The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2037 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Siwwy Mummy, passed ouwa house,” chuckled Mima to Stella as we came into the house.

“Should we get a bigger sign?” she smirked at me.

“I was distracted,” I rested my case–well my handbag, actually.

“By a car load of banshees?”

“No they were quite good,” I wasn’t going to blame them for something they didn’t do.

“By what then?”

“I was thinking of a conversation I had earlier.”

“With whom?” she pressed.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Oh come off it, Cathy, who was it?”

“I’m going to shower,” I rushed from the room even though I’d have liked a cuppa. I didn’t bother. It was none of Stella’s business what went on between my children and me. My reticence might give her enough clues to guess but my lips were sealed until there was something she had to know.

Reaching my bedroom, Danny stopped me at the door and I invited him in and shut the door. I stripped off my top leaving me dressed in shorts and sports bra. “You’ve still got quite a good figure, Mum.”

“It used to be better, put on some weight recently,” I was being honest and as I was approaching thirty I suppose some of it was inevitable.

“You look better ’an Peter’s mum.”

“I think I’m younger than she is.” I hoped so, she looks about fifty.

“She’s thirty eight.”

“There you are then, she’s nine years older than me.”

“Yeah, but she looks like, twenty years older.”

“That’s a bit unkind, Dan.”

“Well she does.”

“She’s had a bit of worry recently.”

“Yeah, and you ’aven’t, you ’ad Billie die, you’ve been attacked by the mafia, dealt with Auntie Stella’s illnesses, looked after a whole pile of us and still coped with Dad’s snoring.”

“You can’t hear him can you?”

“Not very loud, but occasionally he sucks the drawers out of my tallboy.”

He looked quite serious and then he snorted and we both laughed like drains.

“One night it was so awful I told him to put a sock in it, he didn’t but I did.”

“You put a sock in Dad’s mouth?” his eyes were like dinner plates.

“Yes, don’t tell anyone.”

“What happened?”

“He woke up and snorted, and threw it on the floor and went back to sleep.”

“Did he snore again?”

“He might have done, I was asleep by then so didn’t notice.”

“How can you sleep through that?”

“It’s amazing what you can get used to.”

“I wonder if Peter is–you know–gettin’ used to–” he glanced at his groin and winced for a moment.

“Not everyone is worried about it,” I said smirking.

“Yeah, but you’re a girl, he isn’t–he’s an idiot.”

“I think he might come to regret it in time.” I knew he would, even if he were transsexual he’d be short of tissue to create a vulva and vagina. He’d be a bit like the hijira or eunuchs of India who usually ended up with a puckered piece of scar tissue through which they peed. Though I expect he’ll still remain a boy. In time they might be able to fashion some sort of replacement but it won’t be very functional, especially for sex.

“I’ll bet he does every time he goes for a pee.” Danny had a point, unless Peter was gender dysphoric and I didn’t feel he was particularly, in which case once you get used to it spraying everywhere, you feel quite proud each time you go for a wee after surgery as it confirms your new status to you and anyone else who wants to know. The only downside was finding jeans rather hard against a very tender spot for quite a while–though I wear them okay now.

“He’s going to need friends like you, you know.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if I can cope with being seen with him. They were calling me Danielle the maiden in school.” Tears began to run down his face. Being in a state of semi undress I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to hug him or not. In the end he almost fell into my arms and I held him while he wept. At one point I had tears running into my cleavage–not the most comfortable of sensations–but at least he didn’t try to wipe them up.

“Look, if you wish we can arrange to send to another school.”

“What, St Claires?”

“I wasn’t thinking of that especially unless you particularly wanted to go there.”

“What?” he looked at me as if I were crazy, “No way.”

“I was joking, you know?”

“Yeah, well it ain’t funny.”

“Sorry, it was you who suggested it.”

“No I wasn’t, I was saying I couldn’t go there.”

“They were talking about taking boys next year.”

“No way–if I went there they’d all be calling me a poofter.”

“You suggested they did anyway.”

“Yeah, but like then it would be obvious, wouldn’t it?”

“Only in your eyes. Despite my knowing what’s happened to you, I don’t think about you any differently than I did before.”

“Yeah, well you’re my mum.”

“True, but I don’t think I would anyway.”

“But you’re very tolerant anyway–you tolerate things I wouldn’t.”

“Like what?”

“Um–I can’t think at the moment.”

“Like Manchester United beating Chelsea?” I joked.

“Hey, we won last time.”

“I need to go and shower, so off you go–oh put some cold water on your eyes.”

“Yeah, okay.” He went to the door, “An’, Mum...”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thanks for bein’ there.”

I winked at him and he smiled as he left. In the shower I tried to work out what he was going through but it didn’t compute, I’ve been fortunate to have never been sexually assaulted; though I read an article about South Africa where girls of eleven expect to get raped at some point in their lives. That is both sad and disgraceful and with what seems to be happening in India at the moment, it seems this world is a very dangerous place for women.

I towelled myself dry and as I did my groin I was acutely aware of the conversation we’d just had and my thoughts spinning off it. I glanced in the mirror–I was proud of it, a cleft between my legs which gave me reasonably successful female status almost anywhere, unlike the previous incarnation of which I felt either shame or embarrassment. Thank goodness it evolved with a bit of help into this. I gave it one last glance before I pulled on some panties, yeah, I was proud of it.

“Mummy–oops, sorry.” Trish burst into my room as I was semi-naked. She dashed out just as quickly. I put my arms through my bra straps and then did up the clasp at the back–never quite understood how some people do it up and then slip their arms through. Mind you I do it the same way my mother did, when I was a small kid, I watched her several times–she thought I was asleep–even then I knew I’d end up wearing one.

I finished dressing and went and found Trish, all she wanted to say was that David had made some fresh ice cream for pudding. At eight years old, I suppose it might be quite important.