Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 680 by Angharad

The girls went out to play on their bikes, Livvie somehow managing to continue her two wheeled riding, whilst Trish followed along on stabilisers. Simon watched from the window as I made my tea. “That was easier than I thought,” he said.

“Teaching her to ride a bike or discovering that she already knew about Trish?”

“Who knows about Trish?” asked Stella as she came into the kitchen.

“Smelt the teapot, have you?”

“Ooh lovely, how’s that for timing?”

“Where were you when we needed you?” I asked, pouring a cup of tea and passing it to her.

“Needed me—with Simon there?”

“Trish told Livvie about herself, while we were in Bristol, we just found out.”

“Ah. Is that good or bad?”

“Both and neither,” I replied sipping my tea.

“One of those paradoxical situations, is it?”

“Sort of: if Trish hadn’t told her, we’d have had to do it at some point and probably sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah, I can see that; so the big question, how did she take it?”

“In her stride,” beamed Simon; I’d almost forgotten he was still there.

“You’re only saying that because you taught her how to ride a bike while I was interrogating Trish.”

“You were interrogating Trish?” asked Stella, looking aghast.

“I was going to ask her if she wanted me to tell Livvie, about her deep, dark secret.”

“And she beat you to it?” Stella laughed and had to put down her cup, “Serves you right, it’s no big deal to them, she’s a just a girl with a giant clit.”

“A what?” I gasped back, while Simon guffawed behind me. “Since when have girls weed through their clits?”

“You know what I mean, she’s got a minor deformity down there, no big deal.”

“It will eventually contain her gonads, least the little bag attached to her clit, will.”

“Yeah, so?”

“She’s supposed to be a girl, they don’t have any—least, not of that particular variety.”

“I’m a nurse specialist in urology, remember? I think I’ve seen more willies and fannies than you’ve had hot dinners...”

“Trish apparently told Livvie, she had a ‘funny fanny’,” I interrupted, and we all sniggered. “I don’t know how I kept a straight face.” I couldn’t now, I chortled with the rest of them.

“I didn’t know our children were alliterate,” said Simon.

“Ha ha, how humorous,” I shot back at him.

“I think I can see where they get it,” suggested Stella, “are you sure they’re not your real children?”

“Oh yeah, these are some I made earlier. Where do you think you are, Blue Peter?” I scorned Stella’s remark.

“Nah, if I was, you’d have made them from washing up liquid containers and the centres from old loo rolls.” Stella was enjoying herself, and it felt good to have some of the old one back.

“How do they recycle them?” asked Simon, looking perplexed.

“Recycle what?” we both asked him.

“Loo paper,” he replied, smiling and I knew he was going to make a schoolboy joke but couldn’t think of a way to stop him.

“They don’t, do they?” Stella looked suspicious, she knew what was coming as well.

“They must, because the loo rolls Cathy buys are all recycled. How do they get the sh...?”

“Simon, go and check on the girls please.” I didn’t so much as request as instruct him to leave and take his silly questions with him. Once he’d gone, I said, “Some days think I understand why he was called, Simon.”

“As in, Simple?

“Got it in one?” I replied.

“Yes, I know what you mean, if my parents showed foresight or did the name influence him?”

“More or less, it’s a bit like the debate over GID, is it physiological or nurture?”

“Are you trying to tell me, that you and Trish were encouraged to become girls?”

“Not as far as I know, least ways, not in my case. If anything, it was the opposite.”

“So why even consider the question?”

“I’m trying to be even handed here, see both sides of the argument.”

“There aren’t any, it’s bio—bloody—logical, and in your case, very much so. You look better than half the so called natural women.”

“Thanks for the compliment, but excuse me while I puke.” I blushed, I hadn’t intended for it to come out like that.

“Why? It isn’t a compliment, well okay, a back-handed one, it was meant as a statement of fact. If your hormones or genes weren’t all screwed up, then why do you look so female?”

“I took hormones quite young.”

“Not at the age of puberty.”

“No, except, I’m not sure I had one.”

“One?”

“Puberty, I don’t recall my voice breaking or getting hair on my body or my face, nor did I get any zits, not that I remember anyway. Hang on, yes I did—I had a few when I started taking the hormones.”

“You had a female puberty, then?”

“I don’t know, I suppose I must have.” I’d never thought of that, not in that way. Once on the pills, my breasts grew and so did my hips, and my waist correspondingly seemed to shrink. Gosh, I’m more female than I thought.

“Oestrogen receptors,” said Stella.

“Sensitive ones, too. I blossomed quite quickly.”

“And you have the nerve to tell me you’re not a woman, or female?”

“I am now, I have a piece of paper that says so.”

“Duh!” Stella slapped her forehead, “I don’t know what we are going to do with you, girl, because that is what you are, got it?”

“I might just be androgen insensitive?”

“So what?”

“Well maybe that’s why, I am what I am?”

“Geez, Cathy, if that isn’t biological what is?”

“Oh,” I blushed feeling rather stupid—my usual state, these days.

“Q.E.D.” Said Stella dusting off her hands as if job done. Then she hugged me. “It’s alright, you know.”

“What? To be a freak?”

“Geez—uz, Cathy, if you’re a freak, then so are huge numbers of women. Just enjoy your birthright, you were meant to be you, enjoy it.” She mashed me into a huge hug and I tried not to cry.