In the Middle of Nowhere

I was getting a bit nervous as I looked at the gas gauge. The fumes light hadn't come on yet, but I was out in the middle of nowhere. If I didn't find a station within the next forty or fifty miles, I could be in big trouble. That was somewhere I didn't want to be, especially traveling with almost two million dollars in the trunk of my car.

The other thing that made being stranded out in the middle of nowhere undesirable was the fact I didn't have a change of clothes with me. I hadn't had a chance to pack anything when I left, and I was not dressed to be doing anything outdoors. I had on a long green floral-print flounce-hem dress that teenage girls might have worn in the mid-'70s. It was so long that I had to wear high heels to keep it from dragging on the ground, though I took the heels off and drove in a pair of tennis shoes when I was in the car. At least I had been able to bring them along. Besides the dress and shoes, I was wearing a pair of nylon knee-highs and some athletic socks to keep the tennis shoes from leaving runs in the nylons.

It was hard to believe that a week ago I was a linebacker for my junior-college football team.

After the final game of our regular season, which left us in third place and out of the playoff picture, I realized my football-playing days were behind me. I had been a second- or third-stringer all season, and my chances of transferring to a four-year school were remote. My grades were ok, nothing special, but nobody was going to offer a backup linebacker who usually got to play only when the game had been decided a scholarship. So, the following Monday I turned in my gear and got ready for a date with my girlfriend. We had decided that at the end of the season I would go and get a Prince Albert piercing. A Prince Albert has nothing to do with smoking tobacco; rather, it's a piercing of the penis. It's supposed to make sex a lot more fun.

The body-piercing shop was not where I expected it to be, which was in a run-down part of town by the docks. Instead, it was in back of a private home that looked like it had been (and maybe still was) a wealthy person's mansion. Judy, my girlfriend, had had her privates pierced there, and told me they were very professional about it. Nonetheless, I was a bit nervous, and held Judy's hand as we entered the piercing studio.

The piercing hurt like heck for a few seconds, but I was surprised how quickly the pain subsided. It wasn't nearly as bad as being kicked in the groin. The guy who pierced me wasn't one of those bikers covered with tattoos and wearing leather; rather, he looked like a young medical intern. For all I know, he might have been one moonlighting for extra money.

Anyway, a couple of days later, Judy told me it was time for us to try out lovemaking with our genital jewelry in place. I was a little frightened, but finally decided to give it a go. She squirmed and squealed at first, and I was ready to pull the jewelry off and go in her without it, but she told me not to. Between her piercing and jewels and mine, this sex was an experience I had never had before, even though we'd been in the sack together several times.

And then I woke up the next morning to find just about everything gone: Judy and my penis, to be exact. So were my clothes. The only things I could find were a couple of long dresses and full slips, nylon stockings, high heels, bikini panties and bras. There was nothing to indicate that any man had even been in the place, let alone that I had ever been one. I looked in a mirror in the bathroom and saw a vaguely familiar face, but even it was totally feminine. If I had had a sister, I guess this might have been how she looked. I sat down on the toilet and peed.

And now, it was a few days later. I was driving a car that Judy had left for me. I didn't even know she could drive. She left a note on the table with a set of keys. The note said, "These are yours." A combination of letters and numbers that I took to be the car's license were written with the note.

The day after I had woken up female, which was Wednesday, she called me and told me that I needed to come to her and that she would explain everything. We were to meet at a town I didn't recognize as her home. She told me that there was over half a million dollars in a suitcase in the closet; I shouldn't tell anyone about the money, but take it with me when I came to meet her. She advised me to take a few hundred dollars in twenties and stash them in a little security compartment in my bra. It seemed like it was so much easier for me when I was a man and simply carried a wallet.

I had planned to leave Wednesday night, but she advised me in a phone call not to leave till Thursday afternoon. Otherwise, she said, there might be trouble. Yeah, here I was, turned into a girl wearing frill dresses and high heels, and she was worried about "trouble"? But I agreed to wait till the next day to leave.

And so I was driving on fumes when I saw the small community with an all-night gas station. I pulled up a side road and into the station. It looked deserted. Was there an attendant, or would I have to put my money into one of those automated things that some stations had? That might be better, since I wouldn't have to walk so far in my heels. Putting them on, I got out and saw that there was indeed a grocery store or something with a clerk inside.

I went in and bought a few snacks, then gave the clerk sixty dollars, with over fifty going into the tank. I was glad that I'd taken the money out of my bra before getting out of the car. I walked back out and pumped my gas. Did anyone realize I'd never walked in heels before the last couple of days? Something was weird. It was like I'd always been a woman. Yet I knew I hadn't.

After hanging up the pump and putting the cap back on the gas tank, I realized I had to go pee. I looked around and saw, on the other side of the store, the entrance to the ladies' restroom. I thought about driving the car around to it, but decided to walk to the can. It wasn't that far away. As I sat down in the potty, I realized how, every time a woman had to go, she exposed her backside to whatever germs and other nasties the last person or persons had left there. I looked around for one of those toilet-seat covers they sometimes have, but I didn't see any. I took a wad of toilet paper and wiped the seat, just in case.

I sat down, passed more gas than I thought I had in me, and started to pee. At that moment, I heard some other cars pull up, and then some shouting. I stood up to wipe myself when I heard a gunshot. Oh, crap, I thought, remembering that I had two things to think about: my life, and the two million dollars in the trunk of the car. It had to be a robbery. Maybe they'd go away once they got done. No, they'd see the car and know there was a witness. What if they found me? Would I be gang-raped? Murdered? Robbed? I couldn't stay in the restroom; they'd eventually figure out I was here and I'd be trapped. What should I do?

I quickly washed my hands, though I doubted they were really any cleaner after the washing than they'd been after I'd wiped myself. I looked out, but saw nothing. Where were they? I carefully made my way around the side of the store; now, the car was about 50 feet away. They must be in the store doing whatever they were doing. If I could get to the car, or at least close to it, before I was noticed . . .

"Well, lookie here!" I heard a voice say. It didn't sound friendly. I didn't see anyone, and hoped they didn't see me. "Someone's here." Was there another customer?

"I'll check it out!"

"No, wait, grab me some smokes!" I hoped they weren't going to light up with all the gasoline around. Then again, they might incinerate themselves. I pulled my keys out of the bra pocket and headed for the car. Maybe it was something I'd learned from playing football, but I was able to take the keys and put the right one into the door lock without fussing or fumbling. I turned on the ignition, and the car started right up. I went down the side road and back to the highway, but saw their lights were on and they were getting ready to follow me.

The highway was straight for several miles. I was at least 25 miles from the freeway, where I felt the traffic and frequent highway patrols would keep me safe. Of course, out here in the desert, the state police might not be as vigilant as they were in the cities. One never knew.

The gas gauge was almost at full. It would probably take a while till the needle went all the way over. The speedometer went up to about 80 mph as I held onto the wheel for dear life. There appeared to be no intersections or signs of life out there, so I went as fast as I could. The headlights appeared to be steady in the rear. Was I safe? I had no way of knowing.

The highway suddnenly dipped into a ravine, and I wondered how fast I would be able to keep going. I soon got an answer when I saw a sign advising me to take a curve at 35 mph. As I came out of the curve, I noticed a junction. I slammed on the brakes, and made the turn onto the side road. It went up a steep hill and was very curvy. I soon lost sight of the highway where I'd been. Then, I found turnout that led to a viewpoint. No sign announced it, and I decided it was probably very "unofficial." I pulled into it and stopped. I turned off the car and shut off the lights. If they came after me up here, maybe they wouldn't notice this spot.

Instead, however, I noticed some taillights moving rather quickly on what seemed to be the main highway down below me. Were those the ones who'd fired the shots at the station? I couldn't tell, but no more came afterward. I realized that I was still wearing the high heels, and decided to take them off again for the tennis shoes. Sure, hem of the dress might drag on the ground, but at that point I didn't care. I grabbed some of the snacks I'd bought and squatted down on the ground next to the car and tried to take a few deep breaths.