The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1704 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The hot tea had ‘cooled’ Simon’s ardour that night, which of course brought out the sadist in me. I teased him and seduced him and the poor man lay there sweating with a bit of discomfort in his little Simon. He’d get his own back one day, so I didn’t feel too guilty, besides when he’s less sore he’ll laugh about it, too. He knows I love him, though perhaps after tonight he might not love me quite so physically.

I did offer to get him an ice pack to ease the scald–his willie was a bit pink, and he could pee okay, so I think it was just a question of wearing loose trousers for a day or two. If it was Gaby, he’d have been in a skirt by now. I did suggest a kilt, but got a stony look by return. He might be Scots, but kilts are definitely fancy dress for him–I wear them occasionally, don’t know what all the fuss is about.

The next day was Saturday and it was only when Trish reminded me of Neal’s wedding that I remembered it at all. Then it was up and in the shower and I dragged Simon out and into the shower as well. Poor lamb, he had to have a very cool, almost cold one because somewhere felt very sore when the hot water hit it. I suppose it would, though I’m obviously not the person to ask about such an experience as mine was cut off and turned inside out and I can’t say I felt that much pain and absolutely no regret.

“God it’s sore, babes,” he sighed as I rubbed some cream on it.

“C’mon, now–worse things happen at Charing Cross Hospital.” He looked at me as I said this and it took a moment for the penny to drop. I suppose to the non-transgender, the leading centre in England for reassignment, is just a hospital but the way his eyes widened when he thought for a moment meant he’d got it.

He eased into underpants and I helped him slip on some trousers, looser than his usual smart ones. He pulled on a shirt and decided he’d go tieless. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, here we were the only A-listers in attendance and he looked like an out of work thespian.

At breakfast we discovered that Tom was also going–why that surprised me, I’ll never know–just rapt in my own little world. I offered him a lift which he accepted. I really thought Simon was going to cry off, but he didn’t, although he grunted and groaned all the way to the wedding and the reception afterwards. I had used some haemorrhoid cream, because it had a local anaesthetic in it and he grumbled he didn’t know if he was wetting himself because his doodah was numb. He ended up with a panty liner after that.

“I really don’t know how you, Julie and Trish could–you know–cut it off.”

“Si, none of us were awake when that happened, and we didn’t try to boil it off. Besides, to the three of us, it was a noxious growth we needed rid of.”

I think he shuddered.

I didn’t, my loss was his gain after all, he had somewhere to park his wotsit when it was in use, which was warm and inviting and most of the time I enjoyed it too.

I finished dressing and applying my makeup and jewellery, I had some nice clothes and wanted to do them justice without upstaging the bride, and it was a registry office affair, so lower key than a big church one.

We finally got out and to the office in time, although we had to park further away than I’d intended and I had to walk quickly in heels–I haven’t felt the pavements so hard for a long time as we clicked along, or rather I did the others just padded with their rubber composite soles and heels.

We grabbed a buttonhole each on the way, I had ordered them when I was compos mentis and pre garden party, although I had to call the florist for a third one when I learned Tom was coming.

The ceremony was basic and although the woman registrar tried to make it special, I felt glad in the end that Maguerite had made ours such a special occasion, even though I’m verging on atheist, the traditional church type service was so much nicer and meant so much more. I always liked the Common Book of Prayer, just didn’t believe any of it. So while the other choristers were repeating the litany, I was just enjoying listening to the poetry of, ‘Good Lord, deliver us.’

The reception afterwards was in a local pub and it was nice enough, a buffet which I tried to keep a note of what I’d eaten–it’s so easy to eat more because of the bite size pieces of everything. I confess, once I discovered tuna and salmon sandwiches, I ate my share of both of them–can I help it if I love fish? Perhaps I should rephrase that to, I love eating fish. It’s supposed to be good for brain development, which I think is because of the association with the Omega oils required in small children for brain growth, because mine hasn’t grown since I was about six–unless of course, all that mercury has shrunk it again.

Tom and Simon had a few drinks each, Simon’s for medicinal reasons which I allowed despite t being somewhat spurious, and Tom because he felt sad for Si by association and also needed to have a couple of drinks.

I could not believe it when Tom’s rich baritone started singing, ‘A Scottish Soldier,’ a sure sign he’d drunk enough. How I was going to manage to get them both in the car, I had no idea. Neal had also had a bit too much to drink, so he was no help either–though it was his wedding and excused him.

I dragged Tom off before he could get in a chorus of, ‘The Muckin’ of Geordie’s Byre.’ He sat disgruntled in the back of my car like someone under arrest on suspicion of drink driving. Simon walked back so gingerly he looked like Charlie Chaplin on a bad day, though without the enormous boots he used to wear.

Tom was fast asleep by the time I got Simon out and I did warn him if he was sick in my car, I’d treat his willie to a blow dry with a blow lamp. He winced, so I think he understood the message despite being tight as a tick.

By the time I got them both home, they were both fast asleep so I let them stay in the car until tea time when I’d made some homemade soup–that went down very well. For some reason they both went off for an early night which made me smile.

It was just as well I didn’t drink anything because the police were out in force and I got breathalysed, the two snoring corpses in my car, smelling of booze helped to convince the copper I was similarly inebriated. When my reading came up as practically zero, he asked if I’d drunk at all.

“Oh yes, officer, I had two lemonades and a ginger beer.”

He shook his head and let me go, which I accepted graciously, okay, so I crept a little–it’s not worth the effort of trying to do other.