Something to Declare by Cyclist

Chapter 34

And Sue was indeed stocious, as a rat. We had formed up in one of the Crawley bars that sold more bottles of coloured liquid than real ale, the sort of drink known as “tart fuel”, and that was exactly what it was like.

High heels, short skirts, lots of skin on show, all tanks filled and ready for action. I often wonder what the prospective spouse would say if confronted by their intended in full stag or hen party mode; THIS s what I will be marrying?

We went from bar to bar, and the mood got sillier. One or two of the girls had given me a funny look at the start, and I was pretty sure I heard “what’s he doing here?”, but as the alcohol bit it became more of the “your my beshtest mate ever y’are!” sort of thing. Sue ran cover for me every time I went to the ladies, tottering in like any other slapper on a night out, all tiny dress and silly (for me) shoes, but it all went far better than I had ever expected. I was more than a little merry before we ended up in the club, and my attention had wandered a bit, when suddenly there were all these men on stage, and then they took their clothes off.

All the way. Oh dear. More than a handful is a waste, they say, and these boys were…

No. I crossed my legs and thought of Geoff, and was grateful for small mercies. I mean, WHERE? HOW? I must have spoken aloud, because Donna laughed, in that way, and said “Well, if I can get a baby out, I’m sure I can get one of them in, and it will be a lot more fun! Hey, girls?”

That is a particular sound of laughter that can only ever come from really drunk women. I heard it a lot that evening, There were lots of those conversations where people keep interrupting, shouting “Listen, listen…”, but this particular place could only ever be summed up by other senses, such as “Look! Look!” and “Touch! Touch!”

Thank all the little powers that be that we never moved on to the remaining senses.

By this time, we were outside, and I knew I was drunk because I had a doner kebab in my hands. There are some catering products (I nearly said ‘food’) that are only edible when drunk. Not only that, they are irresistible when fully-fuelled. I was also wobbling on my heels–yes, I know, but t would have been rude not to–and we were drawing the attentions of several spotty yoofs who seemed to think we were easy meat. Well, mine still comes with two veg, sonny.

Sue laid her arm over my shoulder. “Well, kid, that is one rite of passage out of the way. You really are one of the girls now, and the way you fought for that stripper’s knickers….oh deary me. But think this is where your beloved comes and gets you...here, let me”

She dialled “Hello Geoff? Want to come and collect her? How bad? Well, she’s halfway through a large doner with pickled chillies…yeah, she is, she did, got some bloke’s knickers in her handbag, Yup, dancing round it with all the other girls. I’ll warn you now, she’s feeling very frisky. Outside the Post Office. See you in a bit then”

I sort of remember some tearful farewells at a taxi rank, expressions of undying friendship, and so on, and there was Geoff. You have to imagine me, in a too-short dress, two-inch heels I am still unused to, chilli sauce on my chin and clinging to another woman. Sue murmured n my ear.

“You do realise that you have done more for your acceptance in one piss-up than in months of work?” She kissed my cheek and slithered into the drop seat in the van for a lift home. And I fell asleep halfway there.

Geoff woke me, took me upstairs, undressed me, put me to bed and got in beside me. Before he did, he opened the window and dug out a pair of foam ear plugs. He clearly didn’t think I would be keeping the Promise that night.

Oh gods morning. Put it on hold for a bit. The bed was empty, but his side was still warm, so I hadn’t fart-snored him out of the room. Did I REALLY go out in that dress? Did I really LET Donna and Sue put make up on me in the ladies’? Geoff came in with a mug of tea and some toast. I smiled wanly at him, as another ambush memory surfaced, of something large, turgid and….warm in my hand.

Oh god. Geoff grinned.

“Ambush memory?”

I nodded, in mild horror at what the other girls had got me to do, and dimly recalled a camera flash or sixteen. Geoff started to chuckle.

“Did you…interact with one of the strippers, then?”

I just nodded, open-mouthed. How could he have guessed…I could still feel it in my hand, so HUGE. “How did you guess?”

“Sue told me, when you fell asleep on the sofa before I put you to bed. Showed me the photos too.”

Shitshitshit. All that stuff I said to the suits, and there I am in pictures with some monster…organ in my hand. Oh dear. Mind you, the more the memories came back, the more I still wondered how many internal organs one would have to lose to fit such an item in. Nope, Geoff’s attributes were more to my taste. And I have told you lot already.

It took me a while to get moving that morning, and I simply busied myself with laundry and gentle tidying. The little dress had chilli sauce down the front, and I had found a small piece of onion stuck between my breasts as I showered. I was well used to the excesses of rugby club nights out, but this was an eye-opener. Never let anyone tell you about what delicate creatures women are; some Bacardi Breezers… a group of mates to egg each other on, and they are just like men; worse, maybe. No, definitely worse.

The next day, I was back at work on a late turn. Donna’s team were just going off, and Shelley, her best mate, after the expected remarks about the “great night”, said

“Two things, Steph. Firstly, after Saturday night, I don’t think anyone’s going to bat an eyelid about you using the ladies’ with all the other girls. Secondly, there is something on the notice board for you”

How odd, I had just been handed the exact opposite of the key to the executive toilets, and it felt very, very nice. My transition was becoming day by day less of a battle, and more of a steady process of acceptance. I resolved to have a word with Raj again about my “nads” and their departure. First, though, that notice board.

It was covered in photos, photos of the hen night. They had all been modified in some way by overlaying certain attributes with a variety of objects, so that where I stared, pop-eyed and grinning open-mouthed, I appeared to be holding a tube train carriage. There were cucumbers, Apollo rockets, the Post Office Tower, a trombone, a stick of rock….whether Blackpool or Brighton I couldn’t see.

The wonderful thing was what it wasn’t. I could have been faced with a sea of pictures of myself, with hurtful intent, but instead it was just a wall of pictures of Donna and the girls on her hen night, and I was just one among many. It was just what I had always wanted; not to be special, not to stand out, but just to be another of the girls. I felt my eyes start to moisten. Such a little thing, such a great, wonderful thing.

Sue was behind me, with Dave and Stinky Pete. As the boys worked through the photos with ribaldry and what they thought was wit, Sue said

“I hear you’ve been invited to join Gossip Central. Well done, kid”

A couple of days later, Raj agreed to what he called my “denadsification” which he seemed to find funny, if nobody else dd. It looked as if I would be travelling to Paris with what he called “an empty sack” and rang Sally to say thank you, and she insisted we went round for dinner. I felt secure enough now to wear some slacks, my hair in a loose plait and Geoff looking tasty in a nice polo shirt and jeans. I don’t think he really appreciated our rather graphic conversation over the table, until Sally asked the big question.

“Do you like breasts, Geoff?”

He blushed, looking at mine and mumbling “Well, yeah”

“Have you heard of gynecomastia, Geoff?”

“What, man or boy-boobs? Yes”

“So if you had it you would be happy?”

“Not at all, when I say I like breasts I mean on a woman….. I mean on Steph, I like Steph’s breasts”

“So what would happen if you grew some of your own? Let me put it another way; Steph, how do you feel about balls”

I blushed and said nothing. Sally continued.

“See, Geoff, she rather likes bollocks as long as they are attached to someone else, and that means you. You would want a bilateral mastectomy if you grew your own breasts, just think of Steph as being in a similar boat”

She looked across at me and said “How nice are his balls then, Steph?”

Who needs a patio heater when they have a shrink like Sally?