Goalposts Pt. 01

Introduction

A young pre-op trans woman soccer player is passionate about the game and discovers romance on the pitch.

Based on contemporary themes; strong language; explicit sex; lots of fun; some tears.

"Player down! Medic!"

Vicki was already racing across the grass, holding the first aid bag like a shield in front of her as she ran towards the stricken player.

Another team member was cradling the injured woman's head as Vicki knelt down in the circle of legs formed by the players on the grass. They talked amongst themselves, offering encouragement to their team member.

"You'll be okay, Lissa. Soak it up girl," called one voice above the others.

"Shut the fuck up, Georgie," another voice answered. "Her leg got proper walloped."

Vicki ignored their chatter and focused on her assessment. Having seen Lissa fall, she already had a list of possible injuries in her mind.

"I heard it pop, Vicks. I think I buggered me knee." Lissa cried in exasperation.

"I got you, Lissa," Vicki counselled her. "Gimme a pain rating 1-10 on the knee? Okay, let your leg go floppy for me, we need to run through some checks, honey. It's okay, I won't drop it, I promise. Blow out one long breath for me. That's it, well done."

Vicki supported the girl's knee and gently pulled the tibia forward. There should have been resistance, but it was slack and mushy. For a physio like Vicki this was a red light. She knew Lissa could not carry on the match.

"What's the verdict, Vicks?" Lissa asked, sitting up, pulling the sweat band from her hair.

"Stretcher, honey. Sorry. Lets get you off," Vicki answered, standing to make a signal to the pitch side team, who hurried across with a stretcher. There were plenty of helping hands to gently lift Lissa.Vicki went on ahead, opening the doors to the changing room for the stretcher team.

"Shit, shit, shit! It was their sodding Centre Half. She launched herself right at me. Did you see it, Vicks? She should be bloody sent off. Fucks sake. Vicks - is it my ACL?" Lissa's face was red with tears and frustration, her anger echoing back from the bare walls.

With Lissa on the examination couch, Vicki continued her observations, ignoring the anger, staying calm, being professional; but she knew exactly how Lissa felt. It was her ACL - little doubt about it - though a MRI would confirm it. Lissa's season was done, which meant no more competitive sport for three or four months.

Another young woman in a sweatshirt and jeans burst into the room, looking around wildly until she focused on the pair.

"Hey Lissa, honey! How're doing? I saw you go down." Fran was Lissa's girlfriend. She bent to cradle Lissa's face, cushioning a few sobs from the injured woman against her chest.

"What's the verdict, Vicki?" asked Fran, turning to her.

"I can't be certain," Vicki murmured, avoiding the eyes scrutinising her. "Can you help her out of her kit and get her to casualty? Lissa, you may bend your knee gently but avoid weight-bearing till we know what's going on. I'm going to strap it up anyway but that'll just be a temporary fix, okay?"

"Do you think it's a tear?" Fran persisted, clearly knowing the significance of such an injury.

"Quite possibly. Lets see what a scan shows up." Vicki's reply was professional, but she knew it was a very serious injury.

With her patient bundled off to ER, Vicki returned to her pitch side duty.

She had been the senior physio for the county's field hockey team for over a year and had been short-listed to head up the England physio team at the Olympics.

She took her seat in the concrete dug-out along with the subs and team helpers, her patient Lissa still on her mind. Not the diagnosis, but the career changing impact it might have on her future.

The game was again in full flow. Fast action as the ball cracked from one player to another. The blur of legs and sticks often made her wince, because through her eyes she saw the risks as much as the athleticism in her players.

Field hockey wasn't her first sport, though she loved her new career. Her true passion lay in soccer where she had blossomed briefly as a player in her city team. The dynamics for individual players were similar in both sports. There were the same relationships, a friendly rivalry as much as the sense of belonging and purpose.

A team is bigger than its players, though the individuals remain the focal point. Individuals are lauded by the fans and scrutinised by the press. Every detail of a successful player was broadcast to a hungry media audience and it was not always positive. Very often it was intrusive.

Vicki was transgender. She'd never tried to hide the fact, but neither did she feel it was other people's business. It was her body and her life, but being trans became a political football that hit her square in the face.

As a kid she loved her first football -- a plastic supermarket one covered in lions and crowns. Her father was a keen Pompey supporter and he'd urge on his little player in the park, then on the walk back, and on their tiny patch of grass at home. He'd painted a white goal on the red brick garden wall over which the ball would often fly into neighbour's garden. Vicki used to wonder how the ball would magically re-appear overnight, until she learned to apologise and thank the old couple next door, taking them cakes she and her mother made together.

Helping in the kitchen seemed natural to her and although it irritated her father, he recognised she had an enquiring mind, hungry to learn and express herself. When she finally came out as transgender he was in shock, but he was further confused when she told him, "We can still play footie, can't we, Dad?"

It softened the blow to him, even if at first it seemed a contradiction. His son had embodied his hopes and rekindled his own childhood memories, and like any loving father, he hoped his son's dreams would come true and he could bathe in the warm pride he already felt in him.

But then this. Who was this child? What had happened to his son? How could he fix the unfixable? He had to constantly correct himself with pronouns and use her new name, but he accepted the inconvenience because he loved her all the same. It wasn't easy at first, but she was his child, his blood, and he'd do anything to ensure she felt loved and was happy.

Football remained their shared passion -- the one link that had remained a constant between them while everything else in the family turned upside down.

Maybe she could play for a women's team and he'd be there to cheer her, along with other parents, nestling warm clothes and sticky plasters in their daughter's kit bags?

Vicki persisted, her gender identity consistent, her belief insistent -- the three tenets that convinced her therapists and medical team that she wasn't faking or delusional. She was transgender.

Although female soccer wasn't a regular school sport, Vicki reasoned other girls played too, so why not her? The same girls could easily rock up at parties looking cute, their eyes bright and their energy bubbling over into shared pranks and laughter. So could she.

Her normal puberty had been delayed with blockers and when she was old enough she'd started hormone therapy under the supervision of her Gender Identity Clinic. To all outward appearances she was just another soccer mad girl, sporting blonde highlights in a pony tail.

Her youth club accepted her as the talented player she was. In Vicki's world, limited to school and soccer, she thought she understood everything she needed to know about being transgender. She knew no different under the protection of an understanding school and loving parents.

With her parents encouragement and seeing that her success in the team helped her make new friends and build her confidence, her talent soon placed her in a local club team.

One misty autumn training day her coach called her over.

"Wassup, Sean?" Vicki asked suspiciously as she ran up.

"S'all good kid. This is Mike Caffrey, from the City Junior squad. He's been watching the session. Wants you to try out for them. Wotcha fink of that then, Vicks?" Sean mussed up her hair to show his excitement.

Sean was old school footie, keen to make his mark with the bigger team managers. In this case, having one of his players move up was a source of pride.

"Nice to meet you, Vicki." Mr Caffrey stooped to offer his hand, even though they were eye to eye. "Interested in playing in Ruby n Whites with us at City?"

"Sure, yeah. Who wouldn't? I'd have to check with my Mum and Dad. I'm gone eighteen but they still think of me as being a ten year old."

"Of course. You're ahead of me, Vicki. If Sean can pass on their contact details I'll give them a call and see what we can sort out. Nothing official, like. Just a chance for you to get to know the other Juniors and have a kick around at one of our sessions."

"Brilliant, thanks!" Vicki beamed, looking across to Sean for his nod of approval.

"Right, off ya go then, love. Don't be bragging to the other girls just yet, Vicks. This is just a trial, so best keep it under yer hat for now."

As Vicki ran back to the other players, Sean turned to Mike.

"Of course, y'know she's transgender, Mike? Used to be a flippin' boy. I mean, I'd never have known, mind, and the other girls get on with her all the same. Their generation doesn't seem bovvered, does it?"

"Yea, I did know. Well, word gets around, doesn't it? We've all gotta be woke these days, if that's the right word. All I care about is how she plays, and I can see the kid's got talent. So long as the management are good with it, then she could be a real asset to us.

"Send me her parent's number and I'll give them a call. Good to meet you again, Sean. City relies on coaches like you."

Mike gave Sean a friendly handshake, then pulled up the collar of his overcoat against the damp air as he walked away.

* * * * *

That was Vicki's break. She was accepted into the Juniors squad, playing matches on the reserve pitches as the main teams battled it out in the stadiums. The squad consisted of around 20 girls who lived and breathed the game and lived in each other's pockets. They swapped clothes, snacks and occasionally, boyfriends. Other relationships blossomed too, between the players.

It wasn't long before she was selected to play for the professional Women's Team.

"That's the new winger, Vicki Hadley, taking on the Birmingham defence with a pacey run deep... Lotte Brizel has space in the centre, takes the cross on the volley and... She scores! High in the back corner. The keeper was caught wrong-footed and unable to match the pace of that attack. What a combination and what an asset this young player Vicki Hadley is proving to be."

The radio commentator was exuberant and Vicki's mother punched the air at home, then laughing, wiped a tear from her eyes.

On the pitch, Lotte ran to catch Vicki who was already jogging back to the centre line. A pack of other players raced to catch them as well, whooping for joy, sharing hi-fives and hugs. Lotte threw herself at Vicki, wrapping her legs around the winger's waist.

"I fucking love you, Vicki," Lotte gasped excitedly, mussing up Vicki's hair.

"Love you too! Neat finish Lots -- awesome delivery." Vicki laughed back, letting Lotte slip back to her feet.

"No. I mean I really fucking love you, Vicki, y'know. I really do. Sorry honey, bad timing. Couldn't help myself. Come on, we got this lot licked." Lotte was suddenly serious, then she raced back up the pitch in a gang of celebration with the other players.

"... and that's the full time whistle and City can be rightly proud of the Women's team today. 4 -- 1 is a solid result that will take them into the quarter finals against Durham in a fortnight's time. We have to wrap up here at Whiteside Lane, so I'll now hand you back to the main studio..."

Vicki walked down the tunnel to the changing rooms with her celebrating team mates. Lotte found her and draped an arm over her shoulder, and other players slapped her affectionately as they tramped noisily down the slope.

"Bloody Faggot! Weirdo!" A man's voice screamed from the terrace above the tunnel as they disappeared from view.

Lotte squeezed Vicki tight and couple of other girls exchanged glances in momentary silence. Vicki knew the slur was meant for her but pretended she hadn't heard. The mood threatened to turn until Beth, the captain, rushed over to them and started her goofy chant, "Kolo Kolo Yaya." Quickly, they all picked up the fun, shouting it loud in defiance and happiness so the insult was forgotten.

Being pre-op, Vicki couldn't fully integrate with the other players when changing. It had been discussed when she transferred to the professional squad and if there was dissent it was never voiced. They were a team and that was bigger than any individual.

As her team mates boisterously charged the changing room doors, Vicki hung back, watching their stampede, hugging her fleece top to her chest with a smile. She turned to another room where she could change and shower on her own, the one marked with a wheelchair logo, for disabled people. She felt a fraud to be using it.

She threw down her kitbag and slumped onto the bench with a sigh. As she bent to untie her boots, there was a knock on the door.

"Yeah?" she called, knowing sometimes the coach looked in after a game.

There was no reply so she got to her feet and unlatched the door to peek out. It was Lotte.

"Can I come in?" Lotte smiled up at Vicki. She was still in her match strip, a towel draped over shoulders, her dark hair in a tousled mess and a streak of muddy finger prints still smeared across her forehead.

Vicki looked beyond Lotte anxiously, but the corridor was empty, filled only with the noise of the other players in the next room.

"Umm, sure yes, I guess," Vicki answered, letting Lotte slip past her before leaning back and turning the latch on the closed door. "Wassup, Lotte?"

They faced each other in an awkward silence until Lotte could contain her excitement no longer.

"Can I say what's on my mind, Vicki? You can tell me to shove off and I'll never ever mention it again, but I have to say it. Again. You remember what I said on the pitch?"

Vicki shrugged with a smile. "It was an awesome goal, Lotte."

"I'd sooner score with you. Fuck -- does that sound really corny? I said I love you, but that isn't possible yet is it? I mean 'love' -- that's a big thing, huh? So, you know, you and me. Could we be a thing together, like Beth and Viv? Would you be into that? Sorry, I'm blurting, right? So you can tell me to shove it, but I know you're single for one thing and..."

"And transgender," Vicki interrupted, feeling the need to remind her.

"And fucking irresistible, with your oh-so-innocent blue eyes and fuck-me legs." Lotte countered with a giggle and stepped closer, stroking her hands from Vicki's shoulders down her arms.

"Is this okay?" Lotte whispered, inching closer.

Vicki gave a barely perceptible nod with her heart thumping. She placed tentative hands on Lotte's waist.

The noisy racket of the team reached a new crescendo as they congo-danced out of the changing room. Behind the door, Vicki closed her eyes as Lotte's lips softly brushed hers.

"...Just give me a reason, just a little bit of fluff.

Just a second we're both broken and bent, and we can earn your love again."

Lotte sniggered, turning her face away.

"They're singing that for us, kiddo." Lotte laughed, her eyebrows raised, rocking herself in Vicki's arms.

"They know?" Vicki asked, incredulous.

"...We're pouring a drink

No nothing is as mad as it seems

She'll. Come. Clean"

The raucous song rolled on outside and someone banged on the door, laughing.

"We know what you're do-ing!"

"That was Laura!" Lotte smiled, rolling her eyes, then looked directly at Vicki. "Yes they know. Seems like you were the last one to catch on, sweetheart."

"No, no... I did know. Well I guessed but..." Vicki spluttered, her face blushing scarlet.

"Like I said. Irresistible. Shall we?" Lotte kissed her firmly, their wet tongues sealing the decision, before taking Vicki's hand to lead her away from the door.

They began to strip off their kit, throwing it in a heap on the bench.

Lotte pulled off her bra with an upward stretch, smiling triumphantly at Vicki, who hesitated, her hands at the waistband of her trunks. She pulled a face of embarrassment to Lotte, uncomfortable to be completely naked.

"Aww. Keep 'em on if you like, honey. Come on, into the shower and lets get clean." Lotte spoke affectionately, turning naked to lean into the cubicle to set the shower running with a hiss of hot water.

Vicki watched Lotte for a moment, seeing the soft flair of her bottom that seemed at odds with the flexing lithe muscles of her legs. Lotte's skin was naturally pale but there was a saddle of red where her sports bra had chafed. Vicki realised she wanted to rub those shoulders and was drawn to the naked intimacy of skin and water.

Though Vicki was a little bewildered by the speed of events, Lotte's exuberant enthusiasm and sense of fun was infectious. She found herself stepping boldly into the spray of cascading water and Lotte's arms reaching out to her.

Laughing, they both agreed the force of the shower was no place for slow kisses. They took turns to wash each other's hair, using the same apple scented gel. Their skin would later share the same orchard freshness.

As Lotte's back was turned, Vicki reached around with soapy hands to cup her breasts, soft under her massaging fingers, the sides of their faces pressed together with closed eyes in the luxury of wet nakedness.

Lotte pressed her bottom back, but Vicki avoided making contact, bashful that her penis was roused, an intruder to their privacy. Lotte noticed Vicki's shift and turned to face her.

"It's okay, Vicki. I'm pan. Pansexual I mean." Lotte gushed, then saw how uncomfortable Vicki looked.

"Sorry honey, I'm the one who barged in here. Forgive me, I didn't think. Are you..."

"Can we talk about it later, Lots? I'm still running to catch up, but I do want this. Want you too." Vicki spoke to interrupt her then bent to kiss again, their breasts pressed and slippery in the steamy heat of the shower.

"So there's definitely a later?" Lotte smirked, her eyebrows raised with her question.

Vicki nodded with a smile that grew to fill her eyes with laughter.

"Come on then, before we drown in here or get thrown out," Lotte whispered as they briefly kissed again. She stepped away, drawing Vicki with her by a hand.

As they stood drying off, Vicki wrapped her towel round her chest and wriggled out of her trunks, letting them land with a flop round her ankles.

"Oh heck," said Lotte. "I need to go back next door to grab my stuff. This'll be fun. Have you a spare towel I can borrow for my hair?"

She wrapped it into a turban and paused at the door to adjust the towel round her body.

"I think there's a gang of them going to Gino's for drinks. What d'ya think? Maybe give that a miss? We can grab a pizza if you wanna come back to mine?"

"Sure. I'd like that," Vicki replied.

"Oh Jeez. Wish me luck." Lotte laughed with gurgle as she unlocked the door and with a glance outside, made a flutter of fingers to Vicki and was gone.

Vicki sat back on the bench then heard the sudden rising chorus of voices and banter from the main changing room.

"Oh God. Oh no!" Vicki laughed, her blushes hidden in her cupped hands.

* * * * *

"This is me," said Lotte, shouldering open her front door. "Here, let me help you with that."

Lotte took the two pizza boxes, letting Vicki step through with her kit bag and a bottle of wine. Lotte rented on her own in a block of apartments, not far from the stadium. Her accommodation was modest - the club paid a decent wage but buying her own place was still out of reach.