I spent the next morning with my parents. We didn't do anything in particular, just had breakfast together and mooched about the house. The introduction of Tabitha was an obvious elephant in the room, but it didn't feel like there was any dreaded anticipation attached to her homecoming. More just a biding of time until it was to happen.

It reached 11.45am, and I said I'd better be heading off. No need to say where or why.

"Ok, darling", my mum said. "We'll see you when you get back home."

My dad, head buried in the morning newspaper, raised his hand to bid me adieu.

By spring semester Bob’s paper was written and had got an A++. However, many boys still wore the lilac skirt to school. That had taken on a life of its own. Bob could easily have quashed it but saw no point in doing it (and it was his mother's shop that sold them). Besides a couple of his teammates had decided that they liked wearing the skirt. And it WAS the school colors, if they wore it with a black shirt.

I woke up the next morning not 100% certain where I was. My memory of the preceding evening was hazy and my head felt heavy.

What idiot did come up with that title? I’m NOT a sissy. I’m NOT a girl. I’m a BOY, sort of. More specifically I’m a femboy. A proud, strong, self-confident femboy. I’m NOT a sissy. The word sissy has too many connotations of wimpishness. I’m NOT a wimp.

Still, many people call me a sissy. And – it’s true I’m changing with the football team. So there is some truth to the title even if I resent the wording - profoundly.

Following our win, the girls arranged for us to have night out on the town to celebrate. It was already 8pm by the time everything had wrapped up, but everyone agreed to get quickly changed back at their homes and to meet at the local Wetherspoons for 9pm.

My alarm woke me up at 8am. The final wasn't due to kick off until 5pm, so I'd only need to be at Miss Snell's house to get ready 2pm at the earliest. That gave me 6 hours to kill before then.

I got up and did myself some breakfast. Then I decided to go for a little morning run. Nothing too strenuous before the big game later in the day, but something to get the blood flowing and the body active. I slipped on a pair of pants, a pair of shorts and an under armour t-shirt.

It was a strange feeling that followed our semi-final. On the one hand, we had done brilliantly in reaching the cup final, which had always been our aim. On the other hand, we would have to play the final without our captain, Katie. I felt particularly bad: she'd only been sent off because she was acting to protect me. I did express this to her, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Don't be silly. It's my own fault, I act before thinking sometimes. But at least I made it a good one, wiped the stupid cow right off her feet."

We both shared a laugh and a hug.

I has only planning on doing one story but I kind of got the writing bug so decided to write more. It is still a what if series so none of these events actually happened just what I predict would happen next. The story carries on the morning after the last story

The game against Oakwood High kicked off at 3pm, just three days after the match against St. Mary's. In between the games we'd had two more training sessions, the first of which was a recovery session, and the second of which focused on what we would likely encounter against Oakwood. They had a reputation for employing the dark arts, so we practiced short-sharp passing drills, designed at moving the ball on quickly and moving into space, so that they would have no time to commit fouls.

We spent the next two days finalising our preparation for the match against St. Mary's. The county cup was an 8 team tournament, meaning that this was a quarter final match. Win, and we'd be in the semi finals, and another win there would put us in the final.

Despite my heroics in the first training session, where I'd scored a hat-trick and felt unbeatable, I was beginning to see how playing in the girls team would be no walk in the park.

Miss Snell dropped me off just outside the local bowling alley at around 5pm. I asked her if she was joining us, but she said that this was just for the team and she didn't want to 'cramp our style'.

"Enjoy yourself, and I'll pick you up later. Just give me a call when you're ready." And with that, she left.

The next day I was at the pitch with Miss Snell around an hour before my soon-to-be teammates would start arriving. I had already been transformed into Tabitha earlier in the morning: my hair was put into a high ponytail and I was wearing a pink thong and a pink Nike sports bra. Over this I was wearing a pair of white football shorts and a Manchester United football top. I had tried to protest about the top, being a Manchester City fan, but Miss Snell insisted. The top was hers, and she said "no niece of mine is wearing the enemy's kit", with a wink and big grin.

We spent several hours that evening talking about what had just happened and what was going to happen over the coming weeks. The entire time I was sat wearing the leggings and sports bra Miss Snell had asked me to wear. It was all incredibly surreal, but undoubtedly exciting. I could feel my penis getting aroused during the initial stages of our conversation, but luckily my gaff kept it from springing loose. After about 15 minutes, that initial excitement died down, and the whole situation began to feel completely normal.

I placed the football down on the penalty spot. Heart thumping, I took three strides back and then one to my left. One last glance at the goal and a deep breath. I knew what I had to do. All 9 takers prior to me had converted their spot-kicks. Score, and the shoot-out went to sudden death; miss, and we'd lost the county cup final. I began my run-up, knowing I planned to put the ball into the top-right corner of the goal, out of the keeper's reach.

“It’s like the end of some detective show, isn’t it?”

This is a bit of a re-released. I missed the end off of the story