The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2926 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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Debbie arrived just after Cindy who disappeared up to Danielle’s room with her. I had some doubts about allowing this as Cindy was still technically male but I had to start trusting Danielle sometime, so now seemed as good as any. I did point out to her in a previous conversation that if she was discovered to have betrayed my trust, I would never allow her to have any other friend up her in room as long as she lived here unless she was married to them.

She was about to protest when I think Julie or Phoebe indicated she should quit while she was ahead. Actually, I quite liked Cindy in lots of ways she was more rounded in her girliness whereas Danielle, although very pretty and with an amazing figure—though she hadn’t recognised it yet—at times acted quite boyishly, but they got on well together and that was good for both of them. Danielle was also more outgoing bordering on extrovert but she could also seem quite shy at times—then again, most adolescents are a mass of contradictions.

Debbie brought her trousers into the study. I asked her which shoes she was likely to wear with them and she indicated the ones she had on. I told her to try them on with the shoes. She popped into the cloakroom and came back a couple of minutes later wearing the trousers which were obviously too long. I turned then up, simply folding them up her leg until we reached the length she wanted at this point I measured them and pinned them. I then had her take them off and we did the same with the other pair. Then I checked the lengths, her legs were pretty well the same length, which makes things easier. The turn up was the same back and front and after checking she was happy with that, I measured three quarters of an inch from the fold and ran a line of pins round it—tedious but ensures I cut it evenly. With her agreement, I then cut them at this point. The next stage was over-locking them with a machine stitch which I did removing part of the machine so I had the narrower stage for the material. Then I pinned up the three quarter inch hem and sewed it with a hemming stitch by hand. All in all, it took about an hour.

She tried them on again and pronounced them perfect.

“Right, your turn.”

“I can’t do that she whined.”

“You realise can’t prefixes a statement of belief?”

“What?”

“You are effectively saying, you do not believe you can do this.”

“That’s right, I don’t believe I can do it.”

“Even with me helping?”

“If you help me a lot—I um, will give it a try.”

“You’re an intelligent woman, or at least I think so. I didn’t do it to show off, I know I can do it, so don’t have anything to prove. What I want you to do, is to be able to do this yourself in future. When I was in my crummy room at the university as a pg student, I did this with no sewing machine, so I had to sew everything by hand, judging lengths with a mirror. It took me half the evening but I did it. If I can do it in those less than desirable conditions surely you can do it with me supervising you?”

“You had lessons from your mum when you were a girl, so it’s second nature to you. I didn’t—so all this domestic goddess stuff is alien to me. I can cook some basic stuff and can keep a place clean but colour coordinating everything—like this room, or the dining room or making curtains, baking cakes—I didn’t do anything like that when I was a kid...”

“Okay, stop there. I don’t want to hear your history unless you feel it’s relevant to what we’re doing now. Like your teaching, I’m going to help you develop your skills until they satisfy me as being up to standard. We’re not in competition, but I am happy to teach you some basic home-making skills or even life skills, seeing as you somehow slipped the educational net. Now, I am going to show you very carefully how I do this once again on one leg of these trousers and you are going to do the other if it takes us all night—okay?” It was a rhetorical question but she shrugged and agreed to it.

I did another leg even more slowly than the first pair and instead of finishing, stopped at how I measured and then pinned the cutting line. She followed my lead and I watched to make sure she didn’t mess it up—asymmetric trouser legs aren’t yet fashionable as far as I know.

It was after eleven when she finished the hemming stitch. I had the great good fortune to be shown how to do that with invisible stitching, simply by not pushing the needle through the material, but sewing to a thread of material on the inside of the leg—those of you who can sew will know what I mean. It is an acquired skill that takes practice but once you have the technique, is easy. Debbie struggled. Danielle brought Cindy down to say goodnight and once she saw we were sewing, grumbled and asked me if I could teach her some more stuff. Danielle shrugged when Cindy included her.

“Okay, how about we make a Friday evening our sewing bee night and you and Danielle and Debbie can come and do alterations or repairs and I’ll help you as best I can. Just remember that I’m a biologist, not a professional seamstress.” They all laughed.

The two girls went off to meet Cindy’s mum who’d just arrived in the driveway. “D’you mean that? You’d show me how to sew and stuff?”

“What does, ‘and stuff’ mean?”

“You know, sewing and doing repairs—that stuff.”

“I’ll try, you proved you could do it.”

“Yes I did, didn’t I? But only because you pushed me,” she said blushing. “I mean, what if I’d cut too much off?”

“We could have made them calf length or shorts if necessary. They need pressing, have you access to an iron at the hotel?”

“I don’t think so.”

She followed me out to the kitchen and chatted to me as I erected the ironing board and filled the iron with some filtered water—it’s very hard water here and clogs up kettles and irons. I bid her make some teas as I pressed her trousers with the steam iron, using a table napkin to stop the material becoming shiny—which I had to explain. It seems her mother didn’t teach her anything domestic at all. I almost asked her outright about it at one point then bit my tongue as I remembered she was almost certainly raised as a boy and probably wouldn’t have learned much of these skills.

I handed her the completed trousers and told her to hang them carefully so they didn’t crease. We finished our cuppas and just as she was about to leave, she said, “Thank you so much for showing me some really useful things tonight. I almost feel like you’ve been mothering me and at times it would have been so easy to call you that.”

“I’m glad you didn’t, I feel old enough now when Julie or Phoebe do it.”

She blushed, “Sorry, I don’t mean to embarrass you, Cathy, but you’re such a natural mother and teacher—you’ve mothered me since I arrived in Portsmouth and I’m grateful that you did. It really helps me and my confidence as a woman.”

“What else could you be? Teaching you a few tricks on a sewing machine isn’t going to make you a woman, that comes from within. C’mon, it’s late and I need my beauty sleep—see you tomorrow.”

“Gosh yes, It’s Monday again. Thanks for a lovely day, I’ve really enjoyed it and learned so much, Cathy.” We hugged and air kissed and she left.

“Got us another trannie have you, Mother?” asked Julie wandering out to the kitchen as I was putting the ironing board away.

“What d’you mean?”

“I spotted it at dinner, so I know you must have days ago.”

“Just keep it to yourself, all right?”

“Yeah, no big deal,” she shrugged.

“Might be useful to stay quiet and then if she asks if you’re one too, I can...”

“What? If she asks if I’m one?”

“Yes, why shouldn’t she have the same gaydar that you have?”

“Oh Christ, I didn’t think of that.”

I smiled and told her I was going to bed.