It’s like slow motion when it’s happening. I remember the powder from the side airbag. And the pain.My door won’t open. I try to move. I think I...screamed. Cindy, don’t do that again.A good Samaritan rapped on my passenger-side window.“Break it!” I yelled. Winced. Whimpered.“Turn your head,” he yelled.I turned my head, squeezed my eyes shut, heard glass shatter, then the door open.“Are you okay, miss?” a big, burly face asked me.Winced again. “No. My leg...” Inventory. Wet. Either I peed myself. The Good Samaritans are exchanging worried frowns. No doubt this isbecause for the last minute and a half the girl in front of them has beenacting like she's escaped from somewhere.And now it hits me.I'm a girl.I'm female.I've got tits and a vagina.I'm a she.I'm a her.I'm a girl.She's made me into a fucking girl.Yeah, and one who doesn't know her address, her date of birth or her ownhusband's Christian name. You'd better scarper before that pair start towonder if they should call for. More

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