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This story originally appeared in the December, 1995 issue of Innerview, the monthly newsletter of
Crossport, the Transgendered support group in Cincinnati, Ohio. I have taken the liberty of making
a few minor revisions.
A Fender Bender
What started out as a shopping/errand trip turned into a dilemma that
most of us worry about and hope will never happen.
Most adults snicker about the old admonition from their mother:
Be sure you are wearing clean underwear, in case
you have an accident.
Well, I had an accident and WAS
wearing clean underwear. Fortunately,
the incident was not severe enough that some medical person would have
the opportunity to inspect my clean panties, and discover my secret.
In addition to the pretty pink panties, decorated with lace and small
blue bows, I was wearing a simple white blouse and a long,
ankle length skirt, which had been selected because the weatherman had
predicted a windy day, and I simply adore the feel of the gentle
breeze blowing my skirt against my nylon covered legs.
While on the way to pick up some dry-cleaning for my trip to St. Louis
the following day, my travels dictated that I make a left turn up
ahead, and as I was checking my rear view mirror, preparatory to
changing lanes, the car ahead of mine suddenly stopped for another who
was turning right into a shopping area.
CRAAASSSHH - - OH S_ _ _ !
Immediately I heard the sound of broken glass and
turned �to see my hood buckling. My first thought
was a four letter expletive, followed closely by frantic thoughts
concerning my current plight; crossdressed
and in a fender bender!
As I sat in the car contemplating my next move, I rummaged through my
purse in search of writing materials to exchange data with the other
driver, a young man traveling with his daughter.
After checking my make-up in the rear view, I went to meet my fate,
determined to see this through as a lady.
By now both people were outside inspecting the damage which consisted
of a small scrape on his bumper and a large gash
in the right front of my car. After ascertaining
that everyone was ok, he called the county
police. We then exchanged information, which
included my drivers' license and an explanation that the picture may
not look quite like me, but indeed it was mine.
I was very relieved that the revelation was accepted without comment
and no apparent animosity.
I Shivered When The Police Arrived
And then...the �police �arrived, and I started to
shiver, but still
remained calm, remembering some sage advice from our editor several
months prior. "Be honest and act like a lady."
The officer surveyed the situation, determined that my car was
drivable and moved us off the road. As the four of us climbed into
the cruiser, the small girl looked my way and we
exchanged smiles, with her commenting, "It's OK maam, no one is hurt." This gesture
helped me greatly.
When it was my turn to hand the officer my operators permit, it was
offered with the same explanation as before, and it was accepted
without question.
As we talked about the accident, I felt a deep
sigh of relief that my cross-dressing did not become an issue,
and �that the police officer
conducted himself in a professional manner.
A trip to St. Louis for a convention was on the agenda for the
following day, but here I was with a smashed up car. I called my
insurance agent and was informed that my coverage did not include a
rental car.
To St. Louis in a Smashed Car
After surveying the damage, checking for fluid leaks, and forcing the
hood back to some semblance of its original shape,
I decided that my car was roadworthy enough for the drive to Missouri,
and the repairs could wait until I arrived back home. Fortunately,
everything worked out well and the trip was uneventful, mechanically
speaking.
After packing the car the next morning, the next two hours were spent
dressing and preparing myself for another new adventure.
Following a brief stop in Louisville about noon for research on a
current genealogy project and a bite to eat at Hardee's and a potty
stop, I proceeded west along Interstate 64 through Illinois.
About the same time that the fuel gauge started showing low,
I realized the need to 'go' again. I had my
choice of several gas stations and chose one with a small restaurant
attached and after filling my tank, went inside to use the restroom.
Only a few tables were in use, but the table closest to �the women's
restroom was occupied by four burly truck drivers. �With a lump in my
throat, I strolled past them and entered. �After being careful to
replace the seat, I again passed the four men who
gave no indication that anything was out of the ordinary.
My belief 'that if you look like you belong there,
people will accept you' was working.
The motel was in the southern part of St. Louis, and I was not familiar
with the area. A stop at the local fire department provided the
directions that I needed and I made my way to the motel.
Check - In
Well in advance of the arrival date at the motel,
I had made reservations in Jill's name. This made
no difference to the clerk,
as she could not find any record of my having called, �but
fortunately I had my confirmation number. As I
filled out the registration card, she asked to see my drivers' license,
which of course, I had not planned on showing her. I explained that I
had none, although I'm sure she saw me drive up, and
instead pulled out my (Jill's) credit card, which
seemed to placate her.
By the time I was unpacked and able to freshen up,
I was famished and headed for a family steak house
which was within walking distance. After waiting in a long zigzagging
line, imagining that everyone 'knew',
I was finally seated and served by a friendly young waitress,
who was open to chatting, and 'wondered why an
attractive lady would be dining by herself.'
Needless to say, I was thrilled
and made it a point to return later in the week, asking to be seated
in her section. If she knew, she never let on, and earned a nice tip
both times.
Stopped By A Security Guard
The short walk back to my room from the restaurant turned into a hike
as I meandered around the complex, in the office, by the pool, to my
room and then back to the ice machine. Apparently my walk had not gone
unnoticed. Returning with a bucket of ice, a security guard stopped
and cautioned me about women walking unescorted
around the property. I acknowledged his concern
and accepted his assistance as we headed back to my room.
During my stay at the motel, anything not feminine was locked up tight
and it appeared as though a female was occupying
the room. I purposely left panties, bras and
hose out in view to further the illusion.
Unfortunately the convention was one that required me to attend as a
male, but I did get in quite a bit of quality time in the evenings.
As I was driving home after receiving an invitation from the
check-out clerk to return again, I reflected
on the events of the past week, and was filled with
happiness that I am/can be Jill.
Via con Dios!
Jill Ambrose
.. or go directly
to one of the following items ..
Out of the Closet . . . Into the Spotlight .. or ..
Prelude To Dallas .. or ..
My Enfemme Flight to the Texas "T" Party .. or ..
Jill Goes To Work Dressed . . . and Survives
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