Memory Of Getting Harassed By the Police

I’ve resisted writing about two incidents that happened in my youth. Mostly, because they hurt. Both psychologically and in one incident physically. But, I think that it might help me to get them out. And it might help explain why I am so reticent to let anyone know about my struggle with gender dysphoria.

I can already tell this is going to be hard to finish.

I think I’ll start with the less damaging, but certainly not less embarrassing incident. When most teenagers get their driver’s license, they see it as freedom. Freedom from their house. They can go almost anywhere as fast as anybody else can. I certainly felt that way. But, for a slightly different reason. I’ve mentioned before that I’m not a cross dresser. But, that doesn’t mean I didn’t do it. I remember looking up the definition of cross dresser when I was in middle school. It didn’t make sense to me. I wasn’t driven to do it. And I didn’t get some kind of sexual satisfaction from it. I was just trying to resolve the difference between what my brain told me I was, and what I saw in the mirror. But, I knew it was considered bad by my parents and society as a whole.

When I got my driver’s license and a car, I immediately saw that I could kind of be myself outside of the house. Kind of. I couldn’t leave the car with a dress on. But, I could drive. And drive I did. I’ve always liked staying in motion. It’s easier to clear my head. Both in the car and on the bike. Well, there was one night when the inevitable happened. I got pulled over. By the California Highway Patrol. I had gotten brazen and left the little valley we lived in. I had driven up to canyon toward Interstate 10. And on my way back down Lambs Canyon, I was speeding. It was my own damn fault.

The officer didn’t say anything when he took my license and registration. But, while he was back in his car, another two cars pulled up. A minute later, I was asked to get out of the car. I asked if I was under arrest. Too that, I was told in a more strenuous tone to get out of my car. My body was shaking. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t have any warrants. You don’t usually have to get out of your car for speeding. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I somehow knew what was about to happen.

I stood there, with the open car door between me and the laughing officers. I was told to close the door so they could get a better look. I tried to say that I was coming home from a costume party. They didn’t seem to believe me. They told me to move closer. They told me to stand in front of my car. One officer approached me and fondled my fake left breast. He then reached around and slapped my butt and asked if I liked that. Then walked back laughing to his coworkers. I remember them asking more questions. But, since it was so long ago, I don’t remember anything else outside of getting back in the car and driving to a turnout at the bottom of the canyon. My whole body was shaking. I just looked out the window and silently cursed myself for being so stupid.



About Frogtosser

A former sailor and pizza maker who is done hiding from the world and is now living life to it's fullest extent. I'm a single speed bicycle commuter who enjoys writing and photography. I'm a voracious reader. And a huge geek!
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One Response to Memory Of Getting Harassed By the Police

  1. Sarah says:

    Wow Becca- both this story and your memory of getting beat up are terrifying. I like to think that we live in a different, safer time now but I also think stuff like this still happens. I’m sure both of these incidents left you with some serious trauma.

    I’ve often thought that darkness provides a sort of safety for me when I’m out and dressed up. Like the shadows make it harder to see me and see who I am. I’m way more comfortable when I’m out at night than in broad daylight. But that’s also the most dangerous time for all women. It’s a strange dichotomy.

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