The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1665 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

If I slept with a gun under my pillow, apart from being rather uncomfortable to lie on, my radio would probably have to be replaced about every other day. It was a sobering thought as two of the three munchkins deposited themselves on either side of me.

We cuddled for about ten minutes before I declared it was time to get up. Then I realised it was a Saturday and that for the next two or three weeks, these brats of mine would be under my feet as the Easter period loomed.

I sat up in bed and confirmed that it was Livvie and Trish who had invaded my personal space. The door wasn’t completely closed so I spoke very quietly to them. I explained that following Jacquie’s questions about the Gaby stories, I had revealed that Billie was transgendered, but I hadn’t said anyone else was because we were all post op.

“Well that makes you all girls, anyway, doesn’t it?” Livvie’s logic agreed with my own.

“I think so, after all, one can hardly go back to being a boy after gender surgery.” At the same time I was aware that anyone wishing to become a boy having been a girl would be in a similar position.

Yonks ago, I remembered seeing some article about a surgeon in the States, it could only be the States, who spent half his time doing MtF surgery and then reversing it or other people’s for those decided they’d made a mistake. Of course if they’ve been properly assessed, it shouldn’t happen–but it does–some find themselves on the conveyor belt and seem unable to say no. I suppose some of it is like peer pressure, with kids drinking or doing drugs, if you belong to a group of would-be transsexuals, and they all seem to be heading for surgery, you might well do the same–and live to regret it.

I still think the supervising psychiatrists or psychologists should pick up on it, but they don’t always and like the nutty Lebanese bloke who became quite an attractive female, then reverted back blaming the psychiatrist, eventually had reversal surgery, such as it was possible. I thought he still looked very feminine, and I also thought he was an impatient, immature twit. The fact that he was a ruthless millionaire, just made it easier to buy surgery. I didn’t think, either Trish or Julie would regret their surgery and thus becoming as female as they could and in time I fully expected them to be able to acquire full legal status in their new role as I had done. It isn’t easy, but then it is very serious thing to do, and having the same status as a court ruling, the Gender Recognition Panel, once having recognised an individual in the new role, would be unlikely to reverse that decision. So once you’ve made that change, you’re stuck with it. In my case, it wasn’t a problem, I was female full stop and no reversal was ever going to happen.

The conversation with the girls made them aware of the situation with Jacquie and they seemed to understand what I was saying. “Don’t worry, Mummy,” said Livvie, “we won’t say anything about you, after all, we’ve only known you as a lady, so as far as we’re concerned, that’s all you’ve ever been. In fact the same goes for Trish and Julie.”

Sometimes I wondered if these kids had been here before–they seemed more grown up than many so called adults I’ve encountered. We went to the shower, Trish going to find Meems, who was still asleep, but dragged herself into the bathroom with the others and shared a shower with me. Looking at the bodies on show, we all looked female, Liv and Meems of course are naturally so, but Trish’s shape isn’t any different, and I’m very fortunate in being quite curvy myself–though looking at my naked body reminded me I needed to lose a bit of weight, so perhaps my bum needed to be rather more acquainted with a bike saddle.

“Where’s Daddy?” asked Livvie.

“I think he had some meeting about the Euro, it’s still causing loads of problems in the banking sector.”

“Poor, Daddy, having to work on a Saturday,” declared Livvie.

“Poor? He’s not poor, Liv, he’s a billionaire,” Trish just had to correct something.

“I didn’t mean it in that sense, I felt sorry for him ’cos he had to work.”

I dried them off and tidied their hair, then did my own, which had been draped in a towel, turban style, to stop it drying out too quickly. It was getting long again and I’d ask Stella or Julie to trim it. Julie was getting quite good, and Stella had been watching her doing the girl’s hair and offering tips and advice.

After dressing, I picked up Catherine, who was awake, and we went downstairs, Jacquie appearing moments later. “I thought I heard someone moving around,” she said and filled the kettle as I was making breakfast for the girls and Catherine.

Daddy appeared with Kiki and went off to walk, and probably lay some flowers on the grave of his wife and daughter and of course, Billie. I would pop up there later if I could find a few minutes.

After they’d breakfasted, the three mouseketeers went off to do homework and I sat down with Catherine to breast feed her. I enjoyed the experience still, and so did she, although the little bugger would bite my nipples.

Jacquie sat opposite and watched us, though I couldn’t detect the emotion she was feeling. Was it envy, curiosity or some negative feeling? I wasn’t sure. She told me it was fascination, though I don’t know if I believed her.

“I enjoyed the Gaby book, Mummy. I can see why the girls enjoy it.”

“Good, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I still don’t understand it–I mean a boy ending up in skirts as often as he does without much sort of protest. He can’t be weak willed, because he wins bike races through mind strength.”

“I don’t think the author was intending to try to win a Nobel or Pulitzer prize, so it’s written for fun and I think she does give money to the Mermaid’s charity to help transgender children.”

“How can children know what they are?”

“They do, believe me. If they think they should be the other sex, they say so, especially these days.”

“I don’t know if I believe all that. The people making those claims tend to be the ones treating the children, so I’m a bit dubious about it all.”

“When did you know you were a girl?” I asked her.

“I’ve always known it?”

“But by your criteria, how could you always have known it? And if you did, why can’t children recognise they’re different to the role they’re expected to perform?”

“I don’t know, I suppose put like that, it could work. When did you realise you were a girl, Mummy?”

“Like you, I’ve always know what or who I was, so I’ve always known I was a girl. Mind you, my father did his best to turn me into a boy.”

“Ugh, how could he, that’s tantamount to abuse?”

“I think at times it was abuse, but we made up before he died.”

“He died?” she seemed quite surprised.

“Yeah, a couple of years ago–he had a stroke. My mum died a little while before that, we don’t really know what happened there, she had some sort of vascular emergency, probably a heart attack and died. It was very sudden. My dad and I were at loggerheads but I still miss him.”

“I’ll bet you do. At least they didn’t disown you for doing something beyond the pale–which my family did. I’m so glad you let me come and live with you all, Mummy.”

I smiled at her and hoped she felt the same if ever she found out I’d deceived her.