Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 750 by Angharad

The rest of the week passed with us either doing things indoors because it was raining or doing things out of doors because it was sunny but with a cool fresh breeze. This had not been one of the more memorable summers.

On the Friday, Dr Thomas called and I chatted with her over the phone for a couple of minutes. As Monday was a bank holiday, she arranged to see me on Tuesday. I told Stella and she agreed we should go home tonight. Despite the poor forecast, we knew the roads would be crazy, although hopefully, we would be travelling against much of the traffic flow, which would be attempting to get in the South-West and also perhaps some of the beaches of Dorset and Hampshire/Isle of Wight.

Some of the day was filled with packing up both the cars and the house. We left after tea and a normal two-hour ride took over three, the girls were asleep in the back of my car. Stella was right behind me as we drove into Tom’s drive and home.

I put the girls up to bed while Tom and Stella unloaded the cars, then it was time for a cuppa and a chinwag. While Stella sorted Puddin’, I spoke of my uncertainties for marriage with Tom. He agreed that I should wait until I had resolved them a little more.

Then he asked what they were? I had some difficulty in explaining them to him. He again reinforced the same things Stella had about my status and my transition. He told me he only saw me as female and a very beautiful one. I thanked him and tried to explain that I had nearly twenty years of conditioning to undo and reset.

“I hope it’s no gonna tak’ anither twenty years?”

“So do I, Daddy. I’m going to see Dr Thomas next week so I hope she can help me speed it up somewhat. It’s just so much baggage to dump about my past identity and how I struggled to suppress who I really was in order to avoid beatings from my peers or my dad.”

“That shoodnae hae happen’d, if ye’d been ma daughter frae the outset, it widnae hae happen’d.”

“I know, Daddy, and I do appreciate your support and wise counsel.”

“Och ye blether tae much.”

“It’s true, if you tell me I’m attractive – then I believe you, if anyone else does I wonder what they’re after?”

“Attractive? Ye’re beautiful, how many times dae I hae tae telt ye?”

“I believe that’s what you think, it’s just I think a bit differently.”

“Ach, ye’re jes milkin’ me fer compliments.”

“If that what you think, Daddy, you don’t understand me at all.” I rose from the table and despite his calling me back, went up to my room. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Can nobody see what I see? Do they all see what they want to? Am I the only one who can part the curtain and see behind the façade?

I went and checked the girls, they were all sharing one room now which at the moment they enjoyed. Give them a year or two and they’ll all want to have one of their own. Such is the process of maturation. At the moment, Trish isn’t too worried about hiding her little problem from the other two, they know about it and accept it as her little anomaly. In a year or two she’ll be too self-conscious and hide it with extreme efficiency. Soon she’ll need to have some sort of testosterone blocker or she’ll start to become boyish. Why that didn’t happen to me, I’ve never quite understood, partial androgen insensitivity, or too few male hormones? I don’t really know, but it helps me to validate my decision to become female, or as much as I could.

I removed the little make up I’d worn and brushed my teeth. I combed my hair and donned my pyjamas. I sat on the bed and pulled the documents out of the file.

In my hand were a blue sheet of paper from the Gender Recognition Panel, and my amended birth certificate. I looked at them, over and over — it said quite clearly I was officially female. I scanned the letter from the Registrar General’s office and the other one from the tax office. I read and reread them, but they gave me no sudden insight. I was stuck as female – a position I had no quarrel with, it was my intended position, an ambition from as far back as I could remember. So, what wasn’t computing here? What couldn’t I understand? Was I so stupid? I assumed I must be.

Two pieces of paper made me female – in a legal sense. It was laughable. Two breasts and a vagina made me female – or did they? There are biological females who have that and all the other bits that go with them who don’t feel female, so what does constitute being female? It isn’t biology or genetics, well not for everyone, although they obviously suffice for the majority. So what is it? It’s an idea, a nerve impulse, and obsession that nags away at you until you surrender. If you don’t, it’ll will keep on until you do or it destroys you – like a mania.

It isn’t an illness, mental or otherwise, not even a delusion. It’s a statement or declaration of self – of identity – of self image – of social role – of personal belie f– of personal comfort. In other words: I felt myself to be; saw myself as; interacted as; believed myself to be; and felt more comfortable as – female.

This wasn’t something I could say about being called a boy or a man – a description, I could never feel applied to me or with which I was comfortable. In fact it was the exact opposite, so what was the problem?

I was a classic GID, so why didn’t I just get with it and rejoice like I did after my op, when I felt I had finally come of age. The problem is who is the I?

My head was spinning. Was I unconsciously afraid to lose Charlie? If I was then I wouldn’t know would I, it being an unconscious thing –however, on a conscious level, I wasn’t. It was just a name, a superficial thing, it’s something I was baptised with but I gave that no credence … hang on.

I was baptised as Charlie and I was going to be married as Cathy. Was this the thing which had eluded my self analysis? Surely not, I had no belief in the Almighty, so wouldn’t a bit of mumbo-jumbo when I was months old have little if any significance for me? I really didn’t know. Add to it, that the marriage we were – correction – I was seeking to have, was in a church – was there some significance in that, other than it was more traditional than in a register office?

My head really was spinning now and I replaced my precious bits of paper into their folder and put them away. I went to bed but couldn’t sleep, something seemed to be nagging at me yet I couldn’t bring it to my consciousness, to confront it. It was like some cockroach which as soon as you put the light on disappeared, so you couldn’t kill it. Also like a cockroach, it was well suited to survival and nearly indestructible. Nuclear war could destroy all humans, flies and cockroaches will survive – says a lot about mankind and his dominion over the animal kingdom.

I tried simply lying on the bed and doing various meditations – doing favourite bike rides or walks in tremendous detail to distract myself – it didn’t, my frenzied mind came back to fry itself again, I could almost feel synapses overheating and circuits blowing – okay, neural pathways –brain circuits.

At two I gave up and went to make some tea, I crept downstairs to avoid waking anyone – or so I thought. I was sitting at the kitchen table, feeling like my eyes had been rolled in uncrushed rock salt, sipping my tea, when Tom strolled in. “I couldnae sleep,” he said and sat himself down opposite me.

“Why not?”

“Och, I wis upset efter talkin’ tae ye.”

“Oh, Daddy, don’t be so silly. It was me who was at fault not you. I have something I need to work through and so far I’m not doing very well. I feel in a strange place, so I apologise if I was a bit off with you, I didn’t mean to be – I just couldn’t cope with being probed or even supported – I needed to be on my own.”

“Is that why ye’re no gettin’ married?”

“What, because I need to be on my own?”

“Aye weel, ye’ve barely had any space to yersel’ hae ye? First it wis Simon an’ Stella, then me, then yon lassies. Why don’t ye tak’ yersel awa’ fer a few days?”

“I don’t know – I can’t now, I have to look after the girls.”

“We’d manage, like we did when ye were ill.”

“We didn’t have three then and a baby.”

“Weel think on it, ma offer stands.”

“Thank you, Daddy, I don’t deserve anyone as special as you.”

“Will ye quit yon unworthy stuff? Ye’re as worthy as anyone.”

“Okay – I’ll try.”