Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 731.

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Wuthering Dormice
(aka Bike)
Part 731
by Angharad
  
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We arrived at my house in Bristol after a pit-stop for fuel and some groceries, we’d need milk and bread and some fruit and veg, some meat, fish, drinks, pasta, rice, yoghurts, biscuits, chocolate, ice cream and toilet rolls. Just a small shop, I nearly fell over when the bill came to over fifty pounds although we got a discount on the fuel, so it sort of worked out not too bad.

Then, while the girls played out in the garden, I unloaded the car –stowing food in the kitchen and bikes in the garage. Least, I think that’s what I did; if I find a bike in the fridge, I’ll know where to look for the food. I laughed out loud as I recalled a old joke, about the old lady who got on the bus and her friend said to her, “Why have you got a suppository in your ear?”

“Damn,” said the old lady, “but now I know where I put my hearing aid.” Well I thought it was funny. I shut the garage door and locked it. The car was locked and after going through it, the front door was shut and I could finally make a cuppa and relax for a few moments.

No sooner had I done so than two of the girls came in demanding drinks. They were red as beetroot and puffing–“Goodness, two red Indians,” I said, “How,” I held my palm upwards and vertical.

“How what, Mummy?” asked Trish.

“It’s what Red Indians say.”

“What is?”

“How?” I repeated.

“But, how what, Mummy?” said a frustrated, red faced five-year-old.

“You got the drinks yet, Trish?” called Livvie from the garden.

“Mummy, thinks we’s wed Indians,” said Mima loudly.

“Red Indians?” called the voice from the garden and moments later Livvie came in, equally red faced.

“How,” I said and raised my hand again.

“How,” said Livvie and mimicked me.

“Who,” said Trish and raised her hand – then she burst out laughing and said giggling, “I’m a pink Indian, we say, who.”

“Twit hoo,” Mima joined in the insanity and pretended to flit about like an owl with a haemorrhoids. Then the other two became members of the owl clan and whooped about the kitchen until I yelled, “QUIET,” and shooed them out to the garden. I then made them a drink each and closed the back door to sit and drink my tea.

After lunchtime, Stella arrived with Puddin’ and I helped her unload, Stella that is rather than Pud – she’d already unloaded by the smell emanating from her lower regions. Stella took her off to change for a less smelly model while I made her a sandwich and some more tea.

“That feels better,” Stella rubbed her tummy, “what’s next, Watts?”

“How,” said Trish.

“How what?” asked Stella.

“Not what – how, it’s what Red Indians say, Auntie Stella.”

“Of course, I suppose you’re big chief – sorry, big squaw, Itchy Knickers.” Wel,l Trish’s face was a picture, shock, disbelief then it collapsed in laughter. She absolutely roared, of course Stella then had to name the other two. Meems became little squaw, Drinking Chocolate, and Livvie, big squaw, Wunda Bra.

I had to wipe the tea off my top and jeans, where I’d snorted it all over myself. Stella had kept a straight face throughout, or until the tribe went back out in the garden. Once Puddin’ had been put down for a snooze, we went out to see if the three squaws had blown over the neighbours or scalped anyone. They hadn’t and were beginning to show signs of boredom. Spotting some long bamboo sticks, which must have in the garden for several years, I had an idea. I went into the garage and brought out an old tarpaulin Daddy had bought for something or other, and a ball of garden twine. Then after tying a few sticks together, and draping the tarp and threading some string though the holes in it, I cobbled together a makeshift teepee.

It was just big enough for the three of them to sit inside and hide from everyone, and once I found an old piece of carpet for them to sit on, the tribe spent the rest of the afternoon playing cards and board games in their new abode.

Stella was very impressed. “Obviously Girl Guide material,” she chuckled.

“Woulda been except I kinda failed the medical.”

“Oh gawd, of course, sorry; I keep forgetting.”

“I wish I could,” I sighed and began peeling potatoes for the evening meal.

“Don’t you, I mean, don’t you ever forget?” Stella sounded quite concerned and surprised.

“Oh yeah, I mean, I’m not thinking – I used to be a boy, all the time. It’s just that I didn’t have a girlhood, so when I think back to the years before I met you, my history is – well you know…”

“Why don’t you go and play with the other hell raisers, go and capture some of those lost years?”

“Thanks for the thought, Stel, but I think I’m too old to participate myself except vicariously. I shall have my girlhood watching these three growing up, and make sure that one of them, doesn’t have the same inadequacies of personal history that I had.”

“You mean you want Trish to have some girlhood memories?”

“Exactly that.”

“Which is why Sam Rose got her billeted with you.”

“Yes, even I’m bright enough to work that out. In some ways, I hope it will fill some of the void, but I hope I’m grown up enough to make sure I don’t detract from her experience and enjoyment of it, in fulfilling my own needs.”

Stella hugged me, “Oh, Cathy, I really feel for you, a beautiful woman without a past, we’ll have to create one for you.”

“I think I’ll manage a bit longer, Stella, kind though your offer is. I’d like to keep my feet on the ground and my head firmly attached to them via my body. Living with my little delusions is quite enough for me, especially now the legal system humours us.”

She stood back and looked at me, “Delusions, legal system humouring you? What are you on about?”

“Can’t you work it out?”

“Are you trying to tell me that your appearing and living as a female is a delusion?”

“Sort of, I mean, it is and it isn’t.” 

“Explain, please?”

“Oh it’s all old hat. Silk purse and sow’s ear syndrome.”

“Answer me honestly–do you think you made a mistake in changing over?”

“Good God, no.” How could she ask that, I was shocked.

“So what are you on about then? You’re a beautiful woman, who is looking after three lovely kids and engaged to one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. What is your problem?”

“I don’t know,” I dropped the potato peeler in the sink and ran through into the lounge where I collapsed onto the sofa and began to howl. A few minutes later, I felt Stella squeeze my shoulder.

“It’s okay, you are a beautiful woman – believe me, I’ve seen quite a few in my time, and you could stand up there with the best of them. Try and let go of the past, Cathy, enjoy the present and plan for the future. The past has gone, it’s nothing more than a few memories and those are only a few tiny electric charges between nerve cells. It doesn’t exist, just be yourself – the woman we all love and whom I’m so proud to call my sister.” She hugged me and I wept some more, this time in embarrassment. How could I be so ungrateful when I was probably one of the luckiest women alive – yes, woman. Stella was right, I needed to move on and enjoy what I had and plan for what I wanted, and with whom.

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Comments

Sometimes Stella . . .

Wadda ya know, sometimes Stella gets it right! ;-) Now, if Cathy will just take it to heart.

m

Damaged people are dangerous
They know they can survive

Hear, hear!

Cathy has been such a rock of support to Stella during her miscarriage and bouts of PTSD.

It's nice to see the metaphorical boot's on the other foot, and Stella is now trying to help Cathy overcome her feelings of inadequacy and look forward rather than behind.

--Ben

This space intentionally left blank.


As the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body, then only left-handers are in their right mind!

rock of support

Cathy & Stella both have been a rock of support to each other from time they 1st met & BOTH suffer from the same thing - low self esteem. Think of polar oppisites, if you really examine them thru out the story, you'll see this. they need each other for what life's experiences they've both had and what's to come. Stella teaches Cathy womanhood & hi-society, Cathy teaches how to stand on her own two feet when life gets ruff & simple day to da living w/o someone else attending those needs. & together. Let no man get in way rofl

I find

Nothing to disagree with in all of the above. They really will be good sisters for each other. While I don't think Stella has to find a man I think she would be happier with a soul mate. Of course, she already has a pretty good one with Cathy.

I Wonder

If Cathy is on her menses? She seems to go wacky once a month.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Now, can Cathy

Just take seriously and remember her thoughts at the end of the chapter. Time to call Simon too!

Medical Humour

“Why have you got a suppository in your ear?”

“Damn,” said the old lady, “but now I know where I put my hearing aid.”

Very funny Angharad. Here's a couple of others in a similar vein:

Did you hear of the patient who muddled his toothpaste and his piles ointment?

What did the doctor say when he went to write a prescription, and found an anal thermometer in his pocket?

Hint: the answers are there too, you just have to find them!

All levity aside, I really enjoyed this installment. The mixture of humour and pathos was very well done I thought.

Poppycock Stuff

Funny that you should write about Delusions

In my quiet moments, I think about that too. There are certain professionals who believe the T thing is profoundly delusional. Yet, most of them I know are extremely supportive. Analysis of such an abstract concept seems to always be on my back channel; quietly simmering away as the deepest recesses of my grey matter; turning it one way, then another.

For now, I have decided that even if I am delusional, I am harmless. The fantasy is not dangerous to anyone else. And, while the medical proceedures are quite invasive and the chemicals cause significant superficial alteration to our phisiology, it is less imediately fatal than a bottle full of pills or a rope over a beam.

Some consider the Estrogen and what ever else we take as palative care.

I suppose I am happy in my little fantasy world, though a body pillow makes a poor supstitute for a live mate that can pin you to the bed and make you happily squeal. I found myself sitting on the train today surepticiously examining a tall, fit black man. For some reason, in the primitive regions of my brain; right near the brain stem, something started happening that I did not choose to suppress this time. As my eyes scanned him up and down; something which I have seen other females do; I felt a frission start with a tingling in my neck that progressed fluidly down to my soft suptle breasts, then to my neglected loins and then to the very tips of my toes, making them tingle pleasantly. It made me gasp with need, and I eventually shook my head to clear it.

I wonder if on some level, all of the universe is somehow a delusion, and we are merely errant neutrons or some other particle which we perhaps never will understand. Perhaps the big lanky lineman is living a delusion and if something were to happen to him, his happy state would be shattered. I hope that this will not happen to him. Maybe he would not survive.

M'salama

Khadija

Cathy should just be Cathy.

Like us, she can't change the past. Yes here is a void, but you can't fill it by trying to live someone else's life. Cathy needs to enjoy who she is and the independent woman she is becoming. Unfortunatly, her acute self-awareness of who she was causes emotional distress for her, when those about her only see the beautiful woman she projects.

Stella is a true sister, being there to help Cathy when despairs she glimpses what she missed not growing up as a girl. As a parent, Cathy provides the stablity, opportunity and experience her girls need to empower them and help them grow as people.

Plus, it seems that each month she goes through the psycological stages of having a menses, even though she physically can't experience them. With all that happens to her it is hard to determine exactly what is causing what.

I find this story very touching. Thanks for sharing. Keep up the story.

Hugs,
Trish-Ann
~There is no reality, only perceptions.~

Hugs,
Trish Ann
~There is no reality, only perception~

Having a Bill Clinton moment ....

... I feel your pain Cathy !

Even though I transitioned pretty young (28) I do not have memories of being a girl growing up - especially my teen years, most of all.

It is time to move on.

In times like these it reminds me of a song from 'The Sissy Show' and small trans-production done by Christine Howey and 2 others about the travails of be trans. The show is pretty good though kinda preachy IMHO about always being open about what you are. I did not transition to be a trans-woman all of the time !

Anyway the song goes basically like this:

Let it gooo, let it goooo, let it goooo
You're hanging on to something that's not working anymore.
Let it goooo, let it gooo, let it goooo
If you want to find real peace of mind, you just to have to let it gooooo.

We've all have our problems. we all know how to cry.
But hanging on to all that pain just makes you want to die.

Sometimes it's best to let it fly, forget it, set it freee.
When you do you'll understand true joy I guarantee.

Hanging on to where you've been, you cop an attituuuuude.
Better to be moving on, show some fortituuuuude.

Because life moves on, and will not wait for people who gets stuck
People who can't take a chance and maybe risk it all.

You were not meant to just hang on, you were meant to get ahead.
Hanging on is like hanging by your Neck, until you're dead.

The harder you hang on, the harder you try to stay.
The harder it is to live your life, so that is why I sayyy.

It is time for Cathy to let it go.

Of course the song also applies strongly to pre-transition TS folks.

Kim

My heart

goes out to Cathy, After all if any of us had faced only a quarter of what has happened to her over the past few months then i suspect we would be spending a lot of time in therapy.

However thanks to Stella's plain speaking and Cathy's common sense (and lets not forget the three musketeers!) it seems that Cathy will now begin to accept what everybody else can see and realise that not only is she a beautiful woman but she is also a loving caring mother with a lot to give to those around her....Now all we need is for Simon to appear with lots of flowers and not a little humility and then everything will be alright again.....For a time!!!!

Kirri

Most of us

have spent many years beating ourselves up for daring to want to live. Much of society still treats us as sub-human, despite us having more rights than ever.

I can understand exactly where Cathy is coming from, but life is so short that we really have to grab it by the scruff of the neck and just live it. Apologising for the past gets us nowhere, particularly when it's a past not of our own choosing.

Love the way Cathy instigates and joins in the childish silliness; at least she can have some childhood, lived through the girls.

Susie