by Cal Y. Pygia


Old habits die hard. Jamie Lee was reminded of the truth of that aphorism the day that she forgot to use the ladies’ room. As a transsexual who’d undergone counseling and was presently taking daily doses of estrogen both to repress her testosterone and to maintain her breasts, softened skin, fuller buttocks, and the other secondary sexual characteristics of the female, Jamie usually remembered to use the public restroom that coincided with her change in sex. However, today, distracted by her concern with her father’s declining health, she entered the men’s room, as she had done all the years of her life, before she’d discovered that she was a woman trapped inside the body of the opposite sex.

She’d done more than merely enter the wrong restroom. She’d actually stepped up to one of the urinals, unzipped her jeans, withdrawn her penis, and begun to piss. She knew she’d made a mistake when she heard the man who’d just entered the facility cry, “What the hell?”

Mortified, Jamie blushed, willing her bladder to cease emptying itself, and stuffing her penis back into her pants.

“Freak!” the man cried.

Jamie’s blush deepened. She hurried toward the exit, without pausing to wash her hands.

The man blocked her way. He was big and burly. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Please,” Jamie entreated him, “just let me go.”

He grinned humorlessly. “Like hell.” He strode toward Jamie, but she dodged him and sprinted toward the door, as fast as she could on her heels. Behind her, she heard the big man’s grunt of surprise, followed by a curse. She never knew whether he chased her (although she suspected he did), because she never glanced back to find out. In a couple of seconds, she’d exited the men’s room and was in the hallway outside. What if the big lug did intend to pursue her? Jamie asked herself. She didn’t know whether he intended to hurt her physically, molest her sexually, or call the cops on her for being in the wrong restroom. It was best not to take chances, she decided, and fled into the sanctuary of the ladies’ room. Even the muscle-bound creep who’d accosted her in the men’s room wouldn’t dare step foot inside the ladies’ room, Jamie thought.

She was right. The bully didn’t chase her into the ladies’ room. Some place were safe, even from men who would intimidate, harass, browbeat, or otherwise persecute a beautiful young transsexual for no other “reason” that she was different from genetic women. Assholes like the idiot who’d confronted her in the men’s room couldn’t live and let live; they had to control and dominate others.

Outside, the oppressor paused in the hallway. His feeble mind sought to figure out how his prey could have escaped him. He was right on her ass. In fact, the restroom door had slammed in his face. If it hadn’t been for the damned door, he’d surely have been able to seize the freak by her--or his--or its--wrist before it got away. As it was, the freaky bitch couldn’t have gone far. There was still time for him to have a little fun with “her.” And fun it would be, too. One hell of a pair of tits jutted from her taut blouse, and both a fine ass and long, tapering legs were evident inside her tight jeans. There’d been no time for her--or him--or it to go more than a few yards before he’d opened the door and given chase. Think! He told himself. Where could the transgendered freak have gone?

His eyes fell on the stylized figure that represented a woman in a skirt, and he knew, as soon as he saw it, that his quarry had fled into the ladies’ room. Of course! He told himself. There was nowhere else the freaky bitch could have hidden in so short a time!

Now that he’d located his intended victim’s hiding place, another problem presented itself. He couldn’t very well enter the ladies’ restroom. There were some places that were off-limits even to a big galoot such as he--not that the no-man’s land of the ladies’ room had been any obstacle to the transsexual freak. Maybe he could flush the shemale bitch out by announcing “her” presence to one of the women who entered the lavatory, he thought, grinning.

It wasn’t long before he had the chance to test his plan. Within minutes, a beefy, blue-haired matron waddled up the hallway, making her way toward the ladies’ room. “Watch out!” the bully warned. “There’s a freak in there!”

The bovine woman eyed him suspiciously. “What?” she demanded.

“One them transsexuals went in there.”

Her beady eyes narrowed. “How do you know this person is a transsexual?”

“He was in the men’s room, peeing in the urinal just before he ran into the ladies’ room.”

The beefy woman scowled. “What are you doing lurking about the ladies’ room, anyway?”

“I wanted to warn women about this wannabe woman freak.”

“My daughter is a transsexual,” the bovine woman declared, anger flashing in her eyes.

The bully gulped. “Oh.”

“She uses the ladies’ room, too.”

The bully took a few steps away from the glowering matron. “Oh.”

“Don’t you know what a transsexual is?”

The bully shuffled his feet, looking at the floor. “No, ma’am, I guess not.”

“A person trapped in the body of the opposite sex,” she explained.


“If a transsexual entered the ladies’ room, she has every right to be there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“As much right as any other woman.”


“And far more right than you have lurking about. I have a mind to notify security about you.”

“No need, ma’am. I was just leaving.”

The beefy woman measured the bully with her eyes, as if she were fitting him for a funeral shroud. “You’d better be!”

He slinked off, down the hallway.

The matron shook her head as he watched his retreat. Then, she went into the ladies’ room to see what in the world had possessed her daughter to have gone into the men’s room.

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