Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 916 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Simon, despite all his antics earlier in the day, went to bed early—in fact before I’d finished dealing with my emails, of which there were dozens. When I crawled up to bed, he was fast asleep and stayed that way despite my cold feet being shoved against various parts of his lower body. He was up early the next morning and gone. I staggered about the place in a sort of bereaved daze—I really missed him and I knew the kids would, even though we all knew he’d be home again next weekend.

I couldn’t persuade Stella to tell us about the date with the traffic cop. What possessed her to tailgate a cop car—she has this death wish at times. Monday was trips to school, then shopping for food, housework, more laundry and then collect the girls. Julie was a very useful assistant and seemed delighted to help as long as she could wear whatever she wanted. At one point she looked like something out of a tranny fantasy, with tight skirt and very high heels which were totally unsuitable for housework. She had on loads of makeup and looked like a streetwalker. I wondered if she wanted a French maid’s outfit like they wear in transgender fantasy fiction, but didn’t have the nerve to ask her.

After an hour of vacuuming in high stilettos, she disappeared and came back in jeans and some flatties. I said nothing but I did smile. By the time I’d gone to get the girls, Stella’s remark of, ‘How much did her makeup weigh?’ the war paint had been toned down significantly.

I know I shouldn’t laugh because I experimented and must have looked a sight whilst doing so. The hormones have slightly softened my face, so I suppose I look reasonably female even without makeup, and being lazy I don’t use much if any most days, unless going out somewhere. Even then I don’t always bother. It was different when I transitioned—I wouldn’t have been seen dead without it, because I felt I needed it to make me feel female—now, I don’t care half as much, sometimes not at all.

So I can see where Julie’s coming from and it will be interesting to see how she progresses, assuming she wants to stay with us—I take nothing for granted. It could be she is beginning to learn about the advantages of comfort over looks, not to mention safety—she nearly fell down the wretched stairs in her heels.

The day was light enough for the girls to play outside for half an hour before tea, so they changed into their play clothes and rode up and down the drive on their bikes while Julie and I finished making the meal–a cottage pie, but made from scratch. Once again, I showed Julie how to cook the mince and cream the potatoes after mashing them, then how to brown it afterwards–with garden peas, the girls ate it down only slightly slower than the two boys.

We told them Julie had cooked it and they all pretended they were poisoned, then we had a table full of gigglers, boys as well as girls. Stella and Puddin’ didn’t complain too much either, and cleared their respective plates of the concoction with reasonable enthusiasm. Dessert, was homemade yoghurt with fruit puree, all home produced.

The evening ended with reading to both girls and boys, and then waiting for me was Julie. She wanted to talk some more–I wanted to go to bed and read for myself, but a woman’s work–as they say.

“What d’you want to talk about?” I sat down with a fresh cuppa.

“I really enjoyed cooking tonight, maybe I should think about doing catering?”

“If that’s what you want to do, but you have to make your mind up, Julie, and you’re still going to the salon on Saturdays for the next few weeks.”

“Dunno, if that’s what I like, wanna do anymore.”

“I don’t care, you were offered a trial period of six weeks, so that’s what you’re going to do.”

“Six weeks, Mummy, that’s like a life time.” Her expression was one of horror.

“Tough, that’s what we agreed–that’s what you’re doing–there is no escape.”

“Um–I could run away,” she said tentatively.

“I’d find you and make you do twelve weeks.”

“What if I killed myself?”

“If that’s a joke it’s not very funny.”

“Sorry, Mummy.”

“Besides, I’d take your body down there every Saturday until it was too yucky and smelly to be in the car.”

“That’s like, gross.”

“It is rather–but I’m not letting you off the hook. You gave a commitment, you’ll keep it if you want to stay my daughter. My word is my bond–I intend for you be the same, as I will with all the other children.”

“Well Trish is like a clone of you, anyway.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that comment and said so.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Mummy, and I do want to be your like, daughter.”

“Families share bloodlines and common values, as well as history. Sadly we can’t share blood, and memories are very limited given your age, but we can work towards common values of honesty and integrity in all things.”

“But you tell fibs, Mummy.”

“I don’t enjoy it, and only do it when I consider the truth to be more destructive or disruptive. Wherever possible, I tell the truth.”

“You didn’t tell me you were born a boy.”

“You didn’t ask me, you assumed I was what I purport to be–a woman. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to see me as a transsexual role model.”

“No, I saw you as female role model–same as Livvie and Meems and Trish to some extent.”

“That was how I wanted you to perceive me, I wanted you to aim for being normal not normal transgendered. I wanted you to realise that you could be loved for yourself in whichever guise you chose–because you insisted on seeing me as a maternal figure.”

“I love you, Mummy, because you gave me some space.”

“There’s still space, no one is forcing you to do anything, except help about the house, for which you are being paid, and to accept and abide by house rules.”

“What about boys–you don’t seem too happy to let me go out with them?”

“Are we talking, Leon, or boys in general?”

“Both–I suppose–nah, mainly Leon.”

“If you want to go out with Leon, providing we agree boundaries–you can go assuming he asks you. As regards other boys–if they ask you out, we’d need to discuss it. Whilst I can't prevent you having sex–and legally you are of age–I’d be very disappointed and would have to reconsider our relationship, the same would be true if you were having sex with girls. In your situation, I think you need to get more practice of everyday things, of just being a girl twenty four seven–plus you’re going to be working as one. You still have things to learn and there’s no better teacher than experience.”

“So I can go out with Leon?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Oh like, wow–can I phone him?”

“Do you have his number?”

“Oh yeah–I like mean, yes I do, Mummy.”

“If I were you, I’d do it soon because it’s getting late–oh, what happened to your two girl friends? Haven’t they been in touch?”

“They thought you disapproved of them–they thought you were too posh to want them here.”

“Good Lord, why would they think that?”

“If you don’t like know, Mummy, I’m not gonna tell you.”

I felt myself blushing–me too posh? I was horrified. Then again it would depend upon what one’s criteria for being posh were–if they meant educated, I would plead guilty to some extent, having money–okay, I have a bit since my dad died and the film began to make money, plus my pay from the uni and the bank, and two properties. I wasn’t loaded by comparison to Simon but by many people’s standards–I was comfortably off. Did that constitute posh? I suppose it could.