For a Girl, J.T. D'Arelli [reading fiction txt] 📗

"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 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 — 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 that thirty seconds for me to have the most spectacular orgasm yet — I was coming in colors, nearly screaming with delight — visions of Hal and I 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 in 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 — 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 the 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