Gaby Book 14 ~ The Girl ~ Chapter *26* Planning for Mischief

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*Chapter 26*

Planning for Mischief

 
 
“So what do you think?” Steff asked the assembled Angels.

“It’s certainly different,” Pia noted.

We were making use of Thesing’s closed coffee bar for our usual gossip fest this week, not as cool as the wine cellar but we are left to our own devices.

“Well I’m in,” Brid stated, “Zombies and vampires are getting a bit old.”

“So where did you find this ‘Dia de los Muertos ’ stuff?” Con asked.

“My cousin Kristina,” Steff started.

“From Dortmund?” Nena interrupted.

“The same, well she and her man went to Cancun last year and it was on.”

“Lucky sods,” Pia mentioned.

“You up for it Mand, this Day of the Dead stuff?” I asked our newest recruit.

“I guess so, I don’t really go for costumes, it’s just like face painting right?”

“So what do we wear?” I posed to the others.

“Party frocks I guess,” Steff supplied.

“That’s a relief, I’ve not got time for costume shopping.” I opined.

“You not coming to Koblenz Saturday?” Brid asked.

“Duh! You know she’s going to the clinic this week,” Con supplied.

“That this week?” Brid bounced back, “I thought that was weeks away, sorry, Gab I forgot about that.”

I wish it still was.

“So?” Mand prompted.

“Yeah just normal party dresses.”

“That I can do.” She allowed.

“So when do you go in, Gab?” Pia queried.

“Friday evening after school,” I can’t even have any dinner, I’ll waste away.

“Amanda can come though?” Nena proposed.

“You wanna go with the girls to Koblenz Saturday?” I asked.

“What about training and stuff? I should come visit you in hospital.”

“You can ride up to Adenau and back first thing, we don’t usually go till like ten o’clock. I’ll probably be out of it till late on so I won’t be seeing visitors.”

“I guess, okay, if it’s okay with your rents.”

“She says yes, anyone want more coffee?”
 
 
 
 

If you are not reading this on Big Closet it has been stolen and illegally posted. This work is Copyright Madeline Bell and no permission has been giving for posting elsewhere in any form.


 
 
I couldn’t sleep, the moon was doing a good searchlight impersonation, illuminating my eyrie like daylight – well it seemed that way leastways. My mind kept taking its thoughts towards the weekend and my impending surgery, surgery that I don’t really want but could save my life. There are lots of medical names for my ‘issue’ but essentially its called labial fusion – in my case it’s a bit more extreme than usual.

What I had thought was my John Thomas is in fact a malformation of my peephole due in part to the other issues; the surgery is in effect a cut and stitch to make everything normal. Yeah normal for a girl, not for Drew Bond.

Did Drew ever really exist? Have I always been Gaby in all but name? Well I guess the latter, I have two X chromosomes, which makes me 100% girl, only a plumbing issue gave the lie any life. It still doesn’t mean I have to like it or want it.

How many times I went over everything I don’t know, too many for sure, there certainly wasn’t, couldn’t be any change to the situation. I’ve seen the scans, endured the endo camera thingy, in all but one small detail I know I’m female like a stick of Whitby rock. Aaargh, why me?

 
 
At some point I must’ve dropped off as I was woken by Dad banging on my door.

“You getting up, kiddo?”

“Swots the time?”

“Five past seven.”

“Shitza!”

I did bed to breakfast in five minutes flat.

“You might want to use a mirror before you go,” Dad suggested.

“Er yeah.”

“Bad night?”

“Could say that, I didn’t sleep much.”

“It’ll be fine, luv,” Mum put in before giving me a hug from behind, “get your tea and I’ll sort out your hair, it’s a right rats nest.”

 
 
“You look like a right Prussian princess,” Con mentioned when I walked into the bakery twenty minutes later.

“Mum,” I noted.

‘I’ll sort your hair’, yeah it’s been braided and clipped into total submission, not the twin pretzels but coiled around my head and somehow finished off with some sort of Gordian knot on top – like she said, very Prussian.

“Didn’t think you were coming,” Pia told me.

“Got up late, I couldn’t get to sleep last night.”

“Be all that coffee you put away last night,” Steff suggested.

“Yeah,” I agreed unwilling to share my fears at this time of the day before I’ve got my head around them.

 
 
I pulled my coat’s collar up further, the hair wasn’t an issue in itself, no it was the fact that it wasn’t covering my neck and this morning there is a distinct chill to the air. Thanks, Mum! I guess it’s not blowing about and getting in a tangled mess, maybe braids aren’t so bad – occasionally.

“Tell Amanda we’ll get the ten thirty Express on Saturday,” Pia requested as we bowled down the cycle track.

“Sure, you’ll go easy on her eh?”

“Of course,” Steff agreed.

Not sure I trust them but Mand’s a big girl, she can look after herself.

 
 
The next couple of days were notable only in their uneventfulness; nothing to make them stand out right up to my, well our, Con came along again, return to Eloise Couture. I was surprised when we arrived to find Gerta in attendance to another customer when we arrived.

“Fraulein Bond, I will be with you shortly, go through, Dotty will assist you.”

“Er thanks,” I allowed. The young woman looked somehow familiar but I couldn’t place her, she’d looked over and smiled when Gerta mentioned my name – strange.

 
 
“Wish I had your bod,” Con sighed as she ‘helped’ me undress.

“It’s yours for the weekend.”

“Maybe next week, I think I’ll pass on this weekend’s activities.”

“Huh, call yourself a friend.”

“Wouldn’t want to deprive you.”

“Thanks,” I mentioned with the merest hint of sarcasm.

“You’re welcome!”

Dotty bustled in preventing any further discourse on the forthcoming weekend.

“Let’s get you into the corset fraulein Bond.”

“Um sure.”

 
 
I always thought of Dotty as the softer of the pair but after she tugged, tied and cajoled my body into the vice like grip of the corset I need to re-evaluate on that. I swear it was tighter than Monday, my torso was rigid and unbending, the girls almost spilling from the top, not totally uncomfortable – less so when I stepped into the shoes Dotty fetched out with the promised twelve centimetre heels.

“Come on, girl, give me a hand,” Dotty instructed Con.

“Okay.”

The bell on the door preceded the arrival of Gerta.

“Sorry about that, I see Dot has you laced down nicely.”

“Fifty,” Dotty mentioned.

“Gut,” Gerta smiled.

Hang on; did she say fifty as in half a metre? Nah, must’ve misheard.

The petticoat first then the dress in turn were snugged into position, even I could tell the difference from Monday. The slight gappiness around my décolleté was now absent, the fabric was tight over the corset and with the higher heels the skirts were ground skimming rather than dragging. Yeah, I’m not gonna be doing much bending or running about but despite my reluctance to fill the post, I can live with this.

“Spectacular!” Gerta allowed stepping back to get a better view.

“I think so too,” Dotty agreed, “such proportions suit the style so well.”

“Are we done?” I enquired.

“The impatience of the Jüngere,” Gerta sighed.

 
 
“Flippin’ heck, Gab, that dress fits where it touches.”

“Yeah.”

“And fifty centimetres, I’ve not seen a waist so tiny,” she went on.

“It can’t be that small, my jeans have sixty waist.”

“I’m telling you it was fifty, Dotty measured it enough times.”

“And the dress is that size, bum, I best not put any weight on.”

“As if you could, I bet you weigh under sixty.”

“Fifty?” I offered.

“Fifty? In my dreams,” she lamented.

“You are er bigger than me,” I pointed out.

“Still.”

“Let’s face it, nearly everyone is bigger than me.”

 
 
“You all fitted up?” Mand asked as I sagged onto the sofa.

“Yeah, can you believe it, I need a fifty centimetre waist to fit the dress.”

“What’s that in English?”

For a country that is supposed to only use metric in schools, how come everyone young and old still use the old imperial standards?

“Erm,” I did a quick calculation, two and a half to one, “twenty inches?”

“Don’t be daft.”

“I’m not, honest, ask Con.”

“But that’s like…tiny.”

“No kidding,” I agreed, “my jeans are sixty”

“So how?”

“Duh, a corset of course.”

“You wear a corset?”

“Not usually, I have got one upstairs, but it goes to maybe fifty six or seven, I know, you can try it,” I enthused.

“Think I’ll pass for now.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Your parents said they’d be late so can you lock the garage.”

“Mum mentioned something about seeing Maria. I suppose I’m cooking dinner?”

“Well you do it so well.”

And I’ve sampled De Vreen cuisine once this week already. “Pork medallions and croquettes?”

Maddy Bell ©10.12.15



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