Something finally happens, I think, you'd better see for yourself.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 60 (that's like 5 dozen!)

I was sat in my room, Stella had dropped me off with another bag load of her cast offs. By the time I'd hung them all in my wardrobe, I realised that I probably had as good a set of togs as most girls or women of my age. I needed a few more bras and pants, maybe even another pair of shoes but on the whole I had plenty of stuff. I told this to Stella, who shrugged and said, "You can't have too many clothes, but if you get fed up with them send them to the charity shop."

I had been planning on her helping me with my makeup and hair for this evening, but it transpired she was going out herself, so I would be left to my own devices. "You're very lucky you can get away without any and still look good, so don't overdo it. Bear in mind that it is a dance and if you get into the spirit of it, you'll get all hot and sweaty and your makeup will get the same. So less is more and besides Simon thinks you're beautiful anyway. Have a good time."

"I don't know if I can do this on my own," I whimpered.

"Which bit?" she asked looking at her watch.

"All of it, can't you come too?"

"Don't be silly, it's a date, you don't want me there acting like a gooseberry."

"Yes I do," I said nodding for emphasis.

"Tough little sister, I have a life too and have a date of my own."

"Who is he?" I asked trying to prolong her stay.

"Nobody you know, so further interrogation is pointless, besides I have to go." With that she left.

I got out the skirt and top I was going to wear and the boots. Not exactly my choice of clothing but it would have to do and I suppose I was showing willing. I pondered my makeup and my hair. I'd never been to anything like this before and if I had my way, wouldn't again.

What do women wear to these stupid things? I mean cowgirl types, what do they wear? Probably smelly old jeans and checked shirts with hats and gloves. They'd also smell like their mounts - horsey and horrible.
At least bicycles didn't smell much except for the lubricants, and those were used sparingly or you get oily legs and have to wipe the excess from all sorts of inaccessible places on your bike. You learn quickly when it causes you extra work.

I did think about getting some ribbons and going with my hair in pigtails, but I'd probably look like some sort of ageing schoolgirl. Not quite the image I wanted to project. In the end I jumped on the mountain bike and went into town and bought a cowgirl hat and scarf. I declined the offer of a six gun unless it was real and loaded to shoot anyone who thought I looked as daft as I felt.

Country music wasn't my scene at all, some rock or jazz, even some classical but country, yuck. Okay, I know some people like it, but I'm not responsible for them. I had a snack in town and cycled home.

It's funny but since I ran them over, Mork and Mindy haven't been around when I was cycling. Coincidence or what? I felt empowered by that thought although I knew they were still being arseholes in knocking my door at night and things, so I'd merely won the first round, there would likely be subsequent ones. I patted my MTB as I carried her up the stairs, she was my warhorse.

I placed her alongside the Litespeed, the thoroughbred and the cart horse side by side, "horses for courses," I said out loud then blushed hoping no one could hear me talking to my bikes.

I took a leisurely shower and cleaned up the few hairs on my legs and armpits. My nipples were standing proud as I towelled myself dry and I marvelled at how taking regular doses of pregnant horse pee had caused them to grow from boy breasts. It had also caused the small appendage I wished wasn't there, to shrivel up to nearly nothing. One day I hoped things would be rectified, but for now, a good pair of pants held the inert piece of flesh out of the way.

I had thought about glueing it out of the way, a place on the internet showed you what to do, but with my luck I'd end up weeing up my own backside or something, or sticking my legs together. So I didn't bother. Going out on the date, I perhaps wished I'd got some super glue. Then shuddered at the thought.

I dressed and used the pads in my bra. so I was a bit small but they were otherwise perfect and if Simon got randy, I'd maybe let him have a play with my tits. Then I shuddered again, that could be asking for trouble, give 'em an inch and they take a mile. I could almost hear my mother saying it. She was referring to a girl who lived down the road and who was developing a certain reputation, much to Mum's disapproval.

I did a light makeup, mascara and eyeliner with lipstick. My hair I did with heated rollers to give it a bit of a curl and it looked okay under the stupid hat. Finally, I gave several squirts of perfume in all my interesting places and some boring ones for good measure. I'd smell okay even if I got a bit sweaty, although I couldn't see that happening. Two left feet that's me, I would warn Simon and if he knew what was good for him, he'd let me sit most of it out.

He arrived spot on time, I was going to say dead on time but then you'd think I'd shot him. All I can say in my defence is, that he was alive when we left my room for this barn-dance.

He made a fuss of me, gave me a bunch of flowers and a peck on the cheek and we were off. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt, there was a stetson hat in the car. He wasn't wearing cowboy boots and I grumbled at him.

"Look Cathy, it's okay for you girls, you're used to wearing heels, I'm not and besides I did try on a pair and they are so damned uncomfortable they make riding a horse seem a positive boon. No wonder Clint Eastwood goes around shooting people, his feet are probably killing him."

I had to admit I was more used to wearing heels than he was, I'd worn them for pretty well a whole week now! Goodness how time flies when you're shitting yourself!

We chatted on the drive to the barn, which was actually very well presented. It had been decorated with sheaves of corn and straw bales, corn dollies and flowers were placed here and there and the lighting was sufficient to see without being intrusive. There was a bar at one end and a makeshift stage at the other upon which an assortment of musicians were seated or stood. The music was far more pleasant than I had imagined and no one was insisiting that I, "Stand by my man," so far so good.

I opted for a glass of lager and waited while Simon queued to get it. Somethings were certainly better as a woman. While I was waiting I sussed out the toilets, they seemed okay, I was half expecting portaloos the sort of things you get at pop festivals. Satisfied with my recce, I got us a table and Simon brought the drinks over.

Much of the music was quite fast in tempo and the fiddler earned his money. We watched the dancing and I was fascinated at how the caller managed to keep his mind on all the steps of the different dances. Everyone dancing seemed to be having fun, so when Simon suggested we have a go, I succumbed.

Normally, I have difficulty remembering which is right and left, especially with directions. Getting lost is a speciality of mine, so I was fearful as we approached the dance floor. Thankfully, we began with a simple set of steps and the caller gave me some confidence. Much to my disgust, I was beginning to have fun. So was Simon and he kept me on the dance floor for nearly an hour. We returned to our seats breathless and sweaty but giggling like two schoolkids.

"Glad you came?" asked Simon after taking a long draught of his beer.

"Not sure, but I think I'm glad you brought me." I leant over and kissed him on the cheek, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he said looking so pleased with himself that I thought he would explode with delight.

We danced for another session of about an hour and rested some more. My feet were feeling the effect of dancing in heels, it wasn't very comfortable. But after a drink, we were back on the floor again until the caller told us it was all over. I felt a genuine regret even if the soles of my feet were so sore I could hardly walk on them. Simon spotted me limping and practically carried me back to our table. I finished my drink and hobbled to the toilets whereupon Simon did carry me back to the car.

I pulled off the boots in the car expecting them to be blistered, they weren't they were just red. From somewhere, probably the car's first aid kit, Simon produced a tube of antiseptic and gave me a foot massage. A week ago I'd have been horrified at the thought, now it was so relaxing I could have gone to sleep except I was so awake and excited that I was thinking impure thoughts!

I managed to get him to stop on the pretext that I had to get home to rest before the bike race. Reluctantly, he accepted my plea and took me home.

"Thank you for a lovely evening and super foot massage." I kissd him on the cheek, then when he turned his face to me, on his lips. He kissed me back and I kissed him back, and he kissed me and I kissed him and the car got quite steamed up. But all we did was kiss.

Eventually, I decided I needed to go to bed, the euphoria of the endorphins or whatever was wearing off and I felt quite tired. I kissed him goodnight and promising to call him, I let myself in through the communal front door, my mind was on other things so I didn't see the hand slam the door shut nor the other one that grabbed me and spun me around.

"Well well, judging by the way those windows steamed up, you are one hot little pussy."

"Fuck off Mac." My insults are always inventive.

"I intend to with some help from you sweetie."

He grabbed my wrist and twisted it, pulling me towards him, his intention being to kiss me. Instead I pulled my head back and head butted him on the bridge of his newly healed nose. He screamed and blood appeared running down his face. His side-kick I grabbed by his hair and swung him into his injured friend. I pulled open the door and ran into the street my heart beating as I raced along the pavement, the two attackers now in pursuit and calling abuse at me.

I rounded the corner and gasped, Simon was wiping the windows of his car, he saw me running and dropped the cloth he had and raced towards me. I flung my hands around his neck and he hugged me, asking what the problem was and then he saw for himself. He pushed me behind him and told me to sit in the car.

Then he went towards the two. Big Mac is big, mind you Simon isn't small. They clashed like two wrestlers, Simon flew at Mac and was doing alright until Mac's little buddy intervened and hit Simon from behind. That was it, I saw red and jumped on his back, my fingers scratching his face as I grabbed him. He went down with me on top of him and I remember bashing his head against the pavement a few times until someone pulled me off. I was crying and angry at the same time.

It was Simon, Big Mac now had a black eye to go with his broken nose and was retreating picking up his little buddy who was having difficulty standing, his face was bleeding and he had a massive bruise on his forehead.

"If ever you go near Cathy again, I shall really hurt you," spat Simon and put his arm around me. We watched them withdraw and he hugged me. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, "I am now. My hero," I sighed then began to bawl.

"Me, I reckon if I hadn't pulled you off that other guy, you'd be doing time for manslaughter."

"He hit you," I sobbed, "an' I saw red. two 'gainst one isn't fair!"

"Remind me not to upset you girl, you're the best back up I've ever had in a scrap."

"Does this happen often, then?" I said sobbing and hiccupping.

"Last time I was in junior school, why?"

"Oh great," I said and we both laughed.

"Come back to the cottage tonight."

"I can't, I have a bike race in the morning," I glanced at my watch it was one o'clock.

He drove me back to the house and saw me up to my room, "I'll come and get you in time for your race."

"You don't have too," I said, secretly hoping he'd ignore me.

"I know, but I want to see you ride anyway."

"Okay, but don't expect anything too much, I'm like a wounded slug."

He laughed and then he kissed me again and again....