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.