~Sephrena
The wind which had been in front of me for the past hour seemed to drop away and my speed increased. However, I began to seriously worry about the weather, the atmosphere was growing heavier by the minute.
Here I was in the middle of nowhere, on a race bike with no waterproofs, lights or mudguards. I did have the obligatory spare tube and puncture kit and a mini-pump, otherwise it was zilch beyond the clothes I was wearing, a cycling shirt, helmet, shorts, gloves socks and shoes. I felt something touch my back, then one on my arm. It was rain and I cursed my luck and the misleading forecast. "Rain tonight;" it had said, this was the middle of the bloody afternoon.
If it was possible the sky darkened even further and it became like night. A flash in the sky caused me to worry some more as I waited for the rumble which would soon follow it. A few seconds later the sky roared and I'm sure I felt the ground tremble. Next came the hiss of rain as it deluged me and all around me. In seconds I was soaking and my eyes were stinging as the large drops of water lashed into them despite my supposedly protective eyewear.
I neared the top of the hill; leastways I thought I was near it I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of me through the curtain of water and the road had disappeared, replaced by torrent of dark fluid, with ripples in the middle caused presumably by the cat's eyes. I was becoming cold as well as wet and yet I had at least an hours ride for home.
Looking for a place to pull over and wait out the storm became a priority, except I couldn't see anything beyond the hedgerow on my side of the road and that was of no use for shelter.
The rain intensified and a flash of lightning struck somewhere not far ahead, my bowels grumbled in fright. Cars may have a Farraday Cage effect with lightning but not bikes. If I was struck I'd probably be killed.
I could hardly see anything now, except the outline of the hedge the rain was so hard and my speed was irrelevant, I couldn't read the computer anyway. Suddenly my thoughts were wrenched from my control as I was one moment sat on my bike, the next flying through the air. My brain went into hyperdrive and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I was flying, wow! Then reality kicked in, "Oh shit!" Followed by the shock of being lashed by the twigs and branches of the hedgerow, and I felt myself falling through it. Amazingly, nothing was hurting, well just then it wasn't and I even had time to hope there were no wires, especially the barbed variety or trees nearby.
Then I hit the ground, a soft muddy ditch. It felt cold and slimy as I lay there. My bike seemed to bounce past me and fell a few feet away and I saw in detail the damaged rear wheel, with tyre flayed off and spokes pointing in all directions. I was still alive; I asked myself the major question, "How the bloody hell am I going to get home?" I don't remember any more.
"Are you okay?" came the voice, female from some distance away. "I said, are you okay?" This was almost shouted at me and getting nearer, followed more quietly by, "Oh fuck; oh fuck, I didn't see you in the rain."
I heard the next clap of thunder and saw another flash, the cold and the wet made me realise I wasn't dreaming. I managed a groan.
"You're alive, thank God," came the female voice.
"Yeah, I think so. Where's my bike?" My prioritisation was faultless even under duress, it was valuable or had been I hoped it still was.
"Can you sit up?" I shook my head but she pulled me into a sitting position and before long I was standing, shivering and wanting my mother.
"Look, lets get out of this rain, my place is not far away and we can sort things out from there."
By taking off the front wheel, I managed to stuff the remains of my pride and joy into the boot of her car and I almost fell into the front passenger seat.
The rain continued to hammer down on the roof and windscreen of her car and I could still hear the odd rumble of thunder as we drove towards her place, whereever that was. I wanted to go to sleep and wake up with this having never happened, but I knew I couldn't. I was shivering uncontrollably, my helmet was in my hands and broken, and I had scratches on my arms and legs and probably on my body as well. I was so cold I couldn't feel anything except my coldness and I felt sick.
"Not far to go now," she said hesitantly.
I seemed to be in a trance, it was probably the beginnings of hypothermia because I couldn't seem to focus on anything, it was like I was inside myself rather than looking out, it was weird and unpleasant.
The next bit was hazy to say the least, I think she parked in a garage and manhandled me into the house, up to the bathroom where I threw up in the washbasin then sat down on the toilet. She must have run a bath because she began to help me to stand and undress.
"Oh!" she said, as she pulled on my ripped shirt my breasts were wrapped in a crepe bandage. "I thought you were a b.."
"I am sort of," I replied and grabbed my shorts as she was about to pull them down.
"It's okay, I'm a nurse so you won't have anything I haven't seen before." There was an apprehensiveness in her voice which belied the words.
I held on to the top of my shorts, she pulled at them and I resisted. "Look, I don't care what you are let me help you into the bath to warm you up."
I was still shivering and wanted to sit in the warm water, but somehow my embarrassment held sway.
"Come on, drop 'em," she laughed and I laughed too. I was too tired to resist any longer and reluctantly stepped out of the torn and muddied shorts, my hands dropping to cover my genitals, all two inches of them.
The bath soothed my aches and pains although it hurt at first, feeling like I was being boiled. Gradually my body came back to normal temperature and I began to function mentally again. Now things were beginning to hurt as bruises and scratches made themselves known, but the mud was washing off as I stood in the shower and rinsed off the dirt and dried blood. It was all superficial stuff, I was going to be okay my worry now went to my bike, four grand of carbon fibre and high tech engineering. I wanted to cry.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 2.
The shower had returned me to some degree of normality and I was beginning to recover from the hypothermia or shock, or both. I grabbed the yellow bath towel and began to gently pat myself dry. I was covered in bruises and scratches, none were too deep and I'd suffered more from falling off the bike on earlier occasions.
The bandage I'd worn around my breasts had protected them. I dried them carefully. They were still relatively small but I was proud of them, all my own work plus some help from conjugated oestrogens. I wondered how I was going to talk my way out of this discovery by my hostess.
Hardly anyone knew of my preparation to eventually transition as a woman. My doctor did, she'd given me the hormones on the advice of a local psychiatrist. That was six months ago, and at last the effects were beginning to happen apart from the initial morning sickness, which had now passed. I was growing boobs, my waist was smaller and I think my bum was a bit bigger, but that could be wishful thinking.
My university professor knew about things and was pretty laid back about it, provided it didn't interrupt my studies. I had a bachelor's degree and was reading for a masters. I planned to change over after that when I found out the uni would alter the name on the degree diplomas. Then I'd need to find a job.
As I finished dressing a hand holding a towelling robe came around the door. "This might be useful," said the voice from outside. I took it with a muted thanks.
I looked down at my painted toenails and blushed. It was always a risk that someone would see them, now it was a certainty. My shaven legs, well I'm a cyclist - they all do it. I drew on the robe and tied up the belt, it emphasised my relatively small waist and protruding chest. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Like the colour," she said.
I looked confused and asked, "What?"
"The toe nails," she smiled. I just blushed to the roots of my long fair hair.
"Cuppa? I've just made one."
I nodded and she led me down the stairs to a comfortable dining room.
As we sipped the tea, she smiled at me and said, "I suppose I'll have to do a claim form for your bike."
"Yes," I agreed.
"I'll need you name and address," she continued, "and the value and damage to the bike."
"The bike's worth about four grand."
"What!" she exclaimed, "A bloody push bike, four thousand. You're joking?"
"Fraid not," I replied, "It's a top of the range Scott carbon fibre."
"Christ that's more than my car is worth!"
"Sorry, but I didn't ask you to hit me off it."
"Well I couldn't see you in the rain, it was so dark and you didn't have any lights on."
"It was day time and sunny when I set out," I argued, "I didn't need lights, besides if I had been using them, they could have hiked the repair bill up a few more hundred."
"I don't believe this. Your stuff is dearer than a car's."
"Depends on the car, but yes it can be, depending on the bike of course. Top of the range Trek is worth nearly six grand. My racing skins are about a hundred quid, too."
"What for a bit of lycra?"
"Well lycra in the team strip of Saunier Duval, yeah!"
"Bloody hell!"
"Sorry," I piped apologetically as I could see she was working out what things would do to her insurance premium. "I know the back wheel is smashed and the tyre is wrecked but until the bike has been examined, I won't know what the damage is and how much your insurance is going to have to pay out."
Now she blushed and looking at the table she said quietly, "I might have a slight problem there."
"You are insured?" I asked feeling a sudden coldness sweep over me.
"Not exactly," she said so quietly I could hardly hear her, almost lip reading it. Then she began to sob and I felt helpless, so I cried as well.
"What are we going to do?" she asked eventually.
"I don't know, but somehow I've got to get home and I can't go like this;" I pointed to the bath robe.
"Your cycling stuff is all wet and torn, you can't wear that."
"If I can use your phone I might be able to get a friend to bring me some stuff."
"The line is out of order and my mobile is out of credit." She shrugged her shoulders.
"So what am I going to do?"
"You'll have to borrow some of my stuff, we're not too different in size. I get the impression it won't be the first time you've worn womens' clothes."
Now it was my turn to blush, and I went a deep scarlet and felt very warm.
She nodded at my chest, "I don't know many boys who have a cleavage," I glanced down and drew the edges of the robe together. "Hormones?" she asked and I nodded.
"We had a student nurse who was a trannie, used to turn up in drag at any opportunity. A bit over the top with his make up and clothing, mini skirts and white stilettoes, looked a bit of a tart."
I felt myself blushing again, "I'm not a transvestite," I said trying to keep calm.
"No, why you growing tits then?"
"I'm transsexual and eventually I'm intending to live as a woman."
"What have a sex-change operation?" she said her eyes growing larger.
"Eventually."
"You won't be able to ride your bike for a few weeks then," she said dead pan.
"What?" I said and caught the twinkle in her eye, then began to chuckle. She did too. "No, you're probably right," I said as we both laughed.
After talking some more she suggested we find some clothes for me to wear. She led me to her bedroom. "What size are you?"
"Twelve," I answered.
"Crikey, you are the same size as me. Do you wear a bra?"
"Depends on what clothes I'm wearing. I don't under my boy stuff."
"No I saw the bandage. I don't have any boy clothes, so maybe you'd better try one of these," she handed me a black bra. I turned my back and after removing the robe put it on. "Wow, a man who can put on a bra properly, most of them can't get them off let alone on!"
I blushed and said, "I don't actually see myself as a man."
"No, perhaps not. Let's see then."
I picked up the robe and held it covering my waist and below.
"That's a B-cup, you nearly fill it, here pop these foam pads in they'll help."
I took them from her and asked, "Do you have any knickers I can borrow," and coughed.
She laughed and said, "Oh yeah, course," and pulled a black pair out of a drawer.
I thanked her slipped them up my legs and tucking myself between my legs, pulled them up tight. I then positioned the pads in the bra, my breasts nearly filled the cups with their help.
"Jesus, if I didn't know, I'd think you were a woman," she said looking at me critically.
"I am," I replied, "It's just the plumbing that needs fixing."
Easy As falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad,
Part 3.
We stood looking at each other for a few moments. "Plumbing?" she said looking puzzled.
"Yes, my plumbing. It sticks out when it should go in."
"Ah!" she said, "I have a sharp knife in the kitchen."
"I think I'll wait for the NHS if you don't mind, but thank you for offering."
She smiled at me and blushed very slightly. For the first time I actually looked at her. Normally my perusal of women was to absorb information, how they spoke or moved; gestures, their clothes, their make up and hair styles. Okay, I did take their overall appearance in as well and could admire a pretty face; I could do the same with men, acknowledge someone had a nice face or body. She was certainly in the category of pretty.
I looked a bit more carefully, her short dark hair was well cut, layered into her neck and with a fringe at the front. Her face was small and heart shaped and she had the most amazing brown eyes, like melted chocolate.
"What do you want to wear?" she asked breaking my reverie.
"Whatever you're prepared to lend me, how about some jeans and a top?" I began to think about how I would get back into my flat, well alright, bedsit. I had made the odd sortie out at night and once or twice during the day when I thought it was quiet.
"Hmmmm," she said looking at me, what size shoe?"
"A six usually," I have relatively small hands and feet.
"I have a pair of boots that might just fit you, I only take a five." She went off to the wardrobe and began to dig in the bottom of it. "Here they are, try them on. Oh use these;" she threw me a pair of pop socks and passed me the boots.
"Wow, they're a bit high compared to what I usually wear." I'd slipped on the thin socks and then the boots, they were red with three inch heel, a rather narrow pointed heel. I stood unsteadily, feeling very naked in the black underwear and the red boots.
"Walk about a bit, you'll get the hang of it," she emphasised the fact by shooing me away from the bed I'd been sitting on to put on the hose and boots.
I stepped carefully around the room and after a few wobbles began to walk almost normally, except I was on my toes much more than usual. "I don't know, they are quite high."
"Sorry, that's all I have in your size. They were an impulse buy in a sale and they've never fitted me, even with thick socks on, so you can have them as they seem to fit you better."
"You're very kind, but I'm not sure..."
"You will be once you've walked a bit in them, now what can you wear with them, a skirt I think. I know..." She reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a patterned skirt with a red background and patch pockets on the front. It was a close match to the red in the boots. "Here," she said handing it to me.
I accepted the garment, stepping into it and drew it up around my hips and waist. It fell below the tops of the boots and I liked the pockets in it; somewhere to put my hands. Whilst I was putting on the skirt she found a black tee-shirt with a vee neck and short, capped sleeves. "Try this," she said as she offered it to me. It fitted as well as any I have worn, moulding itself to my enhanced breasts and small waist.
"Jesus," she shook her head, "With the right hairstyle and make up, you'd have all the boys chasing you. I can't believe you're, I mean used to be a boy."
"I don't know if I want all the boys chasing me, they'd probably want to beat my head in or something equally nasty." I remembered one or two episodes when my small size and pretty looks had me identified as a 'homo' and on the wrong side of a beating. I tended to be rather wary of boys after that.
"Oh, into girls are we?" she teased as I caught sight of myself in the mirror.
"I haven't really thought too much about it. I suspected I might end up on my own, so it wasn't a priority."
"What, you've never had the hots for anyone?"
"Not really. It doesn't really surprise me as lots of transsexuals have low libidos and the oestrogen doesn't exactly do much for it either."
"Oh!" she said, "So does that mean you're a virgin?"
"Can I take the fifth amendment on that?" I replied, blushing furiously.
"If we were in the states you could, but we're not, so answer the question."
"I also heard that nurses are over-sexed and notorious for multiple relationships," I changed the subject rapidly, throwing it back into her court.
"Huh?" she said looking at me, "Would you care to restate that in plain English?"
"They sleep around," I said feeling very uncomfortable.
"Oh that, yeah some do." She blushed after looking as if she was recalling some memory, then she laughed. She pointed at the ladder backed chair in front of her makeshift dressing table, "If Modom would care to place her derrier on the receptacle provided, we could explore the suitability of certain coiffures."
"What?" I asked.
"Sit yer arse on the chair an' we'll have a butchers at yer barnett."
"What?" I asked again no nearer understanding what she meant.
She pointed at the chair, "Barnett fair, hair. Cockney rhyming slang, don't they teach you anything at that bloody university? Now get your bum over here."
I stepped cautiously over to the seat, the boots were becoming almost comfortable or perhaps I should say, I was getting used to tottering about on my toes. She picked up a comb and began to comb back my hair, I began to enjoy the sensation. In a few moments she had deftly combed any knots out of my tresses and parted it in the middle.
"You've got nice thick hair," she combed it once again, "but it could do with a trim."
"Probably," I said half in a trance, "I haven't had much time recently."
"Want me to do it?" she offered.
"Erm..I, erm." I was on the spot and felt a rapid onset of cowardice.
"I used to do hairdressing before I went nursing, I won't mess it up if that's what you're worried about."
"I erm, um, okay;" I mumbled.
"Okay what?"
"Okay, you can trim it." I felt myself getting very hot.
"Wait there, let me get my cape thingy." She left the room and returned within a couple of minutes. She had obviously run up the stairs because she was breathing quite heavily and looked red in the face. "Can we do this in the kitchen, otherwise I'll never get all the bits up from this carpet?"
I nodded my agreement, and followed her to the stairs where I remembered I was wearing potential death traps on my feet. I stepped down the stairs with careful deliberateness, she watched my lumbering descent but said nothing simply smiling at my efforts.
Then I sat on the dining chair, while she slipped a smock thing around me. She moistened my hair with a spray and began combing and brushing again. Once more I went into my little trance, I loved having my hair touched it did things to me. I could feel almost like a buzzing sensation that travelled up my spine and ended at the top of my head. I was aware of the pull of the comb and the snipping noise of the scissors but not much else from outside myself. I was too preoccupied with internal sensation to even notice she was talking to me.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
Part 4.
I was lost in my own internal world of sensation, the gentle tugging at my hair, the snipping of the scissors and this strange buzz that emanated somewhere from my spine and finished on the top of my head. I wondered if it was my chakras that were being charged up, but dismissed that idea as I wasn't sure if there was such a thing as a chakra. There was another noise too, but it seemed very distant - then suddenly it got very loud.
"Hey Missy Muppet, I'm talking to you," she said fortissimo alongside my ear.
I jumped as I was wrenched back to the real world from my world of feelings. "Oh, I'm sorry I was miles away."
"Tell me something I don't know, you getting off on this? You are aren't you?" she teased me.
"What d'you mean?" I blushed profusely.
"This is turning you on, isn't it?" she laughed from behind me still playing with my hair.
"Not exactly."
"Go on, I'll bet something is straining against your knickers."
"If it is it must have disconnected from the rest of me," I replied dismissively.
"Oh!" she said, "don't you find this stimulating?"
"Not in that sense, I find it very relaxing and I was nearly alseep," I lied.
"Oh, I thought all you cross-gender types, found the dressing up bit very exciting."
"You've been misinformed," I wasn't sure that I wanted to continue the conversation in this vein, I felt a little threatened and was becoming defensive. I was also a bit peeved that she had stopped touching my hair.
"Well that guy I used to work with, he was always turned on by his dressing up and make up and stuff. Put a dress on him and he was anybody's."
"Sorry but I'm not."
"So I see," she began to brush my hair, turning it under at the edges.
"Look, I'm no expert but we're all different. Some experts describe it as a continuum of gender identity. Personally I think it may be more complex than that."
"Go on," she said spraying some stuff on my hair.
"This is just my opinion, we are all unique and the things that make us who and what we are, are the forces that mould us. No one knows why some men are macho and some are sensitive, or why some are gay and some aren't and so on. There are plenty of theories about why I think I'm female and as to why your friend used to get turned on by wearing dresses, but no one knows for sure. All I can say is that wearing a skirt doesn't make me feel sexually excited, it feels okay insofar as it feels right, but clothes and make up don't turn me on."
She had moved to stand by the side of me and held the brush with both hands up near her throat. "So what does turn you on then?"
"Dunno," I said blushing like a stop light.
"So nothing turns you on?"
"Look this is getting very personal and I'm not sure I want to continue this conversation."
"So if I dropped all my clothes and stood here naked, it wouldn't do anything for you?"
"Look, can we change the subject?" I was still blushing and feeling very uncomfortable.
"I find that fascinating, are you gay?"
"No I'm not fucking anything, all right?" I felt tears form in my eyes as I shouted.
"All right keep your hair on, I'm only trying to learn, that's all. No offence and all that." She stood still for a moment as I began to feel the tears form rivulets down my cheeks. She must have noticed because she handed me a sheet of kitchen roll and apologised. "Don't cry," she exorted, "I didn't mean to upset you."
"But you wouldn't stop your silly questions," I wailed and sobbed.
She put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed me against her body, my head was pulled against her breast and I could smell her perfume or soap. "I'm sorry," she said. She hugged me again, "I find you fascinating," she said, "you are just so girly."
"I'm sorry," I sniffed, wiping my nose on the kitchen paper.
"I don't mean that in a nasty way," she explained, "You don't have any make up on, yet no one would think you were a boy. Facially, you have soft features, your body is female shaped and.."
"I like cycling," I interrupted, "the same as most women."
"Ah, yes." She frowned at me, "Lots of women do ride bikes, my mother does."
"Do they build their own?"
"I have no idea; I expect some might; I have a girlfriend at work who does her own car servicing and repairs."
"Strange people nurses," I quipped.
"Nah, she's not a nurse, she's a radiographer. I reckon it's all that radiation, does something to their brains."
We laughed for a moment and I had to wipe my runny nose again. "So what do you do that's a bit different?" I asked her getting her away from the subject of my sexuality.
"You mean apart from prettying up transsexuals I knock off bicycles?"
I blushed as a response but nodded my reply to her nonsensical question.
"I gave up astrophysics to do hair dressing, they're not very compatible, all those cosmic rays play hell with a rinse. Then I drifted into nursing because they managed to find someone else to run the UN. In between times, I've been a fighter pilot, a deep sea diver and a brain surgeon, not to mention writing a best seller which has been translated into nine hundred and seventy three languages. I'm very big in the Indian sub-continent;" she joked doing a little curtsey.
"What was the title of your book?" I asked, captivated by her silliness.
"Yak breeding for beginners," she said and we both laughed until tears formed.
"Big in Tibet?" I added, and we laughed some more.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
Part 5.
"So where did you do your Yak breeding?" I asked tongue firmly placed in my cheek.
"Oh that?" she almost casually dismissed, "in a yak nursery, we used to have one but swapped it for a microscope."
"For a microscope?" I asked in amazement.
"Yes my fiance used to treat testicular cancer in ants."
"Ants have testicles?" I asked, the conversation was surreal but it was fun.
"Where do you think baby ants come from?" she demanded.
"A queen, she lays them all most of which become female workers, some are soldiers and others are like drone bees, fertilise the queen in order to set up a new colony."
"So you know all about ants then?"
"No but when I did biology in school, we had a formicarium in the lab. I found their activities fascinating. Some of the boys used to steal the eggs and feed them to the goldfish we also had in the lab."
"You weren't amongst them?"
"The boys, good lord no, I used to sit on my own at the front next to the girls."
"Next to, not with?"
"Sometimes the girls let me sit with them, sometimes they wouldn't. The same was true at lunch times and break times. There was one particular girl who didn't like me, don't know why. as far as I know I didn't do anything to upset her, not deliberately anyway."
"She didn't fancy you then?"
"Meeeee? Ha, that's a laugh. Why would anyone fancy me?"
"Because you're quite pretty, or would be with a bit of makeup."
I felt myself blushing. I had been described as girly or 'pretty-boy' throughout my school days, something which had carried over to university. It hurt me some days, other days it made me feel proud because someone was seeing me as I really was, a girl. But were they, or was it my fancy? Now someone was saying I looked like a girl and I should be delighted, but I'm embarrassed maybe even scared.
"Do you use makeup?" asked my hostess cum hairstylist.
"I have some at home," I answered feeling uncomfortable. The truth was I had odd bits and pieces I'd acquired from various places, supermarkets and so on, usually in places far from where I lived. I didn't use it much because it didn't always come off easily and may lead to my discovery and because I wasn't much good with it.
"Come on," she said, I'll give you a free lesson.
"What for?" I asked more in defensive manoeuvre than anything else, I felt that I was losing all control of the situation.
"Because you're a girl, isn't that good enough? Or aren't you, are you telling me porkies?"
"What do you mean?" I asked now feeling very threatened. If she was to turn funny, here I was stuck in the middle of nowhere wearing womens' clothes and high heeled boots, with a broken bike and no money or means of transport. How would I get home, and dressed like this?
"Well, are you really a woman or have you lied to me?"
I paused before answering and swallowed loudly. I felt choked and my eyes began to glaze as water gathered in them. "I haven't lied to you at all. I'm transsexual that doesn't make me anything at the moment, so I'm a nothing." The water escaped over the top of the dam and I burst into tears.
She walked up to me and hugged me. Part of me wanted her to hug me as tightly as she could because no one ever did, I was pretty well an 'untouchable', but there was a part of me which didn't really trust her. Was she playing with me and why?
"You silly goose," she said hugging me tighter, and a warm sensation spread slowly up my spine. "You are not a nothing, never believe that. You might not yet be who you wish to be, but believe that you will be one day, and it will happen."
"I wish I could believe you," I sobbed allowing her to squeeze me even harder, the warm sensation diffusing out from my spine to engulf my whole body.
"It's not me you have to believe but yourself, now come on dry your eyes and lets get some make up on them, better make it waterproof mascara, don't you think?" she chuckled as she grabbed my hand and pulled me up the stairs.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
Part 6.
Climbing stairs in heels is slightly easier than going down, the heels tilt you forward so there is more chance of falling up than down. However, none of this was going through my mind as my hairdressing hostess dragged me up the stairs.
I staggered back into the bedroom and she shoved me into the ladder-backed chair once again. I almost felt glad to be seated, the heels were higher than anything I usually wore, though I had bought the odd pair of silly ones from charity shops when I was younger. Younger, I was all of twenty three!
My tormentress was stood with her back towards me, laying out her instruments of torture on her makeshift dressing table. "What colour are your eyes?" she asked without turning round.
"Green, I think."
"Yeah, that's okay, we can use browns then."
"Sorry?" I queried.
"If your eyes had been blue or grey, we'd have needed different colours of eyeliner and shadow and stuff."
"Oh," I said feeling out of my depth, "I usually bung on some green shadow and black mascara."
"Does it usually look a mess?" she asked still fiddling at her shelf and her back still to me.
I felt myself blushing, "Erm, I erm, didn't think so."
"Sorry, I didn't mean it to sound quite that brutal. Usually young girls and others who don't have much experience of makeup, tend to look very amateurish. They use too much, have no idea of blending or subtle use of colours. They often have so much pearlised eyeshadow on that they could be used as cat's eyes."
"Oh," I sighed feeling dejected; how did she know I had pearlised eyeshadow?
"You okay?" she asked glancing back.
"I suppose so," I said with more than a hint of resignation.
"We don't have to do this," she added.
"What's taking you so long?" I asked.
"I'm trying to get the old mascara off my eyelass curler;" she replied waving said instrument in the air.
"Eyelash curler?" my voice felt as if it was trembling, "won't that hurt?"
"Only if you catch your eyelid."
"Catch my eyelid? I'm not sure I'm ready for that degree of femaleness," I quivered. I had this flash of her tearing off an eyelid with the torture tool.
"What!" she gasped, "I thought you were lined up for a sex change?"
"As far as I know, sex reassignment surgery does not require me to have my eyelids torn off. It's my testicles they remove not my eye-balls."
"You wimp!" she declared shaking her head.
"I am not," I declared back, "I've fallen off my bike a few times and.." I paused thinking about the times I'd fallen off my bike. It bloody well hurt and I shared that with anyone who was prepared to listen. This recollection prevented me suggesting how brave I was, because it wasn't really true. I might have gender identity disorder or whatever they call it, but I'm not a liar."
"Yeah, and what?" she asked.
"I know what pain is," I threw in, saved by the bell.
"Try a bad period or childbirth, then you'll know about pain," she threw back.
"I once came down hard on the crossbar, was black and blue for weeks."
She stopped and looked at me obviously thinking about something; then asked, "Is that why it's so small?"
I gasped in shock. What a personal thing to say, but on reflection realised I had provoked it. "No, I was always small. In school I refused to use the showers because of the insults."
"Awwwwwwww," she said rubbing my shoulder. "Right let's get on, shall we?" Then before I could say anything in reply, she asked," Do you usually use any sort of foundation?"
"No," I said because I had never worked out what sort I should need.
She placed her fingers under my chin and lifted my head up, "You don't shave do you?"
"No."
"You are very lucky missy, you don't need to wear skin make up, especially in the day time. Your skin is as good as most women."
"It is?" I squeaked, "I mean is it?"
"Yeah, it is. She looked at me and said, "What are you going to call yourself when you go through with things?"
"Catherine," I said blushing like sunburst.
"Right Cathy, lets get busy." She held a pot of cream and began rubbing it on to my skin. "A quick cleanser."
I nearly said that I'd had a shower not an hour before, but thought better of it. What did I know?
She wiped my face with a wet wipe thing, then told me to close my eyes.
There was a sudden pain in my eyebrow, "Ouch!" I yelled opening my eyes.
"Hold still, and keep quiet, I'm only pulling out one or two straggly hairs."
"God, everyone will notice," I protested.
"Don't be such a baby," she chided; "nobody will notice, they can't see them anyway, they're so fair."
I sat still and sulked, the way things were going I was going to need a sex change by the end of the week to balance my eyebrows. maybe I could tell anyone who noticed that I'd had an attack of symmetrical alopecia. Yeah that sounded good, makes your eyebrows very thin but doesn't make them disappear entirely. It's very rare so you won't see it in any medical textbook, only affects trannies and transsexuals! Maybe I won't say the last bit, I thought to myself.
"There that looks better," she said rubbing some cream into my damaged face.
"I look like a plucked turkey, I'll bet."
"Chicken!" she riposted.
"Plucked chicken, then." I wasn't going to argue about scale.
"You big chicken, I stopped because you sounded like a cat having sex and I couldn't take the noise anymore."
I blushed with embarrassment and indignation. I once had my legs waxed before a bike race and I sat bravely silent, mind you my eyes watered. I decided not to offer this example of my courage in case she decided to wax my eyebrows. Maybe I was chicken?
So engrossed was I that I didn't notice she had put some sort of crayon on my brows, until she had finished. I hope all this stuff comes off, I thought to myself.
"Eyes shut," she barked and I felt a blunt stick or something being run across my eyelid near my eyelashes. "It's only eyeliner, so keep still and eyes shut, no don't screw them up like that, relax Cathy."
"I didn't ask your name," I said wondering why I hadn't asked for it at the site of the accident.
"I'm Stella," I heard a smile in her voice.
"If your surname is Artois, I won't believe another word you say."
"That's rather an old joke," she chided me.
"Well I thought it was funny."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" she continued rhetorically, "And if you tell me I'm a star, just remember I'm moving across your eye with a sharp applicator stick."
"Okay, okay I surrender!" I thought discretion the finer part of valour.
I sat with my eyes closed and felt her rub something blunt and cold onto my eyelids, which was then rubbed with a finger, obviously eyeshadow.
"Open them and look up," she commanded as she drew lines under my eyes. Then came the dreaded eyelash curlers.
"Watch out," I squeaked, "you'll have my bloody eye out!"
"You've got another one, keep still."
"Ouch, you've got my eyelid."
"Well stop blinking then!"
"You try sitting still while somebody is prising your eyelids off."
"You big baby, keep still."
This banter went on for several minutes because she followed the eyelid curling with mascara, and once more I feared for my sight.
Eventually, she stopped endangering my visual organs and put some blusher and lipstick on me.
"There, pretty well finished. I see you've got pierced ears, took Valium for that, did you?"
"Ha ha, very funny. That didn't hurt one bit compared to you poking my eye out."
"I've got a piercing gun, shall we do a couple more holes?" she said calling my bluff.
"Nah, I think it looks common," I retorted before I noticed she had two in each earlobe. Oh bugger! "On some people," I quickly added, knowing it was too late.
She gave me a dirty look and I was about to apologise when I heard a door shutting and a male voice called, "Stella." I froze in shock.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 7.
Stella waved me to stay put, while she went out the bedroom door and I heard her call back, "Hi Simon, back already, is it still raining?"
My heart was pounding,I wanted to quieten it in case Simon could hear it downstairs. Compared to this, the pounding in my ears from a hard hillclimb, was nothing. I felt really frightened, who was Simon?
I tried to rationalise things. Why am I worried? Well for one, I stood here dressed in women's clothes, in a relative stranger's house, with no money and no easy means of escape and no one else knows I am here. What if they were hostile? What if Stella was telling Simon all about me and arranging for him to kill me? My heart was pounding so hard now that I thought for a moment I was going to have a stroke or something.
Standing up, but scared to walk about in case it brought Simon up the stairs, I caught sight of someone in the mirror. I nearly jumped out of my skin, there was another woman here I hadn't seen. Shit, there's three of them!
I spun around, but there was no one there. God, I'm seeing things now. There was nowhere for her to go. I turned around again and I could see her in the mirror once more, but I couldn't see myself. Was I already dead and this some fantasy as I left my body, lying inert on the roadside somewhere?
There was no one there, then I looked once more in the mirror and this time raised my hand, so did she. My God, it's me and I didn't recognise myself. Jesus, Mary and Joseph what has she done to me?
Momentarily, I forgot about the couple downstairs so absorbed was I in my change of appearance. Christ it was different from my usual attempts. My hair was so different, which made a huge change to my overall visage. I shook my head in disbelief and she did too. I was stunned, not to put too fine a point on it.
Somewhere many miles away a voice called but I hardly registered it, I was looking at my makeup, wow, it was so, so erm, good. Yeah, good it was obvious but subtle at the same time unlike my usual clown stuff. Wow! It was all I could say.
"Cathy are you all right?" called Stella and this time I heard it.
My voice, it's going to give me away, oh bugger! I walked towards the landing and almost whispered back, "I'm okay."
"What?" called Stella.
"I'm okay," I whispered again.
"What did you say?" she yelled.
Oh fuck it, here goes, "I'm okay," I called back deciding that whoever Simon was he knew I was there anyway and probably knew all about me, especially if he was going to kill me.
"Come on down and meet Simon," called Stella from the foot of the stairs.
Why is that there are never any handy weapons lying around in the average British household? I mean if Stella and Simon inhabited one of those huge country houses they always have in Hitchcock films, I could snatch a sword from a display on the wall or from a suit of armour stood at the foot of the stairs and do a Douglas Fairbanks, seeing off the villain and getting the girl.
I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror, there were a number of flaws in my scheme, not least the lack of weaponry and with the mirror's reminder, I was the girl. Shit, where is Douglas Fairbanks or Errol Flynn when you needed them? Forget that, given their womanising reputations, I might actually be more at risk from them than Simon.
Who was Simon? I mused he must be the fiance who did surgery on ants. Yeah, sure he does. Stella was standing at the foot of the stairs watching my descent, not made any more elegant by the boots.
"I've told him you're a girl I ran into," she hissed at me.
"He doesn't know..." I gestured at myself.
"No, why should he?"
I shrugged my shoulders, "Okay." My stomach did somersaults killing half the butterflies that were flying around it at Mach 4. What am I doing, trying to con some strange bloke into thinking I'm a girl? If he's blind and deaf, I might have half a chance otherwise he's going to spot me in seconds.
My life seemed to flash before me, or my previous escapades in my preferred role. There weren't that many, just as well as I was only a couple of stairs from the hallway.
My first starring role was discovering my cousin's clothes when they came to visit when I was about three, she was a few months older. I got some laughs from that, although my dad didn't take too kindly to it.
Then in school at the Christmas nativity play, the girl who played Mary went sick just before the performance, I was an extra angel but seemed to have all the lines off pat 'cos much of the time I was an unnofficial prompt. I was dragged off stage, dewinged, rewrapped in dress and headscarf and whipped back on the stage before I could say, "Angel Gabriel," I took some stick for that, I can tell you but my delivery was excellent. Mind you I only had three lines.
Not having anyone my size at home, I didn't really have much chance to borrow clothes until I was big enough to use my mother's stuff. There I was at fourteen dressed like a thirty five year old, nah, not good memories. I was also still screwed up about what I was not helped by my small appendage. In high school that was going to give me a hard time - no pun intended.
Then finally, my escape to uni, I managed to build up a small collection of things mostly uncoordinated because I was so nervous that I'd be caught buying them or wearing them, or simply hiding them.
After three years, shortage of cash and fright meant my wardrobe had grown very little, it was still minuscule compared to a biological woman of my age. I reached the bottom step.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 8.
I felt all trembly as I reached the hall. I knew nothing about Simon but going on the information divulged by Stella, which I know is a dangerous thing, I had to assume he was her fiance. The problem was she had joked about so much earlier that I didn't know what was and wasn't true. But then again, if Simon didn't know about me then I was also a deception or should that be deceiver? What a time to consider syntax?
I had a funny idea flit through what was left of my mind; I was being taken out to be shot by some hostiles, don't ask me who. I was female, so maybe it was my take on Mata Hari, I don't know but as I'm walking to face the firing squad I wonder what they will put on the death certificate. Will it be, "Death by firing squad," Death by misadventure," "Executed," if they weren't legit, would it be, "Unlawful killing," or even, "Murder by person or persons unknown"?
My mind was firmly under control, of what, is the obvious question because it wasn't me? Its attempts to play delaying tactics to stop me being done to death by Stella and the homicidal Simon weren't working, I was now about to enter the same room my possible murderer was waiting in. Surely he could hear the beating of my heart, I was sure it was bouncing between my ribs and bra strap.
Stella gripped my arm and hissed, "It's okay, I told him about the accident so he might think you're a little shocked."
Shocked was okay, 'little' was a word I could take issue with but there was no time, perhaps we could go back upstairs and discuss it? Stella half dragged me into the sitting room, I staggered with buttocks clenched afraid the slightest movement would cause me to fil...., no you don't want to know, suffice it to say, a cough could be dangerous.
I caught my first glimpse of Simon, which given I was looking at the floor most of the time while experiencing a force ten blush, was difficult.
He was tall, dark and handsome. That's it, he was. Okay, he was about six feet tall, with dark curly hair and a smile that could melt steel. I blushed some more as Stella said, "Simon this is Cathy, Cathy, Simon."
"Honestly Stell, you could have told me your friend was beautiful?" He held out his hand to me.
I almost felt like looking around to see if he was talking about somebody else, me - beautiful? Ha! Maybe he would spare my life if I recommended a good optician?
With reservations, I proffered my hand, while blushing and half looking away. He gently took my hand in both of his and said, "Delighted to meet you Cathy are you staying for dinner?"
Staying for dinner? Or should that be staying to dinner? What's the name of that cannibal doctor in 'Silence of the Chickens?' Hannibal, he has a friend for dinner. Oh my God, they're cannibals. They're not just going to kill me, I'm on the menu too!
"How do you do?" I said politely thinking I sounded like Minnie Mouse having a strangulated hernia catch in her knicker elastic.
"How very formal, please do relax, I'm not going to eat you, you know."
That was it, he'd confirmed my suspicions, who else but cannibals would think about eating people? Well cannibals and their prospective victims in that context - damn my brain. That bloody university has something to answer for, or should that be to? Oh sod it!
"A glass of wine, or something stronger?" asked Simon.
"Wine is fine," I said almost poetically. They couldn't poison me in case I was no longer edible, so I felt safe. I took the glass of red and after sipping it thought, but it could be laced with sedatives to make me easier to kill.
I glanced again at Simon who was pouring a glass for Stella from the same bottle, he was about six inches or more taller than I was and probably half as broad again. He wouldn't need sedatives, I'd be a push over.
I glanced again, goodness his eyes were blue! Didn't that maniac monk in the Leonardo Code, have bright blue eyes? Or was it, the Righteous Men? Damn I was mixing my novels as well as my drinks.
"Sorry to hear about your bike, I hope it can be repaired." he smiled at me. "I'll run you back to your place after dinner."
"I'm always telling Simon that I've bumped into old friends, this time it was true," Stella's eyes were laughing as she spoke. I wished I were as pretty as she was.
"Yes but usually they're frumpy old nurses not beautiful cyclists. She says you're doing a master's?"
"Yes, in Forensic Anthropology." I was lying but I thought I 'd make him think twice about killing me.
"My goodness, you must know Ruth?" he smiled and I looked blank.
"Ruth Randall, she teaches on your course."
Oh bugger! "I do?" (cough) I do, of course I do."
"How is she?"
"Fine as far as I know?"
"So her cancer is in remission?"
Talk about digging my own grave, I was making it very deep. How do I get out of this one? I did wonder about simulating an epileptic fit except I've never seen one and I'd need something to make me froth at the mouth. A heart attack? Keep going and I'll have one for real, maybe a simple faint?
At this point fate took a hand in the proceedings, he offered me a chair and in stepping forward my heel caught in a thick rug and I went sprawling - in his general direction.
Red wine flew everywhere, his went over him and I landed on top of him knocking us both over. Amazingly, I didn't get any wine on my clothes. I was so embarrassed and in trying to get up, kept stepping on the hem of my skirt and falling back down again.
Simon, to give him his due, lay there laughing, "First time a girl has fallen for me," he kept saying and chortling. Stella was giggling helplessly and I was making a bigger fool of myself by the second.
"If you're going to have your wicked way with me, can you hurry up this stuff is going to stain my shirt if it dries?" He chortled some more and I blushed as hot as a nuclear reactor core.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike,
by Angharad,
part 9.
Eventually the shenanigans on the floor stopped, Stella helped me to my knees and then to my feet. I felt extremely stupid and embarrassed and was blushing like a stop light. Simon still lay on the floor convulsed with laughter, Stella was also chuckling. She looked at me seriously for a moment and said, "Now you've lain with him you'll have to marry him." This brought a further fit of guffaws from the floor and she dissolved into giggles at her own joke.
Sadly, I didn't find it very funny just managing another pulse of blushing. I was so embarrassed, I didn't know where to look, certainly not at Simon, who was still prone and laughing. He was wiping his eyes where the tears of laughter had flowed. I had tears in my eyes too, but not of laughter. I wished I had a car, I could have gone home, but a broken bike and high heeled boots - no way, nor could I afford a taxi. I was therefore stuck with my two hosts until one or other took me home.
I walked away and sat down, I'd helped myself to a couple of tissues from Stella's bedroom and I dabbed at my eyes and wiped my nose. Simon stood up at last, he noticed me weeping and came over too me.
"Hey beautiful, don't cry," he said holding on to both my wrists.
"I feel so stuuuuuuuuuuupid," I wailed, I could cry as well as any natural woman.
"It was an accident, nobody's hurt and no damage has been done." He patted me on the shoulder, "Come on, dry those tears."
"I feel such a foooooooool!" I said before blowing my nose. I expected the mascara to be all down my face by now.
"Honestly, you're not. Well you can't be, you're doing a master's, so dry those eyes and tidy yourself up, I'll go and shower and change and we'll all go out for dinner."
"I can't go out for dinner," I wailed, the tears flowing again, "I haven't got any money with me."
"You're my guest, my treat," he smiled at me, "Come on girl, calm down before you get hiccups." How did he know that?
He rose and went to shower, Stella came over to me, "I'm sorry we laughed, but it was so funny. we weren't laughing at you, just the silliness of the situation."
"I found it embarrassing, not at all funny."
"You certainly made an impact on Simon," she said smiling.
"Yes quite literally," I said almost absent-mindedly, thinking, she'll be wanting to kill me messing about with her fiance. "It was an accident, I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea," I said trying to avoid any jealous reaction.
"Wrong idea?" she looked puzzled.
"Well he is your fiance," I said expressing my surmise.
"Fiance?" she said loudly, "Good Lord no, he's my brother."
"Oh! But I thought you said about a fiance and I thought it must be him and now I've made an even bigger fool of myself and wish I was dead..."
"Cathy, stop!" she said loudly enough to halt my monologue.
"What?" I looked at her in surprise.
"You don't have to make apologies or justify anything, okay? Nobody thinks you're stupid, it was an accident, we had a laugh and now it's finished, okay?"
"But I..."
"No, stop, stop right there. It's finished now let's get your make up sorted and I'll lend you a coat or jacket and we'll go for something to eat, after which Simon can take you home."
"What about my bike?"
"We can put that in the boot, he's got a big Volvo thing."
"But I don't have any money with me," I protested.
"He's already answered that, he's taking us out for dinner and don't worry he's not short of a bob or two."
"But I like to pay my own way," I protested and it was true. I didn't want to be indebted to anyone, least of all strangers.
"You're too emancipated girl, you've got to learn how to make use of your looks. Men are all putty in the hands of a pretty girl."
"But I'm not, am I?" I felt embarrassed by the charade I was being almost forced to play.
"He doesn't know that and what his eyes don't see his heart won't grieve over."
"But I'm deceiving him," I complained.
"Only with the bit between your legs, otherwise you're all girl."
"I don't know if I can do this?" I said feeling very frightened.
"If you don't then he'll want to know why."
"Maybe I should tell him."
"Why? Why spoil his evening? Once we sort out the damage to your bike.."
"But you said you weren't insured," I was more confused than ever.
"I am, but not on my own policy, it's all done through Simon, it's his car. That's why I couldn't do anything until he came in, he's got all the paperwork."
"Oh!" I leant back in the chair and the relief felt palpable, at least it looked as if my bike would be sorted.
"Better now?" Stella stood beside me, her head crooked at an angle.
"A bit," I confessed, "but I'm terrified about going out in public like this."
"No worries, once we get your face cleaned up, no one will know anything other than you're a pretty young thing."
"But what if they do?"
"How will they, unless you go in the gents loo or something."
"But I've never been out in public like this before." It wasn't strictly true, but Stella didn't know it.
"Well it's about bloody time you did then, so get upstairs and I'll help you sort your face."
Stella was not going to brook any dissent from me and she practically frog-marched me up the stairs and redid my make up. Then while I was sat on the chair in her bedroom, she began stripping off. I felt my eyes widen and my mouth open. "Do you want me to leave?" I offered, although I didn't want to go.
"Don't be silly, girls watch each other change all the time. No you can stay and talk to me."
I watched as she disrobed to her bra and panties, she sorted through her wardrobe and pulled out a navy blue dress which fitted her like a glove. She had a splendid figure, especially compared to mine. "You look lovely," I told her.
"Why thank you Cathy, you look pretty good yourself."
"Only because of your skills," I threw back.
"Nuh uh," she protested, "I only enhanced what was there, the raw material is good. Here have a squirt," she handed me a bottle of Opium eau de toilette.
"Oh, I like that," I said smelling my wrists.
"And a bit down your cleavage," she said pointing at my chest, "It'll get Simon going, he loves it."
"Oh," I blushed, not sure if I wanted to get him going or anybody else for that matter,
"You two ready yet?" called Simon from downstairs.
"Nearly," replied Stella, "Come on, let's find you a jacket and a bag," with that she scoured her wardrobe for the required items.