My dad regretted not having a son. He denies it of course but I could tell by how he pushed athletics on me at a young age. He even bought me a jock strap for my fourth birthday which confused us both. I grew up in Rabbit Ridge KY so began my fabled sports career with tennis and softball. I was decent in tennis until my boobs sprouted like melons, causing boys to giggle each time I rushed the net. I also tended to grunt on my serves quite loudly. It was annoying but, at least, the Asian businessmen watching seemed appreciative.

At seven we moved to Big Beaver, Saskatchewan. He proudly exclaimed one day I might be "Miss Big Beaver," a title I'm not sure any woman truly seeks. In Canada I learned their two major sports, curling and hockey. Curling with all its sweeping seemed too domesticated for me since all I knew about a broom was one was used to rape Linda Blair in a women's prison exploitation movie. (Did anyone have a worst childhood than her?) 

Girl's hockey was in its infancy where it remains today but I loved the physicality of it. While other girls had posters of trendy young pop singers on their walls I opted for the Great Gretzky and Rocket Richard. Plus I had one of Tonya Harding that fueled countless masturbation fantasies. As I neared our rink, the home of the Regina Vaginas, the weather worsened. Both snow and wind were gaining intensity. I leaned forward, squinting thru my icy windshield looking like Mr. Magoo. But weather couldn't deter me. The Vaginas need my inspirational pre-game pep talk. We had lost three-in-a-row and I was prepared to give each teammate the tongue lashing they needed. 

I was far from our best player. My skating was adequate but I hadn't scored a goal in three seasons. My true talent is beating people up. In hockey parlance I'm a "goon." No charm, no pretty girl, just a goon who spent more time caged in a penalty box than Bonnie Parker. The weather would make tonight's crowd as sparse as belly laughs during the "Joker" movie but I don't need a crowd. Tonight we play our American rivals, the Boston Beavers, both teams belonging to the fledgling NHLA (No Hetero Ladies Allowed). 

The cold weather had me in fierce mode and someone would pay. At home I have a necklace made from teeth I dislodged during skirmishes but found that some dates found that rather squeamish.  Especially if I wore it while serving Fava beans and a nice Chianti. Wusses! Late in the game, one of the sweaty Beavers streaked toward out goal with the score tied. She was everything I'm not; gorgeous, lithe, an effortless skater. In other words I hated her so I crashed her into the boards and pilfered the puck, then breathlessly skated toward their trembling goalie.

Picking my spot, hearing adulation from the tiny crowd, I put all my strength behind my shot as the chorus of Warren Zevon's `Hit Somebody' echoed through my brain. The puck struck the back of the net simultaneously with the clock hitting :00. We had won. My drought was over but my real happiness sprang from looking back and spotting my Peggy Fleming-like opponent still lying twitching on the ice where I left her. There was joy in Mudville to mix sports expressions.

Instead of going immediately to the locker room to celebrate with teammates, I opted to stand at the arena door watching the blizzard and basking in adulation. I found it much more satisfying than listening to them gossip about last night's 'Gray's Anatomy. While admiring I could hear a nearby radio report on the US Presidential race which was shaping up between Trump and Bernie Sanders. Or as I call it 'Grumpy Old Men Go to Washington.' Is there no younger person with new, creative ideas left in my former homeland? Maybe Clint Howard is available. My insightful political musings were interrupted by a commotion outside. I extinguished my putrid Red Apple cigarette which was as tasteless as a slice of Little Caesar's Pizza then surveyed outside.

An elderly couple was slowly treading over the ice when their walkers suddenly flew in perfect arcs through the bitter air and they fell like hit by a sniper. The stereophonic sound of their hips shattering was music to my ears but since I'm now a Canadian citizen I called 9-1-1 and dashed outside to help. Damn Canadians! By the time the ambulance arrived, our locker room was empty so I merrily strolled in. It smelled like pussy and Lysol (one out of two ain't bad). It was a tough game and my aching bones took me to the Jacuzzi.  Stripping and climbing in after doing my best Eddie Murphy routine from SNL, I let Calgon take me away until I heard the door creak open, followed by the sound of heels clicking across the mildewed tile flooring.

Barely opening my eyes I was pleasantly surprised to discover a vision of beauty approaching. She was tall, shoulder-length brunette, legs of Wonder Woman and tits of TV'S Wonder Woman. It made me wonder where she'd been all my life. The kind of gal I'd love to give the puck of a lifetime. 

With my breath catching in my throat I extended my trembling, soggy hand and introduced myself.

Hello. I'm Nell. (My dad was big fan of Dudley Doright, hence our move north after a brief stop in Frostbite Falls.

She replied while shaking my hand very firmly, "Hello, Nell. I'm Sydney like the city in Australia not like Sidney Crosby."

She towered over me in an exciting way, not the shrinking violets I'm accustomed to.

She continued, "I'm a scout with the Dildo Strap On's in Dildo, Newfoundland (Google it). Our city is famous for the greatest mascot in history, Duncan the dildo. I have postcards. I'm here looking for a goon and I hear you're one of the gooniest." She then disrobed  to her pink VS thong and laid on the massage table which left me with no option but to walk to her and begin massaging her shoulders.  Her deep moans and undulations were all the encouragement I needed. I flipped her over and gazed longingly at her too perfect breasts. So what if they're store-bought. They looked incredible and she certainly didn't need to keep the receipt.

My face landed with a mushy thud between those gravity-defying orbs and nibbling ensued, her hand behind my head, guiding unnecessarily. 

In a dark whisper she asked, "Well, do you want to come to Dildo? " Since I've cum on my share of dildos I had no objections and began kissing down her taut tummy, while she peeled her thong down and off. She had it all as I stepped back to admire the view: gorgeous boobs, delicious hips, legs of a track star and a fully erect penis....A what! She was transgender. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It just caught me off guard. It's one thing to expect to see a dripping, pink pussy...been there. But to see this huge hunk of throbbing manhood merely inches away was flabbergasting. I was in such shock my jaw could have easily dropped but I didn't want to send the wrong signal.

"Can I get a little help please. My clitty is begging for relief." Her eyes and tone were so sad and pleading. I was tempted for a micro-second but I couldn't jeopardize my membership in the Lesbian Union so I had to decline. She immediately sensed my trepidation,  murmuring, "Do you mind if I finish myself. I shan't be long."

Well since she said 'shan't ` I had to oblige so I hastily scrambled into a Hazmat suit and stood a safe distance away. Sydney proceeded to wrap her well-manicured fingers around that beast and she began pumping like Pee Wee Herman at a private screening of `Shaving Ryan's Privates.' I was already regretting my lack of goggles or an umbrella. Suddenly her body tensed as our eyes locked and she begun spurting like the Bellagio fountain. It would take more than Industrial Mr, Clean to clean these sticky tiles. Watching her pleasure herself I realized the Zevon song had been replaced in my mind with the Kinks iconic 'Lola' which led me to some suggestive bumping and grinding which seemed to revive her still prominent appendage. It all reminded me of a 'What's wrong with this picture' puzzle.

She sauntered over to me, that mystery meat bobbing hypnotically.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out," she said with a hint of remorse. She then kissed with raw passion, seductive like a woman, not crushing like a man. I felt temptation but stood my ground despite weak knees.

"But we'll always have Regina, " she whispered between kisses and handing my a very realistic Dildo dildo. The gift that keeps on giving.

I drove through the snow, confused but quite warm and replaying about what had happened. I honestly didn't know how to feel about it so to clear my head I played Lou Reed's 'Walk on the Wild Side.'
Surprisingly next followed words by Whittier..."It might have been." I slammed on the brakes, doing a bat turn over the icy street and headed back to the arena singing Lola at the top of my lungs, smiling.