Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1048.

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1048
by Angharad

Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
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The car looked silver or light grey in the fading daylight, and was the five door version of the popular small Mercedes. I unlocked and got in, Simon stood at the door waving me off. The controls were very similar to what I remembered of the previous one I’d had, only this one had about half the starting mileage, of about five thousand—it wasn’t new, probably an ex-demonstrator; I didn’t much care.

She started up with a purr like a well fed and spoiled pussy cat, and I found the lights and set off down the road. It only had a quarter tank of fuel, so I went to the nearest supermarket and put in a half a tank, just to keep me going for the rest of the week.

I might have been wearing rose-tinted spectacles, but this was an even better drive than the previous one and that had been my favourite until it met with the accident on the motorway. I reckon I’d been grieving for it ever since, so this was really good, and made my recent worries fade into the background, if only for a few minutes.

Sometimes I think I’m pretty rotten to Simon; then again, he’s often so obtuse he deserves it all—maybe we deserve each other. I knew I could seat three kids in the back, if I now have four to convey to school, they’ll still fit in it—although one will have to sit in the front with me.

That brought me back to the present—time that is, not gift. What was going to happen to Billie? I’m not at all sure about her going to school until she’s had more practice as a girl. She does seem to be picking it up pretty quickly, and I don’t know if she’s a natural, or has been coached by the others. That’s the problem with a house full of girls, they are so interactive and in a positive way, whereas boys seem to fight.

I wondered if the bike rack would fit the car, as I passed a car carrying bikes on the roof. I might try and get out early tomorrow for a ride—wonder if Billie wants to come? I’ll mention it tomorrow, see if Simon will supervise the others for an hour or so. Damn, I have to take Julie to the salon tomorrow—have to be when I get back.

I drove around for about half an hour, it went perfectly—the car that is. When I got home, Simon was watching some of the World Cup, and as England were now out, he decided to support the Germans—which was probably the kiss of death to them as well. Oh well, not my sport, and the TdF was due to start soon. I wondered how the Brits would do in it—Cav might win a few stages but he isn’t in the sparkling form he was last year, and while I admire Wiggo—I doubted he’d ever win it, however, I’d be so pleased if he did. Where was Armstrong likely to finish? Was there any truth in the drug allegations by Landis, and what was his motive? Lots of intrigue, which I suppose will one day be sorted, but it does affect the sport—my sport, and it’s shameful.

Once I got back home Julie was waiting with a cuppa, “What are you after?” I asked suspiciously.

“When I pass my test, can I borrow it, Mummy?”

“Borrow what?” I played dumb.

“Your car, the little Merc, I’m sure I could drive it.”

“We’ll discuss it when you’ve passed your test.” That should give me a few months to think of an objection, or to save for a small car she could have instead. Not the greenest policy, but every teenager wants to learn to drive.

“When are you seeing your friends again?”

“Dunno, they seem to have slipped off the map.”

“Haven’t you made any at the salon?”

“There’s one, a girl called Amy, who seems quite nice, but we’re always on opposite lunch breaks so we don’t get much time to talk.”

“I suppose there’s always good ol’ Leon.”

“Yeah, I s’pose.”

“Oh, he seems to have lost his sparkle for you, then?”

“Not really, I like him—but he is a bit limited an’ since I’m workin’ on Saturdays, it does make it more difficult.”

“The course of young love never runs smooth.”

I drank my tea as Simon emerged in bath robe fresh from the shower. I smirked at him.

“Well?”

“It’s wonderful—thank you so much, darling.”

He smiled warmly, “I’m ready for you to show your appreciation,” he raised his eyebrows a couple of times and hinted that he wanted me upstairs.

Oh well, I suppose a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I finished my tea and we went up to bed. Ten minutes later I’d cleaned my teeth and had a little wash and tidied myself up, squirted on a little perfume and was wrapping myself around Simon who was struggling to carry me to the bed while still kissing me and not dropping me or falling over before we got there.

At the time it was very romantic—when I thought about it the next day, it seemed very funny—but nice funny.

We spent an enjoyable hour touching each other’s erogenous zones and finally making love in a gentle and caring way—no hurrying or selfish interest, rather a desire to please or maximise the pleasure of the other. After it was over I was exhausted and fell asleep very quickly and I suspect Simon did too. I was sore the next morning and I was glad I’d set the alarm, otherwise Julie would have been late for work.

After a quick breakfast, I took her to work, and although we talked a little, I’d managed to say nothing about her hair colouring—she looked like she was heading towards Goth styles—not sure I was happy, except they didn’t seem to get into as much trouble as some of the other groups did. Of course this could have been a misapprehension on my part—not an unknown occurrence.

“Geez, Julie,” I said loudly as we arrived at the salon.

“What, you haven’t finally noticed my new hair colour?”

“No—I’ve just seen the new ear piercings, is that why you got your hair done, to distract me?”

She blushed and refused to look me in the eye, “Course not, Mummy—I just thought I’d have a change.”

“Hence the half a pound of metal in your ears?”

“No, Mummy, had those done ages ago.”

“Please, before you do anything else to your body, consult with me. I’m still responsible for you.”

“Aw c’mon, Mummy, I’m nearly seventeen, for God’s sake.”

“I don’t care, and don’t you dare even think about a stupid tattoo.”

“I won’t, Mummy,” she said as she got out of the car. “If I get one it won’t be stupid.” Then she ran from the car before I could say anything, and dashed into the salon, waving before she shut the door.

Sometimes I wondered if being a parent was all it was cracked out to be.

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