Though it was unlikely that another injunction could prevent me from competing there — getting a positive conclusion to this one was an excellent ace in the hole.

We broke for lunch, dodging the media — after all, it was out of their hands now. Not to sound too callous, but their usefulness to us had come to an end. In the restroom, I fretted over a run in my hose — fortunately, it was above the hem of my dress. And let me tell you, (for those of you who aren't ladies) it's no joyride to pee as a girl while wearing a slip AND a dress and AND stockings AND panties. Just getting my all my underwear up/down as needed was exhausting! Giggle. I was surprised when my attorney's cell phone rang and we were recalled back to the courtroom.

With my heart beating fast, I rose as the judge took the bench. Fortunately, since this was a civil matter, I didn't have to stand as he rendered his ruling. Even so, I was very nervous, trembling a bit. One thing about dresses — they aren't very warm, especially when the AC is cranked up. As I waited, I irrelevantly wondered if the chill I felt would make my nipples visible through my bra. Jesus — the things girls have to worry about!

He spoke. "As a matter of law, I find the defendant's feminine nature has been satisfactorily proven by any reasonable measure. The petitioner has failed to provide sufficient evidence to override the conclusions of both the scientific and legal communities. I hereby declare the defendant to be of the female sex, completely and without reservation. Accordingly, she is eligible to participate in any activity, event, association or facility exclusive to women or girls. I lift my injunction and consider the matter closed."

And with that it was over. There were a number of cheers from the gallery as I wrapped my arms around Mr. Martin — giving him a huge hug. With tears in my eyes, I did the same for Coach Bradford, Dr. Turley and my mom. God, I was so lucky to have their support!

If Melody McCarthy and her coach had sour expressions before, they now looked like they'd just swallowed an entire lemon orchard. "Guess you fooled them with that WonderBra of yours," Melody hissed at me as I walked out.

"Save it for the track, sister," I smiled sweetly in response. I was feeling too elated to get irritated with her. We'd have our final battle soon enough. In a conference room, my attorney and I wrapped up a few loose ends.

"Will they appeal?" my mother asked.

"Very unlikely," Mr. Martin replied. "To put it colloquially, they were hammered today. The chances of success are quite remote — and the Oxton school district doesn't have infinite funds. Attorneys aren't cheap, you know," He smiled.

I thanked him again and kissed his cheek. He may have been the most unflappable man I ever met, but I thought I saw him blush just a little. Snicker. Mom and I said goodbye. We passed through the media throng where I gave the usual platitudes about how "I was glad justice was done" and "I just want a fair chance to compete." That was how I felt of course, but it still seemed as if I were going through a ritual with all the journalists. Kind of like in the baseball movie 'Bull Durham', where Kevin Costner teaches Tim Robbins all the appropriate clichÈs.

There was an amusing exchange with one reporter, though.

"Stephanie, now that the law has said you're a girl, how are you going to celebrate?"

"I'm going to get some Ben & Jerry's and a new pair of stockings! Disneyworld will have to wait!" I got a few laughs with that.

It was a fun drive home, Mom and I recounting the events of the day. Although it was still early afternoon, I was too drained to return to school. Back at the old farmhouse, we packed a picnic basket and headed for our 'special place'.

About a half-mile from home was a little brook running down the side of a hill, through an open meadow filled with Queen Anne's Lace. There was a lovely grouping of trees and a terrific view across the small valley. It was a perfectly pastoral setting — just walking by it made one feel at peace. My mom and I used to come here regularly, before the storms of adolescence had distanced us.

After chatting our way through a pleasant lunch, we fell into a relaxed silence, listening to the birds. Suddenly, Mom stood up and began getting undressed.

"What are you doing?"

"Just a quick dip to cool off. Why not join me?"

"But we don't have our suits!"

"Um... are you forgetting we're both female?" she asked as she pulled off her jeans.

For a moment I actually had. Seeing one's mother nude while one is a boy is very creepy. But now? Who cares? I smiled as we stripped to our panties.

I noted with some delight that Mom's breasts were quite lovely — in wonderful shape for a woman her age. If there was a genetic component to GB, her appearance boded well for my future. We swam around the brook for a while — it was cool