Pulled Over
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

It was not as if I was dressed as a woman – I wasn’t because I never did that. I had been supporting my sister’s basketball team and I was in sweats in her colors, including face paint and eyeliner, for some reason. Her team had played well, and I had shouted myself hoarse. That was why I could barely talk when I was pulled over.

I am not gay, or at least not then, but I could see that he was a good-looking cop. Not so young, but lean and tough looking, with a square jaw and a swagger to match. I watched him approach in my side mirror with a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

“You passed through a red light back there. I caught it on my dash cam.” He was not even looking at me. He had his ticket pad out and was reaching for a pen. Speeding up to get through the lights seems like a small thing (we all know there is time to get through) but on top of a whole bunch of recent violations I knew that it meant I would lose my license, which I could not afford to do.

“I am sorry, Officer. I must have been distracted, just for a moment,” I said. “It won’t do it again. I wonder if you could see your way …”.

The moment he turned to look at me, I could see a smile on his face, and somehow his blue eyes seemed to sparkle like in comedy movies. I had never seen it before.

“Sore throat?” he asked.

“I have been at the basketball. I did a lot of shouting. Do you follow basketball?” I kept my croaky voice soft and tried to build a small relationship in the hope that he would relate to me enough to let me off.

“I do,” he said. “But you are talking about the women’s game up at the College Stadium. I follow the men’s game. I will be at the big game next week. Will you?”

His pen hovered over the pad but had not yet made contact. There was hope.

“There is no way I could afford the tickets,” I said. “I can’t afford to go.”

He smiled at me again. It was a great smile. He struck me as one of those cops who could wrestle a criminal to the ground with one arm but would prefer to talk them into the cuffs. I smiled back.

“You follow the NBL then? Not just the girls?”

“Sure. Our team has a few weaknesses but I think we are well coached and we have a good chance next week.”

It was only then that it occurred to me that this guy might be thinking that I was a woman. It had not occurred to me before then because it was so absurd, but something about the way he looked at me and his tone of voice was a bit off, and with the realization it all made sense. Me? A woman?

I reached for my license. That would resolve things. He would feel like an idiot, and I would get a ticket and lose my licence. My life was about to end, for one lousy burst of speed.

“That won’t be necessary, Miss,” he said. He was writing something, but it was not a ticket. He thrust a small piece of paper in my direction. “I have a spare ticket for the game, and if you would like to join me then I am sure the dash cam data will be deleted and that will be an end of it.”

It was a phone number and a name above it – “Andy”. There it was – my life was saved.

“Thank you, Officer. Thank you, Andy.” I found the words coming out of my mouth in a husky purr, as if I was pretending to be a woman. It was driven by need, but even in the moment immediately afterwards it made me feel cheap.

“May I know your name?” he said.

“Crystal,” I said. I don’t know where it came from. It was in his eyes, I guess.

“Have a nice day, Crystal,” he said with a final smile. It seemed to sear an image because I can still remember it, just before he walked away. That smile and those eyes, and that look of achievement, like it was already certain that he had a date for the NBL game on the weekend, with a woman.

But I was in shock as he drove past me with a little wave of the hand. There was no way I was going to call him – no way. And yet he had the evidence to convict me on that dashboard camera. He could simply run my plates and see that I was a serial offender when it came to traffic issues. I would be hauled into court, and it would be all over.

I thought for a minute about calling in my car as stolen. It seemed maybe it might work. “The car was last seen being driven by a young woman, so that wasn’t me!” But the problem with that was that all that it would take would be the cop Andy to say – “Hey, that was the driver of the car” and I would be in even more trouble.

It seemed like the only solution, however crazy, was to call Andy and try to talk my way out of this, and if that meant going to the game with him, maybe even do that? Despite being a huge basketball fan I had never been to a live NBL game and honestly, the thought of attending was exciting. But I would need to go dressed as Crystal!

So, the following day when I when around to my sister’s place to congratulate her on the game and the win, I reminded her of what a good supporter I had been, and asked her to return the favor.

“The fact is that I have got myself into a bit of trouble … of the usual kind,” I said. “Maybe the only way out of it is for you to use your face-painting skills again. For an hour or two I need to convince a guy – an off-duty cop - that I am a girl.”

“You must be crazy,” she said. “Or this trouble must be serious. I think you might make a passable woman but remember that police officers are trained to be observant. How serious would it be if you were found out?”

That got me thinking. I had to conclude that if I did this right I would be in no worse trouble if he found out in a public place that he was dating a trans. It was just in that event I could expect no favors. It would be Plan F – a fail but not a bad one. He could hardly act out of spite if that made him appear transphobic.

But the ideal scenario would be that he would accept me as Crystal, a woman, and agree to forget the traffic violation preferably before the game, or at least at the game. I would thank him for the date and walk away clear and in public. It meant being a girl and a charmer for just a few hours. I could do that, with my sister’s help, but she needed to know everything.

“I see,” she said, with that look that older sisters can give, almost as bad as a disappointed mom. “Well, if this is going to work then we had better start right now, and that means that voice.”

I had recovered from the croakiness, but now I had the harder task of lifting the tone of my voice. There were techniques that not even my sister knew, but these were readily available on line. All she needed to do was to announce that particular part of my “transition” was achieved.

Then there was the walking, and I am not talking about heels as I would be going to a basketball game. The thing is that women move differently from men, something which I suppose I knew without ever realizing where the differences lay. It was just a matter of observing and imitating, and then repeating an repeating until it became natural. Once again she announced that it was a pass.

“You have a few days to work on it and then I suggest that you take Friday off work so we can get you your makeover well in advance,” she said. I never thought to ask why.

But by Friday morning I was used to the idea that I was about to impersonate a woman for a few hours on Saturday and I was confident that I could pull it off. I only had to look like the person he had pulled over and I was that person. But now I moved like a woman, and I spoke like a woman. Who was I deceiving? This was me, or a female looking version of me.

So why did I need the body wax and the hair extensions?

“To be convincing you need good hair and good skin, and that is not just what is on display,” my sister said. “From today on you will be female for the next 36 hours. That is your only chance of pulling this off. This is not pretending. You are turning into Crystal and you will stay at my place tonight and live entirely as Crystal. And by the way, you are paying for all of this. This is your problem and I am helping you, including taking my own time off work, but I am not paying to solve your problems.”

I couldn’t do too much about it. She had everything arranged. I lay back and had the hair pulled from my body, with what felt like a layer of skin too.

I sat through the extensions. I suggested that they did not need to be long, but she was not accepting any of my suggestions. “If you want to charm this guy, I will tell you how to do it. You should be gorgeous but old fashioned – disapproving of physical contact at least on a first date.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I said. The idea of wearing a nightie to bed didn’t.

“I said you are Crystal, so don’t drop the voice or the gestures, even though we are staying in tonight and watching chick flicks and painting our nails. You are wearing a nightie because that is what Crystal wears to bed. She is feminine. You are feminine.”

The long hair helped. This was not a wig that I could take off. It was rooted in my hair and I had to understand what to do with it. It hung over my face when I bent over. I had to throw it back, push it behind my ear, pull it down in front of my shoulder, check in the mirror how it sat. It made me develop feminine gestures. It made me feel girlish.

That was what she was looking for - my sister was serious about this, but I knew that it was all about looking after me, just like she had always done. I always loved my sister as a brother should, but somehow that day at the spa and the evening together, and chatting over breakfast in the morning as sisters, was the closest I had ever been to her. I guess it changed me, more than any of the physical things.

Then it was all topped off by the perfect Saturday afternoon – wearing one of her dresses to go to the mall to buy clothes for my date, and to get our hair and makeup done. She had a date too, but not to the basketball. She was dressing for a restaurant with a nice dress, but for me we chose a stretchy top to reveal a upper body shaped with an undergarment and prosthetic breasts and a loud shortish skirt to show off my good legs. I would be wearing sports shoes but packing sandals with just a slight heel, in a modestly sized bag.

She had her hair put up, but I had mine styled in soft curls. I thought that my hair looked great but I have to say that I was strangely envious of her hairstyle. It looked so glamorous that it had me feeling that I should have the same chance to get really dressed up. It was fine to be invited to a ball game, but it really did not give me the chance to present myself properly. These seemed like strange thoughts – not the kind of thoughts that I should be having.

“You look great,” my sister said. “Just call me if you get into trouble.”

I was due to meet Andy outside one of the gates at the stadium. I got a cab and became relaxed when the driver clearly accepted that I was female. I felt confident. I kept telling myself that Andy had assumed that I was a woman when I was not even trying to be one. How could I not convince him? All I needed to do was to charm him into forgetting any traffic charges. I had already rehearsed some lines in my head.

I was relieved to see him waiting there. I was worried how I might cope without a man. The thought of being preyed on by strange men made me uncomfortable, so the smile I greeted him with was genuine.

“Wow! You look gorgeous,” he said. I have to say that those words had an immediate effect on me. I was starting to really enjoy presenting as female and those few words seemed to nail it.

“This is my first NBA game,” I said. It was as if I was trying to explain why I might seem overawed by everything that was happening – which I was – but it had nothing to do with basket ball.

He held up the tickets and we headed into the crowd. He took my hand and I was glad of it. He had the tickets and the crush was already starting. I gripped his hand. I knew that my hand would be soft from the spa treatment which included moisturizing with the manicure and nail polish. His hand felt rough and powerful in contrast, making me feel so different from him.

We found our seats. They were quite good – high up but only a little off center. I sat carefully, tucking my skirt under my padded butt and crossing my smooth legs in front of me.

Excitement was building, but I felt that I needed to remind myself of the reason I was here.

“It turns out that I was lucky that you pulled me over,” I said. “I get to go to an NBA game. Now all I need is to properly avoid that speeding ticket.”

“Oh that,” said Andy. “Actually I don’t think that is going to be a problem, but as it happens I need to hang onto that video for another reason. I can explain after the game, but I have to ask you first, do you know the owner of the car you were driving?”

I felt confident that I would get my way but I had already decided that if I couldn’t then for Plan F to work I needed to tell no lies. For some reason I felt this was a loaded question of some kind. I just decided talk my way around it.

“I don’t know him at all,” I said. “I thought I did but I don’t. The car was available and so I took back to where he keeps it.” I felt that I had distanced myself from the male me, because somehow that seemed a good idea.

“It is best to have nothing to do with him,” said Andy. “I can explain later.”

“I don’t want to have anything to do with him,” I said. I felt it sounded like the way a transgirl might refer to her former self as if Plan F were needed.

Some others took their seats around us, and Andy seemed to know several of them. It turned out that we were in a block of seating set aside for police and first responders. Andy talked to some of them and introduced me as Crystal. I figured it was all good. Everybody seemed to accept me as female and be friendly, even the wives and girlfriends present.

And Andy did not ignore me. The game started and when he was not shouting for his team he was checking on me to see that I was having a good time. I was. I loved the game and the atmosphere, and the only thing that worried me was that I might call out something in a man’s voice, so I needed to not get too carried away by the excitement.

But what was clear was that I would have to stay until the end and a bit beyond. I needed to find out what was going on with the owner of the car. That would be me.

Of course the game was being televised, and that meant that well known basketball tradition, “the Kiss Cam”. That is where in a break in the play, the TV camera zooms in on a random couple in the audience and throws the image up on the big screen in a heart-shaped frame while the crowd calls out for a kiss. With all the people there it could have landed on anybody, so why Andy and me?

Everybody started pointing at us and shouting, and Andy pointed at the big screen. There was Andy and beside him a gorgeous blonde with long curls around her shoulder. It took a moment before I realized it was me. People were screaming “Kiss! Kiss!”.

“We have to do it,” said Andy. “I promise no tongue.” He was smiling, and then his lips were on mine.

The whole thing seemed so crazy – not the kiss cam or even the kiss, but my reaction to it. For some reason my hand went behind his head and I pulled his face into mine. I needed to find out what it would be like. It was clear that he was seriously into me, in a way that no person, man or woman had ever felt towards me before that night. What would it be like?

As our face came away from one another, we smiled at one another and then in the direction of the camera. People cheered. The people around us clapped. I looked at Andy again, and he at me. Something special had just happened. It did not seem unnatural.

After the game the whole block of seats was invited up to a courtesy lounge. Andy and I went with them, but on the way I asked Andy about the car. What was going on? He had the name on the registration papers – my name.

“I shouldn’t say, but well … I guess there is not much I should not share with you,” he said, obviously think about “our moment”. “This guy seems to be heavily involved in internet fraud. He could be facing a bunch of money laundering charges.”

“That can’t be right,” I said. “He is not a computer type.” That was very true. “As far as I know.” It now seemed more important that Crystal distance herself from the man she was.

“Maybe he has been hacked? Maybe a hacker has taken over his identity and is using that?” said Andy – a ray of hope. “But the fact is he has left his residence. The Fraud Squad raided it last night. He was not there. The car was there, but no sound of this guy. He could be on the run.”

“Oh my God,” I said. It was involuntary. He was talking about me. The guy had disappeared because he was now Crystal!

“But hey, don’t worry about the speeding thing. That is over. I am just letting you know that, because I think you are great and I don’t want you to think that I am forcing you to go out with me – not tonight or any other night”.

“Any other night?” We had arrived at the lounge, and he held the door for me.

“Crystal, I have to say it, I want to see more of you – a whole lot more,” he said. “I am hoping you feel the same way.”

“I do,” I said. I wish I could explain why I said that, but I did. There was a part of me that was just not thinking, but there was another part that was. “You go on in, I just need to make a call before I follow,”

I called my sister – “Sis, it’s me. I just want to let you know that I could be in a spot of trouble, but I swear it is not me.”

“Have you been found out?” She sounded worried. “Are you hiding somewhere?”

“No. Everybody thinks I am a girl. That’s not the problem. I think someone has stolen my identity and has been committing crimes in my name. Don’t tell anybody where I am or what I look like now – please Sis! I am going to have to stay with you for a bit if that is alright. I think the police are looking into it and I will be cleared – I just need to make sure they do.”

“Wait, so are you still out with this police guy?”

“Yes,” I said. I could see Andy through the glass doors talking to some other guys. He looked so handsome and confident. I felt a flutter in my chest I had never felt before. It was like I knew what it was even though it seemed so wrong.

“One more thing Sis,” I said. “You work at a pharmacy. Could you get me some female hormones?”

“You have to be kidding!” she said. “Sure I can get those. There are plenty about as unclaimed prescriptions. But why would you even think about that? You are just dressing up. Hormones cause lasting changes. You just can’t jump over to another sex.”

“There is no jumping,” I explained. “I’ve been pulled over.”

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2023

Erin’s seed: “A young man is stopped while driving by a cop, and the cop dilly dallys talking to the kid, and hands him a paper but it's not a ticket, it's a phone number, and the kid realizes the cop thought he was a girl. But then he has some kind of trouble and decides to call the cop for help …”