Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 2.

The shower had returned me to some degree of normality and I was beginning to recover from the hypothermia or shock, or both. I grabbed the yellow bath towel and began to gently pat myself dry. I was covered in bruises and scratches, none were too deep and I'd suffered more from falling off the bike on earlier occasions.

The bandage I'd worn around my breasts had protected them. I dried them carefully. They were still relatively small but I was proud of them, all my own work plus some help from conjugated oestrogens. I wondered how I was going to talk my way out of this discovery by my hostess.

Hardly anyone knew of my preparation to eventually transition as a woman. My doctor did, she'd given me the hormones on the advice of a local psychiatrist. That was six months ago, and at last the effects were beginning to happen apart from the initial morning sickness, which had now passed. I was growing boobs, my waist was smaller and I think my bum was a bit bigger, but that could be wishful thinking.

My university professor knew about things and was pretty laid back about it, provided it didn't interrupt my studies. I had a bachelor's degree and was reading for a masters. I planned to change over after that when I found out the uni would alter the name on the degree diplomas. Then I'd need to find a job.

As I finished dressing a hand holding a towelling robe came around the door. "This might be useful," said the voice from outside. I took it with a muted thanks.

I looked down at my painted toenails and blushed. It was always a risk that someone would see them, now it was a certainty. My shaven legs, well I'm a cyclist - they all do it. I drew on the robe and tied up the belt, it emphasised my relatively small waist and protruding chest. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Like the colour," she said.

I looked confused and asked, "What?"

"The toe nails," she smiled. I just blushed to the roots of my long fair hair.

"Cuppa? I've just made one."

I nodded and she led me down the stairs to a comfortable dining room.
As we sipped the tea, she smiled at me and said, "I suppose I'll have to do a claim form for your bike."

"Yes," I agreed.

"I'll need you name and address," she continued, "and the value and damage to the bike."

"The bike's worth about four grand."

"What!" she exclaimed, "A bloody push bike, four thousand. You're joking?"

"Fraid not," I replied, "It's a top of the range Scott carbon fibre."

"Christ that's more than my car is worth!"

"Sorry, but I didn't ask you to hit me off it."

"Well I couldn't see you in the rain, it was so dark and you didn't have any lights on."

"It was day time and sunny when I set out," I argued, "I didn't need lights, besides if I had been using them, they could have hiked the repair bill up a few more hundred."

"I don't believe this. Your stuff is dearer than a car's."

"Depends on the car, but yes it can be, depending on the bike of course. Top of the range Trek is worth nearly six grand. My racing skins are about a hundred quid, too."

"What for a bit of lycra?"

"Well lycra in the team strip of Saunier Duval, yeah!"

"Bloody hell!"

"Sorry," I piped apologetically as I could see she was working out what things would do to her insurance premium. "I know the back wheel is smashed and the tyre is wrecked but until the bike has been examined, I won't know what the damage is and how much your insurance is going to have to pay out."

Now she blushed and looking at the table she said quietly, "I might have a slight problem there."

"You are insured?" I asked feeling a sudden coldness sweep over me.

"Not exactly," she said so quietly I could hardly hear her, almost lip reading it. Then she began to sob and I felt helpless, so I cried as well.

"What are we going to do?" she asked eventually.

"I don't know, but somehow I've got to get home and I can't go like this;" I pointed to the bath robe.

"Your cycling stuff is all wet and torn, you can't wear that."

"If I can use your phone I might be able to get a friend to bring me some stuff."

"The line is out of order and my mobile is out of credit." She shrugged her shoulders.

"So what am I going to do?"

"You'll have to borrow some of my stuff, we're not too different in size. I get the impression it won't be the first time you've worn womens' clothes."

Now it was my turn to blush, and I went a deep scarlet and felt very warm.

She nodded at my chest, "I don't know many boys who have a cleavage," I glanced down and drew the edges of the robe together. "Hormones?" she asked and I nodded.

"We had a student nurse who was a trannie, used to turn up in drag at any opportunity. A bit over the top with his make up and clothing, mini skirts and white stilettoes, looked a bit of a tart."

I felt myself blushing again, "I'm not a transvestite," I said trying to keep calm.

"No, why you growing tits then?"

"I'm transsexual and eventually I'm intending to live as a woman."

"What have a sex-change operation?" she said her eyes growing larger.

"Eventually."

"You won't be able to ride your bike for a few weeks then," she said dead pan.

"What?" I said and caught the twinkle in her eye, then began to chuckle. She did too. "No, you're probably right," I said as we both laughed.

After talking some more she suggested we find some clothes for me to wear. She led me to her bedroom. "What size are you?"

"Twelve," I answered.

"Crikey, you are the same size as me. Do you wear a bra?"

"Depends on what clothes I'm wearing. I don't under my boy stuff."

"No I saw the bandage. I don't have any boy clothes, so maybe you'd better try one of these," she handed me a black bra. I turned my back and after removing the robe put it on. "Wow, a man who can put on a bra properly, most of them can't get them off let alone on!"

I blushed and said, "I don't actually see myself as a man."

"No, perhaps not. Let's see then."

I picked up the robe and held it covering my waist and below.

"That's a B-cup, you nearly fill it, here pop these foam pads in they'll help."

I took them from her and asked, "Do you have any knickers I can borrow," and coughed.

She laughed and said, "Oh yeah, course," and pulled a black pair out of a drawer.

I thanked her slipped them up my legs and tucking myself between my legs, pulled them up tight. I then positioned the pads in the bra, my breasts nearly filled the cups with their help.

"Jesus, if I didn't know, I'd think you were a woman," she said looking at me critically.

"I am," I replied, "It's just the plumbing that needs fixing."