Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
Part 11.

With all the banter and suggestive remarks being made during the drive, I had no idea where we were as we sped through the countryside. Had it not been for my distrust of Simon, I could have found the journey pleasurable. The seats were very comfy and supported me in all the right places, there was very little wind or engine noise and the CD player was excellent. Simon had a copy of Madeleine Peyroux on his player, and it was wonderful bluesy, jazzy, and just brilliant.

We actually talked about it without any fencing and without him trying to 'pull'. It seemed we had one thing in common, which I suppose was better than nothing.

Eventually he steered the car into a car park belonging to The Jolly Roger public house and restaurant. It seemed Pirates of the Caribbean had a lot to answer for. Despite the fact that it was early evening and getting cool there were children playing in the themed beer garden, racing around and screaming like demented souls, one or two of the boys waving plastic cutlasses.

It took me back to another memory, where instead of identifying with the hero of a film I found myself cast as the heroine by some friends who were boys. Their intention was to humiliate me as well as give them a focus for their game, and I suppose it played into my hands too. I had no taste for being Indiana Jones or James Bond, I was happy to fantasise I was Barbara Bach or Michelle Pfeiffer. However, if it wasn't my idea, then I bore no responsibility for being 'coerced into the role', it was a nice loophole. I was just a wimpish kid who was forced to pretend he was a girl because of threats of violence from his peers.

One of the boys, Malcolm Bragg, who was always called, 'Melvin' after the writer and broadcaster, threatened to bring one of his sister's old dresses and make me wear it but he either never remembered or it was an empty threat.

"We're here," said Stella nudging me out of my reverie. She helped me out of the car and arm in arm we walked across the car park, our heels clicking on the tarmac. "Thought you might like some support in those boots," she whispered as we walked. I nodded an emphatic yes.

Simon held the door open and we went into the "Davy Jones'Lounge" the atmosphere was placcy and tacky, with plastic beams every where and windows made up as port-holes or gun ports. Stella and I sat as he asked what we wanted to drink. I was tempted to ask for red wine, but decided after the previous episode I'd have something different. I went for a Bacardi and Coke, Stella asked for a Buck's Fizz, Simon went off to get them.

"Don't take too much notice of my brother, he thinks he's God's gift to women. He also fancies anything in skirts."

"He'd get a surprise under mine," I smiled back, then blushed at the thought of it.

"I'm not sure that would put him off, if he got that far although he might have to improvise."

"He wouldn't be the only one," I whispered back.

"Talk normally, you have a light voice, it's quite okay, perhaps if you raised the pitch at the end of a sentence, like the Aussies do, it would sound even more feminine." Stella then gave me an example and I promised to try it as the evening wore on.

"I've ordered a table for 8.00pm, they've quite a good menu here and because my bonus came through last week, you can order anything you want."

"Oh yummy!" said Stella licking her lips, "can I have scallops then?"

"I just said you could," reiterated Simon raising his eyebrows, "sisters! You don't have any do you Cathy?"

"No, I have a brother, they're even worse," I threw in as much for devilment as anything. I didn't actually have any siblings, which now may not be such a bad thing as it would be someone else to explain things to.

I've been told that men like to talk about themselves, and that they are better at talking than listening - ring any bells? So I thought I'd run a little experiment, I'd prime Simon with the odd question about himself or his opinions and see what happened. I wondered if I could get him to talk all night. I was tempted to involve Stella in my little game, but then I'd need opportunity to bring her in, so maybe I'd use it as a test of my feminine ingenuity and work on my own.

I got him to talk about his job, a commodities buyer for a merchant bank, whatever that was. It paid handsomely even if he'd had to sell his soul to get it. He talked and I kept him going on what was nearly a monologue. I noticed Stella watching us and smiling to herself.

My plan was working and she was aware of it, or I thought she was. Simon went to get himself another pint. "This is the first time you've been out in company?" she asked looking perplexed.

"Yes, why? Don't you believe me?"

"You are charming him out of his socks, you do realise that don't you?"

"I'm just trying to keep him happy," I offered back.

"Oh he's happy all right, and he'll want another date with you."

"Oh my God!" I felt myself growing hotter and redder, "He won't will he?"

"I'm willing to bet a tenner that he asks for your phone number."

"Oh Jeez!" my heart felt like it would stop with embarrassment.

"Would you like to come through to the restaurant ladies?" said the man in the dinner jacket. I presumed he was the head waiter or something.

With some difficulty I rose to my feet, my legs and back were stiffening up from the accident. I picked up my glass of drink and Simon who was coming across the room, stepped well away from me. I blushed again.

Stella came to my rescue and we strolled arm in arm into the, 'Captain's Table' restaurant. She felt me stiffen as we went through the door, "You okay?" she whispered.

"Those two over the other side, they're on the same course as me." I felt my legs growing heavy and had difficulty walking.

"Come on, they won't recognise you like this," she smirked.

"What if they do?"

"Tell them it's a practice run for next week."

"What happens next week?" I asked, still feeling queasy.

"You come out of the closet and get a date with Simon." She sniggered at my discomfort.

"If they find out, I'll just die," I whimpered.

"Carry on like this and they'll notice something odd about you, act like you own the place and they'll fancy you but leave you in peace."

"You sure,"

"Trust me, I'm a nurse," she sniggered.

"Oh shit, why did I have to ride out this way today?" I almost appealed to the gods, but they were on supper break, knowing my luck.

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Do leave comments, they distract readers from the story and they won't notice how bad it is!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad,
part 12.

Somehow we made it to our table, Stella and me that is, Simon had stopped to talk to some bloke near the entrance. "You won't mention those two to Simon, will you?" I asked, almost pleaded with Stella.

"No, I'll just go and ask them to join us," she joked. "Look I might only be a nurse, but I do have some functioning brain cells."

"I'm sorry," I blushed again. I've always blushed quite easily, especially since this afternoon. "I'm just so nervous, and them looking at us as if we were on the menu, makes me feel worse."

"You'll have to get used to it young lady, it's what men do - undress you with their eyes. It's when they do it with their hands you know how limited their hand eye coordination is, and that they can't multi-task at all."

"What?" I gasped.

"Most of them take so long to get a bra off that if you're serious about sex, don't bother wearing one because by the time they get it off, you'll have either fallen asleep or gone off the idea."

I squealed with laughter, drawing further attention from my coursemates. My response was to blush again.

"It's not funny, it's tragic," chuckled Stella. "'N' if they are kissing you at the same time, they have difficulty remembering what their tongues and lips are suppose to be doing, let alone their hands. For a man, multi-tasking is breathing and walking at the same time."

"You are so funny Stella," I said laughing out loud again.

"What's so funny here?" asked Simon coming over to the table.

"Oh I was just telling Cathy about your previous conquests." Stella smiled at him and he looked away, his face as red as a raddish.

"Oh," he said rather too quietly and sat down dejectedly.

"Don't believe a word she says," I declared trying to cheer him up, "she was telling me jokes."

"Yes, his sexual prowess," she snorted.

"No she wasn't," I insisted, "your sister said nothing whatsoever about you while we were joking."

"Ooh but I did," she clamoured, winking at me, "who did you think I was talking about?" she winked again, but I'd already got the point. It seemed they teased each other mercilessly for a pastime.

"Remember two can play at that game," cautioned Simon, "and I have at least as much material as you."

"Hah!" she exclaimed, "you make most of it up. Besides, I'm a nurse and we're expected to be sexy."

"Only in pornography or 'Carry On' films," riposted Simon. "Most of the nurses I met when I was in hospital, were only desperate because they were so ugly and the sister on my ward had a better beard than I did."

"Don't listen to him, he's only lying because none of them would go out with him."

"Well you told them I had Herpes, what else could you expect them to do?"

"You didn't did you?" I gasped at Stella.

"I can't actually remember," she blushed.

"No but I can," Simon said authoritively.

The waiter arrived with the menus and stood ready with his little pad as we perused them.

"Do you mind if I just have a starter and a sweet?" I asked.

Simon looked pathetically at me, "You don't need to lose weight," he protested.

"I'm not," I responded, "I'm not that hungry."

"But this is my treat, please have a main course."

"Honestly Simon, I couldn't do it justice."

"I'll let you off on one condition," he offered.

"And what's that?" I asked coyly.

"That you come out to dinner with me again and finish the meal."

"Tenner please," said Stella holding out her hand to me.

"What?" gasped Simon.

"I bet Cathy that you'd either ask for her phone number or another date. I have to admit your chat up lines are getting better."

"But I didn't accept your bet," I protested.

"Stella, you get worse if that's possible," said Simon in mock disgust. He began to say something else but changed his mind.

I glanced across at my two course mates, they were watching us as if we were the entertainment for the evening. They weren't the only ones, half the restaurant was doing the same.

"Erm, half the tables are watching us," I said slowly and quietly. I noticed the waiter fidgeting, but he knew he'd be onto a good tip, so he stayed, standing impassively.

"Shall we order?" asked Stella as if nothing whatsoever had happened.

As she said earlier she ordered scallops and some Italian pork dish. Simon went for pate and swordfish; feeling less than hungry with all the excitement, I had a stuffed tomato. As I ordered, Simon instructed the waiter to bring me two of them. I protested angrily at Simon, but he held firm. I was determined I wouldn't go out with him if that was how he was going to behave, nor would I have a sweet.

He ordered the wine and I had no argument with his choice, a nice Rioja. I may be a poor student, but I do like a decent wine.

As we waited for our meals, the waiter poured the wine and being so tense, I began to sip mine immediately. It wasn't very long before Simon was topping up my glass. I felt myself hot and bothered but couldn't decide if that was the wine or my temper.

My university colleagues finished their meals and left, as far as I was aware they had no idea about who I was, and why should they?

My plan to keep Simon occupied had wilted to nothing very much at all. My mind was less than sharp after two glasses of wine and a Bacardi, and Simon was filling my glass again and ordering another bottle of plonk. When the waiter brought it I asked for a glass of water to try and dilute the booze. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, no wonder I was getting a bit tiddly.

At last the food arrived and I tucked into mine with more gusto than I anticipated. They were rather nice and I easily ate both of them.

"Sure you don't want to change your mind about a main course?" asked Simon. He was persistent if nothing else.

"Yes I will," I mused, "I'll have a Spanish omlette."

Simon called the waiter and he accepted my late order. "Good job it wasn't an Italian restaurant," teased Simon.

"Why?" I asked walking deliberately into whatever joke he was setting up.

"They wouldn't know how to cook it?"

"Ah," I answered, "but this is a pirate establishment, and they should know how to cook a Spanish omlette on the Spanish Main."

"Ha ha! Very good Cathy, ha, she's put you in your place bruv." Stella spoke a little too loudly for my comfort, and once more we were in the public eye.

"Well I hope you order something that's actually on the menu for dessert," he sulked.

"I haven't looked at puddings yet," I said smiling innocently at him.

"One of these days Simon, you'll get your desserts!" Stella offered her speech becoming slightly slurred as she washed down her third glass of wine.

I began to worry that my protection was going to be rather drunk at this rate, and therefore ineffective. I would have to keep to soft drinks from now on.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 13.

"Would you like some more?" asked Simon of his sister as he held the second bottle of wine.

"Hmm," she said and nodded rather enthusiastically.

"Cathy?" he profferred the bottle.

"Can I have it in a doggy-bag?" I smiled back at him.

"What?" he said looking astonished.

"Well, I don't want it now, but I might later." My explanation could have referred to anything from fresh air to sex.

"So you might want one later?" he smirked and raised his eyebrows a couple of times trying to imply some double entendre.

"I think she means the wine shtupid," commented Stella.

"So did I," declared Simon pretending to be indignant.

"No dear, we'll get another bottle to take out." Simon winked and called the waiter.

When he came Simon slipped him a tenner and made his request for a take away bottle of the same wine, the waiter nodded and was about to go and fetch one when I called, "Could I have some more water please?"

"There's wine here," said Simon shaking the bottle.

"I'd like water, thank you."

"Certain madam," said the waiter and went off behind me somewhere. It felt strange to be addressed as 'madam'at the same time it gave me a warm feeling, although that could have been the wine. No dammit, it was real, and it felt good. Maybe I might be able to eventually realise my dreams and become a real woman - well as close as I could given my starting point. Part of me wanted to dance about and part of me wanted to cry with happiness.

Lots had happened today but despite the damage to my pride and joy bike, the rest of it was really good. Here I was realising a small part of my dreams, having dinner with two complete lunatics, wearing borrowed clothes and make up and having fun. Well if I could stop worrying it would be fun.

The problem is that I'm only being treated to all this because Simon fancies me. What do I think of him? He's all right I suppose, he's good looking and has a good sense of humour and thinks I'm a girl. I hope he still has a good sense of humour if he ever finds out I'm not quite, yet!

"A penny for them," came from Simon, somewhere far away.

I jumped, realising I'd been in a little trance thinking about things. "Ooh, you made me jump," I squealed.

"The dessert trolley is here Cathy," smiled Simon, "and your water."

"Thank you, I was miles away."

"So we noticed."

"Sorry, I was worrying about my bike," I was becoming increasingly proficient at telling porkies, normally it would worry me, tonight it didn't. That in itself should have told me something, but tonight it didn't.

"We'll get that sorted tomorrow," said Simon reassuringly. Sadly it had the opposite effect, it concerned me even more for umpteen reasons, not least, it gave him a reason to see me again.

How would I cope with that? Badly, I suspected including the fact that I wouldn't have Stella to do my makeup. I need to ask her to teach me. Damn, that would give him access to me as well. There has to be an answer, I simply can't think of it tonight.

"Fresh fruit salad, please."

"What?"

"I'll have the fresh fruit salad," I repeated.

The waiter scooped some up and put it in a dish, then gave it to me followed by a small jug of cream.

Simon had Pavlova and Stella opted for cheese and biccies, what's a few more crackers?

My worries about Stella abated as she seemed to get a second wind after a fourth glass of wine. However, she needed to go to the loo and asked if I need to as well. I was familiar with women going out in herds, but had never experienced being one of them before. I wanted to speak to her privately anyway, so agreed to accompany her.

"I dunno," said Simon to no one in particular, "how is it that all you women have synchronised bladders?"

"Don't be crude," chided Stella, "besides, how do you know we're not lezzies going out for a quick grope?" she said very quietly.

"Now who's being crude?" he hissed back.

"You're just jealous!" she hissed back.

"Damn right," he said back, "can I come too?"

"Sorry sweetie, you're not my type." With her parting shot, we staggered off to the ladies, her through a little over imbibing, me because of the heels on my boots. We were also giggling.

Once we got inside the door and found we were the only ones in there, I began to worry a little, what if Stella wasn't joking and she was...? I was no safer in here!

Normally, going into such uncharted waters as a ladies' toilet would have freaked me out and I'd have needed someone to tell me what to do. Instead tonight, I just slipped quickly into a cubicle and shut the door. "Sorry have to go quickly," I quipped as I slammed shut the door.

Sitting to pee was something I often did at home when in my feminine role, so it was no problem. It was what was going to happen when I opened the door and went out that was worrying me. I could be piggy in the middle here, pursued by both parties and not sure which one if either I wanted to catch me.

I thought about Stella. She was certainly a very attractive woman, with a splendid figure, which I'd seen very close up. She was a dangerous driver, but apart from that and being ever so slightly crazy, she was nice.

But so was Simon, as I'd already conceded. The problem was, I didn't know who I liked in that sort of way, which tended to indicate maybe neither, was the answer. Why do these things always seem to happen to me?

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Keep the comments coming, they make better reading than this rubbish!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad,
part 14.

"Are you alright in there?" called Stella, knocking on the door of the cubicle.

My first time in a ladies loo since I was a small kid; my mother used to take me in with her. Potentially a rite of passage, and here I am hiding from my protector. Could she be a rabid lesbian? She didn't seem the type, but I hear it's rife amongst nurses. Maybe it's just a rumour and maybe she was joking with Simon? Hmm?

"Cathy, are you okay?" she was starting to sound a bit worried.

"Yeah, I'm fine just changing my tampon," I replied.

"Oh ok..WHAT?" she called back.

I chuckled, "Just wanting to check how awake you were."

"You gave me quite a turn for a moment. You were joking?"

"You saw me with no clothes on, so you should know."

"Yeah but it was only a cursory glance, hardly anything to get me going without a microscope." She paused and laughed to herself, obviously savoring the memory of my inadequacies exposed to all the world. "For a moment, I wondered if you were hermaphrodite, with a big clit, the sort lesbians are supposed to swoon over."

The last bit filled me with some hope that she had been joking with Simon, then she went and killed it.

"But it's not true, I wouldn't fancy someone with a deformed clitoris."

My heart sank as I tried to work out what she had just said, and I still couldn't make any sense of it. Surely, common sense would tend to mean that she wouldn't try anything on in a public place, even if she were gay? My fears were all based on reading silly stories on the internet. I'd never knowingly met any female who told me they were gay, and what did it matter anyway? Oh bugger, why do these things always happen to me? That statement contradicted what I had thought a moment before, so I went into analysis mode to understand what I was thinking or saying, let alone anyone else.

"Come on, hurry up or I'll need to go again. Come on Cathy, bring that deformed clit out with you, let's have another look at it. This was followed by hoots of laughter.

"It's common to laugh at your own jokes," I said through the closed door.

"Ooh, 'ark at her, you sound like Lady Bracknell," she laughed.

"A handbag!" I said in as outraged a voice as I could, but it sounded nothing like Dame Edith Evans.

Then I heard the door open and a new female voice. It exchanged pleasantries with Stella and I opened the cubicle door and stepped out. She stepped back, as I washed and dried my hands, thankfully on paper towels, I hate those air drier things, though I suddenly recalled a cartoon I'd seen years ago with the caption, 'Save toilet paper' and featured a woman with one leg raised up the wall near one of those driers. I chuckled to myself.

"You took your time," said Stella accusingly.

"Well I thought the big bad wolf was going to blow my house down," I offered by way of explanation. She gave me a very strange look and rolled her eyes upwards, implying I was bonkers. Talk about pots calling kettles black! I humphed and checked myself in the mirror. Despite eating a meal, my lipstick looked okay.

Stella held the door open and I sallied out towards our table. I heard sniggers behind me, but decided to ignore them, anyone who knew I was a boy had to be psychic and there was nothing I could do about that.

A few paces further on and Stella caught me up and grabbed my arm, "I hate to say this Cathy, but you have your skirt caught up in your panties," she sniggered.

I stopped dead, went bright scarlet and asked her to stand aside as I ran back into the toilets. She was telling the truth, I went back into my cubicle and burst into tears. How could such a thing happen to me? I was beginning to think I had become accident prone, but something else was pressing for an answer even more than that. How the bloody hell, had I managed to run in those boots without breaking an ankle or my neck?

"Cathy, are you in there?" she knocked on my door again.

"Go away," I sobbed, "you could have told me."

"I did as soon as I could."

"I don't believe you, go away." I blew my nose in some toilet paper.

"Okay, we will, but it will be rather a long walk home in those boots."

Damn, I hadn't thought that through had I? I felt like saying,"I'll manage," but we both knew it would be a lie and I'd probably end up in more trouble than I was now.

"Come on, don't be silly just walk out normally and brazen it out. We've all done it."

I thought to myself, but normally I'd be wearing jeans and trainers with a sweat shirt top. This was my maiden voyage and I'd sailed straight into an iceberg, what a mess. Now to make matters worse, I was likely to have mascara all over my face. I began to wish I could fall down the toilet and flush myself away. It would have been apt, I felt like shit!

Eventually, she cajoled me into opening up the door and coming out. As I was about to step out of the door, I heard the other woman's voice and shrank back into my cubicle and slammed the door.

"Is your friend all right?" I heard her asking Stella.

"Yes, we get this all the time, she's pathologically shy spends much of her time hiding under the bed with her teddy bear."

I could hear the woman saying something but couldn't make out what.

"I am not a psychopath!" I said loudly.

"No one said you were," called Stella.

"Well if you can manage her... I'll leave you to it," the woman said and I heard the door shut.

"Come on out you idiot and stop pissing about or I'll get Simon to come and drag you out," she hissed at me.

Her words had a miraculous effect and I gingerly slid back the catch and eased open the door, Stella was watching for it and pushed hard against the door, whereupon it bashed against my head nearly knocking me out.

"Come on get ou.... Oops! Cathy, I am so sorry," she laughed with embarrassment, I didn't mean to (giggle), honest I didn't."

With her help I staggered out and slumped against the wash basins, I couldn't stand properly and she helped me back into the cubicle where I sat on the loo again. The room was spinning and my head began to throb. Stella wet some paper towels with cold water and held them against my head.

Despite all this I heard the outer door open and footsteps come into the toilets, "Oh Christ get outtah 'ere quick, bloody lezzies in there!" The footseps receded rapidly and although my head throbbed dreadfully, both Stella and I began to laugh.

"That's the second time you've tried to kill me," I joked.

"Third time lucky," was her rejoinder.

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Don't forget folks, readers comments are always welcomed especially by the readers!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 15.

I sat on the toilet seat nursing my head and reflected on the past few hours. Stella had nearly killed me when she knocked me off my bike during a thunderstorm. She took me back to her house and discovered my little secret - I've been taking female hormones for some time, under medical supervision, and have grown a small but significant sized pair of boobs which I keep hidden by strapping them up with bandage. She loaned me some of her clothes which amazingly fit quite well, including a pair of boots with high heels. Add all this together with a new hair cut and makeup and I look as near as dammit to the real thing, enough for Simon, her brother to make overtures. She pretended, I think, to be gay and we went off to the ladies loo. To cut a long story short, I panicked and she opened the door on me, half braining me in the process. I am now sat here waiting for her to return with some ice to put on my aching head.

The injury is to the top of my head, so there's no bruising on my face, but I have a nice egg coming up on the top. Boy does it throb, I hope the ice will help.

Stella returned with the nice girl from the bar and they have a plastic bag of ice cubes and a towel with them. I don't know how long we sat there, but the ice certainly helped and before long I felt able to walk back to the table. There Simon insists I have a large brandy to ease the shock, he has one as well, in case he feels shocked too? They are both crazies, but so far harmless as long as I'm not cycling, although I did wonder a bit at the beginning. Am I naturally paranoid, no, my experience of life is that they are out to get me?

It is nearly eleven pm and Simon and Stella are over the limit for driving. I suggest we get a cab, they however call the manager who produces a breathalyser, it supports the view that they are too drunk to drive.

"Come on Cathy, you try" urged Simon.

"Don't be silly, I've just had a brandy as well."

"Shove this in your gob and blow," insisted Simon pushing the machine into my hand. Reluctantly I put the paper tube in my mouth and blew a sustained breath through it. I handed it back to him.

"Look at that, just under the limit, you can drive."

"Don't be silly, I can't drive your car, I never drive cars that big and it's an automatic, I learned on a manual gear thingy."

"That's fine, you'll get the hang of it."

"No I can't, besides that brandy is yet to get into my bloodstream, I might have concussion," I held my head to emphasise the point.

"You'll be okay, I'll navigate and we don't have to go too fast."

"But you were supposed to be taking me home," I wailed in genuine disappointment.

"First thing tomorrow," said Simon nodding his head as he spoke to make it look as if he was confirming his words with actions.

"I'm supposed to be in lectures tomorrow," I said suddenly realising that I probably looked a total mess with mascara over my face.

"That's okay, I'll take you straight to your classes."

"But I need to go home and change, and what about my bike?"

"Stella will loan you something won't you Stell?" he asked and she nodded, looking very fed up.

Obviously I could hardly tell him the truth, so I couldn't protest about the clothing bit too much. I therefore had to concentrate on the bike or the driving.

"I honestly don't think I could drive your car," I said trying to sound as sincere as I could.

"That's what Stella said, isn't it Sis?" he looked over to her and she nodded. "Then just a few miles and she took to it like a duck to orange sauce."

"Don't you mean water?" I challenged his metaphor.

"No way, I prefer my ducks in orange sauce."

He was as mad as a 'box of frogs' to quote an Australian friend of mine and fixated on the idea that I should drive his wretched car. Normally, the boy racer in me, would have jumped at the chance. Tonight, however, I felt under the affluence and in no mood to get myself disqualified before I'd even bought a car of my own.

"I'm not insured to drive your car." I played my trump card.

"It's an open policy, anyone I give permission to use it can drive it."

"Oh," I thought, "Can I borrow it sometime then?" It was a joke but I thought it might provoke some negative response.

"If I think you can handle it, perhaps, if I'm not using it of course."

My heart sank, how do you get through to these jokers? I did not want to drive his bloody car, especially in these boots. I could hardly walk let alone drive.

"I don't think I can drive in these boots," I said pointing down at them.

"Take them off then."

"I can't drive in bare feet," I hoped I sounded as indignant as I pretended to be.

"Well keep the bloody things on then."

I noticed a waiter standing alongside us with a tray of coffees complete with after-dinner mints.

"How am I supposed to get home from your place?"

"I told you, I'll take you tomorrow or you can borrow Stella's car."

"No she can't, I need it tomorrow," said Stella abruptly.

"What about tonight?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, the implication of being given a lift tomorrow hit home. I was going to have to spend the night in the looney bin they called, 'home'. No way, I thought to myself, hoping my reflexes or brain cells, or whatever, were more alert if I did eventually drive.

"I can't stay overnight, I don't have anything with me.."

"Lend her a nightie, Stella?" His sister nodded.

"Fixed," he said reaching for a coffee.

I drank mine down in two huge gulps, thinking it would wake me up, probably in about two hours when I wanted to sleep. But did I want to sleep? Not with a predatory Simon lurking about like a great white shark. I grabbed a second coffee and gulped it down. Stella looked reproachfully at me, I'd drunk hers. Too bad! I was now likely to be awake most of the night, which suited me fine.

"What about a tooth brush, I can't sleep unless I clean my teeth," my protests were probably sounding pretty feeble to the few diners who remained in the restaurant, but I was trying to act on principle, fear! I was terrified.

"I'm sure we can find you a toothbrush," reassured Simon, "in fact I think there's one in the guest room. We have quite a few visitors during the year, don't we Stell?" She agreed again, and still seemed to staring at me for drinking her coffee. Suddenly she reached forward and grabbed all the mints and ate them one after the other. I smiled at her, she scowled back.

I began to wonder if all that caffeine was such a good idea now, providing of course the bedroom door had a good lock on it! One way or another, I seemed set for a sleepless night.

Easy As Falling Of A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 16.

I collected the jacket I had borrowed from Stella, from the back of my chair, and slipped it on. My head was throbbing, although the ice pack had reduced the egg from duck sized to bantam. At times it felt as if the chicken were still attached to it.

Stella and Simon had gone through the door, he waited holding it open for me, for which I thanked him. He nodded in response. He then escorted me over to his car, holding my arm as I tottered out on the heels, clicking my way across the car park.

I kept telling myself that it was just a car and I could drive it, interspersed with less heartening things; if you crash it he'll kill you. I could barely walk on the heels, so how was I supposed to drive in them.

"Remember, you don't need to move your left foot at all," tutored Simon.

"But I'll either fall over or walk round in circles," I replied not appreciating his comment or its context.

"No you silly girl, once you start the car. Just pop it in drive and off she goes, use the right foot only."

"I'll never remember," I wailed.

"How can you forget, right foot only, accelerate or brake, what could be simpler? They make automatics for people with disabilities to make it easier not harder to drive their fucking cars!" Simon snarled at me.

"There is no need to swear," I said to him, but thought he would probably have every right to in a few moments.

"No, you're right, I shouldn't swear in front of two such lovely ladies. I apologise unreservedly."

"Apology accepted," I smiled back at him, some elements of being a woman were easier to acquire than others. I noticed his arm brushed against my breast several times as we walked. I didn't make an issue of it because it was sending pleasurable little electric shocks right through me.

"Come on you two love birds, let's get home," called Stella as she stood by the car.

Simon used the remote key and the indicators came on, Stella then got in the back seat, wrapping herself in her shawl like a disgruntled mummy - Egyptian version. I got to the driver's door and felt like changing my knickers, my heart was thumping nineteen to the dozen.

"Here," Simon said, shoving the keys in my hand. He then grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me on the mouth. I went to push him away and tried to protest, but it's difficult when someone's tongue is half way down your throat. So I did the only thing I could - shoved it out of my mouth and pushed my tongue into his mouth. He moaned and grabbed me tighter. I wondered what to do next.

People say that nature takes over in the heat of the moment. It doesn't with me, I need painting by numbers or join up the dots. A checklist would be useful, though difficult to read in the dark. I made a subconscious note to eat more carrots.

I guessed Simon was getting rather excited when he began humping against me as he kissed me. I didn't hear Stella get out of the car, I suspect Simon hadn't either, his mind was on other things, mainly my other things. I would possibly have bruised tits in the morning.

"For Chrissake Simon, you're like a couple of dogs on heat. This is a public car park, now put her down and get in the car!"

We were so taken aback by this exhortation we jumped into the car, him in the driver's side and me in the front passenger seat. Simon automatically started the car.

"I thought Cathy was going to drive?" said Stella.

"Nah, that's okay," I offered hoping to wriggle out of it.

"You are absolutely right Stella," he opened the door and got out.

"What did you say that for?" I whimpered from the front seat just before Simon dragged open my door and offered his hand to help me out.

"Remember, only use your right foot," Simon advised as I walked around the car. I did think of hopping, but in these boots I'd probably fall over. However, I gave a trial hop and found I had to use my left foot or I would have fallen.

"Just get in the fucking car!" I heard Stella muttering in the back of the Volvo as I opened the door.

The engine was already running, so I sat and strapped myself in after adjusting the seat, Simon was quite a bit taller than me. I slid back and fore, the seat refusing to find a locking spot. Stella was becoming apoplectic behind me as she muttered herslf into a fury. I was feeling rather glad she wasn't lesbian and hadn't made a move on me. She seemed to have a nasty temper.

I adjusted the mirror and familiarised myself with various controls, beeping the horn accidentally as I did so. It was rather loud and sent Stella into new heights of paroxysm.

Finally, I released the handbrake and stalled it. On went the handbrake, I turned the key, into drive, handbrake off - stalled it again.

At the eighth attempt, I had got as far as ten feet, when Stella did an impression of Vesuvius from the depths of the back seat. "For Godsake Simon, take over will you, she can't drive a fucking car!"

I curled up in the seat and burst into tears. It took Simon ten minutes to calm Stella down and get me out of the car. We switched seats and I sat sniffing noisily in the front passenger seat, while Simon got in the driver's side.

"At long bloody last, let's get home Si," piped from the back seat, making me sniff even louder in my angst. Simon turned the key and nothing happened.

Well actually that isn't true, something did happen, the alarm came on, then off, then on. It was very noisy. It seemed to get even noisier after ten minutes. Stella was incandescent inside the car while Simon tried to get far enough away from the noise to call out the AA on his mobile phone

Simon went towards the pub to beg some more coffee while we waited, and Stella fumed in the back of the car - I could still hear her muttering over the car alarm, I wondered how we could stop the noise. Lights were beginning to come on in neighbouring houses.

I'm no engineer, except for tinkering with bikes, but even I could eventually work out that without power it should stop the noise. I found the bonnet release and popped the catch. I found the battery easy enough and managed to disconnect one of the leads. The noise stopped and the lights went out on the car.

"What did you do?" called Stella from inside the car.

"Disconnected the battery," I called back.

"Oh!" she said, "Of course, I should have thought of that."

"Yes, but you didn't," I said quietly to myself.

Simon arrived with a tray of coffees, three steaming mugs. "Here, while they're still hot, oh and Cathy, one of these is for Stella." He winked at me as he held the tray towards me, "What did you do?"

"Clever clogs disconnected the battery," said Stella.

"It was Stella's idea," I lied and she grimmaced at me.

"Well done the two of you," you're both cleverer than I am," said Simon looking quite content with his lot.

"How long will the AA be?" asked Stella.

"They reckon about half an hour."

Stella and I drank our coffees and went back with the empty mugs, heading for the toilets. I thought I'd better use them, as it was getting cooler and I had drunk quite a lot of fluid since my previous visit. I stood in front of the washbasin to rinse my hands and caught sight of myself, mess did not begin to describe it.

Grabbing a paper towel I began to wash the rings from around my eyes and the pink mess from my lower face. I washed and wiped and it eventually all came off. I began to recognise my face but it looked different with the change of hairstyle. I still looked like a girl albeit a less attractive one than Stella had created.

My heart gave a little leap, then crashed! Part of me loved how I looked, reality suggested that life could get very complicated rather soon looking like this.

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Don't forget to comment or I might forget to write any more!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 17.

(This is a second version, my computer ate the first one! F**king stupid Machine!).

I stood watching the face in the mirror, it was mine, I knew that but with the new hairstyle it felt so different. It was definitely a girl looking back at me, transfixing me with some sort of spell.

I gazed at her features, somehow although familiar, they didn't seem to be mine any longer, they were now those of Cathy, my sort of alter ego. It's easy to say, you are really the opposite sex inside, but difficult to prove. Suddenly, it seemed the reverse was happening, I could have problems proving I'm still physically male apart from one particular place.

My girlish features which had got me into such trouble at school and occasionally since, seemed emphasised by the haircut, my large eyes and small retrousse nose all seemed even more girly. Was Cathy now the real me and the person I was before now my alter ego, the imaginary character? I was fearful and at the same time fascinated.

I might have problems going back to uni looking like this, even in the cheap shapeless clothes I tended to wear. I would just look like a girl wearing cheap shapeless clothes. The hair cut had made an amazing difference to me, I would never have believed it possible, but the evidence was there in front of me. Okay, it was night time and I was very tired and stressed and I needed to see things in daylight after a good night's sleep. I consoled myself with that thought, although I knew I was kidding myself.

I imagined the university telling me to stop messing about and dress properly as a girl. However, I knew that with all the anti-discrimination laws, they couldn't tell me any such thing. I could wear what I liked as long as it didn't endanger my health or offend anyone else. But it would have been nice to say I was wearing these clothes because I had to. Then I thought again, no it wouldn't be nice at all, I should wear them only because I chose to do so and for no other reason.

I nodded at my image in the mirror, she agreed with me despite the fact that I was wearing these clothes because I had to, my own had been damaged. I hadn't chosen them, but the way they fitted and felt, I might have done given the chance. Yeah, I could live with that and my image nodded her agreement again. She and I got on so well together!

"Come on Snow White," one of the dwarfs had obviously shown up, in the form of Stella, "the repair man is at the car." I followed her out across the car park, our heels clicking loudly despite the diesel engine of the AA van rumbling away. The flashing amber lights had a stroboscopic effect, making the car park seem like a dance floor, the images jumping about before my eyes.

Simon was stood beside the car, his precious Volvo, his face set in a worried look. From the under the bonnet, I could hear another voice emerging. "I think I'm going to have to relay you home, can't tow an automatic."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Starter motor looks burned out," said the voice from under the bonnet.

"But it's only two months old," Simon raised his hand to his forehead, "It's ridiculous!" he exclaimed clenching his fist.

"Don't get the quality of build these days," offered the voice, "See all sorts of expensive cars breaking down through cheap parts or poor manufacture, even had an Aston last week."

"What an Aston Martin?" said Simon in disbelief.

"Yeah, they're machines, they breakdown just like any other."

"So what would you recommend, for reliability?" asked Simon.

"A bicycle," said the voice. I knew at once this man was one of uncommon taste and ability.

"Got one in the boot, doesn't go either." Simon seemed to enjoy disagreeing with the man.

"Let's see," the voice said as a figure in overalls emerged from the front of the Volvo. He was at the boot and opened it before I got to the car and my pride and joy. "Oh, very nice, carbon fibre, light as a feather. Oh dear what happened to the wheel?"

"My sister," answered Simon, "the bike is her friend's, she bashed the wheel."

"A nice ladies' bike," said the man examining it.

"How can you tell?" Simon seemed to be intent on learning some arcane knowledge about sexing bikes.

"Shorter top bar, but it also says, 'built for women' on it."

"Does it?" Simon seemed surprised by this revelation, so was I. I built the machine around the frame and I'd never seen it there.

"Nah, only joking," said the man, "reckon I'd better call up a relay wagon." So saying he went off to his van.

"Hello my lovelies," he said to Stella and me as he passed us, "sorry can't fix it tonight, gonna have to relay you."

"Why don't you leave it here for the garage and we'll get a taxi home."

"Sounds good to me," Simon agreed looking at me.

"I don't mind," I had to accept the majority verdict.

"Make your mind up," called the man," relay will be at least an hour."

"Taxi?" Simon looked at Stella who nodded and then to me, what else could I do.

"What about my bike?" I suddenly realised it would stay with the car and be taken to the garage with it.

"I'll ask them to be gentle with it," Simon said smiling at me.

I had imagined him killing me, if anything happened to my bike, I would swing for him, of that I was sure. In fact, I'd probably kill them both!

So there we were waiting in the pub car park waiting for the taxi to arrive, Simon and Stella standing close to each other while I harboured very unpleasant thoughts about the future of each of them. I made sure the car was locked and strutted around it, watching the disappearing lights of the AA van as it went down the road.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 918b.

Have you noticed how time seems to hang when you're waiting for something, like a bus or a cab or Christmas, or time to knock off from work. Because you have time on your hands, you start to notice things that have always been there but had escaped observation.

I watched my breath in the cool of the night air, pulling my jacket, or I should say, Stella's jacket tightly around me. I observed my two companions, they were stood fairly close together which I realised indicated a state of familiarity. People who don't know each other well, give each other loads of space.

I became aware of the way the boots and their high heels altered the way I stood or walked. They too were familiar, and while I couldn't class them as comfortable, they weren't uncomfortable either. I had to bend my knees very slightly and lean back to stay upright, if that doesn't sound too Irish, and I could feel the narrowness of the toes although they weren't pinching. My feet were probably the only part of me that felt warm.

I listened to the noises of the night, leaning against the car to ease the strain on my legs. I could hear traffic in the distance, noises of locking-up from the pub and then to my right a funny noise, like someone pulling up grass gently and a snuffling noise. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end as I could see nothing to account for the noise. I wasn't really scared as Simon was standing only three yards away as was Stella. I decided to investigate.

I walked on my toes over towards the noise, which as I neared, grew slightly louder. I peered over a bush and could see nothing. Then I saw the culprit and began to laugh.

"What is it?" called Stella and she began to walk over towards me.

"Come and see for yourself," I replied giving nothing away.

Simon began to follow her. I continued my monster watching. They arrived a few seconds later and both began to laugh as well. "We get them in the garden, but I rarely see them," said Stella chuckling.

"Ah, Mrs Tiggeywinkle," added Simon. He laughed too then said, "Why did the hedgehog cross the road?"

Playing his straightman, Stella repeated his line, "I don't know, why did the hedgehog cross the road?"

"To see his flat mate," smiled Simon.

"Hedgehogs don't live in flats Simon," I said not seeing anything funny in the joke.

"Flat, mate, flat mate," said Simon, "geddit?"

"No I don't." I felt perplexed by it, even Beatrix Potter didn't have hedgehogs living in apartments, did she? I was sure she didn't.

"Flat hedgehog, flat mate, crossing the road." He then began to do a sort of mime except it had sound effects. He used his hand to signify something small walking, then the other hand plus a 'vroom vroom' noise to indicate a car. Then he combined the two with a 'splatt' sound, which he found very amusing. Stella rolled her eyes in feigned disgust and I shook my head.

"Geddit now?" he asked like a naughty schoolboy who had just told a dirty joke he didn't fully understand.

"I understand it, I simply don't see how a cute little critter like this can be seen as funny after being flattened by a car. It's cruel."

"It's only a joke for god's sake," he walked away muttering something about 'women' under his breath.

I glanced at Stella and she was smirking, I did too. She began to chuckle and so did I. Then I began to giggle and she followed suit. Simon looked over at us and shook his head, "You two are nuts," he said then walked over by the car.

I remembered something and called to Simon, "Do the garage have a key for your car?"

"Nah, I'll leave it in the car, under the mat."

"What about my bike?"

I heard him mutter under his breath, " Geez, that bloody bike," followed by, "What about it?"

"If the car is open, someone could steal it."

"They won't ride it very far," he laughed.

"No but they could carry it away and I don't have four grand to replace it. I hope you're well insured."

"Four thousand?" he said disbelievingly.

"Yes, it's pretty well top of the range," I replied.

"I'd want Lance Armstrong to come and pedal it for me at that price."

"He rides Trek, that's a Scott."

"As if it matters," he dismissed my remark with a wave of his hand.

"It does to the team they race in and their sponsors."

"You women take everything so literally."

"Do we?" I appealed to Stella.

"Yes, because we don't tell lies like men."

"Ouch!" said Simon, so I concurred this related to a previous conversation in which she had found him out.

"You'll never forget that or forgive me, will you?"

"Only as long as either of us live," said Stella with a hint of a barb in her tone.

Oh, I thought, this could get very interesting. Just then a car pulled into the car park bearing a taxi sign.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 19.

The taxi drew up and Simon held open the door whilst Stella and I got in, then he jumped in the front, issued an instruction to the driver and off we went.

In the dark, the alcohol and getting into a warm car, all conspired to make me sleepy. The more I fought against it, the harder it seemd to be to stay awake. I knew I was going, but I was unable to prevent the tidal wave of sleep which smashed over me. I have vague recollections of Simon talking to the driver, and the smell of Stella's perfume or was it mine?

I found myself lying in Simon's bed and he was lying next to me with a grin on his face that spoke reams. I knew now that he knew, but his shit eating grin went deeper than that and I had to work out what else he knew.

I felt for my knickers, or should I say, Stella's knickers. I still had them on. My chest was bare and the wetness on my nipples suggested they had been sucked or nibbled. I felt angry for a moment, my first female sexual sensation and I had slept through it! Doh! There seemed no hope for me. I touched my nipples and they were wet and cold, but very erect and hard, like two large allen screws!

My goodness, I was having some sort of sexual feeling contrary to my previous belief that I was asexual, and it was with a man - shock horror! I could see me being drummed out of university for...they'd think of something disgusting. Was that what I was now, disgusting? I no longer knew.

Simon's hand stroked my face and I kissed his fingers, he gently eased one into my mouth and I sucked upon it, like a baby on her bottle. His face came towards mine and my mouth, lips pursed, prepared itself for my first real kiss.

Suddenly the earth seemed to move under me, and I was jolted into wakefulness. Confused, I forced open my eyes and discovered I was slumped in a car seat with several people talking at once. There was a cold draught on my face and legs and I pulled the jacket around me once more.

Gradually I realised what was happening, I was still in the taxi and my nipples were like two bullets but dry inside my bra, I had been dreaming. Reluctantly, I got out of the car and staggered to see what the others were looking at.

I gathered that the nearside front wheel had had a blow out or some other catastrophe, the car had swerved and hit the bank of the road and done something to the steering. It would take us no further and to make matters worse, we were in a dead zone for radios or mobile phones. My luck that day was not improving!

"Someone is going to have to walk up to the top of the next hill and call for help," said the driver.

I could see Simon thought it should be the driver and by the determined look on his face, he thought it should be Simon. I knew it wasn't going to be either Stella or me, no I was going to remain extremely girly on this one and sit it out, let the boys do their chivalry bit. Besides my heels would never allow me to walk that far anyway, so I got back in the car. Stella joined me moments later and we listened to the boys arguing about why the other should go. Stella looked at me and I began to chuckle, so did she.

Eventually, the men decided they would go together so after locking us in the car, with hazard lights flashing they set off on foot.

"Well you are certainly having an interesting day for your first one as a woman," said Stella.

"Looks like, wasn't what I planned. I should be fast asleep in bed now having finished an essay I'd half written last week."

"So what was your essay on?" said Stella sounding as if she was making the best of the limited opportunities for amusement.

"Nothing very interesting," I replied, not sure I wanted her to know any more about me, she already knew too much.

"Have you enjoyed yourself?" she asked changing the subject.

"Sort off," I said, "you've been very kind to loan me the clothes and things, but part of me would have preferred to have got home and started sorting out my bike."

"You can keep those," she said touching my skirt and top, "I'll need the jacket back though." She paused, and all I could see of her face was in the occasional orange flashes of the hazard lights. She was smiling.

"Simon doesn't know does he, I mean about me?" I felt myself get suddenly hot as I spoke.

"Nah, course not, he wouldn't have been drooling over you all night otherwise."

"I hadn't noticed," I said unsure of what I should have seen.

"What!" she exclaimed, "Those funny little glances you've both been exchanging all evening, you mean you don't fancy each other?"

It became very hot in the car as I listened to her, oblivious to what had been apparently happening.

"My goodness, you are an innocent aren't you?" I caught sight of a smirk rather than a smile in the flash of the orange light.

"In many things yes, certainly as a woman dealing with men, very much so." I felt like cringing as I spoke, this was so embarrassing.

"What's going to happen?" I asked as much out of terror as any other motive.

"I'll sink Simon's libido when we get back, so unless you want something to happen, nothing will."

"Thank you," I said meaning it as sincerely as anything I had ever said.

"That's okay," she smiled more genuinely this time.

"I'm really worried about my bike, it's a lot of money to me."

"I got the impression it was more than just money, almost an affection from you for it."

I felt myself getting hot again, "Erm, is it that obvious?"

"Like me with my first pony, if I could have slept in the stable, I would have done."

"What was your pony like?" I asked preferring to get her talking than answering embarrassing questions.

"She was lovely...." for the next five or ten minutes Stella told me about her first horse. Part of me felt jealous, I'd have loved a pony when I was a girl, no correction I'd have loved to have been a girl who had a pony, but would settle for being the girl.

When my thoughts didn't go off at wishful tangents, I listened to Stella's story with attention because it was interesting and I was jealous of having no girlhood I could talk about.

Lights came from behind us and within a matter of two minutes a mechanic from a breakdown truck was examining the front of the car and shaking his head. A further two minutes later a second taxi arrived to take us on our way. Stella told him where we were going and we set off in the direction that Simon and the driver had taken although we didn't actually see either of them before we got home. The strangeness of the day it seemed had not yet ended.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 20. (I think)

We got back to the cottage and Stella paid off the taxi, she then offered me another drink, unwisely I accepted a small bottle of lager not thinking of needing the loo in an hour or two. However, I enjoyed it while it lasted and was nearly tempted to a second.

We made up a bed for me in the spare room, which looked quite comfortable then, Stella produced a nightdress I could borrow and she gave me a toothbrush. I had all I needed until the morning once she had showed me a towel I could use, in the bathroom.

The front door opened and Simon called out. My stomach jumped over and I fled for my bedroom hissing apologies to Stella and slamming the door shut. To my great relief it had a functioning lock, which I turned. I was safe, for the moment anyway.

I cleaned my teeth at the washbasin in my room, and rinsed my face and hands remembering too late I had no towel. Nothing was going to make me open the door until I had to and certainly not tonight.

I turned off the light in case it showed under the door, and changed into the nightie, it felt comfortable. I often wore them in bed at home, in the privacy of my own place - that sounded so grand, especially for a bedsit. I slipped into bed and prayed that Morpheus would attend soon and bring me a peaceful sleep. It was a wasted effort.

The bed was comfortable and I lay back and switched off the light. Suddenly, I was in pitch darkness save a small glow under the door from the light on the landing. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark I found I could only see the glow under the door and my hand if I moved it before my face while looking at the door.

I was used to living in a town where street lights meant there was no darkness unless there was a power cut, so this was very different. I'm not scared of the dark like lots of people are, I just can't see in it and in a strange house, that could be dangerous, I could fall down the stairs or trip over something.

For a while I could hear voices and movement downstairs, then they came upstairs and my heart began thumping. All I could see were shadows passing my door from the glow underneath it, when eventually that ceased, I was truly in the dark, in all senses of that expression.

I lay there looking at the ceiling, well if I could have seen it, I would have been looking at it. Things went quiet and I thought I could relax, but then my mind went into overdrive.

Why is it that when our bodies malfunction or ignore us, we cope. We change things, eat more or less, exercise more or less and so on. When it's our minds that malfunction there is absolutely bugger all you can do. I know thousands of psychiatrists who would disagree as would most psychotherapists and counsellors and Uncle Tom Cobbley an' all, but my experience is different. Once my mind latches on to something, it worries it and me to death, examining it inside and out, upside down, microscopically and deconstructively (what ever that means), analysing and speculating until I am exhausted and my mind is bored or aching.

I tend to think that mind and brain are separate things, my brain is the motor and control box for my body, my mind is the driver and it should have had its licence rescinded years ago. If it had, I'd have been asleep, instead I was analysing and rerunning the day's events.

On one hand, I was lucky that Stella hadn't killed or hurt me more than a few cuts and bruises, I've had worse injuries telling next door's cat where to go - he's a huge marmalade thing who rules the area like a territorial lion. If there were sheep and cattle around, I'm sure he'd be hunting them instead of the pigeons and seagulls and occasional child, he kills and eats now. You interact with him at your own peril, even the postman won't deliver there, the cat's had him twice.

I remember seeing a big orange tom cat, like my neighbour's, on youtube, which chased a bear up a tree in the States, then when the bear came down, the cat 'treed' him again. When I saw it, I laughed out loud, which was incidentally a couple of weeks before I met the cat from hell when I moved into my 'apartment'.

He followed me in and unknown to me curled up in my suitcase and went to sleep. I was busy doing something else and when I went to pull some clothes out of my case to hang them up, the orange-peel demon nearly took my hand off. It was two hours before he decided to leave, and I had to wait it out. I did think about finding some sort of weapon and fighting him, but he'd probably have won in any case unless it had been a cycle race. How do I get him to accept that sort of challenge? I'll bet he'd know how to beat me then, the swine! Ach so, Englisher pig-cat!

I felt my bladder becoming fuller than was going to be comfortable before long. I tried to distract myself, then the nightmare began. I started to worry about my pride and joy and the logistics of getting it fixed together with wondering how I was going to get home, changed and into uni. It certainly distracted me, in fact I was almost driven to distraction!

I would have to be awake early enough to borrow some more stuff from Stella, maybe a pair of jeans and a top, and at the same time be able to find out what Simon was going to do about getting his car fixed and more importantly, my bike.

Given my luck so far, I was well worried. I played out scenarios that worked well and everything was fixed with minimum fuss. Why they were always subsumed by ones where it all went pear shaped, I don't know, but that seemed to be what happens in real life.

My bladder niggled and I tried to think of something else. I worried about being seen by others on my course or who knew me. All my neighbours knew me, seeing me out on my bike or walking about, hiding from the pig-cat or running away from him. If I went home with the new haircut and those boots, there would be some funny looks and perhaps remarks to accompany them. Then horror of horrors, how could I run away from the demon moggie in those boots? Even though he is grossly overweight for a hippopotamus, he has a fair acceleration on him, like a Ferrari on steroids! Okay, so he can't maintain it more than thirty or forty yards, neither could I in those boots.

My bladder niggled again. There was no doubt about it, I needed to pee and very soon or there would be an accident. I wondered about doing it down the washbasin. I can hear everyone groan from here, but people do it in hotels all the time if they don't have en suite.

I thought about it even more seriously, then realised the washbasin was too high for me, I'd spray it everywhere. I tried to visualise the washbasin, because I wondered about sitting on it and weeing down the plughole, but the configuration meant they would have to call a plumber to get the tap from up my bum!

There was only one thing for it, I'd have to go to the bathroom and soon! I shuffled out of bed and my bladder felt even more full, it was now verging on emergency. I stood up and holding my hands out in front of me like a sleepwalker, walked straight into the bedside cupboard and bashed my little toe. God, it hurt! I felt my eyes water and I was nearly sick.

I gingerly found one of the walls and edged my way around it until eventually, I found the door. In my haste to unlock it, I knocked out the key before it was undone and had to feel about the carpet for the cold piece of metal, then by feel reinsert it and open the door. I made it, bladder now reaching critical and close to exploding.

I remembered where the bathroom was and after bumping into a chest of drawers on the landing and knocking down something on top of it, I eventually found what I deemed to be the bathroom. After bashing my good foot on the pedestal of the toilet, I knew I was correct. My relief was immense and I quietly rinsed my hands and dried them, all in the dark. Then it was back to my room and back to bed.

I stole across the landing once again, and almost silently opened my door, locked it equally quietly and carefully moved towards the bed. I thought I had left the covers open, but in my haste, I was obviously wrong. I stepped into my still warm bed and felt a another body already there. I froze in panic as the sleeper began to stir!

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Episode 21 may be delayed because I am away tomorrow (watching a bike race!) Please send comments on a post card, with cheques payable to....

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 21.

I shivered as the sleeper stirred, then we both gasped. A light was suddenly switched on. "What the hell are you doing?"

I don't think I have ever felt so embarrassed in all my life, although the way things were going since being knocked off my bike, it could well happen.

"I erm," I was now blushing so much I was in danger of spontaneous human combustion, in some ways I'd have welcomed it because it would have changed the subject - 'Oh dear have to go, I'm on fire!'. I tried to activate my vocal cords again, "I erm, seem to have come into the wrong bedroom," I blushed even redder to emphasise the point.

Stella was now sitting up in bed looking at me very suspiciously. "I don't know whether I believe you or not," she said tersely. "It's one a bloody clock."

"I'm sorry, it was an accident. I didn't put any lights on to try not to disturb anyone."

"Simon, you mean," she sniggered.

I blushed even hotter and felt close to swooning, except I didn't have any corsets to loosen. I nodded, unable to speak for the moment.

"I suppose I should believe you after you ran away from me in the pub," she said smiling as she remembered my panic. "Next time you go to the bathroom put your light on."

I was already withdrawing towards the door, blushing and nodding agreeing with everything she said. If she had accused me of mass murder or starting the First World War, I'd have agreed just to get out of her room in one piece.

"Goodnight," she said as I undid the lock and opened the door as quietly as I could. I mumbled something in response which could have been anything. I couldn't understand it, so if it meant anything to her she'd obviously had more imagination than I thought.

I found a light switch on the landing and clicking it gently examined the two remaining doors. I wasn't out of the woods yet and I certainly didn't want to get the wrong bedroom again.

I stood outside another door and listened, I thought I could hear snoring from within. I went to the next door and thought I could hear snoring there too. Oh shit! I prayed that Simon locked his door, but it was unlikely in his own home. Then again, in this house anything was possible.

I went back to the first of the two doors, there was a definite noise emanating from behind the door. Then the noise changed and I knew which door was mine. I confidently opened it and put on the light, then nipped out and switched off the landing light. Back inside the room I locked the door again. I listened and in the relative quiet heard the noise from Simon's room again. It was unmistakeably a man's room, the noises were farts! I chuckled to myself and went back to bed.

It was impossible to sleep, my heart was racing and in the emotional tension I felt, I began to laugh quietly and uncontrollably. My eyes were streaming with tears as I giggled myself into virtual insanity. The whole thing was ludicrous I would have told myself, except I couldn't stop laughing and was now holding the bedclothes in my mouth to stop any noise. If I had been observed by some shrink or mental health professional, I'm sure they'd have sectioned me there and then.

I'm not sure how long my hysterical episode lasted but the clock by the bed showed two in the morning. I was going to be a wreck. I was exhausted but not sleepy and as well as my minor injuries, my fractured skull from the toilet door, my stomach muscles ached too from laughing and my nightie was all wet from sweat and tears. Life was not getting any easier.

I lay on the bed and must have dozed a while because it was getting light and the clock showed six. I wondered what time they woke or got up. I yawned and closed my eyes because they were so tired and prickly and must have slept again.

I was dreaming, I was in a prison and there was a huge troll loose in the place. My door was locked and I could hear him beating on different doors and walls and calling in a deep voice for the occupants to open the doors. Suddenly the door on my cell resounded with bangs and knocks, I nearly shat myself. I cowered down as low as I could hoping it would go away and leave me safe. Instead the knocking continued....

"Cathy, there's a coffee out here, wake up if you want a lift, I'm off in forty minutes," said Simon's voice. It relieved me to realise it wasn't a troll, but I was still nervous as I tried to get my sleepy brain back into working order.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 22.

I sat up in bed and tried to wake myself up. If Simon was leaving in forty minutes and I wanted to grab a lift I needed to hurry things up a bit. I stopped and thought, 'whose car is he going to use?' maybe he would borrow Stella's or she'd run him to work or to the pub or whatever? Maybe I was crazy and should lie low until after he'd gone? Then I remembered my bike, shit! I needed to stay with my baby until it was somewhere safe. Whatever the siblings were going to do, I needed to know and get to my bike.

I nipped across to the bathroom and washed quickly, my hair was a mess compared to last night, but it would do - I still looked vaguely female.

As I shot back to my bedroom, wondering how I could impose on Stella for a clean pair of pants, I found some on the bed. I was really beginning to like my mentor, or her foresight. I gave the bra a quick sniff, I could wear that again.

I borrowed a quick squirt of the deodorant spray that had miraculously appeared on the washbasin while I was in the bathroom, alongside a hair brush I hadn't seen before. "Bless you Stella," I muttered as I brushed my hair into a tidier mess. I had a lot to learn about being a girl.

I jumped at the door being knocked, standing there in my bra and pants, then I heard Stella's voice calling me from the other side of it. I gingerly opened the door and she handed me a fresh tee shirt and some jeans. "I think they'll fit, you'll have to wear the boots again. I thanked her profusely and withdrew to dress.

The jeans were stretch ones and fitted well enough for me feel comfortable, they were however tighter than any I'd previously worn and sitting down was going to be a learning experience especially with a certain redundant appendage tucked back somewhere near the main seam. I wondered if I wore them for more than a few days if I would still need surgery. Yes they were that tight. They did however, fit well over the boots and I felt quite reasonable in my appearance.

Grabbing the little bag I been loaned the night before, I carefully went down the stairs. Stella made me do a twirl and nodded her approval, we exchanged smiles.

Simon looked up from behind his paper and nodded 'hello'. He looked me up and down and asked, "Are those the clothes you were cycling in?"

"Good lord no," I laughed back, I just borrowed them from Stella.

He dipped his paper again, "I thought they might prove challenging on a bike," he then folded up his paper adding, "They look better on you than they did on Stella."

"Huh!" was said loudly from behind me, "that's my brother, ever the diplomat! Bastard!"

"Come on you two, Stella I need you to run me to the garage and we need to get Cathy and her bike home. Cathy, get yourself some cereal or toast for breakfast."

At the mention of that magical four letter word, I suddenly began to like Simon much more. Maybe he wasn't such a predatory cad?

"I might be too busy to take you," pouted Stella.

"And I might just be too busy to pay your tax and insurance next time," Simon voiced in irritation.

Stella made a great play of consulting her diary, "Oh what a surprise, it's my day off."

"You told me that last week," riposted Simon.

"Well sometimes they change my shifts," she argued back.

"They haven't for the past two years," Simon called back.

"Bastard! Why has he got such a good memory?" she complained to me.

I shrugged my shoulders and poured myself some cornflakes.

Not many minutes later, in a borrowed denim jacket, I sat in the back of Stella's car as she drove us to Simon's garage. I kept quiet, listening to the conversation between the argumentative pair.

"Why can't I pick up Cathy's bike and run her home?" argued Stella.

"Because I said, I'd do it."

"You're just trying to get her alone so you could ask her out."

"Nonsense, I can ask her anytime I want, can't I Cathy?"

"Erm, what?" I replied intelligently, my attention having been taken by Stella nearly running down a milkman. She was a bit reckless with a car.

"Simon thinks you are waiting for him to ask you out."

"Erm, does he?"

"You lying minx, I didn't say that at all, I said I could ask you out anytime and that I didn't need to get you alone to do so."

I began to feel rather hot again, there was that other four letter word beginning to raise it's ugly head again, and I was anxious. I cringed as Stella just missed a cyclist, maybe it would be safer to let Simon drive me?

"So would you like to go out with me Cathy?" Simon turned and looked directly at me.

"I ah, erm I um." At times my verbal fluency was astonishing.

"There, see she has some sense!" sneered Stella at her brother.

"She didn't say no, did you Cathy?"

"Erm, um..." I stumbled to get my brain and mouth coordinated to do more than eat and drink. Part of me was flattered and part of me was terrified. Yet beneath all of it was this frisson, I actually felt more alive than I had for a million years. Okay, that is a slight exaggeration, but you get my drift. I blushed even more than when I'd got into the wrong bed last night, if that was possible. Part of me thought Simon was at times quite the gentleman, it was the other times that worried me.

"Well?" asked Stella loudly above the screech of tyres as she swerved to avoid a group of schoolkids on a zebra crossing, "stupid place to put a crossing outside a school!" she said equally loudly.

"I erm, don't know..." I mumbled, "I erm..haven't got anything to wear." I said feeling in my present guise I could legitimately use that old standby.

"Wear what you did last night," Simon offered casually.

"They were borrowed from Stella," I said defensively.

"They're in the boot of the car, you can keep them." Stella said making me wonder whose side she was on.

"There we are that's settled, tomorrow night, I'll pick you up." Simon beamed at me, then snapped at Stella, "That was the garage back there as you know damn well."

"Oh sorry, it was such a rivetting conversation I must have missed it," she said laying the sarcasm on with a shovel. She then did a handbrake turn which frightened me half to death and after spinning the car around screamed into the garage forecourt. I felt myself go quite pale and my breakfast attempted to escape by the same route it had entered my stomach.

Simon exited the car and went to talk to some bloke in the office. "So you wanna date my big bruvver?"

"I erm don't really know, I hadn't thought about it as being a remote possibility a day ago."

"Nah, I suppose not. He's got his good points, his salary being most of them. So make him take you to a really expensive restaurant or theatre or both."

"That sounds a bit mean and excessive," I whined back.

"Cathy, you're a girl now, exercise all that power you have, give him the run around, they love it. It's man the hunter bit, capturing his female. If this was the Stone-age, he'd be bashing you on the head and dragging you back to his cave."

"Erm, if this was the Stone-age, you wouldn't have knocked me off my bike in the first place," I corrected her anachronistic metaphore.

"Duh!" she squealed and then we both laughed.

"Thanks for the offer of the clothes again," I said smiling at her.

"Oh it's not a loan, you can keep 'em, they did look better on you so do the jeans, so you can have those too. Simon was right, but don't let him know it."

"I don't know how to thank you," I said feeling embarrassed at her generosity once again.

"Make him work for his date," she smiled at me.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," I blushed back at her

"Oh I think you do," she said as Simon walked back towards us.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part woman, part goddess, part 23.

"They're going to loan me a car and collect mine from the pub," said Simon poking his head through the open window of Stella's car, "So if Cathy would like to come with me, we'll go and get her bike before the garage gets there."

What could I do, he had me by the sprockets? I began to get out of Stella's car.

"Don't forget the stuff in the boot," she called.

I opened the boot and there was an overnight type of bag in there. "What's in here?" I asked.

"Your cycling stuff, what's left of it and the stuff I told you about earlier."

I lifted it out, it felt full and heavy. Simon grabbed it from me and walked off to another Volvo parked nearby. Stella got out of the car and we hugged. I thanked her for all her help, she shoved something into my hand. "Give me a call sometime and I'll help you with your makeup."

I nodded and mouthed "thanks" before walking to the car which Simon was in the process of starting. It was another modern Volvo, a different colour to Simon's and not quite as plush but being a hatchback should carry my bike. I noticed Simon's attache case on the back seat, we'd have to move that to put the back seat down.

As we drove off, Stella waved and returned to her car. In the mirror I saw a mechanic get into a breakdown truck and I wondered if he was coming to get Simon's car. He had a boiler suit on, but the top half was tied off at his waist by the sleeves. I saw some sort of message on the tee shirt he was wearing but couldn't quite read it.

"So where do you live?" asked Simon as we flew through the countryside. He drove even faster than Stella, but he inspired more confidence in his calm handling of the car. I wondered if it was the size of the car that made the difference, feeling safer in a bigger car. Is size important? I considered and began to snigger to myself oblivious to his question.

"Care to share your joke?" he asked a little abruptly.

Of course I went beetroot, how could I tell him that, he'd think I was as horny as he was. "I was thinking about last night," it was worrying, I was becoming quite a liar.

"Obviously something funny?" he remarked indicating my laughter.

"It made me smile," I said, "probably silly, but I thought it was funny that Stella knocked me off my bike, then smacked me on the head with a door. I was beginning to think she didn't like me," I joked chuckling to myself.

He laughed too, "If she didn't like you, you'd be in a body bag by now instead of here with me."

"Has she always been such a reckless driver?"

"God no!" he exclaimed, adding, "She used to be worse," then his straight face broke into a smile and he began to laugh. "She is pretty terrible, I usually refuse to ride with her, but I needed the lift today."

"Has she had many accidents?" I asked passing the time as we drove, if he was talking about her he couldn't ask me questions.

"No amazingly, you were the first, which was to my great good fortune."

I nearly fell off my seat, what did he mean by that? Unfortunately if I asked him, it would only demonstrate my ignorance. "Good fortune, do you realise how much those wheels cost?"

"I expect we'll manage," he smiled back and then to my horror touched me on the leg, patting it as if to reassure me. I jumped. "Goodness, you are jumpy," he said looking at me. I just felt stupid. "I'm not going to rape you on the way to collect your bike, you know."

"No I know," I lied, although the tight jeans and my lack of suitable orifice could have posed a challenge.

"You do trust me, I hope," he said quietly as if to reassure me.

"I'd like to Simon, but I hardly know you." As the words came out of my mouth, I wondered what I was saying, was my treacherous gob, going to drop me further into the mire. I needed to get my brain and mouth coordinated a little more than my apparent current performance.

"There'll be plenty of time for that, starting tomorrow evening. Ah, here's the pub." He steered the car into the car park and alongside his own car. Then jumping out he unlocked his own car and lifted up the boot lid. "Oh no," he shouted, "It's gone."

I felt a dreadful sinking in the pit of my stomach, as if the flying pigs competing with the butterflies for space, had suddenly taken up freefall sky-diving without parachutes. I threw open the car door and on wobbly legs tottered to his car. With a sense of impending horror, I looked into his boot...there was my bike, broken wheel and all.

"Oops!" he said smirking, "I didn't see it there. I'll bet that worried you, the look on your face was priceless."

I was fuming, had I safely been able to stand on one leg, I would have kicked him hard, somewhere very personal. Instead I used psychological warfare. "I think tomorrow is going to be difficult," I said curtly.

"Oh, and why is that?"

"I only go out with men with a good sense of humour, and your's isn't. Can we take my bike to the shop, so I can go home." I then wheeled on my high heel and got back into the loan car, leaving him to put my bike into its boot. I was seething, and nothing he could say would redeem him in my eyes ever again, he'd be lucky to survive the journey, I felt so angry and something else too. I felt disappointed and hurt.

As Simon struggled with the bike, the breakdown truck pulled up alongside us and the young man with the boiler suit go out, Simon gave him the key. He walked around the car in which I sat and smiled at me. His blue eyes twinkled and I pretended to ignore him, but my treacherous mouth smiled back. Then I saw the message on his tee shirt and gasped.

'My pen is
huge',

it read with a picture of a biro alongside it. At first glance it only seemed to comprise of three words, then I realised there were actually four. It was my dirty little mind which transposed the message - what was I becoming?

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Claude Butler.
part 24psi.

Simon continued to struggle with my bike and the rear seat; he needed to put it down to increase the space in the boot. The good looking lad from the garage winked at me and pointed at the telephone number on the side of the truck. He glanced at Simon who had his back to us, muttering and cursing at his inability to get the seat down. Then he pointed at the telephone number again and pointed at me and pretended to be writing something down. He pointed at me again. My God, he wanted my phone number! In less than 24 hours of appearing as female, I had two men wanting to date me. This was getting silly.

"Kev, can you get this bloody seat down for me, it seems stuck," Simon called.

Kev noticed the bike with the shattered wheel, "Some bike, Simon, didn't know you were into racing."

"I'm not, it's young Cathy's."

"Oh yeah, I can see now, it's a woman's bike." He manoeuvred Simon out of the way, and leant into the car. Within two seconds he'd unclipped the seat and laid it flat. Simon busied himself with putting my Scott into the boot. "So, do you race?"

"I have done once or twice," I replied casually, not sure I wanted to engage in conversation with another predatory male. It was true, I'd ridden in one or two events organised by the university bike club.

"Which club?" he asked. I wasn't sure I needed this interrogation and pretended not to hear him.

"I think she rides at the university," offered Simon, not helping me one bit.

"Do you know Neil Flanders?" asked Kev.

My stomach did a backflip causing the remaining flying pig to go into a tail-spin. I knew Neil all right, it was his fault I hadn't ridden more than two races at the university. He told me I wasn't good enough and should maybe try the 'girlies' team. Neil was an oaf, a big muscle-bound hairy-arsed, oaf and I despised him. It was because of his insults and tauntings I bought the Scott and did some serious training. All this flashed through my mind as I shook my head and and said, "No, I don't know him."

"Oh," Kev scratched his head, "I thought he ran the uni bike club," he shrugged his shoulders.

"He might," I replied realising I needed to weave a slightly more tangled web, "at this uni, I raced at Sussex where I did my bachelor's degree. I haven't raced here," I lied.

"Ah, that would explain it, you need to talk to Neil."

Talk to Neil, I'd rather French kiss a crocodile! "I'll see," I said non-committally. "Until the bike is checked out and the wheel fixed, I won't be riding, period."

Before Simon could shut the boot lid, Kev was looking at my bike. He had it out of the boot and was checking the rear forks and frame. "It looks as if it's only the wheel, Campag, that's gonna cost you."

"We're on our way to the bike shop now, Stella ran into Cathy, so to speak." Simon attempted to take the bike back from Kev.

"Which one you going to?" asked Kev.

"Which one, Cathy?" asked Simon.

"The little one down past the anatomy school."

"Oh Paget's, look tell him you're a member of Hunter's CC, he'll do a better job and give you a discount. Tell him Kev sent you, I'm the club secretary."

"But I'm not a member, am I?" I muttered, "I can't tell lies." May God forgive me, I'd done nothing but lie for the past twenty four hours.

"Why not, I do it all the time?" joked Simon, until I cast him a withering look. I was beginning to get the hang of this being a girl business.

"Raise your right hand," instructed Kev. I did as I was told.

"Now say after me, I promise to uphold the rules and regulations of Hunter's Cycle Club, to race safely and cleanly and to the best of my ability."

I sat astonished as my mouth did exactly as he instructed me. Where was this leading?

"Okay Cathy, is that with a 'C' or a 'K'?"

"A 'C'," I answered.

"Cathy what?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"What?" he scratched his head again.

"Yes," I smiled back.

He looked completely and utterly confused. "Does she do this to you, Simon?"

"She could do anything she wanted to me, dear boy."

I gave Simon another withering glance and saw him flinch. That felt good. "My name is Cathy Watts," I said, wondering if I should have used a different surname from my real one.

Kev started to laugh and his blue eyes sparkled. He was so good looking. My God, what am I saying?

"Right, Cathy Watts, you are hereby accepted as an honorary member of Hunter's CC, you'll need to join properly some time and I'll need a deposit."

I blushed, "I'm sorry, I erm haven't any money with me," God this was so embarrassing.

"I'll take a kiss in lieu of cash," he said and before I could blink had kissed me on the lips. I froze. "Here's my card," he shoved a piece of cardboard into my lifeless hand. Then he shut the door and proceeded to move his truck to tow Simon's car away.

Simon shut the boot lid with more force than was necessary, he slammed the car door as he got in, "The nerve of that bastard, you okay?"

I nodded silently in complete and utter shock, I had just experienced my first orgasmic feeling.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part XXV zzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

Simon started up the borrowed car, "I shall have something to say to his boss when I collect my car!" he fumed and grunted.

I was unaware of what he was on about, sat in my post orgasmic stupor I had only one thing on my mind and it wasn't bikes. How soon could I do this again? That was the burning issue. I almost jumped out of the car, as Simon screamed out of the car park, nearly colliding with the brewery dray. He swore again! I obviously registered what was going on around me but in my little trance, I really wasn't interested, not in the slightest. I had just discovered sex, or maybe it was the other way around, but it was soooooooooo goooooood! And that was only from a single kiss - wow! I think I was in lust.

"You can wipe that stupid smile from your face," Simon said to me, "bloody women, always go for a piece of rough over quality."

"If you say so, Simon," my mouth was on auto-pilot, my brain having turned to mush. I suddenly thought of the game, 'Simon Says' where one has to do what the leader, who is called Simon, says. The object being that one tends to follow his actions not his voice and are then eliminated. It's for kids which is just as well because I felt like telling Simon to belt up. In fact I did, "Belt up Simon," I said loudly.

"I beg your pardon," he retorted standing on his dignity.

"Belt up," I repeated.

"There is no need to speak to me like that young lady!" he snapped back.

"Your seat belt, you've forgotten to put it on, so belt up." I exhorted.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you meant something else." I enjoyed his embarrassment and while he struggled to pull his seat belt around himself he forgot about the other issue, at least momentarily.

"You know this bike shop?" he asked me.

"Yeah, just down past the university, by the medical school anatomy department."

"Is that the dead centre of the university?" he asked laughing at his own joke.

"If you say so," I repeated disinterestedly.

"Or is it the main body of the campus?" He chuckled away to himself, my mind 'floated lonely as a cloud' that gets shagged on vales and hills. "Cadaver-boompty-eh," he sang to himself, whilst laughing at the same time. It was a horrible noise not unlike a stoat falling into a shredder. Don't ask me how I know, but we zoologists get up to some horrible things, 'all in the best possible taste!'

I daydreamed, wishing like Wordsworth I was laying on my couch in pensive mood, but with Kev alongside me. Of course Wordsworth didn't know Kev, he only had Dorothy his sister to play with, and by all accounts.... nah, it's not nice.

"Dem bones, dem bones dem dry bones..." Simon was now on a roll. I tried to ignore him and think about other things, like Kev. We eventually drove through the city centre and five or ten minutes later were near the university, and soon after the medical school and its imposing five-storey buildings. The zoology department by comparison was a tin shed with a few tame rats and a freezer for putting said rats in when they 'helped us with our enquiries'. I was okay dissecting them, but I always had to get one of the technicians to do the messy business of killing them, I was far too squeamish for that. It was a standing joke amongst the technicians, especially as two of them were women.

We drew up outside Paget's Cycles, sounded like something you got from an oscilloscope. 'Established 1976' it said above the door, in my calendar that made it pretty ancient but I suppose it meant it was a stable sort of business, somewhere safe to leave my favourite possession.

As Simon parked the car I got out and waited for him to get the bike out of the boot, suddenly I seemed able to walk in the boots and they were no longer hurting either. I held open the door while Simon did the dirty work, he got some oil on his shirt, but I'd let him find that out by himself, hopefully later.

"Hello Miss, Sir," said a cheery looking middle aged man. He was wearing a tee shirt and jeans, and had some oil on his hands which he was wiping on a cloth. He saw the bike, "Oh dear," he reached out to take it from Simon. "Campag, that's going to cost a bit I'm afraid, new rim, hub looks okay, cassette possibly okay. I'll need to check the frame, what happened?"

'Some looney in a car,' I was about to say when Simon interjected, "A car hit her, driven by my sister. Can you fix it?"

"Sure, but it will take a few days, need to order parts and things and check the frame."

"How long?" asked Simon.

"Most people ask how much," observed the bike shop man.

"I don't think that's an issue," said Simon almost frostily, "how long will it take?"

"A week if I'm lucky with the parts, I do have other jobs on as well."

"I appreciate that," said Simon, "can you loan her a bike while you do it?"

"I don't know, the hire bikes are nothing like this quality."

Simon produced a twenty pound note and placed it on the counter, I began to feel embarrassed, he was buying cooperation, tantamount to bribery. "If you can assist in this matter, and another when the bike is fixed."

The man pocketed the note, and nodded. "I think I can let her borrow one I've not long finished servicing, the owner is away at the moment. Just take care of it." I nodded and smiled and he disappeared into the back of the workshop and came back with a titanium framed 'Litespeed' and it was in my size too, albeit a men's one so would feel a bit larger, but I'd cope.

"I'll need some details," said the man and Simon gave his business card then waited for me. I didn't want him to know where I lived, but there was nothing I could do about it. So I gave my address and fumed silently.

Naturally, I had nothing to confirm my address so agreed to come back later with some ID and a letter or bill with my name and address on it. I had planned for such a contingency and had a second student's union card with a blurry photo on it, and I also had a letter from a mail order company I'd bought some of my female clothes from, so I was alright.

We thanked the man and left the shop, Simon made a call on his mobile to say he was held up in a meeting and would be in later. "What about you, are you missing lectures or do you want me to drop you home?"

I was caught in a dilemma again, he knew where I lived already, but I had to get in without being seen by anyone. My heart started to thump loud and fast. My place was about a mile away, too far in these heels and I had the bag of stuff from Stella.

What should I do? It seemed pretty obvious, except I couldn't remember how I'd left the place. Was there much that could be seen as male lying around? I couldn't remember. I tended to keep Cathy's stuff well hidden for obvious reasons although I didn't have many callers, so I'd become a little sloppy recently. So there may be tights and knickers, maybe a bra hanging in the bathroom, were there any of my boy clothes there as well? Probably!

"Let's go for a coffee, I'm parched," suggested Simon, "You look all in," then before I could say anything he linked his arm through mine and half dragged me into a tea shop about a hundred yards up the road.

We ordered coffees and a toasted tea cake. I was glad he felt as peckish as I did. "So, are you going be okay with that bike?"

"The Litespeed, yeah, it'll be fine, thank you."

"What happened in the car with Kevin?" he looked a bit jealous.

"Nothing, he pecked me on the cheek. It surprised me, that's all."

"Are you sure? If it upset you, I'll get his boss to kick his arse."

I found myself blushing, "No honestly, it was nothing, please don't get him into trouble."

"You seemed a bit distant afterwards, are you sure he didn't upset you?"

"I'm fine, just a bit tired. I don't sleep too well away from my own bed."

"I still think I'll get his boss to give him a rocket."

"Please don't," I pleaded aware I was getting redder by the second.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because I asked you not to."

"If you come out with me tomorrow night, I won't say anything to the garage."

"That's blackmail!" I exclaimed, feeling angry.

"I'll tell them he assaulted you and get him sacked."

"But that's a lie," I protested.

"All is fair in love and war, Sweetie. Ah here's our coffee."

We ate and drank in silence, my appetite had been affected by Simon's games but I managed to force it down. When we finished, he asked, "So what's it going to be?"

Easy As Falling Asleep.
by Angharad & Winnie the Pooh,
part 26 (and who said it wouldn't last?).

"I don't think I like you Simon," I said to myself. I still had to get home and a lift with him was easier than walking in these boots. They may be comfortable for the moment, but walking a mile in someone else' boots is not recommended by podiatrists, especially ones with three inch heels.

I was trying to think quickly and so far wasn't having much effect, a bit like my cycling. After all my training I was still crap, but better crap than I was before, so it was all relative. If I could get Simon to give me a lift to my flat, change my shoes, grab the bits I needed to borrow the bike and then get him to take me back to the shop, or to the university. I won't go to my lectures but he doesn't know that.

"I don't want you to report Kev, because nothing happened and it would be pure malice on your part."

"Absolutely," nodded Simon, "malice of the purest form. I saw you first, end of story."

"I am not some product on a supermarket shelf, Simon. I'm a woman and I have feelings." I almost simpered at this stage although I knew he wouldn't fall for the old tears trick.

"All of them good, I hope."

"I beg your pardon?" I said in bewilderment.

"Your feelings," he gave me a beaming smile. He was running rings around me and it should have been the other way about. I'm the woman here, supposed to be in charge, wrapping him around my little finger and he does this to me. I'll bet Kev wouldn't do that to me!

I had now forgotten what I was going to say, what item of scintillating wit I had been saving to destroy him. Okay so I'm lying, but he doesn't know that, if all else fails make some disparaging remark about his masculinity.

"What do you care about my feelings?" I came back with a stormer.

"Very much." There was that beaming smile again.

"Very much what?" I asked having forgotten what we were talking about.

"I care very much for your feelings; look Cathy, if you're going to argue with me at least remember what you are saying otherwise it gets very confusing. The way things are going, you'll be attacking my masculinity next. If you do, I could hit back by mentioning the small size of your breasts. But being a gentleman, I wouldn't dream of saying such a thing."

"You just did!" I wailed, folding my arms over my small breasts.

"No sweetie, I said I could not would, say it."

"Could, would, who gives a shit, if my tits are too small why are you wanting to date me anyway, are you into boyish girls, is that it, are you a repressed homosexual?" That should have hit him right between the eyes, lets see him laugh that off, question both his masculinity and his sexuality - both barrels, woooooooo!

To my astonishment Simon roared with laughter. "That is very good Cathy, boyish girls, repressed homosexual, that is so funny."

I stood there absolutely gob-smacked, why isn't he reeling under my deluge of blows, or is he going to laugh himself into a coma?

"Most men I know wouldn't find it very funny," I pouted.

"That's their silly fault then. I can assure you I am a normal, heterosexual bloke, who finds you attractive partly because of your naivete, but also because you are a very pretty girl. Okay, I'd prefer it if you had bigger breasts but it's not that important. I can't help who I fancy, it's all to do with brain chemistry or something. As for the gay sex bit, I had plenty of opportunity at Millfield, believe me, and it wasn't my scene at all."

So he went to a public school, rich bastard! "Did Stella go to a public school as well?" I asked changing the subject for a moment to buy myself some time to think.

"She went to Millfield as well, I hate to think what our education cost my parents, especially with flying lessons and ponies and things."

"So why are you interested in a flat chested prole like me? It amuses you does it, bit of rough?" I felt a bit out of my depth and was hitting out wherever I could, maybe I should just let him report Kev and get the hell out of it? But then I rarely did what was good for me.

"Let's go back to the car, shall we as this is getting rather personal?"

We walked in relative silence back to the Volvo and got into it. "It's limited parking here, so I'm going to drive somewhere with less restrictions and which is a bit quieter, is that okay?"

"I don't know," I mumbled, for all I knew he was going to drive somewhere very quiet and attempt to rape me or worse.

"Is there somewhere you'd prefer to go, bearing in mind that this is costing my bank a couple of million pounds an hour. So sadly, I don't have all day."

"Take me home," I said, shocked by what he had just said, "maybe you'd better go to work and save the economy."

"Not until you promise to come out tomorrow night."

"Let me think about it." I felt very confused, well I didn't really, to go out on any sort of date with a randy bloke was risking being murdered.

"What is there to think about, you have something to wear and it looked fine. I shall collect you and take you back home, your home that is."

"I erm, I don't know Simon." I blushed and was close to tears. I was terrified.

"Look I'm only asking you out for dinner, I'm not asking you to sleep with me or to marry me for God's sake."

"I don't do sex on a first date," I said, which was true, never having had sex, it had to be. "And last night doesn't count as a date." I covered myself there.

"Despite finding you extremely attractive, I don't actually know whether I'd want sex with you anyway," he said diffidently.

"Why? What's wrong with me? Tits too small, is that it?" I shrieked. I was disgusted.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 27.

Simon gave me a very strange look, "Not all men are predatory animals wanting to rob young women of their virginity."

"How do you know I'm a virgin?" I said sniffily.

"Shall we say it's fairly obvious," he softened his look into a benign sort of smile.

I sat pouting. I was so confused by the speed at which things were happening. I mean this time yesterday, I was in lectures thinking about my research project and my bike ride. Now look at me, dressed as a woman with two men wanting to date me and possibly have sex with me. Despite Simon's reassurances, I'm not convinced that he is as genuine as he says.

Yesterday, the idea would have made me ill for days, now I want to excite them, but of course I don't want them to go any further than being excited. That's the hard bit, well they'd have their own hard bits, but you know what I mean, being something of a cockteaser.

Most of my life I've been ignored as a weed or a nerd, the boys think I'm too girly and I suppose, so do the girls. They come to me for help with assignments but that's it. Suddenly, I have two men who find me interesting and while I'm not at all sure about sex, I find it exciting. That stolen kiss by Kev, was the most sexually exciting thing that has ever happened to me - sad or what?

I used to think I wasn't interested, but now I'm not at all sure. I tried to wind Simon up, but he put me down instead talking about my boobs, it made me cross to think I thought I had him excited and then he puts me down, no wonder I was indignant! Humph!

Then reality breaks into this living fantasy I'm in and suddenly it's quite scary.

"So where do you live?" asked Simon pulling away from the kerb.

Reluctantly I told him, and we were on our way. "I'm not sure I want to talk right now," I told him, I had loads of thinking to do.

"Okay," he nodded as he spoke as if to reinforce his agreement, "We can talk tomorrow evening, where would you like to go?"

"I erm, don't know, I erm don't usually have much time for dates," I lied.

"Okay, I'll choose somewhere with good food, bring an appetite."

"I erm, I'll try." I blushed profusely again.

"You don't do many dates do you?" he said pulling up by my flat.

I stared out of the windscreen and felt tears blurr my vision, then shook my head. I felt warm fluid run down my cheek.

"You ought to," he said touching my hand, "a pretty girl like you should never be short of a date."

"I have to go," I managed to splutter.

"Seven thirty tomorrow, I'll pick you up here. Be ready." He leant over to kiss me but I slipped out of the car and ran to my door.

"You forgot your bag," he called from the car.

"Shit, shit, shit!" I mumbled to myself, how to make a complete fool of myself in one easy lesson. I stumbled defeated back to the car, where Simon was standing by the open boot lid holding the overnight bag. I took it from him, and resigned myself for a kiss on the cheek. It never came. "Damn!" I swore under my breath, that's twice he's upstaged me.

"Thanks," I said taking the bag, " for the lift and organising another bike," I felt grateful, just unsure of what to do next.

"That's okay," he said smiling.

Then an impulse came over me and I leant forward and pecked him on the cheek. I stepped back and blushing, turned and ran off to my door again.

"Tomorrow then," was called after me but I kept going. I had noticed my door key in the little handbag Stella had given me, so I let myself into my bedsit.

I was relatively lucky, the building was owned by a trust which was so inter-related to the uni, that they were hard to separate. However, it meant that rents were reasonable and I hadn't had to borrow as much as I thought I would. Actually, that's not true, I had borrowed the full amount some of it was lying awaiting repair in the bike shop. Well most of my peer group use their student loans to finance local breweries, mine is bike shops and the odd dress shop, mostly on line.

I sat in the chair waiting for the kettle to boil, my heart was thumping from running up the stairs, thank goodness no one else was around. I had to take stock, how had I got myself into this mess? By getting knocked off my bike and being discovered as having boobs despite my best efforts to hide them. Then being encouraged to borrow clothes and have my long hair cut and shaped and some make up.

Part of me thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world, all my aspirations had come together at once, pity they couldn't do the surgery as well, then it would have been the jackpot.

But, on reflection, it was all too quick. I can't suddenly transform into this 'pretty girl' without preparing for it. Apart from the logistics of the wardrobe I'll need, I also need time to prepare myself mentally for it and those who need to know as well.

My experience of being out and about as a girl was limited to one or two tg meetings, where they all seemed like drag queens or men in dresses and the odd trip to post a letter, usually after dark. Okay, once I spent a weekend in London in role, but it was a mixture of scary and boring.

I remembered I hadn't taken my pill, I went to the bedside cupboard and pulled out the Premarin, from the drawer and swallowed it. I'd had my boost of femaleness. The kettle jug boiled and I made tea in the mug, burning my fingers squeezing out the tea bag. I nibbled on a digestive biscuit as I thought about things.

I'd missed the entire morning session, but I thought if I skipped lunch I could make the afternoon one. I started to undo the jeans, then remembered I had to get the bike while still in female mode - oh bugger!

I fiddled about for my 'fake' union card. I'd been an officer of the student's union last year and was responsible for issuing membership cards. I did one for my alter ego while I was at it, then a fuzzy digital photo and I had proof of existence, sort of. I picked up an account for a mail order catalogue I'd used. It proved where I lived.

I sat down relieved I could find these bits and bobs, usually when in a hurry they remain hidden only to reappear as soon as the urgency has gone. I planned my next move. I would have to walk to the bike shop and collect the bike, then bring it back here because to go on to uni would mean I'd still be in Cathy mode. That was a no no, much as I'd love to do it.

Then I'd have to change and take my clunker, my old mtb, to uni. I would never make it. I would have to call in sick, saying I'd had a bike accident or something. Well it would be telling the truth, just say I'm a bit shocked and shaken up. I wasn't missing that much and I could always do some work on my dissertation, 'On the breeding viability of dormice in sub urban environments.' I know that both the County Council and Department of the Environment, were interested in the outcomes of my study, so there could be a job at the end of it. Things felt a bit more positive.

I needed to swap these jeans for something I could ride in, I had some thin trousers somewhere, which were unisex and if I swapped the boots for trainers, damn the bike had clipless pedals.

I tore open the overnight bag and found my cycling shoes, they were still wet. Too bad, I'd have to wear them, I only had one pair, they were in a plastic bag and didn't smell too attractive except to flies. I pulled out the remains of my racing skins - they were wet too and torn. Oh well my David Millar impressions were over. I chuckled at the thought, he was six feet tall or more I was only five foot seven. He rode the Tour de France, I was knackered after a forty miler, but I was getting better.

I pulled on some socks and my trainers, and for the hell of it used the lipstick and combed my hair. I grabbed my little handbag and popped the ID stuff inside, picked up my cycling shoes and stepped out of my door, I remembered to pack my key so I happily shut the door and as I did so heard one shut behind me. My heart sank!

"Hello darlin' who are you?" came the voice of my neighbour. He was bound to recognise me. Life was about to end, big time.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Enid Blyton.
part 28b

I froze like a chicken caught in the headlights of a juggernaught. I wanted to run around in circles but stood still instead.

"So who are you?" asked the voice.

I knew perfectly well who he was and I was sure the moment I turned around he would recognise me. However, the longer I stood there the more suspicious it would be. I slowly turned around.

"So has our resident nerd got a girlfriend?"

"Maybe," I answered coyly and blushing, "excuse me, I have to go." I brushed past Big Mac. We called him that because his name is Macmanus and he's huge. It is also appropriate because he is so full of sh!t that it reminds one of..oh, I suppose that could be libellous, but you get my drift.

"Just a minute darlin', haven't we met somewhere?" he pushed his arm out in front of me preventing my escape.

My heart nearly stopped, how was I going to get past this oaf, without him working out who I was. At a glance he might mistake me for a stranger, but with a few minutes to look at me, he'd surely twig.

"I don't think so, I'm sure I would remember," a gorilla like you. I ducked under his arm, and was down the stairs before he could react. The problem now was whether or not his brain was switched on. The answer to it, I wouldn't know until I met him again. Could I claim to be my own sister? I shook my head as I walked along towards the university and the bike shop, this was beginning to sound like one of those stories I've seen posted on the internet.

As I trundled through the streets, I was trying to make up contingency plans for all eventualities. There were quite a few, including Simon killing me if he found out, Big Mac killing me, Kev killing me, me committing suicide, and then...

"Hello, young Watts isn't it?"

I stopped as if I'd stepped on a garden rake and the handle had smacked me in the face.

"Professor Agnew," I replied to the older man.

"Two questions," he paused to gain my assent, "Can we expect to see the new you in classes from now on, and why are you not in classes now?"

I swallowed hard, if he could recognise me would Big Mac? Part of me just wanted to tell him where to go, the other part wanted to get my MSc and I'd need his support for that.

"I don't know," I replied and he nodded.

"And my second question?" he asked.

"It's a long story." I blushed.

"It's just as well I have plenty of time then, there's a coffee shop over there, shall we adjourn there for your answer?" He held out his arm and I linked mine around it, feeling even more like a headless deer. "It does an old man good to be seen with a pretty girl on his arm."

We found a quiet table and my host ordered two teas and Danish pastries. "So is this the real you, Miss Watts?"

He knew about my gender identity problem, but had treated it with the confidentiality it deserved. He was close to retirement, over sixty five and had been allowed to stay because he was still as sharp as a pin and had one of the most respected reputations in vertebrate zoology in Europe, and was probably nurturing a dozen top research scientists towards international acclaim. Sadly I wasn't one of them.

"I don't know," I told him and went on to explain my past twenty four hours. He smiled, laughed, nodded and shook his head at my story.

"So how do you feel about this Simon?" he asked as we sipped our coffees.

"I don't know that either, he's so far been very kind and claimed to find me interesting rather than sexy," I related, pouting as I said it.

"You seem disappointed?"

"In a way, I suppose I am. All my life I've been tolerated rather than accepted or wanted. When Stella had finished her magic on me, I thought I looked better than I had in my whole life before."

"You still do, Cathy wasn't it?"

I nodded and thanked him.

"If I wasn't your Professor, I would be asking you for a date myself," he said smiling.

I laughed at him, "Don't be silly Professor, you know too much about me," I chuckled implying my true legal sex.

"I do now, young woman and I have never seen you look happier or better."

I blushed and looked at the table avoiding eye contact.

"When you first told me about your little problem, I could see that you were quite a feminine almost pretty looking boy, but I've met other such young men as students and most had no such problems. Given your inclinations, I suppose your appearance would become an advantage when you got around to transitioning, is that the right word?"

I agreed that it was.

"However, I have been told all sorts of things by students over the years, sometimes as a way of protecting themselves against poor results, but yours have not been affected and your research is looking good, I think DEFRA (government department) might be persuaded to fund a doctoral research programme, with EU monies. The European Union likes little furry animals, thank God."

I smiled wondering where this was leading.

"While I don't want to rush you into anything, I should very much like to have a pretty young research assistant on my staff, if only because it makes the departmental photos look so much better. So I suggest you finish your dissertation and apply for funding to do a research degree for a doctorate. You would be Doctor Dormouse," he said laughing.

"Wouldn't the agency find it funny that I changed my name in between the two degrees?"

"It's nothing we can't deal with, but of course if you were to make your change over, sorry transition, sooner rather than later, it wouldn't arise, would it?"

"What, are you suggesting I make my transition now?" I gasped.

"Looks to me as if you already have, and it's a remarkable improvement if I say so myself. Should I ask Mrs Miller to make the appropriate alterations?"

Mrs Miller was the departmental secretary, she was a mature woman of forty-something who everyone liked, although she protected the prof like a rottweiler.

"There she is."

I cringed as I recognised the voice of Big Mac.

"The nerd's girlfriend, c'mon, let's go chat her up..oh Professor, I didn't see you there."

"Is there something I can do for you boys?" he said firmly. I just wanted to die, I couldn't see who or how many there were. "I am having afternoon tea with Miss Watts, how can I help you?"

"Miss Watts, what Charlie's sister?" said Big Mac.

"Yes Mr Macmanus, I am trying to persuade her to finish her brother's research project, he's been injured in a cycling accident and might not return for some time."

"Cool, I erm mean, I'm sorry to hear about Charlie, but if I can help you get to know the place..."

"I think her fiance may feel a bit put out by that Mr Macmanus."

I found myself swallowing hard, and heard a similar reaction from Big Mac, but the prof was dealing with them better than I could, I did say he was as sharp as a pin.

"Right oh, Miss Watts, if I can help, just let me know," he said making a tactical withdrawal, "I'm next door to Charlie's place."

"Thank you, Mister umm..."

"Macmanus, Alistair Macmanus, and you're welcome." He left to few hoots from his friends.

"It seems they didn't recognise you," he smiled at me and ordered tea for both of us.

"It's very kind of you Professor, but I've imposed upon your time too much already."

"Nonsense, I've ordered the tea now, surely you don't expect me to drink it all by myself?"

I sat back down. A sudden and very frightening thought occurred to me, "Are you expecting me to turn up as Cathy, from now on?"

"As your brother is injured and can't, I don't see why you shouldn't, do you?"

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Barbara Cartland.
part 29.

Author's Note: I can't believe I'm still writing this, originally I was going to do a blog about being caught in a thunderstorm whilst cycling. Instead I decided to turn it into a story, then to write the story directly to the website as a test of my imaginative skills and fast editing. Nothing written is planned beforehand, and it is quick checked afterwards for obvious errors. Then I post it.

I'm delighted it is read by so many, some of whom actually say so in comments. I don't know where it will go or for how much longer - it doesn't get any easier to write something each day that makes sense with what has gone before. If you think it is, why not have a try.
Thanks for all the comments and encouragements.
hugs,
Angharad.
======================================================================

I slumped down in the chair in semi-shock. The professor was arranging cups and saucers together, "When you are ready, you can be mother," he joked, indicating I should pour the teas.

Somehow my hand wasn't shaking as much as I thought it would pouring two cups of tea from the silver tea pot. I passed him the little milk jug.

"You seem surprised at my suggestion?" said my learned host.

"Surprised doesn't quite cover it," I gasped back.

"What else was I supposed to do? I meet you walking around the town dressed as a woman, then a short time later our tete a tete is interrupted by a group of students whose collective IQ could be measured in single figures. Should I have told them the truth, or reported you for missing lectures?" He took a sip of tea and waited for me to answer.

I went to pick up my cup and this time the shakes got to me and I needed two hands to safely return it to the saucer. I looked at him, his eyes were sparkling with mischief, normally that would just egg me on, now it annoyed me.

"This isn't some game Professor Agnew, this is my life we are talking about. If I turn up to lectures in skirts and makeup, there will be no going back. I don't know if I am ready to commit to that yet."

"So why are you walking about as a woman now? Surely you could have made some other arrangement to pick up a bicycle? You already have another one in your room, so it wasn't essential to do today. Instead, you could have changed and come to lectures this afternoon."

I had no answer to his question, why was I still walking around in Stella's clothes? I picked up my cup in both hands, the tremor had gone. I took a sip of the tea and tried to think about what I was going to say.

"I don't honestly know why I was walking to the bike shop, except I thought I'd better get the bike while I was in this mode because Simon is sure to ask me about it tomorrow."

"You don't have to go on this date with him, you know, he has no legal way of coercing you into it."

"I suppose not, but I gave my word I would go."

"Under such pressure, I'm sure a change of heart is allowed."

"I try to stick to my promises, however unpleasant or unwise they are, it's the way I was brought up. My parents might not have got much else right, but I do understand the concept of honouring my word."

"Very laudable in normal circumstances, but aren't these just a bit different? Didn't you say, that Simon is probably unaware of your previous status?"

I was becoming increasingly embarrassed and unable to speak. I felt his eyes boring through the top of my skull as I looked down at my feet. I nodded to answer his question as my eyes filled with tears.

Little rivulets of scalding water began to dribble down my cheeks and my companion handed me his handkerchief, a large Persil-white, mens' one. I dabbed at my eyes, then remembered I had no eye makeup on, so I wouldn't mark his hankie.

"Are you all right Miss Watts?" he asked in a very caring way.

I nodded and continued weeping.

"I am concerned for you, believe me, I don't care what you wear or call yourself as long as your work is consistently good and on time. However, to try and live this double life, especially in the goldfish bowl we call the university, sooner or later you will be discovered and what happens then, who knows? The rabble like that earlier will delight in having a laugh at your expense, it might also get a bit physical. We have had the odd 'queerbashing' incident on campus despite our efforts to prevent such things. I don't want that to happen to you."

I continued to wet his handkerchief with tears and nodded my understanding. "I just don't know if I am up to making this commitment yet. It's all happened so quickly and I'm not prepared for it."

"In what way are you not prepared for it?" he asked, offering me his empty cup to refill with tea.

"All sorts of ways," I blustered back desperately trying to think of excuses.

He sat and sipped his second cup of tea, while I tried to crank up my brain.

"I don't have enough clothes or make up," I gushed, my brain was beginning to function - sort of.

"Most of my female students wear jeans and tee shirts in summer and jeans and jumpers in the winter, just like most of the boys."

"What about social events?" I countered, "women have to have much bigger wardrobes for that?"

"Really? Not from what I've seen around the campus and there is nothing to stop you from buying more clothes, in fact I'd have thought it was easier being able to go into shops and try them on."

"I'd need more makeup," I said realising how weak that was as an argument.

"Well, all you're wearing at the moment is lipstick, and you look fine to me."

"I'm not prepared mentally," I said looking at the floor.

"I was led to believe that transsexualism is an inherent condition in certain individuals and incurable. From what I have read, most transsexuals claim to have a female brain in a male body. Some research evidence, albeit contraversial, may uphold that view. If it is true, how can you prepare something you were born with?"

"I erm, I erm don't know." I wept again, totally defeated.

"Are you trying to tell me you don't know if you really are transsexual?"

I couldn't speak, I was so choked up, but managed to shake my head vigorously.

"So is it that you don't want live as a woman?"

Again I shook my head vigorously.

"So what is it then, cold feet?"

At this I burst into tears and nodded, I wished I was dead.

A waitress walked up and asked us if everything was all right, the professor told her we were discussing a family matter and thanked her for her concern. I felt even more stupid.

Here I was doing what I had dreamt of doing ever since I was about eight or nine years old, living as a girl. I was being offered the opportunity to continue doing it indefinitely and with official sanction, it was beyond my wildest dreams. So why the bloody hell was I making excuses?

Okay so there would be some awkward questions eventually as people twigged, especially on my course, but that would have happened anyway unless I'd disappeared and turned up somewhere completely new and even that has risks. At least here I'd have help to face down the dissenters, and high status help at that. So what was my problem?

Maybe it was because it wasn't my decision, or at least it wasn't at my pace, I was being forced along at someone else's pace. It felt uncomfortable and I wasn't in control of anything. This thing was assuming it's own momentum. What I didn't know was if that would happen anyway, once it began even if I had started it? I could only know that by experience.

As I sat leaning forward, the vee neck of the tee shirt was giving the prof a good view of such cleavage as I had. "You're taking oestrogens?"

I suddenly looked up and nodded, "Yes, for about six or eight months."

"I see they are having an effect."

I blushed and sat more upright, pulling the denim jacket closed around me.

"It was meant as a neutral observation. However, if you are having hormone therapy, doesn't it mean your transition and life test is imminent?"

I nodded. I felt the world was over and all my elation had gone flat. Was this what real life would be like rather than the fizz of the past twenty four hours?

"I think you had better collect your bicycle and get in touch with the doctor who prescribed your pills. Call me later and let me know what you are going to do. You know what I think, but it must be your decision that you go with." With that he rose from the table, paid the bill and left.

"Was that man bothering you?" asked the waitress.

"No he was trying to help me," I said, my eyes still leaking tears.

" Man problems?"

"Something like that," I said wiping my face.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 30.

This episode is dedicated to the memory of Joan Jones, otherwise known as Darla Raspberry, a sister writer, who died suddenly last week.

The waitress stayed with me for several minutes, it was kind of her but made my recovery even slower than it would normally have been. I wasn't even sure what I was crying about, but then I wasn't sure about anything much at that moment. My whole world was in total chaos and disarray and I needed to make some very important decisions. Maybe that was what I was crying about, or perhaps it wasn't.

I was having my absolute and total dream handed to me on a plate and I was upset about it, not only that but I was wondering if I was going to accept it or not. I mean, how bloody stupid can you get?

Perhaps I was so insecure that I needed to feel in control, except when I let go and trusted to Stella's guidance, I had a wonderful time. Was there a lesson there for me? If there was I seemed unable to learn from it.

I needed to do a few things and sitting there feeling sorry for myself was achieving none of them. I went to the ladies' loo and washed my face, trying to reduce the red-eyed look. My head was pounding, probably caused by a fluid imbalance in my head, all the tears shed had dried my tiny brain out. I also had a wee, all that tea and coffee had filled my bladder and the knickers I was wearing were growing a little tight in places.

I set off for the bike shop and a short time later I had taken possession of the 'Litespeed', it was a joy to ride. The man there had also said he thought the frame on mine was okay, so it was only the wheel which needed replacing. It would take about a week. Taking his card, I promised to phone him in a week's time.

Next I cycled off to a quiet corner of the university campus and called my shrink. Of course she was with a patient, and her secretary promised to get her to call me back as soon as she could. That left me feeling anxious for two reasons: I needed to speak with her and obviously needed somewhere quiet to do it, but I also needed to do some shopping and wandering around 'Top Shop' or 'Next' is probably not the best place for a private telephone conversation. Why do these dilemmas always happen to me?

In fact they didn't, the good doc phoned before I got to the shops and I was able to jump into a phone box to take the call on my mobile. Okay, so it might be cheeky, but it was private.

"So Cathy, you said you needed to speak with me urgently, what's the problem?"

"Yes Dr Thomas,..." I then gave her the edited highlights of the previous twenty four hours.

"Goodness, that sounds wonderful, so are you going for it?" Her voice beamed with such enthusiasm,it nearly melted the phone.

"I erm...um...erm, don't know." I felt my voice waivering and growing fainter.

"Oh!" she said, "I think I'd better see you." I could hear her muttering under her breath. "Shit!" she said to herself, "it would be tonight, sodding medical committee," all of which was supposed to be out of earshot. "Look Cathy," I have to be out tonight and tomorrow I'm absolutely full. I can give you maybe twenty minutes at the end of my session this evening, can you get here by five forty?"

"Thank you doctor, I shall be there." She rang off and I went off to the shops feeling a little relieved I could get her opinion, which I much valued.

En route to the shops, I realised I had no lock for this bike and being quite valuable, it would also be quite vulnerable. I turned around and headed for home. Once there, I had to make some further decisions.

I decided against going shopping, instead I went and showered, drying my hair very carefully. It was nowhere as tidy or effective as when Stella had done it, but it felt clean and still looked feminine. Next I dressed in the red skirt and top, and tried on the boots again. Could I walk to the doctor's in these, I doubted it? So reluctantly, I switched for a pair of black low heeled pumps, they looked okay. I had a black jacket already, so with Stella's bag it looked quite tidy.

My makeup, I kept very simple, some pinky-red lipstick and mascara, nothing else except a squirt of smellies here and there. I was going to sit down and catch my breath for an hour, maybe check my emails when I saw the bag Stella had packed with my stuff. I hadn't used my cycling shoes to ride the bike, the little I'd ridden I managed with my trainers, so I stuffed the shoes with newspaper to help them dry.

I thought I'd better look at my racing skins and see what could be salvaged from them, they were in a plastic bag and I could see the yellow shining through it. The rest of the overnight bag was full of other stuff. How I hadn't noticed it before I couldn't say, except my mind was elsewhere and hadn't really returned back to base yet.

I emptied the bag. Besides my cycling stuff, and the skirt and tee shirt I was wearing, which had been on top of everything else were a black skirt and top of matching material, some toiletries, a white bra and matching pants, some tights and a note.

'Cathy,
A few bits and pieces for you which are surplus to my use. I have a few more bits and pieces you can have but will need to sort them out for you. I hope we can see each other again, don't let Simon have things all his own way.
Stella.'

I called the number on the note and was delighted when Stella answered it. She was pleased I'd rung and we chatted for about fifteen minutes. I told her about the professor's offer and she was excited for me, telling me to go for it. I told her about Simon's insistence about tomorrow night and she offered to come and help me with my makeup again. I accepted her offer gratefully.

I managed to find space in my wardrobe for my new acquisitions. It was really difficult, I had two jackets and a pair of male trousers hanging there along with my two good shirts. Otherwise it was all my female clothes, two skirts, a dress, a coat, a blouse and the black jacket I was wearing. I had other bits and bobs in my chest of drawers but just to dress around my flat didn't really require a great range of clothes and also didn't make it too difficult to hide if anyone came to see me.

My makeup was all kept in a plastic bag in an old shoe box under my bed, and my shoes and now the boots were in bags in the wardrobe. I wasn't ashamed of any of it, but it seemed sensible to keep things quiet until I was ready to go public. I'd had nothing more than a nebulous idea of that date, always about six months ahead and had moved it three times so far.

I was aware that I couldn't be referred for surgery until I had lived for a year in role, but that was another nebulous thing, so dates were irrelevant. If the truth be told, it was a case of one day, sun- day, some day never! I was a moral coward.

I glanced at my watch, only a cheapo thing but I liked it and saw it was about an hour before my meeting with the doctor. I collected my key and popped it in my bag with my purse, picked up my little folding umbrella and set off at a gentle walk to her rooms.

Once away from my own room, I felt happier, less chance of being identified and my whole demeanour relaxed. It stayed that way until I got to Dr Thomas'consulting room at the clinic.

She was a psychiatrist who was based in the acute psychiatric clinic, this was in a pair of large Victorian town houses, the upstairs contained some rooms for inpatients, the downstairs were offices and consulting rooms. I knew my way to her room quite well.

I'd had a bout of depression following years of suppression of my gender problem, culminating in a row with my parents when they found out what it was all about, and my attempted suicide when I got back to uni. Everything got too much and I took an overdose of paracetamol but was discovered. I'd forgotten to lock my door and the caretaker found me. He was doing his annual electrical check.

Because it was within twenty four hours, they gave me methionine the antidote to paracetamol poisoning and thus saved me from liver failure. At the time I was too ill to argue but I threatened to do it again and ended up under the care of Dr Thomas in the acute psychi ward at the clinic. She eventually discovered what the cause of the problem was and had helped me enormously in dealing with the ramifications. I owed her my life, because she had made me see that I wasn't some sort of freak, encouraged me to read and research the subject and plan for my future, albeit in a vague and nebulous manner. I suppose her idea was that if one is planning for a future there is less chance of ending the present, suddenly.

One of the good doctor's conventions was to refer to me as Cathy, rather than by my male name, but she had never seen me as such so I felt a bit apprehensive about our appointment today. I mean what would happen if she was revolted by me, or thought I looked dreadful. I would never cope with rejection by her, I would die quite literally.

I entered the reception area and the butterflies revved up for some action. "I have an appointment with Dr Thomas," I said to the receptionist.

"You can't have, she finishes at five thirty today," snapped the receptionist.

The butterflies were scrambled and airborne in a split second.

"I spoke to her about two hours ago, she told me to come and see her."

"Hold on," she went off to speak to someone else and I could hear the mumblings but no detail. Five minutes or maybe it was several years later, she returned. "We had no record of your appointment, however it seems Dr Thomas is expecting you," she looked up at the clock, "in about five minutes, please take a seat." With that I was dismissed to sit in the waiting area.

I looked around before deciding where to sit. There were a handful of other people waiting, some were probably patients like myself others could have been friends or relatives of patients waiting with them or for some who were in with the various doctors and psychiatric nurses.

I watched the clock, I was restless and nervous, too much so to try and read the out of date National Geographics or Good Housekeeping. Uusally I flipped through She or Marie Claire, but I'd read them all some time ago and had even taken a cycling mag with me a couple of times. She had challenged me on it as not being very girly, and I had defended myself as saying that female was not necessarily feminine in a frothy, frilly manner and that my role models were Nicole Cooke and Victoria Pendleton, real women not the sort of cardboard cut out bimboes who marry rich footballers. She had laughed and agreed with me, it had been her way of probing my idea of gender stereotypes.

"Cathy Watts," was called, I stood up and walked towards reception, "please go to Dr Thomas' room, room four."

"I know where it is," I said and walked towards it. The butterflies were doing their impression of the Red Arrows, flying at each other at speeds in excess of five hundred miles an hour. It didn't take them long to get across my stomach.

I knocked on the door and a woman's voice bid me enter.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 31 The Larch, the larch.

My sweating hand grasped the handle of the door as it had several times before, only I don't think I was as frightened as I was now. Maybe the first time, when I asked her if I was crazy, her answer was, "Why, would it make you feel better if I said you were?" When I replied that it wouldn't, she said, "Well we've got that out of the way quickly."

I pushed open the door and she glanced over her spectacles at me, "I think you might have the wrong room young lady, I'm expecting a patient in a moment so could you close the door again, thank you."

I stood there absolutely astonished and unable to move.

She looked a little irritated that I was still stood there, she rose from her desk and walked towards me. "Can I er, help you Miss?"

"It's me Dr Thomas, Cathy Watts."

She stopped and did a double take, "Good Lord, so it is, come on in."
She made me stand in the middle of the room while she prowled around me, making almost purring noises. "I'm impressed," she said finally. "You make a very convincing and attractive female. So what's the problem?"

I was gobsmacked and it took me a moment to get my brain back from it's orbit somewhere out around Alpha Centauri. I sat down and gave her a potted version of the past twenty four hours, up to and including my visit here.

"So where's the problem?" she asked looking slightly bemused.

Maybe it's not me that's crazy, maybe it's her, I wondered as I prepared to list the problems. "I'm being asked to start transitioning, now, without any preparation or help."

"Sounds to me as if loads of people are helping you."

"But I'm not ready," I protested.

"Doesn't look that way to me."

"How can I be ready, yesterday I was walking around in trousers!"

"So was I," shrugged the doctor.

"But you don't understand," I was close to tears, no one seemed able to understand what I was trying to say.

"Help me to then," she tossed back to me.

"It's all been so sudden.."

"Has it, you've been taking hormones for how long, eight months.."

"You know what I mean," I countered.

"Do I?" she threw back at me.

"I need time to prepare," I protested.

"Why, how long does it take you to get dressed?"

"I don't mean that, I mean for my transition."

"Looks to me like you've started."

"You know what I mean."

"No I don't Cathy, but let me tell you what I think you mean. I think you are frightened because things have happened beyond your control and you have become scared that you won't get control again. It's an illusion, we none of us have any control over our lives until we let go and find that we control everything."

I glazed over as she got all existentialist on me and shook my head.

"I see a very attractive woman sitting opposite me but what I'm hearing is a whining boy who thinks he wants to be a woman but is shit scared of taking the plunge. So he puts all sorts of obstacles in his path to stop it happening. Yesterday and to some extent today, something very Jungian happened.."

By now I felt very defensive, how dare she speak to me like this, calling me scared or cowardly?

"He, Jung that is, suggested that when internal issues are unresolved the universe externalises them to force you to resolve them."

"I didn't know you were into Jung," I gasped.

"I'm not, he was a total flake, but it sums up your position beautifully."

"What about this being found sexually attractive by men?"

"Enjoy it like most women do, or wish they could."

"What? But wouldn't that be having homosexual relationships?" I was horrified.

"It depends upon how you saw yourself and how your partner saw you. So the answer is yes and no. He might see you as a desirable female but you see yourself as male, so technically he's having hetero sex and you're having a gay old time."

"Do you see yourself as male?" she asked.

"Course not, but I still have the dangly bits," I blushed as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

"Only for about another year or so, depending upon whether you actually start your transition now or not, and what the waiting times for surgery are when you qualify for referral after a year's life test."

"I erm..um, erm I, erm." I panicked and seemed unable to speak.

Dr Thomas signed a piece of paper and gave it to me. I looked at it.

'To whom it may concern,
The bearer of this certificate is a male to female transsexual patient attending this hospital. She is currently undergoing assessment for gender reassignment and thus needs to integrate as female. Your cooperation is appreciated.

"This implies I'm doing my real life test?" I gulped.

"It does, and you are."

"Don't I get a say in this?" I whined.

"You did."

"What do you mean?"

"You called me a couple or more hours ago. Instead of going home and changing into your best skirt, which incidentally looks very smart, you could have changed into the grungy things you usually turn up in."

"But I thought I'd better show you how far I'd got in my preparation."

"Far enough I'd say."

"But I'm not ready," I whined.

"You never will be, so your unconscious took control and here you are, the real McCoy."

"What do you mean, never will be ready?"

"If we left it to you, I'd still be waiting for you to take the plunge when I retired, which incidentally is not for at least another thirty years. You were too scared. So somebody else made the decision for you. Useful bit of synchronicity, if you believe all that crap Jung wrote."

"So that's it then?" I said defeatedly.

"It's the end of one part of your life, you can expect to feel a sense of loss, it's what is after all familiar to you. However, it's also the start of a brave new world, and that world is your oyster. Get out there and have some fun before you get too old to remember how to do it."

"So you're not going to stop me?"

"Stop you doing what?" she looked aghast at me.

"Doing this," I pointed to the clothes.

"Why should I?" she asked bemused.

"Because I'm crazy."

"Oh we're back to that old chestnut are we. You were depressed and anxious and desperate. You made an attempt at suicide to ease your distress. In the circumstances understandable. Since seeing what was going on and a bit of medication which you no longer need or take, you are dealing with the core problem, your gender dysphoria. You are neither crazy nor stupid, scared maybe, but nothing else."

"You keep accusing me of being scared," I pouted, "doesn't coming here like this, count for anything?"

"Okay, it's very brave of you, if you're so brave why do you keep protesting you're unready?"

"Because I..um, I'm scared." I looked at the floor and felt the tears well up inside me. "I'm scared," I repeated to myself still looking at the floor. Then I watched the wet spots fall on to the carpet.

"Cathy, Cathy look at me," came the gentle but firm voice, "It's okay to feel scared, it's a big scary world out there especially for a new girl on the block, but it's what you have been telling me you wanted since you were a kid. Embrace the fear, it's part of being alive and life is all about risk. Go and enjoy yourself, be yourself, your true self."

I sat and watched her mouth moving but I wasn't sure about the words she was saying. I was shocked, I had no one to help me resist what everyone else was wanting me to do, she was the same as all the rest. I knew I wasn't ready, and yes I was scared, but only because I wasn't ready.

"Look Cathy, I have to go on to a meeting, give me a call if you get stuck or have too many problems, though I don't see why you should. Enjoy your date with, Simon, wasn't it? Make an appointment to see me next week and we'll review your progress. Oh, and if I were you, I'd pop into the ladies and sort your mascara. Take care."

She held open the door for me and I staggered out like a condemned man. I found the loos and wiped off my mascara and in a sort of stupor wandered home.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 32.

James Bond was on the telly but I wasn't watching it. I was sat nursing my misery and a cup of instant soup. I had seriously thought of killing myself with an overdose, but it was the last of the chicken and vegetable left. The irony of 'chicken' wasn't lost on me.

So I was officially a coward, it would say so on my medical notes - wonder if they just glued in some white feathers, rather than writing it. I was sort of ashamed of myself for being such a wimp but probably more angry with others for not understanding me. Yes they were offering me things on a plate, but shouldn't it be my decision not someone else's no matter how well meaning they were.

It was so bloody stupid, I could see that, to be arguing about the colour of the menu when the food on offer was all my favourites, so to speak. But it really rankled with me.

Then I had the problem of talking to my parents. I ran through the evening when the matter was raised for the first and only time. I had been staying at home for a weekend and was rather listless. I had taken some embroidery home with me, having been teaching myself how to cross stitch from a book and from the instructions in a kit thing I bought. It was all quite small and fitted in a small bag, and it was something I could do in my room when I went to bed, especially if I couldn't sleep.

My Dad, is a man's man, whatever that means. Personally, I suspect it means insensitive, homophobic arsehole. He often made anti gay remarks if someone who looked camp appeared on the telly, and I remember him railing on and on about a pair of gays he saw in a pub one night. I had to go to bed before I said something.

Anyway on the night it all happened, I had been doing some embroidery and in rushing to hide it all before my mother saw it, managed to drop a couple of the silks on the bedroom floor. From the bed they weren't visible but they were from the doorway, and of course she saw them when she came in to ask if I wanted a cuppa.

"What's that?" she pointed at the floor.

"My shoe, I expect," I replied unaware of what she was on about.

"No, it looks like..." and she walked forward and picked up the little skein of silk, "..I thought so, an embroidery silk. How did that get there?"

"Dunno, maybe it apported here," I tried to act stupid.

"What is that?" she asked.

"You know when things are transported from another dimension or place, that Indian holy man, does it with ash all the time. Maybe my bedroom is a portal to another dimension."

"Don't be so silly Charlie, now where did it come from?"

"How do I know?" I huffed, "Honestly Mum, you'd think you had just found half a joint."

"What has a cut of meat got to do with anything?"

"Not that sort of joint, a spliff, you know pot or dope." I rolled my eyes in disbelief, surely she had heard the expression, it appeared she hadn't.

"You mean marijuana or whatever you call it?"

At last daylight, "Yes, what did you think I meant?"

"I didn't know what you meant, since you went off to college you've been a different boy."

"Boy, I'm nearly twenty two Mum, in case it passed your notice."

"So where did this come from, it isn't a girlfriend's because I know you haven't got one. You worry me to death, you're not gay are you, because I heard about these weird parties at universities?"

"No, Mother, I am not gay." I felt indignant as well as undecided, I didn't know what I was except a girl inside.

"Your father wouldn't like it if you were."

"Who cares what he likes?" I said as a throw away and regretted it as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

"Oh, how can you be ungrateful, he paid quite a lot of money to help you through university for your bachelor's degree."

"I'm not ungrateful, but it's not as if he's exactly short of money is it?"

"He's got a good job," she agreed.

"For a homophobic moron," I muttered.

"That's unfair, he just thinks it's wrong for two men or two women for that matter, to be together. It says so in The Bible."

"I don't think there's any mention of lezzies in The Bible," I corrected, "but it also says, 'Jesus wept' and he'd never met Dad."

"That is both blasphemous and disrespectful of Jesus and your father."

"What are you on about? How can you be disrespectful of some old Jew who died two thousand years ago, if he ever lived in the first place."

"Charlie, may God forgive you, of course he lived, it says so in The Bible, and Reverend Peabody believes in him, and he's nobody's fool."

"That silly old fart, honestly Mum, he's a senile old git who wouldn't know Jesus if he gave him communion on sunday." The image of that happening almost made me laugh out loud.

"Just because you have a degree doesn't mean you know everything, Mr Peabody has an MA from Oxford, which I'm sure is better than a bachelor's from Sussex."

"Shows how much you know, they used to sell them at Oxford and Cambridge once you got a BA. Mine's a science degree, worth two of his. I had to work for mine, not just punt down the fucking Thames." I blushed, I never swore in front of my mother.

"How dare you use language like that in front of me? I shall tell your father."

I hung my head sheepishly, she was right, I shouldn't have sworn. "I'm sorry Mum, I got carried away."

"Too late Charlie, I shall tell your father. Now where did this come from and I want the truth this time?"

"Okay, it's mine. I've been teaching myself to sew, okay? It's no big deal."

"This is embroidery thread."

"So?"

"You don't normally sew with embroidery silk."

"I do, okay?"

"Charlie, I can see you're lying, what are you embroidering?"

"All bloody right, this, I'm embroidering this, okay?" and I pulled out the sampler and threw it at her.

"Your grandmother made one of these."

"Whoopee, did you tell her father?"

"I've had about as much of your cheek as I can stand," with that she turned abruptly and left my room, shutting the door not too quietly. She still had my sewing.

I heard words down below and knew that before long my father would be up ranting and raving at me. It took half an hour, longer than usual.

"Right young man, or should I say young lady?" he spat throwing my cross stitch on the bed.

"Please yourself," I said back.

It was the wrong thing to say and he walked over and picked me up by the collar of the shirt I had on and half strangling me, pushed me against the wall.

"Who do you think you are talking to?"

"A big bully, that's who!" I managed to croak before he almost completed the asphyxiation, and dropped me on the bedroom floor.

"What sort of unnatural creature have we raised?"

"What are you on about?" I croaked, peering up at him through watering eyes.

"You're supposed to be a man, not some bloody nancy-boy who does sewing when she's not playing with her dollies."

This was a reference to the fact that I had several 'Action Man' toys which I played with when I was about twelve or thirteen. I just used to dress them up and carry them around, he called me, "a sissy" and never forgave me. I still had them until I went off to uni, when they all mysteriously disappeared.

"It's better than beating people up."

"At least real men do that!" he glared at me.

"Yeah fucking Neanderthals!" I sneered back and he delivered the first kick.

The beating went on for some little while, it had been years since he'd given me one so thorough but I had managed to keep my face from damage.

"You bloody big queer!" he spat at me.

"I'm not," I protested tasting blood, so I must have bitten my lip.

"What are you then, nancy-boy?"

"If you must know, I'm gender dysphoric."

"Gender what? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I have a female brain in a male body."

"I have female brain in a male body, I need a sex change doctor," he mimicked and ad libbed in a falsetto voice. Then his whole face turned as dark as thunder and he said in his normal voice," I'll give you a sex change," and kicked me hard in the groin. I passed out with the pain.

I left there that night, and had not been home since. It took days for me to get over the beating and it would possibly take a lifetime to forgive my father. At the same time I wanted to please him and part of the cycling thing was to achieve something physical just to prove I wasn't a girly-boy. However, I was and the cycling club, or more correctly the men's cycling team, rejected me for being too slow and girly on hills.It was after that I got the Scott and the serious leg muscles.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 33.

I reflected on the beating my father had given me, it was one of many such reflections. I hadn't hit anyone since primary school, when Mary Smith took the doll I was playing with, so I decked her. In the jungle that was primary school it seemed much more acceptable besides she got her own back after I pulled the wheels off her pram, she whacked me over the head with a toy guitar. I think I still have a small scar somewhere near my crown.

I enjoyed school so much I used to truant at every opportunity until one of my form masters discovered although I was small and weedy, I had a brain. With his encouragement I began to get more interested and show what I could do.

I was easy meat for the predatory bullies and quite regularly got punched and kicked, so much so that I began to stop feeling it, almost as if I could detach from my body and it was someone else who was getting pasted. Despite the number of times I got duffed, I never gave in and eventually they got fed up with a punch bag who wouldn't scream for mercy or do what they wanted me to, so in the end I won and they left me alone.

At home, my education caused more trouble with my parents, we would argue over politics and religion. I believed that my education gave me a freedom to think that they had missed out on, they believed what they were told to. As a teenager, with everything in black and white, we had trememdous rows but usually I would apologise to keep the peace and plan to escape as soon as I could.

In lots of ways my parents were good to me, they were strict but I wanted for little in a material sense and they were pleased when I got accepted to do biology at Sussex, I was the first to go to university from my family and they were proud of me.

Maybe I did change, I matured in some ways and certainly academically I blossomed, I got a first in Zoology and was tipped to go on to do a doctorate. However, while I liked Sussex, I wanted to explore things a bit more. My nascent transsexualism was beginning to emerge from its chrysalis and although Brighton wasn't too far away, where almost anything goes - the sort of San Francisco of Southern England, only we have the Royal Pavillion rather than the Golden Gate - I didn't think I would be able to do anything about it until after I got myself a job somewhere either teaching in a university or perhaps a researcher in a laboratory.

I'd seen an article in 'Nature' by Professor Agnew about squirrel biology, he did a lot of work on red squirrels on Brownsea Island and the Isle of Wight. It caught my imagination and I emailed him my impressions of his work. To my astonishment, he asked me come and see him and then offered me a place to study dormice at Portsmouth University. No we don't have them there, well only a few in a captive breeding programme, but we do have them around places in the South of England and although secretive and hard to find, I became something of an expert on them. So here I am in Portsmouth, wondering what the hell to do with my life.

Bristol were sounding interested in my small mammal work, they have one of the foremost experts on foxes and badgers in the country if not the world, but I came from Bristol and it had too many past associations. Besides, what if I did transition, who would want me then? Prof Agnew said he would but maybe he was just being nice to me, he knows a bit about my history and is a friend of Dr Thomas. I did give her permission to discuss my case with him, I suppose at the time I needed a father figure for reasons I have already mentioned, or she thought I did. He certainly helped.

It makes me smile that whenever I seem stuck in the present with a dilemma or awkward decision to make, my mind wanders down memory lane as if it's delaying me having to deal with the pressing problem. It was certainly happening now.

The train of thought started with wondering how I would tell my parents that I was going to live as a girl. I still didn't know and I suppose because contact was minimal at the present, I didn't need to for the moment. If I didn't make the change, then I wouldn't have to tell them anyway. It was one reason for not doing it.

I made some tea and sat at the small table in my room with a sheet of paper. I drew a line down the middle and put a plus or a minus sign at the top of each column. Then for the next three hours, I tried to make an objective analysis of whether it was a good idea to change over or not.

Of course I could find far more negatives, but then we always do when we are analysing ourselves, it's one of the reasons there are so many psychiatrists. Our self esteem is usually in negative equity, unless you are a dangerous egomaniac or a half-wit.

I was desperately trying to think of some more positives to make it at least seem as if I had tried to be fair, when there was a knocking on my door. I dropped the pen in shock - who could be calling on me at this hour, it was eight thirty?

I thought about ignoring it, but it knocked again. I thought I'd better open it although I was shaking as I approached the door. I opened it a few inches, Big Mac turned around and looked at me.

"Hi Miss Watts, a few of us are going down the pub or the Union and wondered if maybe you'd like to come with us?"

I nearly fell over. In just about twenty four hours, I had three men wanting me to go out with them. Two days ago, the most response I'd have got from him was a grunt. I was completely thrown by the change in fortunes.

"I erm don't know, I'm looking over my brother's notes and things and was planning an early night."

"C'mon," a bit of relaxation would do you good and we'll have you back here by eleven, how's that?"

"Who's we, exactly?" I asked, ignoring all the warning lights that were flashing in my head.

"Me, Tiger, Colin then there's Tiff and Sally, oh and Bazza and his girl, what's her name?" he called to the group behind him. "Jessica" came back, "Yeah, I always forget Jessica, dunno why."

"Maybe you'll forget mine too," I said smiling, although it was a polite rather than sincere one.

"If you tell me, I promise to remember for ever," he grinned back at me.

I knew he'd find out within a couple of days anyway, so I decided I'd put him out of his misery. I know it's a mistake, we should always keep them guessing, but I am new to this business. "Cathy, Cathy Watts."

"Mine's really Heathcliff," he joked and behind him several falsetto voices did a dreadful impression of Kate Bush.

"I presume you've read one ..."

"..Book, I've read many," he interrupted.

"I was going to say, CD label." I threw back at him.

"Oh Cathy, you have cut me to the core," he groaned, his knees buckling in mock agony. "You'll have to revive me with your gracious presence at the pub, or I shall die as tragically as he does in the book. Will you come knocking my window each night?"

Maybe I had underestimated him, he had read, 'Wuthering Heights' after all.

"Knocking your window, I think not," I said, shaking my head.

"Come on down the pub," he implored. The cry was echoed from the group behind him.

"I'm hardly dressed for going out," I said.

"You look fine to me, so come on, have some fun, you can work tomorrow."

Why didn't I say no, any sane person would have done so. Maybe I just needed to stop thinking and just be, like the saying, "Men do, women are." Instead I said, "Give me two minutes to brush my hair," and shut my door.

My heart was beating nineteen to the dozen, I kept telling myself that it was a huge mistake, but beginners always make lots of those. I prayed they would all be little ones. I brushed my hair, redid my lippy and grabbing my jacket, opened the door to shouts of hooray.

The continuing saga of the perils of transitioning, boys and drink.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 34.

I went out into the street with Big Mac and the others, some of whom were fooling around or joking, there was a sort of party atmosphere which was unusual for a thursday night.

Mac kept wanting to put his arm around me, and I was unhappy with this, he had no rights of ownership to me, I was one of the group not his girlfriend. It didn't stop him however, even though at one point I actually said, "Please don't."

I know boys try it on and attempt to push boundaries from infancy onwards, whereas girls are less encouraged to do so. Despite being raised as a boy, I wasn't as adventurous as I might have been perhaps because much of my life had been busy with reinforcing my boundaries. I wasn't pushy with others, but neither did I let them push me around. So I got lots of hidings, but kept my inner self secure and my integrity intact.

Mac tried to put his arm around my waist and I spun away from him, "Please," I said, indicating I didn't want arms all over me.

"C'mon girl, lighten up a little," the others weren't exactly egging him on, but he presumably felt a need to put on a show in front of his peers.

I had very different criteria for my behaviour, survival being uppermost. "I think I've changed my mind," I said.

"What about?" asked Mac completely perplexed.

"I want to go back," I said.

"But we haven't got there yet, c'mon it'll be fun."

"No, I've changed my mind, I'm going back." I turned to walk back to my room and he grabbed my hand. I froze and began to shake, all sorts of things ran through my mind, none of them pleasant.

"Hey c'mon girl," he said holding my hand.

I turned back towards him and glared at him, "Let go of me this instant, do you hear me?" I could feel my anger rising, driving away the fear, my voice was also rising and attracting the attention not only of his friends but of other passers-by.

There was a hiatus of embarrassed silence and with a look of contempt he let go of my hand as if it were contaminated, "Bloody well go back then, see if I care. You're as stuck up as that dickless brother of yours."

"At least he thinks with his brain not his testicles," I retorted and walked quickly away from the group. The silence continued for a few more seconds before a nervous sort of laughter took over.

I was still trembling and now felt cold, although it wasn't a particularly cool evening. I wanted a hot drink and perhaps something a bit stronger. Near our house is a local corner shop which seems to be open all sorts of hours, okay it can't compete with the big supermarkets and their 'open 24' policies, but it does do well on a sunday when they have to close at four pm and it somehow doesn't.

I popped in the shop and bought a small bottle of Bacardi and one of cola. The young Asian man, looked hard at me, "You seem familiar," he said.

"I have a brother who was a student here until recently," I lied, it was disturbing how easily I could do it.

"Ah that must be it," he said without sounding entirely convinced.

"He fell off his bike recently and had to go home." I continued the fabrication, trying to keep it to half truths, "we're twins," I added superfluously, as liars often do.

"Ah yes, the bike rider. Do you ride as well?"

"The whole family does," I said casually as if every family should. It wasn't true either, in fact I don't think my mother ever sat on a bicycle in her life.

"So how come you are here now and he isn't?" asked the sparkling eyed young man.

My stomach did its now customary series of somersaults, back flips and piked dives before my heart, which had vaulted into my throat, fell into the void below.

"He was doing some research and they need it finished, it so happens I'm interested in a similar field," my brain was saying, 'shut up before you hang yourself,' but my ears weren't turned on.

"That's a useful coincidence," said the shop-keeper.

"It is for me, I get to earn some money," I said smiling. This was total fiction, I earned nothing at all, the university did if the government used my research.

"So is he badly injured?" asked the man.

"His bike ride cost him an arm and a leg," I smiled back, "two fractures," I indicated the right side of my body. "Got knocked off by a car."

The man nodded, "You cyclists are very vulnerable to cars, but it is good exercise."

"It is, I must go," I said, "I have some more notes to read and put in order."

"I hope your brother is soon better."

"Thank you, I'm sure he'll be back again before too long." As I left there, I realised that I had now given away information which could be used against me and my lies could also complicate matters.

If I turned up in that shop in my previous incarnation without plaster of Paris casts on my right arm and leg, the man would know I was lying. I wondered if he had seen through me anyway, I could, my cover was as flimsy as rice paper and less palatable. If he could, what about the others in my department? They'd smell a rat faster than a terrier. Why did I allow this to happen?

Feeling totally depressed, I trudged back to my room and I hoped safety. Once there I shut the door and chained it. I also decided to reinforce it with pole I'd made soon after I moved in. Basically, this was a piece of scaffolding with a block of wood on either end and some carpet tacked on to that. It wedged between the free edge of the door and the wall opposite it. A moment to use, they'd need heavy duty axes and time, or explosive to enter. It was one of my better ideas and gave me a sense of security when I was cross dressing, especially in my experimental days. Now of course I was an expert, having spent a whole day and a bit as a woman! I chuckled at my own arrogance and sat in my comfy chair with a glass and the drinks.

A few gulps and the glass was empty. A repetition and things were feeling warm and fuzzy. I looked at my chart again, I even added the little corner shop as a reason for staying as Cathy, but it was still woefully short compared to the list of negatives.

I was still wondering about it when my mobile rang. It was unexpected and made me jump. I fished it out of my bag and saw it was Dr Thomas.

"Hello," I said

"Hi Cathy, how are you doing?"

"I'm okay thanks," I said, thinking, why is she calling me?

"Sorry, you seemed upset when you left and I had to dash off to this meeting, so I didn't have time to complete things as I'd have liked."

"It's okay," I said.

"Have you been drinking?"

My blood ran cold, how could she know? "Just a little, why?"

"I hope you're not drowning your sorrows."

"No, why should I?"

"You were upset earlier, did I challenge you too much?"

"Dr Thomas, you are the most wunnerful person I know, (hic)."

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Course I am, besides, I don't make deshisions about my life do I, it's all done for me?"

"Can you come and see me tomorrow?"

"I dunno doctor, if somebody tells me to, I could I shuppose."

"I want you at my rooms at eight, tomorrow morning, can you do that?"

"Oooh, I dunno doc, it's a bit early for a vegetable." The gas from the cola rumbled noisily up my gut emerging as a burp. "Oops! Shorry 'bout that."

"Cathy, please be there."

"If you shay sho. I always do what other people tell me to."

"Thanks, take care now girl."

"I'll try t...whoops, I dropped my glass, ha ha it ran all over my notes, aw what a pity, ha ha."

"Bye doc, ha ha."

I finished the bottle of rum and the cola and fell onto the bed still clad in the skirt and top, and my shoes on my feet. I awoke with some bangings on my door, but chose to ignore them. They eventually stopped having woken me up completely. I glanced at my watch, it was two in the morning. The bastards!

I sat up and the room began to spin - not a good sign, staggering to the toilet I just made it before the first wave of sickness assailed me. Sadly I hadn't got the lid up so it went all over the place.

By the second 'huey' it was up and I aimed the contents of my stomach a bit better. I stared with watery eyes into the maelstrom which had been in my gut moments earlier. The butterflies must have sunk, 'cos I couldn't see any in the mixture of lumps of diced carrot and tomato that always float on the top.

I knew better than to drink, I had a metabolism which tolerated only zero amounts of booze, how I'd survived the night before with Simon was nothing short of miraculous although it was with a dinner, and I was drinking slowly.

I stood up and noticed I had puke all down the front of the skirt and began to cry. It just about summed up my life.

As you puke - so you clean it up, hangovers don't help the cognitive processes!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 35.

It was now nearly two thirty in the morning, my head was pounding as I bent over to clear up the sick - doesn't it stink? How come we don't smell so strong with all this stuff floating around inside us? My room was likely to stink for weeks, I resolved to get some strong disinfectant when I went out.

I stripped off the skirt and top and washed them in Fairy Liquid, well it always got the dishes clean, and left them to drip in the shower. I hoped the mark would come out. Doing things had stopped me feeling sorry for myself, but sleep would have been better. At about three, I set the alarm clock for seven and hoped I would hear it.

I was riding away as fast as I could but Big Mac and the others were catching me on their powerful motorbikes. I was getting into such a state, my legs just wouldn't go fast enough. "C'mon catch the bloody queer," they were shouting and I pedalled as fast as I could, but it wasn't fast enough. Mac grabbed me as his motorbike came past and I felt myself falling.

I hit the ground with a bump and heard the sound of a bleeper, somebody had a bleeper. It continued to bleep and I realised I was lying on the floor by my bed, the alarm was beeping at me and my head ached. I rubbed my tired eyes and pulled myself up off the floor. If I was lucky, I'd had four or five hours sleep no wonder my head and eyes hurt. I walked into the bathroom, well shower room, and the smell of puke still lingered - just what I needed!

My dripping clothes I hung above the washbasin and I started the shower, its warmth and wet helped to ease my aching body, but not my head. I would take an aspirin with my coffee.

After drying and finding a clean pair of pants, the ones Stella had sent me I switched on my kettle and dried my hair. She had done a very good cut so even I could make it look respectable. Coffee and an aspirin were next. I put bread in the toaster while finding the bra to go with the pants, then donned the black tee and skirt she'd given me. I looked at the boots and although longing to wear them, thought better of it, then changed my mind and zipped them on.

I strutted about the room while eating my toast, probably scattering crumbs everywhere. The boots were awkward but not too uncomfortable. It was nearly seven forty five, "Shit!," I needed to get a move on, I told myself.

No time for makeup, but I did throw my mascara in my bag as well as my keys and purse, then a quick coat of lipstick, squirt of smellies and I went to the door. Taking down my door lock was harder than putting it up and I wasted precious minutes, when I got the door open, someone had scrawled, 'Frigid Fanny, The Ice Queen!'in felt tip on the door. I shook my head, but that wasn't a good idea. I banged the door shut hoping to wake them all up, but all it did was reverberate around my still aching head.

The boots were a mistake, I staggered and trotted towards the clinic, but I knew I was not only going to be late, but also foot sore assuming I didn't break an ankle as well. It was ten past when I got there, I was hot, bothered, sore and irritable. My head was still someone else's or maybe just somewhere else, but I was here. The reception wasn't open, so I by-passed it and went straight to Dr Thomas' room. I smoothed my hair, my skirt, licked my teeth in case any lipstick had marked them and took a deep breath - then knocked.

"Yes," called a familiar voice and I entered.

"Hello Cathy, I'm surprised you're only ten minutes late and you don't look like the 'morning after'. Coffee?" She was pouring herself one and I gratefully accepted a cup.

"Crikey, you managed to walk here in those heels, 'you're a better man than I am Gunga Din'. She finished her Kipling quote and sat down. "So how's it going?"

"I'm still not sure about this," I said in between sips of coffee.

"Well if you can survive a hangover and still look tidy, you're doing okay."

"That's the easy bit," I offered.

"Yes but still important, if you look and sound the part, people will be less hard to convince that you are who you say you are."

"Yes I know, and I understand what you're saying but it's all happening too fast."

"A fact of life Cathy, we can prepare for ever and life still takes on its own momentum and direction. Those who survive best are those who are most adaptable and prepared to move with the change, go with the flow."

I nodded and sipped my coffee. We talked for another half an hour, and I told her about the flash back to my beating, she talked me through it and told me I was my own person able to do what I wanted, not others. We'd worked through it before and she was slightly concerned given my response to the original, but I assured her I wasn't going to kill myself over a memory.

I talked about how Mac had got me to go out and that I'd become annoyed at his possessiveness. She nodded and asked about the drink, I explained what had happened.

"So you actually told him where to go?" she asked.

"Yeah, I suppose I did."

"See you can make decisions." She gave me a warm smile and I felt much better.

"So when do you speak to Prof Agnew?"

"He told me to speak to him today."

"Have you decided what to say?"

"I don't know. I spent hours last night trying to work out what was best."

"And?"

"There was no clear answer."

"Listen to me, I want you to go inside yourself," she gave me a moment to relax and centre myself. "Go deep inside yourself and find your heart, tell me when you are with your heart."

I felt myself shrink into my body and I wandered about looking for my heart, which I found and indicated this to her.

"Now I want you to have a quick chat with your heart and ask it what it thinks you should do."

I looked at my heart and it became suffused with a lovely warm pink light, I asked the question and received a reply.

Then she sent me up to my mind and did the same. Here I met a white light and conversed with it.

Finally she bid me step outside my body and talk with myself, which I did. Once I indicated I had done all she asked me to, she bid me tell her the answers.

"What did your heart tell you?"

"To be true to myself."

"Good, and your mind?"

"To trust my own judgement."

"Excellent, now what did Cathy have to say?"

"She isn't going back in the wardrobe."

"Right," she chuckled, "So does that help you make your decision?"

"No it just confirms what I had already decided."

"Which was?"

"I'm going to see the Dean and ask to change my records." My stomach jumped and released a flock of giant condors, who soared and collided with the squadron of pigs that were already occupying the space. I felt quite sick.

"Oh Cathy, I am so pleased for you, I think you've made the right decision." She came over and hugged me, "I'm not supposed to touch patients, but this called for a congratulatory hug."

"I won't tell anyone," I said winking at her.

"It will be our little secret," she smiled and added, "Okay, well off you go but make an appointment to see me next week. Any problems, don't be afraid to call me."

I thanked her, and left feeling much better, and after visiting the loo where I freshened up my lipstick and put on some mascara, I left the clinic feeling that I wasn't at the mercy of Fate, I was marching to meet it head on. I hadn't felt this good for days.

Serial boredom for the beginner, easy reading.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 36.

I got to the admin offices of the university without realising that I had walked over a mile in the killer heels, mainly because I was floating on air, or my head was. I felt free and was revelling in the feeling although I knew enough about life to recognise its transience. Sooner or later I would hit the ground and the bump would probably hurt, what I needed now was to build up some padding to minimise the impact.

I called into Prof Agnew's office to see his secretary, she recognised me instantly and smiling asked if I wanted to leave a message as he was in a meeting, with the Dean.

Reality was catching up with my euphoria, it wasn't nice. More decisions! "Damn," I said, "I was going to see the Dean afterwards, not a lot of point if he's not there."

"You could make an appointment," she suggested.

"Yeah, I suppose, when is Prof Agnew free?"

"I meant with the Dean, would you like me to ring?"

"Oh," I blushed, "if it's not too much trouble?"

She shook her head and picked up the phone, "Hello, it's Mary from Prof Agnew's office. Oh I'm fine thanks and you, yes he's growing up just like his dad, how is your Nicky? Oh good, I'm glad she got the grades needed. Yes to business, I have one of our post grads needs to see the Dean quite urgently on a personal matter. Who? It's Cathy Watts, yes two pm, be prompt as you're squeezing her in as a favour. Okey dokey, that's fine, thanks Phyl."

"Sorry about the social gossip in the beginning, but if I sweet talk her she's putty. I hope the time is okay?"

I nodded almost in shock, how did she know my name?

"I hope I got the name right, it is Cathy, isn't it?"

I nodded still in shock, "How do you know?"

"Prof Agnew told me he had tea with you yesterday and said you might be calling in. I didn't recognise the name and although I didn't ask he noticed my puzzled look and told me. Don't worry, it's confidential as far as I'm concerned, but I respect you for your courage and hope it works out for you."

I was lost for words, okay, most of the time she was fine with me but could turn into a dragon in a moment. I hadn't expected the latter, because I was here on a personal matter of some delicacy, but I'm pleased and heartened by her open and tolerant manner.

"Thank you, you're very kind."

"Who me? Nah, I'm a grumpy old bat but I can respect someone who is prepared to risk everything to be themselves. Good on yer girl, anything we can do to help, you know the Prof always does as he's told." She kept a straight face and watched my look of amazement cover my whole face before she began to laugh.

I laughed too and hoped I'd made another ally, another useful one.

"So we're going with the line that you're your own sister? A bit risky isn't it, wouldn't it be better to tell the truth and have done with it?"

"I don't know, the story line seemed to occur when the Prof saw off some of the other students who were trying it on. I suspect if we had had more time, we would have gone with the truth." I shrugged my shoulders, feeling a bit queasy - all that bacon flying about in my gut, I supposed.

"So, to your appointment with the good professor."

"Oh yes please, I'd better tell him face to face," before I chicken.

"He wants you to see him at twelve thirty at this address."

"But this is a restaurant!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, I know, so does he believe it or not. He wants you to attend there at that time, oh and wear something tidy like you have now."

"He wants me to interrupt his lunch?" I gasped.

"No you silly girl, he wants you to have lunch with him," she broke into a broad smile and shook her head. "Mind you, he did say if a certain young man had turned up instead, they'd have had to buy their own. That's sexist, isn't it?"

My eyes bulged and I nearly fell over. I hoped he was just being kind and didn't have some other motive, but I had to see him anyway so I didn't have a lot of choice. At least I knew where the restaurant was, next door to Marks and Sparks, so I'd be able to find it.

"Twelve thirty, and two pm?" I checked with Mary.

"Yes and don't you be late for either or you'll meet the dragon next time!"

"I won't, you can be sure of that."

"Good, nice boots by the way."

"Erm thanks," I blundered my way back out to the street. Geez, what the hell was happening? I'll bet the Dean knows too, the Prof is being just a little premature, I could have jumped the other way last night. Then as I walked towards the town centre, I realised that I couldn't. You can only jump ship when it's in port, mine was steaming out to sea at full speed.

I caught the bus into town to save time and my feet. The boots were still just about comfortable but they wouldn't have been if I had walked much further.

I remembered Simon when we passed a Volvo at traffic lights, damn! I had nothing to wear, only this time it was true, my best togs were hanging up in my bathroom waiting to dry. I'd have to buy something else.

After alighting the bus and a visit to an ATM, I went off on a shopping trip. Really this was my first because what I'd done in London was so hesitant and I was so nervous, I must have looked like a trainee shoplifter.

I was nervous now, but I had a need and a purpose, it gave me some courage. I had a hundred pounds with me, all that I could spare for the moment. It would mean I would have to be careful in what I bought because it would be needed to fit in with what other clothes I had. This was real girl stuff and I didn't know if that made things better or worse.

It was about ten when I hit the shops, and by twelve I had tried on three skirts and four dresses, two suits, five pairs of shoes six tops and a partridge in a pear tree. I had bought a skirt suit in a lovely deep rose pink, a white top, and some black trousers. I also bought a pair of trainers and some flatties. I had one pound fifty left and that was only because most of the clothes I'd bought were half price or less in the sales. There were so many things I'd have loved to try on or even buy, but I ran out of cash.

When I thought about it, life had given me a better gift than all of those clothes put together, it had allowed me to feel normal for the first time in my existence, doing things a week ago that would have been beyond my wildest dreams. I wasn't complaining one iota.

More killer of serials stuff and nonsense. Officially the only uplifting thing is a bra - hope you can find one or two others as well!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 37b cup.

I strolled to the restaurant arriving at exactly twelve thirty, my feet were growing more tender by the moment and my back was aching. It seemed that real shopping made different demands upon my body than what I had previously experienced, I was aching all over. Clearly the answer was I needed to get into some more training, after all, one didn't actually need to buy anything to warrant trying it on.

I used to wonder what young women got up to when they went shopping nearly every weekend, especially as they had very little money to spend. But then shopping and purchasing are not necessarily the same and just looking at what's in the shops - it changes weekly, and trying things on can be fun, especially with a friend. I hoped I would be more successful in making friends as a girl, than I'd been as a boy.

I stepped into the restaurant and looked for Prof Agnew, he saw me and waved from a table in the corner. I wove my way between seats and tables, lifting my bags to avoid knocking diners on the head.

"Welcome Cathy, glad you could make it." He ushered me into a seat and taking my purchases off me, put them in a vacant chair alongside me, "Goodness, you have been busy. Would you like a drink to start?"

After my previous encounter with alcohol, I decided to stick with a mineral water and keep flushing my system. He had a pint of lager and after taking a good draught of it, he spoke again.

"So, you have decided?"

"I suppose I have," I answered feeling the nervousness return as things began to become official.

"To you Cathy, may your new life bring you much happiness and lots of research projects." He lifted his glass to me and winking took a sip. I felt so embarrassed, I wanted to crawl under the table. In my family it was wrong to want to be the centre of attention, so it pushed ancient buttons. However, part of me loved it.

We talked and he got loads of background information on me and my gender identity problem. When I told him about my father and the beatings, I saw him start to look angry and his fist clenched on the table.

"It didn't work, like they say, 'it beat one devil out and ten in' and I'm here as living proof."

The professor relaxed his hand and his face softened, "I'm glad, violence has no place in a cultured society, sadly those things which should lift us above such abominations, seem to encourage it." He was well known as an atheist and Darwinist and despised religious bigots and fundamentalists as much as Richard Dawkins from Oxford, whom he knew quite well.

I knew what he was referring to and part of me agreed with him. However, I sometimes liked to walk out at night and just look at the stars and ponder the distances between us and them, the numbers of them, and the age of the universe. It was awesome in the literal sense and it filled me with a sense of wonder. I felt so insignificant and small and the idea of something more than the laws of physics holding it all together, was comforting.

"I suggest you go and see the Dean, young lady and bring him up to speed on your change of lifestyle."

"I've already made an appointment to see him at two."

"We'd better order then," he called over a waiter and we chose our meals. I went for a chicken salad as I was supposed to be going out that evening, the professor had a curry.

"He's expecting you, I explained that one of my researchers was coming to see him about a personal matter and he'd better sort it out quickly and quietly."

I gasped in astonishment.

"We have known each other for a long time, old friends." He gave a beaming smile and shovelled in another load of rice.

"I need another answer from you today," he said in between bites.

"Eh?" I said intelligently, unaware I'd given him any.

"I have been successful in a grant award from the government and the EU for establishing a survey of mammals in England and Wales.I mean of course wild ones. Steve Harris at Bristol is sharing in the bounty and the workload, he's doing the larger ones foxes, badgers and deer, we are doing the smaller sort - rodents and rabbits, with a particular interest in dormice. I'm assembling a team over the next few months, would you like to play?"

The bit of chicken that was destined for my mouth fell off the fork and landed in a pile of mayonnaise, splattering me liberally with it. I didn't notice, I was in shock. I felt the colour drain from my face and I couldn't move.

"Cathy, Miss Dormouse, are you all right?"

I pulled out of my little trance and realised my impression of a goldfish was not endearing, except perhaps to another goldfish. "Yes, I'm erm fine."

"You seem to have sprayed mayonnaise on your jacket."

I looked down and nearly died, I was going to wear it this evening, maybe the universe was trying to tell me something? "Oh no!" I squeaked and began trying to wipe it off, making the marks even worse.

"Use the back of a knife," offered my cultured host. I did, it was more helpful, but I still had marks. I looked at my watch, if I slipped away in a few minutes, I could nip in the dry cleaners and still catch the bus back to uni.

As if reading my mind, he said, "There is a dry cleaners across the street, I think they do a four hour service, we'll drop it off in a few minutes and I'll give you a lift back to the university. But I'd like an answer to my earlier question, are you going to join my team?"

"I'd love to but I'm not even finished with my MSc yet, so how can you offer me a job?"

"The job could be offered to anyone with relevant qualifications, so your baccalaureate is sufficient for that, however, I've seen the draft of your dissertation and I think it good enough for the masters. This job could get you a doctorate."

"Wow!" I was speechless and my eyes filled with tears, my dad would be so proud of me - on second thoughts, maybe he wouldn't.

"Well?" he asked again.

"Yes please, I don't know what else to say."

"That will do for me. Shall we adjourn?" He got the bill and went to get his car while I trotted to the dry cleaners with all my bags. he met me outside with his Landrover.

As a cyclist, we tend to feel snotty about 4x4 drivers, gas guzzling roadhogs, but I tried to see him as using his car for his fieldwork and the fact that he did actually live in the country in an old farmhouse.

It felt cooler without my jacket, as one might expect and I felt a bit apprehensive about my meeting with the dean. I'd only met him once before and that took all of ten nanoseconds, as he shook my hand and welcomed me to the university, along with dozens of other students.

"You look worried?" he said as we neared the university.

"I am terrified," I said feeling the pig squadron scrambling.

"Why, he won't eat you?"

This reminded me of my first encounter with Simon and I wanted to laugh, nearly as much as I wanted to wee. "But it makes everything so official."

"Yes, but after that you can begin to move on, can't you?"

"I don't know, I don't know if I can do this," I kept saying to myself as I got out of his car. "God, I need to wee and quickly."

Continuing the challenge of raising everyone's boredom threshold!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Mark Twain.
part 38DD (my cup runneth over).

I rushed into the admin block and stopped, toilets, I needed toilets. I spotted the sign just in the nick of time, scurrying for the door before I made a mess and a fool of myself.

I dashed into the cubicle, nearly slipping on the tiles and dropped my purchases on the floor, pulled down my pants and sat on the loo. At least I'd remembered to do that rather than stand facing the porcelain. However, I had a slight physiological problem, little Percy was rigid and apart from the fact that I'd have peed over the seat, I couldn't pass anything anyway. My bladder was at bursting point and my willie was wonky, just what a girl needs, not!

I looked at my watch, it was two pm and I should be at the Dean's office, instead I'm stuck in the bog unable to pee. Oh shit, nah that's for another occasion.

Have you ever tried to relax when every cell in your body is squirting panic into your system and the adrenalin is flowing like the Amazon (the river not the bookshop). It isn't easy. I laid back against the cistern and closed my eyes trying to imagine I was somewhere safe near a waterfall. It was so difficult and not getting me anywhere. Then someone came in sat in the other cubicle and peed, then pulled the flush. At last running water, except it didn't help me. I was now starting to get a bit worried.

Whoever, the other user of the facility was, she washed her hands and the tap running set me off, at last I could relieve myself. Oh that was so sweet, a sweet pee I thought to myself and chuckled quietly to myself, although my eyes were watering from the pain of the earlier retention.

Five minutes later I was trying to apologise to the Dean's secretary for being late. "I'm sorry, I got held up," I explained.

"It looks like it," she said eyeing my shopping bags.

"No, that was earlier, I was stuck in the loo, a little personal problem." I offered.

"Oh," she said smiling, "Why didn't you say, do you get cramps with it?"

"No just pain," I replied realising what she thought I was talking about.

"He'll see you now, would you like to leave your bags out here?"

"Oh thank you," I said depositing them behind her desk. I tapped on the Dean's door and walked in.

"Good afternoon Miss Watts, how can I help?"

I apologised for my lateness and explained I'd got held up in the loo, he smiled politely and nodded. I then told him of my situation and how he might help.

"The university has a policy for promoting equality of all minority groups who ask for their assistance, we have dealt with one like your's before, so I foresee no problems from the administration. I'm not sure I like the idea that you pretend to be your own sister, as that is tantamount to deception."

"I think that was a spontaneous action by Prof Agnew, if we'd had time to plan, I don't think it would have happened." I explained.

"You realise that once we start this process and your records are changed, we will not agree to a reversal, you cannot change back. Please be absolutely sure this is what you want to do."

I sat completely still, the flying pigs were airborne again and I felt sick. It hadn't entered my mind that I might want to revert back, now it had just crept in by the back gate and the fear began to rise again. I could feel myself getting very hot.

"Miss Watts, would you like some more time to think about it, it is a big step to take?"

I sat dumbfounded, I could neither move nor speak. My mind was racing, what if I want to change back? How long would he give me to make up my mind? Would I have to return to boy's clothes in the interim? What would Prof Agnew say?

I felt like a juggler tossing all these balls in the air and in danger of dropping all of them. My stress index hit the roof and carried on climbing, I suspect it was closely pursued by my blood pressure.

"Miss Watts, are you all right?" he sounded concerned and far away. I began to swoon but managed to keep conscious. "Are you okay?" he asked coming over to me.

"Sorry, I've had a bit of tummy trouble, it made me feel a bit woozy. I'm okay now."

"Would you like some water?"

"No thanks, I'll be okay." I stood up on wobbly legs not helped by the heels on the boots. I needed to stand my ground here and not run away. This was probably the best chance I would ever have to pull this off, if I let it pass me by, it might never return. My head was swimming with the potentials for deciding either way, why do these things happen to me?

"I need to do this now Dr Andrews, and I'd be grateful for your help."

"Of course, I'll set things in motion. I'm not happy with the deception but maybe you can do something about that later."

"I shall speak to Prof Agnew about it at the first opportunity and get back to you."

"Good, I'll be in touch, I think you'll need to talk with the student health people, they'll need to know and it looks better if you see them before I write to them."

"Of course, I'll see them early next week, thank you for your help."

"Good. Well, good luck Miss Watts, I think you make a splendid looking woman." He held out his hand to shake and I took it in my much smaller one.

"Thank you," I said blushing.

By the time I left the admin block it was after three pm. I needed to collect my jacket from the cleaners and get home. I began to be aware of my feet and limped off to the bus stop. I sat on the single plank thing they offer as a seat and decided to change my shoes. I slipped on the flatties I bought earlier and my feet almost smiled they were so happy.

The sky was darkening and the air getting cooler. I was ill prepared for any rain and hoped it wouldn't happen until after I got home. I tried to send ESP messages to the rain gods, well aware they wouldn't listen anyway, but I felt I needed to get myself an alibi for when they pissed me off too much and I destroyed the universe. I sent these psychic threats up to the big black clouds and sneered at them to add menace to it.

I saw the bus drawing up and as it did so the heavens opened again, I jumped on board and paid my remaining cash for the fare into town. The journey was interesting, the streetlights came on it got so dark, the rain sluiced down and there were intermittent flashes and bangs. All we needed now was hail I thought, and the weather gods must have heard me, for it arrived moments later. 'Great,' I thought to myself.

The bus was nearly empty all the way to town, and I watched pedestrians scurrying for cover from the deluge. I was mindful of the fact that I would soon be doing the same, and in my current outfit would be soaked through to my underwear in a matter of seconds. It reminded me of the origins of my present situation, I hoped Stella wasn't driving anywhere too close.

In which Cathy braves the elements and Angharad ignores more rules of grammar(and grandad).

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Little Red Riding Hood.
part 39.7684306.

As we neared the town centre, I pressed the bell on the bus and moved towards the door. "You're gonna get soaked luv," said the driver.

"Probably," I said shrugging my shoulders, "It wasn't raining when I came out."

"Is that brolly still on the luggage rack?" he asked.

I stepped back and looked, "Yes," I replied.

"Might as well borrow it, it's been there all day."

"Won't the owner be looking for it?"

"Dunno, we get hundreds left on the buses every year, go on, borrow it, who's gonna tell?"

I thanked him and holding my bags in one hand grasped the umbrella in the other. The bus stopped and I dashed out, shouted a goodbye to the driver, and ran into a shop doorway. It took two hands to put up the umbrella, and one of the spokes was broken, but it was better than nothing and I wondered if I could repair it when I got home.

The rain eased off slightly and although it wasn't enough to save my feet and legs getting wet, the brolly protected my head and shoulders. I went to the bank again and drew out some more cash from the hole in the wall. While I was there, I popped inside and spoke to the assistant manager. I explained my situation and that I would be changing my name. She advised me to do a statutory declaration and then bring it into the bank with a proof of identity/ address and they'd alter my bank account. I thanked her and trotted over to the dry cleaners and collected my jacket.

I decided to walk back to my room, it wasn't necessarily the best decision I've ever made. To start with, I had too much to carry with the umbrella. So I was in constant danger of dropping things, mainly my jacket which had just cost me an arm and a leg to get cleaned. Next time, I'd have to stand closer to the trough and maybe I wouldn't get splashed with my food!

To try to take my mind off the horrible walk home, I began to plan what I needed to buy or acquire for my new lifestyle. As far as my fieldwork was concerned most of my existing stuff could be used. I'd worn girls' jeans for the past six or seven months and nobody seemed to have noticed. The outdoor gear was too expensive to replace and pretty well unisex anyway.

My cycling kit was ruined, at least the best stuff was, my Saunier Duval outfit had big tears in it. I shook my head in disbelief, how could it be ruined and why was I the loser it should be Stella? It seemed that it might prove to be the payment I had to make to begin my transition. If so, maybe I got away quite lightly.

As I wandered along, a car drew up alongside me and a familiar voice said, "Would you like a lift, Cathy?" It was Stella, I nearly jumped in shock, I had just been thinking about her and she appeared! If that was the case, I'd have to be careful where I thought about different people or it could prove embarrassing. Imagine bumping into my parents whilst out with the local coven - I'm not a witch anyway, but I sniggered at the very idea.

The choice was get wetter or risk life and limb with Stella's driving. I got in the car, my logic being it was harder for her to run me over if I was in the car. However, knowing Stella a little, I didn't put anything past her.

Somehow, I directed her back to my room without showing how terrified I was of her driving. How she hadn't killed someone yet was in itself, a minor miracle. I was glad I was going out with Simon that night rather than Stella, I might live long enough to eat my dinner.

"So am I going to see your rooms?" asked Stella with some excitement.

"Room," I corrected her. "It's essentially a bedsit with a separate bathroom."

"A bit like the nurses home when I was training, basic but adequate."

"Yeah, that about sums it up."

To my astonishment, we got home in one piece. I struggled out of the car with all my shopping, handbag and brolly whilst Stella went to the boot of her car. "Carry on, I'll catch you up," she called to me.

It was still raining a bit, so I did as she suggested, opening up my defaced door and putting my purchases on the floor. She followed moments later with a suitcase and dress bag draped over the other arm. Seeing my surprise, she shrugged and said, "I decided to clear out some of the things I don't want anymore, wondered if you'd like them."

I didn't say anything, I was too overwhelmed. I know she had nearly killed me and damaged my bike and my skins, but she had sort of made good the damage and had been more than a catalyst in causing me to break out of my rut.

"Let's see what you've bought then," she instructed and I obeyed with a degree of enthusiasm, showing off my purchases.

"You're getting the hang of this, aren't you?" she said with twinkling eyes.

"I would if I had the money," I said, the statement being more of a throw away than a fact.

"Get Simon to buy you some clothes, he can afford it."

"Oh no, he'd expect something in return and I can't deliver."

"That's his hard luck," she said and laughed.

"No that would be dishonest and I'd prefer to buy my own."

"More fool you then." She began to undo the suitcase and pulled out a pile of clothes, plus another handbag. There was a suit, a couple of skirts, some jeans, two blouses and a top, and a beautiful floral dress which I loved at first sight.

"Are you sure about all this?" I asked unused to such bounty.

"Course, what you don't want dump or take to the charity shop."

"Can't I give you something for them, some look pretty well brand new."

"No, don't be silly, I'd rather give them to you than the charity shops at least I know you'll appreciate them and you have a need for some extra clothes."

"I just love that dress," I said almost drooling over it.

"Yeah, I did when I bought it, but it never felt right on me for some reason, try it on, let's have a look."

Before she could change her mind, I had stripped off and was carefully draping the dress over my body. It was purple floral pattern with ties which came from under the bodice and were to be tied behind. The neck was a vee one and showed a little of my cleavage or would if I had one.

"Wow Cathy, it looks better on you than it did on me, a better bra and some booster pads and it would look even better."

I did a twirl and felt really good in the silky material. I had decided what I would wear tonight, all I needed was to get Stella to show me some make up techniques.

"I thought your bike was in for repair?" she said to me.

"It is, that's one Simon persuaded the shop to loan me while they repair mine."

"Gosh, how do you manage to pull the brakes, they seem very stiff and too big for my hands."

"I need to adjust them, they're too big for mine as well."

Stella held up her hand and we compared them for size, they were about the same. She smiled at me, "Your hands are far too small to be a bloke, I think my bumping into you was a good thing."

Who was I to argue?

More trouble for the author as she struggles with her colon and the odd comma!

As for the story, if you haven't got the gist of it by now, take up long distance knitting.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad and Phyl O'san.
part 40! (I knew I shoulda done the blog instead).

"What time is Simon collecting you?"

"He said seven thirty," I replied still swishing about in the dress.

"It's nearly five, why don't you have a shower and wash your hair and I'll make us a cuppa." I showed her where everything was kept. "Cathy, I know it's a nice dress, but you'll need to take it off before you shower."

I took her gentle chiding in good part and relinquished the dress. Within fifteen minutes I was back from my shower and sat in my bra and pants waiting for her to play about with my hair. She produced some rollers and showed me how to put in the first then made me do the next. It took me about five goes but I got it eventually. The next one was equally fiddly but by the third, I was beginning to get the hang of it. I suppose it took about an hour before we had them all in, then it was make up time.

Essentially she did one side of my face while I copied the other. I did point out I could end up with two right eyes, at which she laughed. However, she was a good teacher and I learned more about blending and high lighting in half an hour than I could in a month from a book. I looked and felt quite good.

I spritzed myself with Chanel 5 and slipped on the dress, I thought I was as perfect as I could get, but Stella pointed out that I would look even better with the bust enhancing pads, they helped make mountains out of my molehills. Judging from Simon's previous remarks about me being small breasted, I knew that he would realise that I had either been rubbing them with fertiliser all day or had used some artificial boosters. When I told this to Stella she nearly choked with laughter.

"The cheek of it, saying you had small boobs! Huh, then I suppose being a bit of a tit, he ought to know." We laughed some more at her remark and there was a danger I was going to smudge my mascara from the tears of laughter.

"I don't think I'd better tell him that," I said still chuckling.

"Why not, I do it all the time," she retorted.

"I don't fancy walking home from wherever he takes me," I said before the giggles got to me. We were both helpless with laughter like two overgrown schoolgirls.

"I think we'd better do your hair," she said and I sat down, then the hiccups started. It was something I hadn't had happen since I was in junior school. Of course it made her laugh even more.

She persevered with my hair, although my frequent little jumps made her laugh each time.

"I can't (hic) go out like th(hic)is," I wailed.

"Why not? I think it's quite cute."

"I just (hic) can't. Oh, what am I (hic) going to do?

"I wouldn't worry, he knows you're a boy, so why worry?"

"What!" I squeaked, "He knows, why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did."

"Oh Stella, I can't go out with him if he knows." I felt absolutely gutted.

"What difference does it make?"

"All the difference, he'll treat me differently. Oh why didn't you tell me earlier?" I began to sniff and knew the tears weren't far away.

"It's okay, he doesn't know, all right?"

"But you just said he did,"

"I lied, but it got rid of your hiccups, didn't it?"

"You sly cow!" I said then began to chuckle.

"Am I forgiven?"

"Of course. I feel almost as if you were my big sister."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said smiling before she resorted to chemical warfare and sprayed lacquer all over my head. It made me cough.
"You're supposed to keep your mouth shut," she joked.

"I'll taste that all night," I grumbled. As a reply she stuck her tongue out at me. So I reciprocated.

"What shoes are you going to wear?"

It suddenly struck me that I hadn't actually got that far in my thinking. "Erm, I hadn't really thought about that," I confessed.

"What have you got?"

I showed her my meagre collection. I know lots of people in my situation would have dozens of pairs, but I didn't. I had two pairs which were unsuitable, wrong colour and too casual. My recent purchases weren't any help either.

"Oh dear," she said, "Looks like the boots then."

"Oh yes," I said, "I'd forgotten those."

I slipped them on and she shook her head, "No they're too heavy for a silky dress."

"Oh Stella, what am I going to do?" I felt my little world was about to collapse again.

"Well you could wear something else and the boots, or your other shoes."

"But this dress is so lovely I can't bear to take it off," I sighed, feeling bereft.

"There is one other thing," suggested my mentor.

"What's that, anything?" My spirits began to lift even though I knew they could be dashed again.

She dug about in her bag again and pulled out a smaller plastic bag. "I brought these over because they are bit too big for me and I don't want them anymore anyway." She opened the bag and handed me a pair of black peep-toe sling back shoes. "They might just fit you."

I gratefully took the shoes which were hardly marked on the soles, the three inch heels would mean I wouldn't want to walk too far in them, then I thought about how far I'd managed in the boots and decided I'd cope with that if they fitted me otherwise.

"Come here," she said wresting them off me and helped me slip the first on to my left foot, which is slightly larger than the right. I felt like Cinderella. It went on okay, so did the second. The moment of truth came with me standing on them and walking about my room.

I rose with bated breath and stepped across the room. They felt absolutely fine, however, given her prank earlier I began to limp and sat down quickly.

"What's wrong?" she asked concern showing right across her face, "They looked perfect, what happened?"

I sat still for a moment rubbing my toes through the shoes. She looked puzzled until I started to laugh. "You bitch!" she shrieked at me and threw the plastic bag at me.

It was now after seven and Stella decided she didn't want Simon to know she'd helped me, "Let him think you know all about making yourself beautiful."

"I know a little more than I did earlier, thank you so much Stella."

"S'okay, have a good night, order the dearest thing on the menu." We embraced and air kissed, then she left. "What's this on the door?" she asked.

"My neighbours I think, they think I'm a bit aloof and snotty."

"Well if they're like that, it wouldn't be too hard to feel superior," was her parting shot.

I spent the next quarter of an hour hanging up my new clothes and placing those I was possibly not going to need any longer in a bag. Then it was time to make a final check and after collecting my handbag and door key I went out to meet Simon.

In which Cathy gets a plateful and Simon gets the bill.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Rin Tin Tin.
part 41.

I staggered out on the heels and saw Simon's car drawing up at the roadside. He leant over and opened the door. "My God," he said looking at his watch, "pretty and punctual. Are you sure you're a woman?"

My stomach jumped from where it usually resides up to my throat via my sinuses, or that's what it felt like. "Do you think I'm not?" I asked cautiously.

"Think you're not what?" he asked as he drove away.

"A woman?"

"What are you on about, if I didn't think you were female you wouldn't be here now, would you?"

"Well you seemed to imply because I was on time that I....."

"Oh for Pete's sake, why do you women do this to me every time. It was a joke, next time I'll give you advanced notice, all right?" He shook his head as we drove along.

I sat quietly with my hands demurely in my lap, I almost felt like asking him to take me back home, but I thought he was cross enough already. I should have ignored his remark, it looked as though I had a lot to learn.

He didn't speak to me for several minutes, then he said, "Look I'm sorry I snapped at you. I don't know why girls can't seem to take jokes as well as blokes do, but they always seem to backfire on me. I didn't mean to be grumpy but it's been a tough day, my bank lost a few million and no matter how clever I am, I couldn't get it all back for them."

"A few million?" I gasped, it was a sum beyond my comprehension and in some ways I was quite happy to keep it that way.

"Yeah somebody in Paris caused a run on the pound, so our shares dropped and so did our profits."

"Oh," I said. As far as this was concerned I was a total bimbo, if we got into rat embryos or the breeding habits of harvest mice, then I felt I could contribute to the conversation, otherwise it was a question of keeping him talking about himself.

"Did you collect that bike afterwards,"

"The litespeed, yes that afternoon."

"What sort of ride is it?"

That he could ask an intelligent question about bikes showed that he had some experience of them. It was a little encouraging, although part of me knew there was no future in the relationship because he would eventually want something I couldn't give him, and of course if and when he found out that would be the end. I tried not to think that far ahead, just go with the day.

I wondered what he was getting out of it, presumably he thought he was going out with a girl. What was I getting out of it? A chance to be myself in a new environment, an opportunity to practise my socialising skills as a woman and to learn a bit about going out with men. I suppose it was a training exercise for me and for him a vague chance he might get his leg over.

Re the beautiful escort, I can't see that myself, but if he cares to see me as such, that's his problem. For my part, I could have ended up with that bit of rough from the garage, although thinking about him still makes my toes tingle all the way to my throat!

Back to the bike, "Ride, erm yeah, it's okay. I haven't had a chance to go far on it yet, but it feels a bit more forgiving than the carbon but I doubt it'll be as fast."

He turned the car into a car park attached to an Italian restaurant which pleased me, I love pasta. On stopping the car, he nipped out and opened my door for me, and offered his arm, so we walked into the place arm in arm. Actually, that bit felt quite good, dunno why, but it did.

He'd booked a table and we were shown to it, the waiter presenting me with a red rose when we got to it. I blushed almost the same shade as my botanical acquisition.

"Is this from you?" I asked Simon.

"I suppose so," he sighed, "it's an optional extra and I took it."

My blush continued unabated as I said, "Well I think it's rather lovely, thank you very much."

"You're welcome," then shrugged as if to say, 'no big deal' or 'don't get any ideas.'I felt like saying the same to him, but then that would sound ungrateful and I was intent on having a nice evening if I could.

"Did they fix the car alright?" I asked as we were waiting for our order.

"Yeah, it's okay but I think I'll change it soon anyway."

"Ashtrays are full eh?" I offered flippantly.

"Ashtrays? Eh, I don't smoke, what are you on about?"

"It's an old joke which fell rather flat, so shall we leave it?" I felt about two inches tall and wished the ground would open and swallow me.

He sat looking thoughtful for a few minutes, then a big grin broke out on his face. "I've just got your joke," he said.

"It's not very good," I suggested wanting to move on to my next social gaff as quickly as possible.

"Au contraire," he said and was about to explain why when I interrupted him.

"Simon this is an Italian restaurant not French."

He looked at me puzzled again, "What! I'm well aware that this is an Italian place, they do do better food than Spaghetti Houses, you know?"

"I'm sure they do Simon, I was making a joke, erm never mind."

Maybe girls aren't supposed to do that, which could be why it's fooling him. Perhaps I should sit quietly and look decorous or something? Probably something, but he wouldn't get that either.

The food was excellent, I had a pasta bake which filled me before I'd half cleared the plate. It grieved me that I had to leave some. My starter was melon, and I declined the sweet, feeling too full. We had a nice bottle of wine between us, and my two glasses meant I was feeling quite mellow, any more and I'd be ill. Simon offered a brandy as before and I asked for a coffee instead. He reluctantly agreed when I pouted at him.

While he sipped his brandy he said, " I can't believe you're not in a relationship."

"Why?" I asked embarrassed but intrigued.

"Well, to start with you're quite a looker, and you ride with a bike club, you're meeting with loads of young men all the time, so how come you haven't got a steady?"

"I haven't met anyone I fancy yet," I answered casually.

"You prefer a bit more maturity and class?" he suggested.

"Maybe," I replied trying not to let him build himself up, he could be pompous and I wasn't going to play that game.

"Oh," he said like a little boy whose balloon has just burst, "So what do you look for in a man?"

It was at this point I began to wish I'd spent more time reading those questionnaire things they have in Cosmo and Marie Claire, then I'd have some answers. Now I'd have to wing it, and also allow him to recognise some of the qualities in himself to keep him happy. I hadn't got my bike back yet, so I had to keep him on board. That might sound a bit ruthless, but it was the bottom line for me.

"You tell me what you like in a girl and I'll tell you about men," I suggested, hoping he'd make some comments I could use back on him.

"I asked you first," he grumbled.

"Okay, I'll do one, then you do one, okay?"

He wasn't entirely happy but my smile charmed away his resistance, I'd have to remember that for future reference.

"A good sense of humour," I said getting the first one out before he said it.

"That was going to be my first," he complained.

"I think it's pretty well universal, most people like to go out with someone who makes them smile or laugh or appreciates their jokes," it occurred to me as I spoke that was something we weren't doing.

"Honesty," said Simon, "I like women who mean what they say, and there aren't too many of them around.

"I think the same might be said for men, Simon."

"Generosity," I volunteered, "I like people who give of themselves not necessarily a money thing. I thought I saw a look of relief before he nodded.

"Fidelity, I believe in only one relationship at a time."

I couldn't argue with that, "Kindness. It's our ability for compassion and empathy which lifts us above our animal cousins."

"I have some cousins like that, did Stella tell you about them?"

"What compassionate?" I asked.

"No, bloody animals and I don't mean four legged or furry either."

"That's a pity," I sighed, " I would probably know more about them."

He chuckled at that and I did the same, at last we were laughing at the same thing.

Originally posted by Angharad on Sun, 08/26/2007 - 6:10pm ~ Sephrena
2007-08-26 18:10:14 -0400

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 42

Simon paid the bill and escorted me back to his Volvo, it was much cooler and I shivered a little. I didn't really have a suitable coat or wrap to go with the dress, so I had to put up with it.

"You're shivering," observed Simon.

"It's cooler than I expected," I said feeling rather stupid.

"Come on let's get you home and into the warm again," he unlocked the car with the remote and I got in. "It takes a few minutes for the heater to work, works off the engine heat, radiator that sort of thing."

I knew perfectly well how most car heaters worked, but I kept quiet, he was after all talking to a dumb girl as far as he was concerned. A couple of minutes later I felt my seat getting warm, it felt nice. I looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Seat warmers, remember it's a Scandinavian designed car, they're a bit quicker than the heater. Is that okay?"

"Lovely thanks," I replied as my nether regions began to defrost.

"I've got a blanket in the back somewhere if you want it?"

"No, I'm fine honestly Simon." In my twisted little mind, blankets equated with beds and I didn't want to go there. I mean, blankets and bikes? Remember I don't own a car.

I held on to my rose, it would be a keepsake for a few days. The heater started blasting out warm air and I relaxed in my seat. It hadn't been as disastrous as I had feared, in fact some of it had been fun.

I wished I'd asked for a doggy bag, my leftovers would have warmed up nicely in the microwave tomorrow. My parents always insisted I clear my plate before leaving the table, and I always had to ask to leave. I got around it by asking Mum to give me smaller portions. She thought I was mad, but agreed. She thought boys were always hungry, I was but not on the scale she imagined. My father had a big appetite, so not following his example felt good. However, not eating everything made me feel naughty.

I was running these thoughts through my head when Simon spoke and almost made me jump, "I've quite enjoyed myself tonight, we should do this again."

I was miles away, and answered without processing what he said until after my mouth had betrayed me. "Yes okay," I said not thinking about what he'd actually said.

"Next week then? I think they have some sort of barn dance over Havant way, how'd you fancy that?"

"A barn dance?" I squeaked as if he had just suggested alligator wrestling.

"Yes, a barn dance, you know square dancing and stuff to country or folky type music."

"I've never been to one," I gasped.

"Well now's your chance. I'll firm up on the details and get back to you. Stella has your number I think?"

I nodded in a sort of daze. A barn dance! My God, what do I wear and more importantly what do I do? I hadn't been to any sort of dance since highschool and I didn't get to dance with anyone then. To me dances were just bad memories of being a wallflower and a male wallflower has no future whatsoever.

"They're good fun, they have a caller who tells you what to do in the dances, you'll enjoy it."

I was still reeling and feeling very negative. My confidence had received a small boost but he had overwhelmed it. "I don't know Simon, I'm not into dancing." Which was true, as a dancer, I made an excellent cyclist.

"Give Stella a tinkle, she'll talk you through it."

"But I haven't got anything to wear to a dance."

"Talk to Stella, she's got a credit card of mine, go and buy something at the weekend."

The weekend was tomorrow! I shivered again, but not with the cold. "I can't do that Simon," I complained indignantly.

"Which, calling Stella or going shopping?"

"Both, either, oh I don't know."

Next thing I know he's on his mobile as we pull up outside my room, "Stella, I'm with Cathy I want to take her to the barn dance next week and she's worried she hasn't got anything to wear, can you take her shopping tomorrow? Yes alright, usual terms you parasite! Great, I'll tell her. Fine, see you later."

He switched off his hands-free in-car phone, bloody show-off and turned to face me. "Stella will be collecting you about nine tomorrow, feel free to buy everything you need for the dance."

"I'm not going," I said.

"Yes you are, you'll enjoy it."

"Simon, it's kind of you to ask and even kinder to offer to buy me an outfit, but I can't accept it and I won't go to the dance with you, I don't want to."

"So that's it then?" he said.

"I'm afraid so," I said with a tinge of regret. "Thank you for a pleasant evening."

"Don't I at least get a goodbye kiss?" he said looking at me with spaniel eyes.

I humphed, then relented, "Okay," I leant forward to peck his cheek and he turned full face and kissed me on the lips, his arm coming around behind me.

I had closed my eyes, I don't know why, so it completely surprised me. I went to pull away but the shock caused me to freeze, well that's what I think happened. Then he kissed me again and I remained frozen except for my treacherous mouth, which pursed its lips and let him kiss me for a third time.

"Goodnight Cathy," he said quietly from somewhere far away.

"What, oh, yeah good erm night Simon."

I got out of his car clutching my bag and my rose, my legs were trembling and I felt completely disoriented. He tooted and drove off.

Poor sleep and more surprises for our hapless heroine. (There will be some more cycling eventually, promise).

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Elvis.
part 43.

I stood shivering and trembling watching the big Volvo disappear up the road. I felt a total mish mash of emotions. I had just been kissed and and and and, alright I enjoyed it, the bastard! If I hadn't enjoyed it, I could quite happily have killed him, the rotten swine bent my rose! "He has all the sexual finesse of a mink!" I mumbled to myself. For those not in the know, mink are randy little rapists who think nothing of gang banging females. Then I thought about what I had said to myself, it wasn't true, he'd been the perfect gentleman until that last kiss and I could have stopped him if I'd really wanted.

I dragged myself away from the kerbside and up to my room. I was cross with myself, no, make that furious. If I'd kept my eyes open I'd have seen it coming and could have decided whether or not I let him kiss me, but then he might not have done so if he saw me watching him. But then I let him do it again, the bastard! I enjoyed it, stupid cow. Oh bugger I'm all of a twitter.

I cut off the broken stem of my rose and put it in a glass of water. It was the first flower anyone had ever given me and as I stood looking at its battered petals and much reduced stem, my eyes filled up with tears. Receiving that rose was the most wonderful thing that had happened for a long time. I know people have been kind and supportive, but that rose filled me with something I couldn't quantify. It was as if I had suddenly received recognition of something inside from someone outside. Soppy cow that I am, I sat down and burst into tears.

It was the story of my life, things start to go my way and I spoil it. I had a man who seemed to care about me enough to take me to dinner and give me a rose. He even offered to take me dancing, plus make sure I have the right gear and I tell him to piss off. What kind of moron am I?

Okay, the worry about what happens when he finds out, that's why I did it. "You bloody liar," I said to myself, "you hadn't got that far, you were incensed by the fact that he was organising you without your consent, that he was feeling sorry for you and reached for his credit card. It made you feel cheap and nasty, like some whore. Your stupid pride didn't want him to think that you could be bought."

A surge of indignation returned and I felt justified in seeing him off, no matter how poor I was, I wasn't for sale to some rich wanker, just 'cos he worked for a merchant wank! Oh God, I meant bank. Ever since that kiss yesterday from that ruffian from the garage I seemed to have awakened from my celibacy. It looked as if I may not be asexual after all, but quite what I was I had yet to determine.

I mean did I fancy Simon, huh, that creep, thinks he can buy me, huh! Him and his creepy, dangerous driving sister, they can both go to hell, see if I care. I burst into tears again, maybe I did care but quite how and what, there lay the problem?

I sat back in the chair, my eyes were stinging from crying and I closed them for a moment. I was dreaming, someone was trying to get me to go out with them and they were trying to break into my room to carry me off. I hated the idea so much I'd unlocked the door and was waiting, but they were still banging and shouting. Stupid cow, I called out in my dream... then I suddenly awoke, it was a woman that was calling and presumably banging on the door. I was still seated in my chair, my neck as stiff as a lamppost, and my bladder full to capacity.

"Cathy, open the door," shouted the voice through the closed door. I rushed and undid the catch.

As Stella burst in, I ran to the bathroom before something else burst, "Can't stop need a pee," I shouted as I slipped through the bathroom door.

I heard the front door close and Stella moving about the room. I hurried as quickly as I could, a wipe over my face and hands with a wet flannel and I was out into my sitting room. Stella was in the kitchenette, "Tea or coffee?" she called. I told her coffee, I needed the caffeine kick.

"God you look awful," she said placing the mug in front of me.

"I fell asleep in the chair, my neck hurts," I whimpered.

"Serves you bloody right."

"Oh!" I said squirming, couldn't she see I was the victim of a broken heart or something? "What are you doing here?"

"Fulfilling my commission."

"What commission?" I asked back feeling the warmth of the coffee all the way down to my toes.

"Taking you shopping for a barn dance."

"Not me," I said indignantly, "I'm not for sale."

"You self-righteous twat, get your arse in the shower and hurry up, I've got a job to do and no one is going to stop me."

The ferocity of Stella's response nearly knocked me off my seat. "No I told him I wasn't going."

"He told me you'd say that, I told him I'd change your mind or kill you, either would produce a useful outcome." She paused to let it sink in, she wasn't going to take no for an answer. Then she reached in a small bag she had with her and pulled out a single red rose, she placed it on the table in front of me. "He asked me to give you that." I looked at it shivered and burst into tears again.

It was about an hour later that we left my room, my eyes were still sore but Stella had managed to disguise some of the redness by using a pink coloured eyeshadow. She made me wear a skirt and my boots. I hoped we weren't going to walk too far.

It took us an hour to get into Southampton and the cost of the car park was astronomical. We got four hours, I paid. I had to pay for something to feel I had role in this that wasn't entirely passive.

"So he kissed you then?" she said sniggering.

"You know the answer to that or you wouldn't have asked," I said curtly back.

She laughed loudly, and I hissed, "Bitch!" at her, which made her laugh all the more, eventually I was laughing too.

"If he's not careful, I'll get back at him through his bloody credit card," I said as defiantly as I could.

"That's the spirit girl," said Stella.

"Shouldn't you be on his side, he is your brother?" I asked taken aback by her attitude.

"Nah," she chuckled.

"Surely you should be protecting his assets," I was totally puzzled by her behaviour.

"What for? I get half of what he spends on you?" she replied laughing.

"What?" I said stopping and looking at her.

"I get half of what we spend on you. So if we spend three hundred on you, I get to spend a hundred and fifty on me."

"But that's robbery or bribery or something like that!" I said almost disgusted.

"Blackmail," she said sniggering.

"Blackmail?" I gasped.

"Yeah, the only way he can get girls is to offer to buy them gifts or to actually buy the presents. He hasn't got a clue, so I do it for him for a price. Which also buys my silence when he thinks how clever he is."

"But he's a lovely man," I protested.

"I know that, but he doesn't. And I'm not going to enlighten him! How do you think I can dress so well?"

"I hadn't thought about it at all. I simply noticed you had a lovely wardrobe."

"All bought with Simon's money! Come on! Let's spend some more!"

After three hours, I had a pair of boots with chunkier heels which being brown would suffice as cowgirl boots, I also had a longish denim skirt with a lace frill around the bottom, a gingham blouse and denim waistcoat. I refused to even look at cowboy hats, I felt enough of a prat as it was and the theme music of 'Rawhide' kept going through my brain. This was due to the mother of a friend of mine having a total crush on Clint Eastwood, she had all his movies plus umpteen episodes of Rawhide on video. It brought back memories I'd rather forget.

We stopped for lunch, again, all on Simon. I was more glad of the rest than the need for food, although I'd only had a piece of toast for my breakfast. I settled for carrot and coriander soup with a roll.

After that it was back to the shops and a new coat for me. "But I don't need a coat for the barn dance," I'm not going.

"Shush, it might rain."

"He has a car."

"Just try it on, he won't know or care. Come on! We've got to get you a decent bag yet."

Despite my protests, I had a new coat. So did she and her's was nicer than mine. I couldn't complain. I had another pair of shoes, boots, the outfit makeup, combs and brushes, a set of self heating rollers, perfume and a scarf. She had spent over six hundred pounds of Simon's money. I was shocked. She shrugged and implied he wouldn't even notice.

We had just got back to her car when my mobile began to ring. "Better answer it, it might be Simon asking how we got on," said Stella.

I pressed the button and held it up to my ear. "Hello?" I said as gently as possible.

"Charlie get your arse up here quickly, your mother's in the BRI and things don't look too clever." It rang off.

"You all right, you look as if you've just seen a ghost?"

"That was my dad! Mum's in the Bristol Royal Infirmary and it sounds serious! He wants me there as quickly as possible."

"Oh my God! I am so sorry! I hope she'll be all right."

"What am I going to do Stella?!!" I felt completely gutted - a nice day out and then this happens!

"I think I can find Bristol, but you'll have to direct me to the hospital."

"What! I can't go like this!"

Keep the tissues handy and tighten your seat belts, Stella is driving!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Virginia Creeper.
part 44.

I sat in the car completely lost in my thoughts. The last time we had met my father had nearly killed me, if he saw me like this he'd finish the job if the shock didn't kill him. What would it do to my mother, he hadn't said what was wrong with her? If she was ill or injured then I would want to see her, if only to say goodbye. They weren't bad people, just misguided and prejudiced - some of which I think came from being fed stereotypes and wrong information and a bit too much bible-bashing when they were young.

I was only barely aware that we were moving, which with Stella's driving might be an advantage. If I'd been able to compare them in a calmer environment, I'm not sure if her driving or my father's temper would have frightened me more.

I looked around and we were on the motorway, I cringed and returned to my thoughts. What would happen if my mother died? My God, you tend to think of them as always being there. What will my dad do if she doesn't recover, he'll be lost on his own? Will I have to go home and look after him? There were plenty of questions, but no answers. Why do these things seem to happen when I'm having fun, it's almost as if their God doesn't like me and regularly craps on me from on high. Well carry on, shit only makes things grow, and that includes me!

We pulled into a motorway services, "We need some more fuel, I also need to call Simon and tell him what we're doing, let's get a cuppa while we're at it." Stella had taken control while I tagged along buried deep in my own thoughts.

Happier thoughts were passing through my mind, of times with my mum helping her do the baking when I was a kid - she taught me the basics of cooking from an early age, as they would be useful if I lived on my own. She was right, they were. She also taught me to clean and tidy the house and to do minor repairs to my clothes, such as darning a sock or sewing on a button. Dad accepted these as useful skills when I went to uni or got my own place. He could hardly boil a kettle but he got by, usually on someone else's efforts.

He taught me how to fix my bike and a bit of gardening and DIY, so I learned from both of them. They also tried to cram their narrow views down my throat too, until I rebelled during my A-level year. We had a great RI teacher who was an ordained priest and also taught physics and maths. She was one of the most intelligent people I ever knew.

I got to know her when my biology teacher saw I was in a philosophical crisis in trying to reconcile what my parents had taught me and what I was learning from science. She arranged some tutorials for me and we discussed my difficulties.

She fostered in me an attitude that there are very few absolutes, if any and things should be open to reasonable doubt, including the basis of all beliefs. She also suggested that it was acceptable to challenge my beliefs and those of others, providing I did it in courteous way, recognising their right to hold them but also my own in rejecting them.

I learned that faith comes from within, not from bits of dead papyrus or printed books, and that I should follow my heart as well as my head and listen to my conscience. We touched on all sorts of issues and beliefs including things like Wicca and Sorcery. Until then, with the possible exception of Harry Potter and co, I saw all these things as works of the Devil. So we explored the concept of the Devil as a man made entity. She was absolutely wonderful, although the gap between me and my parents began to spread. I stopped going to church because listening to some tub thumper was a waste of my time, when I could read Joseph Campbell and begin to understand the world as inclusive not exclusive.

During one of my sessions with Dr Meyrick, the RI teacher, she said to me, "Charlie, talking to you reminds me of some of the discussions I had with my own daughter." It pleased me immensely and I wished she could have adopted me on the spot.

"I wish I was one of your daughters," I sighed and she gave me a puzzled look. "I'd love to have a mum as clever and articulate as you." I covered my exposure quickly and her expression softened into a smile as if she thought, 'You had me worried for a moment'.

I lost contact when I went off to uni, maybe I would look her up again, to let her know how her advice and nurturing had developed me into a questing scientist, with a deep respect for the planet and all its creatures great and small.

"I'm going to call Simon, get me a cuppa and cake of some sort," instructed Stella. It brought me back into the real world again a noisy, dangerous place compared to my nice memories. I queued and got the stuff at a rip off price, and took them to a table. Stella joined me moments later.

"He sends his love and hopes your mum will be better soon." I thanked her for her and Simon's help. I was close to tears, the nearer we got to home the more scared I became.

At the fuel station, I sat sniffing in the car and Stella got back in with a huge bunch of flowers which she plonked on my lap. "Thank you," I said blushing.

"They're for your mother dummy, from Simon and me and you if you want?"
Then she noticed me sniffing. "I didn't mean to be nasty, and I'm sure she'll be okay."

I nodded and she drove off back to the motorway and towards Bristol. "She'll be all right, you'll feel better when you've seen her."

I nodded again and then burst into tears. "Look sweetheart, I can't drive and console you, I'm sure she's in the best place and that they are looking after her."

"It's not that," I sniffed.

"What is it then?"

"I'm scared of what my dad might say or do," I sniffed again.

"It'll be alright, I'll be there to help."

"No it won't, he gets angry with me." I then explained what had happened the last time I saw him.

"He did what? Jesus, Cathy, if he lays one finger on you I'll have him arrested." She spoke with a degree of anger that surprised me. I shivered in anticipation of their meeting, I hated confrontation.

My mobile rang again, "Charlie, meet me at the hospital and hurry," it rang off before I could say anything.

"Was that him again?" asked Stella.

I nodded, just the sound of his voice made me feel sick. I was beginning to wonder if I could cope with this, whether I was brave or strong enough.

I relayed his message to Stella and asked her to stop the car quickly. She pulled over and asked what was wrong, but I had jumped out of the car and was throwing up on the hard shoulder, he frightened me that much.

I was trembling when she came around to me, "Come on Cathy, you're going to be alright, I'll be there with you, he wouldn't dare touch you in front of me."

"I wouldn't bet on it," I said.

She put her arm around me, "Come on girl, women are stronger than men, that's why they use violence, but it's a wasted effort, you can't kill spirit only the flesh."

"You sound like Dr Meyrick, my old RI teacher."

"Me? Come off it Cathy, I'm a born again agnostic."

I know she was trying to cheer me up but I was fast approaching total despair and I still had to deal with whatever was wrong with my mother.

Back in the car Stella drove like a demon, and an hour and a half later we were parking at the hospital. I rushed into reception as quickly as my high heeled boots would allow me. Once I explained that my mother was here somewhere and very ill, the receptionist deigned to help me find her. She was in ICU. I wanted to run to her and away from her and stand and scream.

Stella grabbed my arm and led me towards the Intensive care unit. As we approached I saw my father facing the other way scanning the corridor. "That's him, oh fuck!" I hissed to Stella.

"Keep walking he won't recognise us, come on he won't start anything in front of your mother."

Somehow she was right and we managed to sneak in without him recognising me. I explained who I was, well Stella did. A nurse led us to her bed, she was asleep attached to all these tubes and wires. She looked so small surrounded by all the equipment. I sat alongside her and gently held her hand.

"Mum, it's me." I spoke quietly but slowly and clearly, hoping she could hear me. Stella stood behind me, holding the flowers in one hand and gripping my shoulder with the other.

Mum opened her eyes and looked at me, just then my father came in and his eyes bulged but before he could speak my mother did, "Ah I thought I heard my Charlie, but it must have been my imagination, look Derek he's sent two angels instead. God is good," she said, gave a great sigh and died.

I think I screamed, because two nurses came rushing in. My father was kneeling on the floor and sobbing, praying to his god. Stella and I were led out of the room and declined to stay and talk to the doctor. I just wanted to get away from there as soon as I could and before my father and his wrath could catch me.

However, Stella was upset too and we had to go somewhere to calm down before we could drive back.

Grief and hope? Reconcilliation - what do you think? Read on and see if you were right!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & L. Armstrong.
part 45.

Stella and I hugged each other in the car park, we were both crying. I could not believe my mother was no longer alive. That I had seen her just before she died made me glad I had made the effort, but sorry that she hadn't appeared to recognise me.

That was all I could compute, I was shocked and hurt all over. In comparison to the worst beating my father ever gave me, this hurt so much more. I didn't know what to do with the pain or how to cope with it. How could I?

Would she have lived any longer if I had turned up as her son? I didn't know, nor could I but it gave me an opportunity to beat myself up for a few moments as I thought about it. I probably deserved it.

I don't know if my dad recognised me, the look he gave me might have been for a number of reasons, including recognition, disgust, shock, plus loads of others too numerous to mention. I wouldn't know that either because I had nothing left to say to him and I had no intention of going to the funeral which would be run by his cronies and full of things I didn't believe.

Maybe, if either of us forgave the other we might have things to talk about but not at the moment, we probably both felt too raw. I would like to know why my mother died, surely he hadn't hurt her? No he couldn't, could he? I shook my head, these were crazy thoughts and I had to get rid of them. Maybe I would ring the hospital sometime later and try and speak to the doctor or ward sister.

"Come on kiddo, lets go and find the car," said Stella putting her arm around me.

As we walked on leaden legs, me still sniffling, a man approached us. "Is everything alright ladies?" He had a kindly manner, I thought, then I saw his dog collar.

"Her mother has just died," answered Stella.

"Oh, I am so sorry," he said then after a short pause, he began,"take consolation in your faith my dear, Jesus said, I am.."

"Oh fuck off!" I said loudly and stormed away. How he felt I didn't much care but as for all that religious crap, he could stick it. I thought I did quite well not to deck him.

After getting back into the car, Stella remarked upon my behaviour to the priestly type. I honestly felt like telling her to F off as well, then decided there was enough hurt about for the day.

My mobile rang and I unthinkingly answered it. "Was that you Charlie, at your mother's bedside?"

"Yes," I replied and tears began to run down my face again.

"I thought so."

"I hope you won't show me up at the funeral by turning up looking like a dog's dinner?"

"No Dad, I won't."

"Good, I'll let you know when it is."

"Don't bother Dad."

"What, you won't even come to give your own mother a good send off?"

"No Dad, I said goodbye to her, now I'm saying it to you. Goodbye." I switched off my phone and howled. I was now effectively an orphan and it hurt. In one day, my life had changed beyond redemption, and I didn't give a shit anymore.

"Oh dear," sighed Stella, and put her arm around me again, "What am I going to do with you?"

"I don't care any more, I don't bloody care." I howled some more getting myself all hot bothered and snotty. Thankfully Stella had a box of tisues in her car.

"Where would you like to go?" she asked me.

"Home," I almost whispered.

"Okey dokey, home it is." She started the car and before we got anywhere near the motorway I was asleep, exhausted and emotionally wrung out. I don't know for how long I slept but Stella woke me and switched off the car engine. "We're there, sleepyhead."

It was dark and I didn't really recognise anywhere. I couldn't see any streetlights. "Where are we?" I asked completely lost.

"Home, my home."

"But I need to get to my place," I protested.

"Not tonight Josephine, tonight you need to be with friends and to get drunk."

"I think I'll pass on the latter," I said feeling once again as if people were making decisions for me, but seeing how good she had been to me, I couldn't be nasty to her. "I just want to sleep."

"Okay, but first something to eat. I called Simon on the way home and he's popped a casserole in the oven, so have some grub first. Then you can snooze as long as you like. One of us will run you home later tomorrow.

The smell of food caught me unawares and made me realise that I was hungry and that Simon could cook a bit. We all tucked in with relish and I also put away three glasses of wine ensuring that I would sleep and wake up with a head like a bucket being regularly bashed with a hammer. I didn't care, all feelings in me were either so dead, or so buried that I couldn't feel anything anymore.

Simon was his usual civilised self, making all the right noises and saying all the right things to put me at my ease, except it didn't. I didn't know if he cared or was well trained. An hour later, I excused myself and went to the guest room, Stella had laid out another nightdress and her kindness made me cry again. I couldn't compare these relative strangers who had only known me for a few days yet seemed to understand me, with my family, who had known me all my life and didn't really know me at all. I changed, got into bed and was asleep in seconds.

"Regrets, I've had a few, but then again too few to mention." 'My Way'.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & E. Merckx
part 46.

The sleep I had was heavy, doubtless helped by the exhaustion and the alcohol. I awoke from a dream in which I was flashing my boobs at my father and telling him that he'd 'never get to touch them now'. I had no idea what it meant and because my mouth felt so dry, I didn't linger on its meaning.

I could hear noises from around the house and saw from the clock it was after ten. I jumped out of bed expecting my head to pound and my stomach to churn; neither did, but my bladder needed some relief which I set about organising.

From the bathroom window I could see the sun was shining and I wanted to get home and then try out the titanium bike. My priority would be to get one of the siblings to take me, once I'd had some tea or coffee to slake my thirst.

"Kettle's on girl," was called from downstairs and I could smell toast cooking. Food had not been on my agenda until I could smell the bread toasting, then my stomach rumbled and I knew I was hungry.

I went downstairs in the nightdress, and Stella was making toast while Simon took bites out of piece and poured hot water on a jug of fresh ground coffee. Everything was momentarily forgotten as I inhaled the aromas of food and drink and gave way to my stomach's desires.

Some twenty minutes later and feeling replete, I was invited to shower and Stella left out some knickers for me to borrow. It turned out she had bought me some. This was getting embarrassing, as I gave little or nothing in return. I dressed in the same clothes I had worn the day before and as I donned them, some of the sadness returned. It was no bad dream, my mother had died and I had told my father where to get off. I had also been extremely rude to some clergyman who wanted to sell me some religion. I regretted what I had said to him and how I said it, simply because it was rude and it wasn't my normal behaviour. I allowed myself some leeway because I was upset and under lots of emotional stress.

So feeling all this turmoil returning I went downstairs and asked if one of them would take me home. "Why don't you stay here for a few days?" asked Simon. Stella nodded furiously in agreement.

"I have things to do, not the least of which, a dissertation to finish," and I needed to speak to Student Health, though I kept that to myself.

"You could finish it here, I'll take you to get your notes and whatever else you need and..." said Simon enthusiastically until I interrupted.

"I also have some thinking to do, stuff to get my head around. Sometimes I do that on a bike, if nothing else a quick ride would clear my head a bit."

"We could bring your bike back here as well."

"Simon, you are so amazingly kind to me that I have no idea how I shall ever be able to repay you."

"Come to the dance with me on Saturday," he said smiling, "and I'll write off all your debts."

"I don't know, given what's happened yesterday, I don't feel too much like dancing."

"I suppose not," he said his face slipping from a smile to a frown. "Can I call you?" He paused as if waiting my permission, "Nearer the day?"

"Yes," I nodded unable to stop his little boy enthusiasm getting through my defences, "but I'm not promising anything," I added trying to keep my options open.

"Of course," he said, his eyes sparkling again.

"Your stuff is still in my car, so I'll run you home," offered Stella. I would have preferred Simon to drive, but I suspected that she wanted to talk a little. I accepted her offer.

A close shave with a tractor nearly made me regret my decision and wondered if my dad could get a cheap rate on funerals for multi purchases. I thought about my mother. I hadn't really said goodbye at all and that felt heavy. Stella noticed my withdrawal and drew me back into talking about my feelings.

"Some people say that if you write something on paper and burn it, the person to whom it's addressed gets the message."

"What even dead people?" I asked incredulously.

"So they say. I mean I can't actually guarantee it works, but it may help you to express the things you need to say."

"I don't know, I don't even know if I believe in life after death stuff. My parents do, did," I corrected myself, "I suppose Dad still does, but I'm not sure writing a letter to my mother is going to help anything."

"It would help you to focus on what you wanted to say and in burning it, no one else would be able to read it."

"Including my mother," I added feeling another pang of grief, she really was dead and it was beginning to seep through my numbness.

"No, I meant ordinary people, in case you said something you didn't want anyone to know.You know, personal things. I mean, she sort of met Cathy so I'm sure as Cathy, you have things to say to her, don't you?"

I felt the tears run down my face as I nodded my reply, I couldn't speak. I wanted to tell her I loved her and forgave her and hoped that she could forgive me. I was ashamed of how I'd spoken to my father, I should have known better and been more tolerant. I had failed her.

"Maybe you'll give it a try then?" she asked and I nodded again. I would write to my mother and hope she could receive it, although I was still very skeptical.

Being locked in my thoughts did have the advantage of not being aware of Stella's driving, although I'm not sure which would be worse on a pain or stress scale.

She dropped me off and collected my purchases from the boot of her car, it was as much as I could carry, but I didn't want company for a while. I somehow managed to get through the door and into the hallway when I noticed a small parcel with my name on it. Intrigued I rushed upstairs dropped my bags on the bed and popped down for the package. I wasn't expecting anything.

Back in my room, I tore open the mysterious package and discovered it was set of racing skins in the Saunier Duval, Prodir colours. It had to be Stella and Simon again, I burst into tears and it was several minutes before I could stop crying. Why were they so kind to me? I didn't know.

I checked the size and of course it was identical to the other, then I spotted something else in the large Jiffybag, a sports bra, again in my size. Now I knew who sent it and that I wouldn't need to hide my breasts in future.

I stripped off my clothing, adjusted the bra to fit comfortably and donned the yellow racing strip, it felt good. Next I picked up the phone and called the cottage.

"Oh hello Cathy, are you feeling any better?" asked Simon.

"I'm going out for a little ride, is Stella there?"

"Just coming in, here she is," he said handing her the phone.

"Hi Cathy, is there a problem?"

"Only that of not being aware you'd sent for some racing skins."

"Aren't they the right ones? Oh hell, I thought I'd got the right ones. I'm sorry, it was meant to be a surprise."

"They are the right ones and they fit fine. Thank you so much and also for the bra."

"Well if you're going to be riding that bike you'll need the proper kit."

"Yes, indeed. I'm absolutely knocked out by your generosity."

"Simon actually paid for it, but he doesn't know that yet." I could hear her laughing down the phone.

"Doesn't know what yet?" I heard him ask, then a bit of mumbling before he said, "Oh that's alright, enjoy using them Cathy."

"See, he's as good as gold. Dunno what I'll do if any girl is daft enough to marry him, unless it's you of course?"

"What!" I choked back to her, "I think it exceedingly unlikely."

"Oh I don't know." Came back her response.

"You're forgetting one fundamental reason," I said reminding her of my shortcomings.

"It's nothing that can't be sorted."

"Stella!" I said in exasperation.

"Leave it with me."

"Stella," I called loudly, but she had rung off. Just what did she mean?

==========================================================================

Author's note: There won't be an installment tomorrow as I'm away. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

In which some cycling happens but not a lot else, but you'd better check just in case I'm lying!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & W Shakespeare
part 47.

I stood bemused by Stella's last comment. Was it a throw away, a wind up, or did she mean something more literally? I didn't know and she wasn't going to tell me. I caught sight of the yellow in the mirror and looked at myself in the skins. The bulge of my breasts was definitely there and so was the outline of the bra both in the front and back of the outfit. I wondered if I should buy a womens' set or at least a top. The problem is they're not anywhere near as good or freely available. Certainly not in team strips.

I blushed at the outline of the bra, then thought, 'Bugger it, I don't have to worry about that any more'. Instead, I put on some lipstick and mascara and poked my tongue out at the face in the mirror, curiously, it did the same back to me!

Aware that time was passing, I put on my shoes and making sure I had a drink, a puncture outfit and my spare helmet - damn, it wasn't a Met like Doping Dave's, but it was yellow, so it would have to do.

I picked up my steed and along with my door key and the other essentials, set off down the stairs. Hair pulled back in a scrunchie, mitts on, and finally the helmet and sun-glasses, I was ready to road test this bike. I was about to mount it when I remembered the brake levers were a bit wide for me. I tried them and could just about manage, so without further ado, clipped in my shoes and set off down the road.

The road surface isn't too kind to cyclists, even my MTB with its front suspension is a rough ride along the roads near my room. So on a road bike with little or no damping, it was even more uncomfortable, however, about ten minutes later I was on to better roads and heading out for the countryside.

To give the bike a proper test I needed to see how fast I could make her go on a familiar piece of road and see how hard a ride she was on a known hill climb. I took her out along one of my regular training rides. She certainly felt different to my Scottie, a smoother ride and more comfortable. I settled into my rhythm or cadence as the bikies call it. She felt okay and I was making reasonable speed.

I did a couple of miles along the main road and turned off up a side road which led to a moderate hill climb towards the Downs, if I was comfortable and had anything left in my legs, I might try a real climb.

I clicked down the gears as the hill drew closer, resisting the urge to rise out of the saddle a la Armstrong, although, my little unwanted appendage being tucked back was not entirely happy and I'd had to ease it forwards or risk making it much longer and rather flat! Not to mention making my eyes water in the process.

I tried to concentrate on my rhythm, using the gears to deal with the steepening incline and I felt the pull of gravity as my lungs and legs began to strain.

"Just look at the road in front of you, keep going," I said to myself, checking every so often that there were no obstructions with a cursory glance. I'd been taught that you don't look to see how much further you have to go on a hill unless it's the end of a race and that's different. It can be dispiriting if you're not a strong rider, to feel knackered and discover you still have most of it to do, so you concentrate on other things - such as your rhythm.

I remembered the one occasion I'd done this hill with no effort at all. I met a woman tri rider, that's a triathlete, you know those mad men and women who swim, cycle and run to demonstrate how crazy they are. Anyway, we met on the approach to the hill and got chatting about bikes and rides, it was so interesting we got to the top without me realising it. I haven't seen her since, she thought I was another girl too. "Charlie?" she asked raising her eyebrows, "Oh of course, Charlotte, right?" I just nodded. She seemed happy with that.

I was at the top of the hill again, thinking about Annie, I think she said her name was, had successfully distracted me and my legs did their bit by themselves. It's amazing that it works like that, don't think about it unless you have to and your body gets on with things. I wish I could do the same with my hands and the keyboard for my dissertation.

I rode along the lower ridge for a while, a relatively flat stretch and got my breath back, the sun was nice though the shadows were lengthening. Suddenly in front of me was someone fiddling with a bike.

I slowed down, it was Annie. "Hiya, I was just thinking about the time I rode up here with you."

She looked me up and down without any hint of recognition, "Did we?"

"Yeah I was riding a Scott," I smiled, "It is Annie, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I remember the Scott, oh yeah and the Millar outfit, yeah I remember now."

"Trouble?" I asked and felt a bit stupid, a bit like asking if someone is 'all right' after they've been hurt.

"Sodding puncture, and I can't get the sodding tyre off the rim. Useless plastic levers."

I dismounted and took off my helmet, "Can I have a try?"

"Help yourself," she said handing me the wheel.

I pulled the small toolkit I always carried, and unrolled it on the roadside. Getting tyres off is second nature to me, and I had one of the special tyre levers that locks on to the hub and whizzes around the rim in seconds. You can get them in plastic, I had a metal one, much better.

In less than a minute I had the tyre off and was feeling for any sharp thing on the inner side. "There's your problem," I said producing a thorn.

"Well I'll be damned," she said, "how did you do that so quickly?"

"Lots of practice, my dad used to make me fix my own from when I was about ten years old. He also gave me this," I showed her the magic tyre lever.

While she examined it, I fixed the puncture and refitted the tyre. It didn't do much for my manicure but that's life.

"So what's with the titanium?"

"The Scott had a bit of an accident, demon driver, bang crash wallop! Bike shop loaned me this."

"Wow, you were lucky."

"Yeah, I guess." I shrugged my shoulders then repacked my kit.

"Wanna do the top climb?" asked the now undistressed damsel.

"Yeah, why not," I said.

"I'll buy you a drink at the top," she offered.

"Where?" I wondered, there was nothing up there last time I got there mind you, my lungs had probably sucked my brain and eyeballs into my chest, it is one awful climb.

"Should be an ice cream/burger van up there on a sunday, at the view point."

"Is there, haven't noticed." My observational skills were once again registering nil points, like the British entry in the Eurovision song contest.

This time instead of talking about bikes we chatted about life and things like boys. Turned out Annie was a nurse, so I kept things a bit quiet about the other nurse of my acquaintance. She told me about her latest, a lad called Tim, a houseman just started on her ward. She was trying to get him to cycle with her, but so far without success.

"What about you, any boys in the offing?" she asked me.

"Had a one off with some bloke called Simon, I think."

"Not 'simple' Simon, he's the brother of a colleague of mine, bit of a plonker, nice but dim, if you know what I mean. No sensible girl ever goes out twice with him. Stella teases him something rotten."

If I hadn't been so hot and bothered with the climb, I'd have been blushing.

More cycling up hills (get fit by reading!) and a surprise phone call, read on and see what it all means.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 48 (geez that's four dozen!)

Despite the distraction provided by Annie and her chatter, my lungs and legs were struggling. I wasn't quite seeing a red haze, but I knew that I couldn't go much farther. She however, looked much less distressed and relatively fresh. According to the dissenters, biological males have an advantage over females in sports because they have larger lungs and hearts. I didn't feel very advantaged, males usually have bigger bodies which is why they have bigger hearts et cetera. My body was the same size as Stella's, well near enough - we were the same dress size.

Maybe Annie was just fitter than I was, I suspect she was lighter and if she turned sideways, you could hardly see her. So maybe this was all about weight? Nah, muscle is heavier than fat, but it also pushes pedals which as far as I know fat doesn't do. I did have one advantage, I had bigger tits than her, so if we'd been running I could have 'breasted the tape' from further out than her, except she'd be half a mile ahead of me.

I managed a smile as these silly thoughts went through my head, and amazingly we were at the top of the hill and there was the van purveying cat food burgers and powdered ice cream. My legs were all twitchy and jellified, so much so that I could hardly get my foot off the pedal. I nearly ran into the van with the combination of this pedal problem and pulling on the brakes. I stopped inches away.

"You're keen aren't you?" joked Annie, who had dismounted and was walking across the car park pushing her bike. I looked at her bike, it was a Specialized, I nearly bought one myself except I got a better offer for the Scott. It was prettier than Scottie, but I can't afford another bike.

"What do you want to drink?" called Annie standing in front of the van's serving hatch.

"What have they got?" I replied, having managed to get one foot free I was still struggling with the other while standing on one leg. I felt very foolish.

She called out a list of drinks ranging from fizzy ones to plain water. I opted for Ribena, a blackcurrant drink, and a favourite from childhood. We sat and drank, although the way I was sweating, it felt as if the drink was running straight out of me.

The view over Portsmouth and the English Channel beyond was lovely, the sun was beginning to sink in the west and the way it lit things up was incredible. "It's worth all that effort just for the view, isn't it?" asked Annie.

"Definitely," I said when I had enough breath back to speak.

"Ever thought about doing triathlons?"

"Who me?" I squeaked, "You are joking I hope?"

"Why, the other disciplines help with building strength and improve your fitness, which ultimately improves your cycling."

"If I start doing that, Nicole Cooke will retire immediately." I managed to say this with a straight face.

"She doesn't do triathlons." Annie looked puzzled.

"No but if I get better, she may lose her number one spot."

"Oh, oh yes, very funny." She laughed and I wondered why I bothered.

"So do you race?" she asked me after a few moments pause.

"What for, I know how bad I am, I don't need to confirm it officially?"

"Well you managed one of the steepest hills in the area?"

"Yeah, at about 3mph. I saw some shirts on a US website with the logo "Hill Slug," I would have bought one except they were expensive."

"Charlotte Hill-Slug, with a hyphen, sounds terribly posh," she said and roared with laughter. I had a chuckle too.

"Come on then, better get going before the light fades." So saying, Annie stood up and grabbed her bike. I stood up on wobbly legs and with difficulty picked up my bike. "Some aerobics or yoga would help with your stiffness," she suggested almost leaping onto her bike. I thought a hot bath would be far more enjoyable.

It isn't a straight descent, the road zig zags in places before it reaches the lower ridge and goes level for a while. Annie knew the road better than I did and set off at a pace. I remember once reading somewhere that pedalling while going down hill was a boy thing, girls tend to free-wheel. I hate to question the authenticity of that statement because Annie was pedalling like a demon and I was free-wheeling and I was still going too fast for comfort.

If I say that I was going fast enough for the broken white lines down the middle of the road to become a blur, I think you might get an appreciation of how fast I was going and Annie was going faster still. She began to brake going into the first bend, I heard the squeak of her brakes. I reached forward to pull my brakes and the gap was too large, I couldn't get enough pressure. I was still accelerating.

On the first bend, I flew past Annie and only just made it around the corner, a car coming the other way blew his horn at me and swore, I don't know why, I was at least three inches from him.

However, it was the car going down the hill that beeped the loudest, when I overtook him, I was doing over fifty miles an hour at this point and my heart was pounding - with fear. I could reach the brake levers but not pull them hard enough to have much effect. If only I had adjusted them earlier.

My guardian angel must have been on duty because, I stayed on the bike and managed to avoid anything else on the road. On the level stretch it slowed down enough for me to eventually stop it. I almost fell off as I disentangled my feet from the pedals and dismounted. I felt quite ill.

Annie arrived some short time later, "Wow Charlie, that was some ride!"

"I couldn't reach the fucking brakes!" I said and sat down trembling.

"What, I thought that was deliberate, you showing me how to ride down hills."

"I have never been so frightened in my life," I said, clutching my knees to stop them shaking. It wasn't necessarily true, Stella's driving possibly had the edge in the fear stakes.

"Can't you adjust them?"

"I'm going to when I can stop my hands shaking." I also began to wish I hadn't had more to drink, or my bladder did.

We talked in a stilted way for ten or so minutes and I felt less shaky. I played with the adjustments on the brakes and they now worked. The rest of the ride home would be hopefully less scary.

We stopped at a lay-by with toilets, back on the main road, taking it in turns to use the ladies loo, the other watching the bikes. 'Relieved' didn't quite adequately describe the feeling I had.

We parted soon after, and I went home my legs still a bit shaky. This became noticeable as I climbed back up the stairs to my room, dreading the idea of confronting the two clowns who shared my floor. Thankfully, it didn't happen.

I nodded off after my shower and jumped when the phone rang. "Hello?" I said with that vagueness you have when newly awakened.

"Is that you Charlie?"

"Dad, I have nothing more to say to you."

"Don't hang up, son." He was pleading with me.

"My name isn't Charlie any more and I'm not your son, I'm your daughter."

"What is your name now then, Charlotte I suppose?"

"No it isn't." I paused, wondering if it was a good idea to tell him in case he wanted to cause trouble, but he knew where I lived and it could backfire on him anyway. Publicity would reflect on him and he wouldn't like that, nor would his churchy mates.

"So are you going to tell me?"

"Do you really want to know?" I asked almost a hint of sarcasm in my tone.

"Yes, you're still my so..child." He spluttered his way out of his error.

"It's Catherine," I answered hesitantly, for some reason I wasn't entirely happy that he knew this, as if it gave him some power over me.

"Pretty name, suits you."

I almost fell off my perch! What did he say? Geez, the lying bastard!

"What do you want Dad, I'm trying to write my dissertation?" I could lie as well as him, I'd been practising.

"I wanted to apologise Char..Cathy."

"I don't know if I believe you." Part of me wanted to cry and part of me felt as hard as flint.

"Can we get together and talk things over, at least give me a chance."

"Father, the last time we spoke you beat the shit out of me. You want me to give you the chance to do that again?"

"I'm sorry, I was angry."

"You were angry, is that some sort of excuse? You nearly fucking killed me!"

"There is no need to swear at me."

"Dad, you just don't get it, do you? You can do whatever you want, however psychopathic, and that's okay. I swear because I am upset with you, and you take umbrage. What's the point of us meeting, we have nothing in common?"

Then he played his trump card, he began to cry on the phone and I cried too. I wanted to kill the bastard and yet I also couldn't bear to see him in pain. Jesus fucking Christ, I felt so screwed!

"Cathy, you are all I have in the world now your mother's gone. I need you," he sobbed, "I need you, please don't abandon me."

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 49.

I switched off my phone, I was so upset I just sobbed to myself for maybe half an hour. I didn't know with whom to discuss this. Several names went through my mind, including Stella and the professor. I suppose the advice of Dr Thomas would be the most valuable, but she wouldn't be available until tomorrow. If men are able to compartmentalise their thinking, I certainly didn't make the grade because I couldn't switch off.

I kept wondering if I'd done the right thing, but he sounded so pathetic and I couldn't stand to think of this once proud man reduced to such levels. He was still my father and I know my mother would have wanted me to try to keep some sort of relationship with him. I felt guilty about that too, that I hadn't really said goodbye to her.

Lots of silly things ran through my mind, maybe I should try and find a medium and see if I could talk to her, but I didn't really believe in all that stuff. Would she forgive me for being what I am, a disappointment to both of them. I felt so down, so helpless and worthless, a sobbing piece of rubbish.

Reluctantly I went to bed, covering the pillow with a towel in case my tears made it to wet. I knew I wouldn't sleep, and I didn't for some hours, but I was resting and horizontal.

I lay there thinking about the brief meeting at the hospital, did he recognise me, of course he did. After all it wasn't that long since he had seen me, and a bit of makeup and hair cut wouldn't hide my main facial features. I felt sad again and cried some more, I would never see my mother again and that hurt. Thinking about it was like scratching a wound to make it bleed, but somehow the pain felt real, more real than anything else in my life at that moment. I was tempted to cut myself to make the pain physical rather mental, because it might be easier to bear.

The idea of watching my own blood run from my arm or leg seemed to capture me for some little while. I visualised cutting myself with something very sharp, like a razor blade or a scalpel, I had one somewhere. The blood oozed down my arm but it wasn't fast enough and I cut longer and deeper. It still wasn't fast enough so I nicked a vein. Now it started to flow, I cut it some more and now it was really flowing. I ran the scalpel up the blood vessel and blood was now pouring everywhere, there was little pain but I felt my life force pooling out on the bathroom floor. I felt a bit light-headed and sat down, blood still running everywhere including all over me.

I was becoming covered in my own blood, it was warm and sticky and I was dying, even in my befuddled shocked brain, I knew what was happening and I didn't care. It was a release and soon I'd be free as my life force ran away soaking into the carpet and my clothes.

In my stupor I saw my mother standing before me, she was not best pleased. "Just look at this mess Catherine, who is going to clean it up?"

I smiled back, because I was too weak to talk. I felt embarrassed but it wouldn't be for long.

"What do you think you are doing to yourself? What about all your plans, your ambitions, your romance with that young man? If you die now, how are you going to realise all these things and what is Professor Agnew going to think about you?"

I was dying but her words hit me like red hot sparks and I felt the pain. Yet I was too weak to reply to defend myself. How could she say these things to me, she was my mother and I loved her? How could she hurt me like this?

"Who is going to look after Derek (my father) if you die? Don't you know it's a daughter's duty to look after her father if her mother isn't there? So Catherine, are you going to disappoint me as a daughter like you did as a son?"

I struggled to stay conscious to listen to what she was saying, desperately fighting to answer her back, to say what I felt and to defend myself. Why should I care for my father, he didn't care for me? My mouth remained paralysed and I sat there slumped in my chair as the blood flow eased a little, presumably because there wasn't too much left to leak out of me.

"You know your father and I love you even though you seem to think otherwise? He tried to control himself but you made him so angry, he so badly wanted a son to carry on his name so when he discovered he had a daughter he was angry. He's angry with himself you know for not controlling his feelings, and we as women should forgive him. Men aren't as strong as women, they give into their feelings much more easily than we do. But then it's not going to bother you for much longer is it, because you're coming to join me IN HELL!"

Suddenly her face changed into that of a skull, the hair and skin peeling off and two monstrous creatures dragged her away, I could hear her screams and their maniacal laughter. It was horrible.

Then I looked up and two of the monsters were coming towards me, they reached out towards me and with one last effort I screamed and flailed away from them. I fell on the bedroom floor and the radio alarm clock hit me on the shoulder as it fell off the bedside cabinet.
I was sticky with sweat and my heart was beating like mad.

It took me a few moments to realise I'd had a nightmare, a really nasty one, so I must have fallen asleep. Picking myself up off the floor and returning the radio to its place, I went out on shaky legs to make a cup of tea, boy did I need it.

'Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley again.' Nah, wrong dream, wrong story...read on.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & D du Maurier.
Part 50 (Crikey that's half way to 100 - Don't even go there!).

It is very difficult to drink a cup of tea when you are shaking, and I was shaking, big time. I began to undertand how someone with Parkinson's must feel and of course the more I tried to stop it, the worse it got.

Trying to understand what I had seen in my dream was beyond me, so I tried to take enough notes to show it to Dr Thomas, writing was no easier than drinking with my tremor. Once the tea cooled a little I felt happier risking pouring it all over myself. Instead I seemed to calm down a bit and drank it without difficulty. I then managed to make the notes on the dream.

I could not believe that I allowed my mother to be dragged off by demons to hell, although I was paralysed by my suicide attempt, or so it seemed. I couldn't believe that either. Okay, I've had thoughts, who hasn't? Especially so after my father beat me so badly, I felt really worthless and emasculated by it. However, the pills didn't work and after some help from Dr Thomas, I decided to fight back by exploring my female side.

It seemed that my suicide attempt in real life was the end of my being a man and from then on, I was reborn to become a woman. Well that's what I tell myself and it makes sense to me. Stella seemed to have been the catalyst and here I am, living my fantasy.

Then life intervened and my mother dies and I am at a loss as to what to do about it. At least I went and saw her just before she died. maybe she was waiting for me, I don't know. I've heard stories about dying people hanging on to see a favourite relative or friend, and then croaking.

So what about the hell bit? Was that me seeing her religious beliefs as keeping her suppressed, in a sort of hell of her own making? It'll do for now, but why was I killing myself? Was that axiomatic of the difficulty I've had accepting myself especially through my parent's eyes?

It was three in the morning and no place for deep psycho-philosophical self examination. I went back to bed after a wee, and it took me a while to sleep again. I dreamt again, this time I was with my father. I was his little girl and he was walking with me holding his hand, I was about seven or eight I suppose, and I felt totally in love with my daddy, he was so big and strong compared to little girl me.

We walked through a park and sat on a bench for a little rest, I sat on my daddy's lap and felt something hard under my bottom. I thought it was his hand but he had both of those around me. He was holding me very tightly and it began to frighten me, he was breathing very rapidly and making funny groaning noises. I began to cry and he got very cross with me, calling me, "A girly cry-baby."

I suddenly realised that I had turned from a girl into a boy and was still crying as he called me names, then he was offering to buy me an ice cream if I didn't say anything to my mother. He also told me that if I said anything, he'd give me something to cry about. I got the ice cream.

I awoke in a sweat, the images were so real, as if I were recalling them from life. I sat up in bed trying to remember, but all I could recall was my dad taking me for walks to the park, what we did there I can't recall. The realisation of what I was thinking made me rush to the bathroom and I threw up, it was too horrible to contemplate. He was abusive in that he would beat me for little provocation until I got older, but the idea that he was sexually abusive - it seemed wrong. No it couldn't be true. No I couldn't accept that, it was my overactive imagination trying to justify my decisions and blame it on somebody else. There was no one to blame, I wanted to be female full stop. No one else was involved until Stella arrived on the scene, other than the professionals.

But part of me wanted to know, did my father do anything underhand or was he pure and simply a bully? I had to know for certain, I needed to know and for that I would have to meet up with him. But whether I could ask him, was another matter.

I wasn't sure about seeing him at all, not without the agreement of Dr Thomas, but now I felt that I didn't want to discuss it with her in case it was some form of false memory. If I could get to the truth, then I could discuss it with her.

I made some more tea, resolved I would call my father although I would set the parameters for the meeting. I knew where I would meet him, a small restaurant which had two entrances and I would ask someone to come and meet me there an hour after, whence I would leave whether or not we had concluded the meeting. I would definitely go as Cathy and I would spare no effort to look as female as possible, he would accept me as I am or I would reject him for good and all. Now who to ask? Stella or Prof Agnew seemed the best bets. I would think about it. I wouldn't call him tomorrow anyway, let him stew for a day or two besides, I needed to get my self sorted out completely and my plans laid.

I decided that what I actually wanted from seeing him was to be seen as his equal, but as a woman equal. I wanted his respect, which was going to be a tough call and of course I wanted to ask about my dream.

I had no idea what he wanted from our meeting. Perhaps he was just lonely, if he wanted me to come back home, he was barking up the wrong tree. I had ambitions of my own and they didn't feature looking after my father. No siree, I was a career girl! Yes, I liked that idea.

It was now nearly five and getting light, I pulled on my cycling kit and with my bike, keys and kit set off for an early morning ride, there is nothing to beat them. They clear your mind and invigorate your whole body.

The air was cool and I could just about see my breath as I set off towards that hill again, this time I knew I could ride it.

The violence begins, how will our heroine cope? Read on and see if she does or not...Oh dear!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part LI

The ride did me the world of good, as it always did, helping me to put things into perspective. I resolved that I would meet up with my father, despite his bullying I still had some affection for him and I would give him an opportunity to change. Obviously this would begin with him accepting me as his daughter. Beyond that I hadn't really thought too much, and as far as the sexual abuse was concerned, maybe it was just a dream, symbolism for something else. I didn't know and would have to think about it.

I mean, how do you ask someone if they sexually abused you? How are you Dad, oh by the way, did you..? Yeah sure, no, if I was to enquire it would take some sublety and at the moment that felt beyond me. It would wait.

I turned back into my road and emerging from the communal front door were my graffiti friends, 'Big Mac and Fries'. "Look out, iceberg warning," called Big Mac as I dismounted.

"I hope you're going to clean your handiwork off my door?" I said as I removed my helmet.

"What handiwork is that then?" said Mac, as if, 'and what are you gonna do about it?' was implied by his body language.

"I've already done it Mac," I bluffed, "the person at the housing trust said that vandalism of any sort wasn't to be tolerated, and they were more than happy to accept the CCTV I have of you two doing it."

It was a total lie but they didn't know that. I hated myself for it, because I was getting so good at it, it was almost becoming an art form.

"What CCTV is that then?" asked 'Fries'.

"Oh, didn't you know, Charlie installed it a few months ago in the hallway because he used to get hassled by people banging on his door, he had a few DVDs of the perpetrators. Apparently it was usually the same ones, you know playing football in the hall and using his door as the goal. That sort of thing. I handed them all over."

Suddenly their body language changed to that of uncertainty and apprehension, gone was the cockiness and the arrogance which I despised.

"I don't believe you." Big Mac stood towering over me.

"Don't take my word for it, wait for the trust to write to you. Anyway, I have things to do." I said trying to walk with the bike around him. He moved to block me.

"People who mess with me usually regret it." He stood up to his full height.

"Bullies are invariably cowards," I spat, and then as he moved to block me again, I stepped hard on the pedal my side of the bike and the opposite one hit him quite hard on the leg.

Surprised he stepped back rubbing his shin, "Bitch! You'll live to regret that."

"Don't forget to smile for the camera," I said with a sweetness that verged on saccharin.

"If I was you, I'd be very afraid," he called after me.

"You going to add threatening behaviour to your other sins. I deal with rats for a living, most of them end up dead, good day gentlemen." I wheeled the bike at him and he got out of the way. "Charlie was afraid of you, I'm not."

I carried the bike up to my room and shut the door, putting up my safety bar very quickly. My heart was hammering and I was close to shitting myself with fright. What had I just done? Did I have some sort of death wish? I began to wonder, firstly thinking of meeting my father and then the two monkeys from my floor. What was I thinking of? Very little by the look of it.

I made a cup of tea and drank it with shaking hands, this was becoming a habit. I decided that any more aggro and I would speak with the professor and see if he could help me find some other accommodation. I would have to be careful going out at night, but then that would only be with Simon, and probably on a one off for his barn dance, so I'd just keep out of their way.

Why was life so unneccessarily complicated? I mean I didn't want to cause anyone any harm or hindrance, but it seemed to seek me out. As a boy I ran away, as a girl I seemed more prepared to fight back. I pondered on that for a few minutes, did I have it the wrong way round? Shouldn't I be more confident and courageous as a boy? Maybe I should, but I wasn't but being a girl didn't mean I needed to accept being pushed around either, especially by a couple of brainless dickheads! I was getting angry and ready for a fight, dammit, if they wanted one, they could have one.

I showered and changed into jeans and a tee shirt, put on some mascara and lipstick, and taking the MTB went to see student health. The ride was uneventful, the session with the health nurse was a bit more worrying although she accepted what I said, she clearly didn't believe me.

"So let me get this straight, you've had gender reassignment surgery?"

"No, I'm on the waiting list for it."

"Oh!" she said, "Are you sure, I mean you look female."

"I think I would have noticed in the shower," I said trying to keep my patience.

"I suppose you would," she muttered shaking her head.

"I do know the difference between male and female, I sex dormice for a living." I beamed a smile at her, although my statement went over her head. In fact she gave me a very strange look. "I'm a biologist," I offered smiling again.

"Oh," was all she said. "I've altered your health records to female, because that is what we usually do and I've put a block on anyone accessing them without your permission. We do the same with those who have embarrassing infections, like Hepatitis or HIV."

"Embarrasing?" I queried, "Surely tragic would be a better description?"

"Sometimes," she said blushing a little. Then she said, "Thank you for notifying us Miss Watts." The interview was ended.

While I was at it I made an appointment to see my doctor, my GP not psychiatrist, thought I'd get it over in one hit. It was going to be one of those days.

"Can I make an appointment to see Dr Smith?"

"Is it urgent?"

"Not especially."

"He's actually got a cancellation in ten minutes."

"Yeah, I'll take it, thank you."

"What name?"

"Cathy, erm, Charlie Watts."

"Which is it Miss?" She typed away on the computer, "Oh, we don't have a Cathy Watts."

"You will when I come out. Stick in Charles and see what happens."

She did and oohed quite loudly, "I'll sort it out, so he doesn't call the wrong name."

"You're very kind," I said smiling.

I sat and tried to ignore the obvious attention I was attracting from the other reception staff, burying my head in 'Country Life' magazine, and one that was only six years old. I heard the odd gasp from a female in reception and a stifled titter, then someone said, "You're joking, that's never a bloke." Nothing changes!

"Cathy Watts?" called Dr Smith and I went into his surgery with him. He'd been prescribing the hormones through Dr Thomas' instructions for several months, so he was completely unfazed by my change in appearance. "Wow, you look really good," he gushed, "changing names and things, no problem. So how's it going?"

I told him what had happened in the last week including my loss. He simply nodded and made encouraging noises. I declined to talk about meeting my father or the problem with my neighbours.

"I think you've made the right decision," he said offering his hand, "I can't get over how good you look. Just keep taking the tablets," he smiled and gave me another prescription for the magic pills.

I rode home and couldn't believe it, Dick Dastardly and Muttley were outside again. I stopped some yards from them. "Right you bitch, you're gonna get what's due to you," spat the larger of the low lifes. He stepped towards me.

I pedalled away from him, "Come back you bitch and face the music," he shouted after me.

So I did. I rode straight back at him and bunny hopped hitting him in the chest with the front wheel, twice, the second time as he hit the ground I landed on top of him, riding off over his face. I heard his nose go and I suspect a few ribs. Somehow I managed to stay on the bike and circled around as his dumbstruck friend was bending over trying to help his beleaguered mate, I attempted to park the front wheel between his bum cheeks. He went flying landing on top of his injured pal. I then retired to my room and blocked up the door.

I awaited a visit from the local constabulary for assault and spent a worried night, expecting a bang on the door. However, nothing happened. The next day, I went to see Dr Thomas and wheeling my bike out of my room, Mac poked his head out of the door and dipped back in very quickly. I smiled although I suspected the war wasn't over, just the first battle. I don't support violence, but occasionally it seems to be the only language some people understand.

More intrigue, shopping and a mystery letter. What will Cathy do? Read on and find out - assuming she ever decides!

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

Dr Thomas was very supportive as usual, she understood my reluctance to go to my mother's funeral, especially given the likely reaction of her friends. She asked if I had plans for seeing my father again, I told her that I was simply thinking about it. Given my previous experience, she urged caution.

I told her about the escapade with Mork and Mindy outside my room and she offered to write to the housing trust. I declined her offer but asked her to be prepared to stand bail for me should the two injured parties make a complaint to the police. She thought that was very funny, but I wasn't laughing, it could still happen.

I should have been attending lectures, but had effectively been excused them by my professor. I should therefore have been writing my dissertation, or really just tidying it up because most of it was already written. Guilt or responsibility got the better of me because I thought I'd better do some more work on it so I went home, getting some fresh milk and one or two items of shopping on the way.

"How is your brother?" asked the shopkeeper who seemed to have bought the fib I told the last time I saw him.

"Slight improvement, but my mother has died since I was here last." I watched his eyes open wide and I'm sure he thought I was telling lies.

"I am very sorry," he offered.

"Thank you, she died suddenly in hospital in Bristol."

"I am sorry," he repeated, "when is the funeral?"

"I'm not sure, I don't get on with my father, so I might not go."

"Oh dear, that is very sad, but surely you must mend bridges and go for the sake of your mother."

I hadn't really thought of it as a duty before, perhaps I wanted to avoid getting involved with my own grief and so had possibly used my differences with my father as an excuse not to go. I hadn't thought, I must go, rather that I musn't. Geez, isn't life so bloody complicated?

"You must bury the hatchet with your father and go to say cheerio to your mother. It is your mother after all."

A day or two ago I'd have buried the hatchet in my father or he in me. Now this man I hardly knew was explaining the facts of life as he saw them, and maybe he was right. I didn't know any more.

I thanked him and paid for my purchases. My entry back home was very pensive and had nothing to do with Wordsworth nor his bloody daffodils. I rarely had any mail, so what made me check my post box, goodness only knows. There was a letter with a typed envelope addressed to, 'Miss Catherine Watts'. The postmark was blurred so I couldn't read it. I put it in my shopping bag and went up to my room. I stored my bike, put the shopping on the table and using some nail varnish remover I had just bought, wiped off the graffiti from my door. It had made a statement, my removal of it made another.

I settled down with a cuppa and a biscuit, essentially trying to work up some enthusiasm for my dissertation. It seemed a losing battle. I was about to make a second cup of tea, when I remembered the letter. I took it from the otherwise empty bag. I still didn't recognise it nor was expecting anything, so who knew about me? Not many. Then I assumed it must be from the Dean or student health, except they usually use envelopes with a return address, this one had no such addition it was a plain white envelope.

I nearly didn't open it, because it was unlikely to be important, but at the last minute I did, curiosity got the better of me. Inside was a typed letter and a cheque.

'Dear Catherine,

No matter what you think of me, I do think of you often and with affection. I'm sorry you didn't have a chance to talk things through with your mother, whom I'm sure you miss as much as I do. I hope you will be able to attend her funeral at St Clements Church on friday at 2.00pm.

I am trying to understand your position although you will understand how difficult that is for me, being outside my experience. However, I hope you succeed in all you try, including your new life style. I'm aware that will mean some outlay for new clothes and things, so please find the attached to help with that expense.

Please do come to the funeral, I'm sure your mother would have wanted us to make peace.

with love,

Dad.'

I examined the cheque, it was for a thousand pounds! I nearly dropped it in my tea with shock. Can leopards change their spots? No matter, he had plenty of money and I didn't, so I would take his blood money and use it to expand my wardrobe as I needed to.

An hour later I was at the bank and then the shops! I bought a black pinstripe skirt suit and a pair of glossy black court shoes with three inch heels. Next was a white blouse in pure silk with a vee neck. I bought more bras and pants, adding to my Sloggi collection, and went home. I was now equipped to go to the funeral all I needed was to make the decision.

I'd bought some notelets and used one to write a very brief thank you to my father for the cheque. Courtesy costs little and at least I knew I had acted properly. I made no mention of the funeral or my attendance. I posted it in the pillar box across the road, he would get it the next day.

Returning to my dissertation was a waste of time, I just couldn't think my mind kept returning to my father's note and the advice of the shopkeeper. I felt morally blackmailed into going to the funeral and also a nagging feeling that by avoiding it, I would regret it once the stress of the past week was over and normality returned.

I tried calling Stella but she was out, probably in work. So I did the only thing that was left open to me in such situations, got my bike out and went for a ride.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & M Indurain.
part LIII

The day had become cooler and I was wearing a university sweatshirt over my cycling shirt. I felt completely upside down in deciding what to do. I'd taken his money but I wasn't sure I wanted to attend the funeral, I needed to talk to Stella and had no idea when she'd be home, she was the only one who appreciated my situation, I don't think even Dr Thomas really understood me entirely. But then they saw different aspects of my life, the good doctor only saw me in her consulting room whilst Stella had seen me out and interacting, sort of.

It was bugging me and I found one way to release the tension was to do a hard training run on the bike, just head down and go for it. I was doing just that when I passed two other women out on road bikes. I flew past them and they only caught me because I got stuck at traffic lights on road works.

"Yes it is a girl," I heard one declare to the other. Then she drew level with me and asked, "Are you at the university?"

I admit I wasn't in much mood for idle chatter but politeness kept me from ignoring them. "Yes, why?"

"Do you do much riding?"

"A bit why?"

"We're trying to get together a scratch team to race against Southampton."

"When and what sort of distance?" I answered, although I knew I wasn't up to much as a racing cyclist.

"One hundred K."

That was about the edge of my range, I could do sixty miles it was just boring to do on my own and I'd never tried racing anything like that distance. "I dunno," I replied sounding super intelligent. "When is it?"

"Sunday morning." She beamed a smile at me and I found it difficult to be grumpy with her.

"I dunno, I'm out at a dance on saturday evening so may not feel like an early rise on sunday. Besides, I'm probably not good enough."

"What sort of distance do you cycle, regularly?"

"It varies, around an hour or two a couple or three times a week."

"Between twenty and forty miles?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," I shrugged.

"How far have you done today?"

"About ten, why?"

"Ten miles," she asked.

"Yes."

"How about we do another ten, the three of us?" Put on the spot I could only agree, she outlined a route which I knew. We agreed where possible to keep up a reasonable pace, which meant above fifteen miles per hour and preferably twenty. I knew that was a minimum standard for official races.

The lights changed and Jill led off followed by Amy, I brought up the rear. We tootled along at fifteen miles an hour for about ten minutes, but it was hardly race training. I moved up to second and suggested we up the pace. Jill waved me through, as if to put my money where my mouth was.

I took them gently up to twenty over the next mile, then up to twenty five on a nice flat stage. Jill was pretty well keeping up but Amy was struggling. I waved Jill through and asked if she wanted me to cool it? She shook her head vigorously, so I upped it a little more. By the next rise we were doing nearly thirty miles an hour and my little legs were beginning to know it.

We stopped to wait for Amy, so perhaps Jill was feeling the pace too. I had actually been riding faster than I usually did by nearly fifty per cent.

"That was good Cathy, I needed a work out. Amy, bless her tries hard but is a bit slow."

"I couldn't keep that up for long," I said still breathing hard and sweating profusely.

"Neither can most cyclists. You up for sunday then?"

"How many have you got?" I asked.

"Four definites, plus two possibles. I'd prefer to have someone like yourself who can ride a bit."

"That might have been a flash in the pan," I said knowing that it wasn't really, I was capable of that sort of performance most of the time.

"We need a minimum of six, over that it doesn't count."

"I don't know."

"Go on Cathy, your university needs you, or are you going to let Southampton win by default?"

"I can't say I care too much either way."

"Please, I need you to help us show we can at least get a team, last year we had three riders."

"I'm out on saturday night."

"It isn't until eleven o'clock, just don't have too much sex or you'll be sore."

"I beg your pardon," I said in astonishment.

"I speak from experience."

"What!" I nearly fell off my bike.

"I had this really heavy session the night before a club race, we were at it like bunnies. Gawd, the next day I could hardly walk, let alone do sixty five miles." She began to laugh and it was infectious, "Learnt my lesson that day, I was sore for a week after the bike ride. I mean it's up to you what you do, but bonking and bikes are not good bedmates."

"I'll take your word for it," I said smiling in a knowing way, which was a total lie because I didn't know.

At this point Amy caught up with us and we let her get her breath back before we set off again. It appeared that she was one of the extras for sunday if we needed her. I knew Southampton had a good men's team but knew nothing about their women's riders. Apparently, Jill considered they were good too.

"I don't have a racing licence or anything," I mentioned as we reached Portsmouth again.

"It's only a friendly, so you won't need anything, although I would suggest you join the club, training with others is better than on your own."

"Yeah, I know. I occasionally bump into Ann someone who does triathlons."

"What Ann Sommers?"

"I thought she owned a series of questionable shops? This woman is a nurse."

"Yes Ann Sommers, you know she's an amateur international."

"I didn't, but it would explain why I struggle more on hills than she does."

"Her cycling is her best sport but she runs quite well and her swimming is good too."

"I suppose it would have to be to be a triathlete." My logic was faultless, at times!

"Look we're going down the Union later, wanna come?"

"No thanks, I'm still trying to finish my dissertation."

"What, a bit early isn't it?"

"I'm doing an MSc, with a view to going on to do a doc phil."

"In what?"

"Mammals in general, dormice in particular." I wasn't at all sure how happy I was to reveal too much about myself, maybe I should have told a few porkies.

"Oh those sweet furry things, I'm doing boring old history."

"So am I," called Amy from behind.

"I liked history, but you don't get to chop up so many rats doing that." As soon as I said it I thought it sounded like something a boy would say.

"Each to her own, personally, I couldn't chop up a dormouse if you asked me," offered Jill.

"They're protected, so you can't anyway. I was only joking, I hate doing experimental work that involves killing or dissection. I'm better at population studies."

"Just remember what I said about the night before the race, population studies indeed!" Jill kept a straight face as she delivered this killer line, I laughed so hard, I had to stop and was in danger of falling off again.

Back at my room I finally managed to catch up with Stella, "Anyway, I don't know about going, but he sent me some money and I've bought a blouse and a suit." I described them to her.

"If you were working in a bank, that would be fine. Look I'll be over in an hour, I have just the thing for you to wear and I'll take you, friday is my rest day."

"Only if I pay for the petrol then," I insisted.

"Simon does, save your money, if you like the outfit I have in mind, you can buy it off me."

"I can't afford the sort of clothes you buy," I protested whilst thinking, 'which Simon also pays for'.

"Don't worry, I don't want too much for it, and we have to see if it will fit you yet. See you in an hour."

"Thanks Stella, you're a life saver."

"No lifesavers are paramedics, I mop fevered brows," she giggled and said," see ya in an hour."

"In the navy..."

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & T. Hardy
part:hanner cant pedwar.

By the time Stella arrived I had showered and dried my hair, and popped on a little makeup. She hugged me as she came through the door having deposited her dress bag and holdall on the threshold.

I was wearing jeans and a tee shirt, which was my first mistake. "Right get those off, put the enhancer padding in your bra, come along we haven't got all night." I wasn't so much shepherded as frogmarched into the room and disrobed.

While I did her bidding, she proceeded to unzip the dress bag which was now occupying most of my bed. "You could do with a dolly or teddy or something on your bed," she fished about in the holdall, "here, courtesy of Simon."

"Does he know about this?" I asked accepting the soft toy. It was pink lion, which turned out to be a nightdress case.

"Of course he does, I told him you needed one, he asked me to get it."

"Usual commission?"

"But of course, he'll think I'm going soft otherwise."

"You're awfully mean to him sometimes," I said pouting and cuddling my new little friend.

"Sometimes, my God, what am I doing wrong, it's supposed to be all the time. Damn, if he notices, I'm lost." She draped her forearm over her face and pretended to cry. I couldn't help but giggle, she did a moment later after berating me for lack of sympathy.

The giggle fit lasted a few moments and I wondered which of us was the more crazy. Officially, it should be me because I'm the one seeing the shrink, however, I'm told the sign of true madness is not being aware of it, so I'll leave you make up your own minds.

"You have quite a reasonable shape for a new woman," offered Stella looking me up and down.

"Only because I just put pads in the bra," I said defensively.

"Okay, your boobs could do with being bigger, but I meant your waist hip ratio is not too bad, all that cycling I suppose."

"I dunno," I said shrugging my shoulders, "I've always had a fairly small waist, getting trousers was a nightmare when I went to school. I finally managed to get Mum to let me buy my own, I bought some unisex, girl's ones. They were slightly too big in the bum, but fitted better than the boy's ones."

"I'll bet the female ones fit better now," Stella made me turn around.

"Yeah, a bit." I twirled.

"Small but perfectly formed," she smiled at me.

"There's no need to get personal," I blushed my hand dropping to hide my relatively flat crotch.

"I meant your arse, deary."

"Oh, I erm.." I blushed very red, I was sure of it.

"Goodness, no I wouldn't make remarks about that, your little deformity, that's a medical condition."

"It is?" I gasped.

"Yes, vagina - inverticus."

"What?"

"It sticks out when it should go in."

"You are crazy!"

"And proud of it. Now, put this on." She handed me a navy skirt in a very fine woollen material. It was cut on the bias and deflected attention away from my small hips. Next was a matching camisole in silk, which after I had pulled on she offered me the jacket.

I slipped my arms into the sleeves and did up the two buttons on its waist. The jacket was flared over the hips and quite shaped at the waist. There were no lapels, the neck and front were embroidered navy lace. It was beautiful. I stood before the mirror and was transfixed by it.

"It's absolutely beautiful," I said almost in a trance.

"It is on you sweetie, a bit softer than the pin stripe?"

"Absolutely." I think I mumbled something along those lines, I was still astonished by her exquisite taste in clothing.

"So, will it do?"

"Absolutely," I muttered, why change a winning line?

"Okay, what shoes are you going to wear?"

"I have some black ones," I snapped out of my trance and showed her my new shoes.

"No, it has to be navy or a complete contrast. If we were going to a happy occasion, I'd have said red and suggested a red cami, but it's a sad occasion so we need navy."

"Not too much navy is it?" I dared to question my fashion consultant.

"Not for a sad occasion, the object is to look smart without drawing too much attention to yourself. As a close relative, there will be attention anyway, depending upon how your father wants to play it. If they were expecting a son, there will be quite a lot of attention, so you need to look smart but confident, hence navy rather than black. You're bending the rules in all sorts of ways without being disrespectful to your mother's memory."

"That's amazing Stella, I'd never have thought of that."

"I only just did, can you get some shoes tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. Any suggestions?"

"A court shoe, it is a formal occasion. Don't go for too high a heel in case we have to literally cut and run."

"What do you mean?"

"What happens if the natives or your father for that matter cuts up rough at your new appearance?"

"Ah, erm.. I don't know, what happens?"

"We get the hell out of there at the double. Get yourself a small navy bag too, enough for a small purse, hankies and a lipstick. You won't need a shopping bag, this is a dressy occasion, so small bag. Got it?"

"I think so."

"Make up, needs to be enough to make you look different from Charlie but not enough to look obvious. I'll do it before we go, get yourself a waterproof brown mascara while you're out tomorrow and a blonde eyebrow pencil."

"Blonde?"

"Yes it's actually light brown, so we could use it as an eyeliner."

"Gosh, I'd never have thought of that," I was in awe of my friend.

"I've been doing this a bit longer than you, that's all. I also have extremely good taste and such modesty." She sniggered and I chuckled.

"How can I thank you?" I said shaking my head.

"Well you can give me fifty quid for the suit and camisole, is that all right?"

"Yes, is that enough?"

"Not if you were buying it new, but it is second hand."

"I hardly looks as if it's been worn," I remarked taking it off carefully.

"It hasn't, I bought it then went off it. Good job Simon paid for it."

"Isn't that extravagant?"

"What to spend three hundred on dress?" She saw my mouth gape open, "This wasn't that dear." My mouth closed in relief. "It was only two hundred and ninety nine pounds ninety nine pence."

"What!"

"It's a year old, for goodness sake stop being so precious about it, it's only pile of cloth. If you wear it at least it's getting some use for that money, if you don't I'll either sell it to a dress agency or give to Oxfam. You choose."

"I should give you more than fifty," I protested.

"Look Cathy, you have still to buy a bag and some shoes. Do they wear hats in your church?"

"It isn't my church, I've had nothing to do with them for years. Some people do, others don't."

"I brought this navy scarf, just in case, keep it in your bag."

"You've thought of everything, thank you so much." I hugged her and felt a tear drip down my face.

"Hey, why are you crying?"

"I'm overwhelmed by your kindness."

"I always wanted a younger sister not a big brother. I didn't get one, so you are my little sister substitute. The big brother has, I have to admit, proved to be very useful, so I'm not complaining."

"And I needed a big sister or a mentor," I said smiling at her.

"Exactly, so we're all satisfied."

"Except Simon," I said blushing.

"Oh he's okay, he's such a romantic, unrequited love suits him perfectly and is useful for me."

I shook my head in disbelief. I knew she was making light of her affection for him, she'd probably kill to protect him and he for her. I was glad to know them, not for their largesse, but their kindness. They were two of the nicest people on the planet and apart from Stella's driving, wonderful role models.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & N.Cooke.
part LV

I was in town, the bag I was carrying contained a pair of navy shoes with three inch stiletto heels and a small leather handbag in a very close match of colour. I was feeling rather smug that both had been purchased from sale stock, so I'd saved quite a few pennies. Then I saw it.

I was walking past a charity shop. In the past I had frequented them for books, then finally clothes in starting my new wardrobe. I was very choosy and bought very little, but I saw something that I had to have. Well to be correct, I had to try on and if it fitted I would buy no matter how much it cost. Stella would probably kill me, but I'd live with that.

I entered the shop feeling very self-conscious, I don't think I had been in there since my changeover. I nodded at the woman behind the counter and she nodded back. The item I wanted was part of their window display, I hoped I could try it.

I reached into the window and looked at the price tag. I gasped, it was four pounds. At that price, it was certainly a bargain. "Could I try something on from your window display?" I asked the woman behind the counter.

"Depends upon what it is, I can't lift the mannequin out on my own." She walked over to the window with me. I told her what I wanted and she reached for the object, handing it to me. "There's a mirror in the changing cubicle," she said and went back to the counter.

I went to the cubicle and looked at myself. I had done my hair slightly differently that morning and didn't know if I liked it or not. Putting down my bag and shoes, I lifted the new item and examined it carefully before placing it upon my head.

The hat, for that is what it was, was a navy felt one, with a broad brim and a rounded crown. There was a ribbon about an inch wide around the base of the crown, on the left side of which, was a flower made from some silky material about two inches in diameter.

I pulled it on and with a degree of uncertainty looked in the mirror, my mother was looking back! I stepped back in astonishment. People had told me I took after my mother and very occasionally I could see her in certain expressions or gestures I used. Now and again I had seen bits of her in my eyes or nose or even my colouring. But this was something else.

You see my mother liked hats and being a churchgoer she wore them frequently. When I was a kid, I used to love to 'borrow' them and parade around the house until my father caught me. That was another hiding I got.

"Oh yes," said a voice from behind me and I nearly jumped out of my skin, squeaking with surprise.

"Oh, you made me jump," I said my heart thumping hard enough to damage my ribs.

"It suits you dear, I thought it might."

"I don't know, I think I look like my mother."

"Oh no, it makes you look sophisticated rather than older. It only came in last week and the policy is to sell them off cheaply because hats are difficult. I think it's only been worn once by the looks of things."

"I don't know, do you think it's suitable for a funeral?" I asked still very unsure after the shock in the mirror.

"I should think it's perfect, is it at a church or a crematorium?"

"A church, my mother didn't believe in being burnt, Second Coming and all that stuff."

"In which case it's perfect, what are you wearing it with?"

"A navy suit, a skirt suit."

"I should think it will be very smart. You say it's your mother's funeral?"

"Yes," I answered, still not sure about the hat.

"I'm sorry, was she very old?"

"No, fifty."

"Not old by today's standards."

I nodded my agreement, then hoped she wouldn't ask me any more questions like, 'what did she die from'? Because I had no more answers.

"Will I need a hat pin?" I asked trying to change the subject.

"Probably best, especially if the wind gets up. We have some nice ones over here, one or two are practically antiques."

The one I chose cost more than the bloody hat, but it was very nice, gold and lapis lazuli - probably all fake, but so was I! I chuckled as I thought of myself as the ersatz daughter, I still couldn't feel close to my father and remembering the hats episode, didn't endear him to me one bit. I had a nasty thought, which was pure evil. If I looked like my mother, what effect would that have on him, and how was he going to explain me away to his friends. 'Oh this is my son Catherine, he's just waiting for his sex-change, the little pervert!'

As I walked to the bus stop carrying my purchases, I ran so many scenarios through my mind about what could happen that I nearly set my brain on fire. It was still buzzing around my head when I got off the bus, nearly forgetting my bags.

When I got back to my room, instead of going off on the bike as I usually did when something bothered me, I went to the bathroom and began to fiddle with my hair. I put it in a pony tail and pinned it up, then put the hat on again. This time I looked like my grandmother, we had a photo of her at a wedding years ago, I looked like her sister.

I spent the next hour or more playing with my hair and the hat. Mostly I looked like me, but with traces of my mother or grandmother. Having dealt with the shock, I actually quite liked the resemblance, and I decided I would wear my hair as I did when I tried it on first, see what my father said.

I practised pinning it on, it was harder than it looked and I nearly speared my brains at one point. Then I went off into flights of fancy about a woman who murdered somebody on a plane by jabbing them in the spine with a hatpin. I reckoned it would have to have been poisoned to work and I couldn't remember if it was real or some film I'd seen. It put even more bizarre ideas in my mind in how to deal with my father as I fingered the pin nearly sticking it in the skin.

All I had to do now was convince Stella to let me wear it. I tried it on with the suit and it looked fine to me, very formal, very churchy, very unlike the wearer. A she in wolf's clothing, that was me.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 56

Despite my attempts to deny it, friday morning had to come. It arrived and I stayed in bed later than usual. I couldn't sleep worrying about what would happen when we got to the church. Then Pinky and Perky came in at about half past two and banged on my door as they passed, they were also singing at the tops of their voices.

I did think about revenge but I suspect my head was pounding as much as theirs would be, so drum practice would be out, not that I had any drums, but banging doors and pots and pans could generate a few decibels. However, defection being the better part of valour, my courage left me and I turned over and went back to sleep.

I woke up at gone ten o'clock, and then had to rush to be ready for Stella. She was coming for eleven to do my makeup and hair and then we were off. Yuck!

I showered and wrapped my head in a towel to stop it drying too quickly. I was in my undies when she arrived so I threw on a robe.

"Have you only just got up?" she asked suspiciously.

"Who me, no I've been up for hours, done twenty miles on the bike."

"Why aren't the wheels wet then?"

"Wet?"

"Yes, it's been raining."

"Oh, I hadn't noticed. Okay, I overslept," and held out my wrist to be slapped.

Stella was busy pulling out different little pots and tubes from her bag. She whipped off the towel and shoved mousse on my hair, then out came her powerful hairdryer. Before she went too far, I thought I'd better mention my hat.

"Stella, I bought a hat."

"What a cycling one?"

"No a navy one, I thought I might wear it to the funeral."

"Oh," she sounded more surprised than anything, "Can I see it?"

I went to my wardrobe and pulled out the plastic bag it was in, and handed it to her. She looked at it and then at me, then back at it and back at me for several moments. "It could work," she mumbled to herself. "Yes, it's okay, I think I can do your hair to work with it."

"When I tried it on yesterday, I felt I looked like my mother."

"Is that wise?"

"I thought it might stop him wanting to hit me, and it might prove my point that I take after my mother."

"What if he sees you as defiling his memory of your mum?"

"I hadn't thought of that." I felt rather deflated, my enthusiasm getting less by the second.

"It's up to you, what do you want to do?"

"Stay here."

"You can't do that, you've already promised to go."

"I know, but I'm dreading it."

"That is quite understandable, it is your mother's funeral so it's hardly going to be a fun time."

"I'd like to wear it, if he hits me he hits me."

"If he hits you I shall call the police, after I've hit him."

"If he hits me, just get out of there, he can cut up rough."

"So can I, and I do kick-boxing."

"I didn't know that." I shook my head in amazement, but then I'd only known her and Simon a week, so why should I know all about her.

"Come on missy, lets get this barnett finished," so saying she picked up the hairdryer and began blowdrying my hair. It relaxed the tension which had been building for the past few days, and I could have happily gone to sleep.

Next she began my makeup, shaping my eyebrows again, penciling them a little darker, and then making my eyes look darker yet not heavily painted. The mascara was applied a couple of times as was the eyebrow pencil again, along the edges of my eyelids. My lipstick was the frosted pink of earlier days and she brushed a little blusher to my cheeks, highlighting my cheekbones. When I lookd in the mirror, the similarity to my mother was even greater.

I dressed carefully to avoid getting makeup on my clothes and smudging it. At almost dead on eleven thirty, I gingerly placed the hat on my head and my mother was back. This time my stomach churned, what was Dad going to say or do?

"Yeah, it quite suits you," came from my critic.

"Do you like it then?"

"Yes, it's fine. Come on we have to get going."

Once in the car, I tried to think about other things. Stella's driving was quite a distraction and I did wonder if we would get there at all. I was very quiet and so she put on the radio and we half listened to a magazine programme on Radio Four, followed by a comedy which neither of us found the slightest bit funny.

I sent my father a text, 'Remember i'm Cathy UR daughter. Where do U want us to meet U? C.'

Eventually the phone peeped indicating a response. I checked it, half expecting it to be from my telecom company telling me the price of calls had been reduced on the Moon. I would have been wrong, it was Dad.

'OK, hadn't 4gotten, @ the church. Come 2 vestry. Dad'

"He wants me to meet him in the vestry."

"Us, he wants us to meet him. Remember we come as a set."

"Yeah, thanks Stella, dunno what I'd do without you?"

"You'd survive, things would be different, that's all."

"I'd have a very meagre wardrobe."

"Compared to me, most women do, I certainly wouldn't worry about it not as long as we are the same size."

I smiled, more from politeness than anything, I was already playing scenarios with my dad. Once we got to Bristol, I had to navigate her to the church. We parked as near as possible in case we needed to get away quickly. It was quarter to two.

Linking arms with me Stella almost dragged me into the church and down towards the vestry. My legs were shaky and I felt very sick. There were people about but no one challenged us. Stella banged on the door and it opened, the vicar poked his head out.

"Is Mr. Watts there with you Reverend?" she asked.

"Yes, yes he is, this is Cathy, I take it?"

I nodded.

"You resemble your mother quite a bit, come in."

Stella led me into the room and the priest continued with his robing in a small dressing room off the main vestry. My father stood up as we entered. He looked at me in very nervous manner, this was so unlike my father. He seemed to have aged since we'd last seen him.

"You look like your mother," he said almost prowling around us, for Stella was still standing with me.

"I know," I said wanting to collapse or be sick.

"I can't understand why you want to do this to yourself, seems daft to me."

"It's something I have to do, I can't explain it and I don't feel I have to justify it."

"I'm not asking you to." He turned around and picking up a large carrier bag, he passed it to me. "This is yours I think."

I looked inside and gasped, tears were so close now I had to work really hard to stop them. I pulled out the doll, "Josephine!" I squeaked. He had taken it from me when I was about seven or eight. I swapped a football for her with a girl in school who was far more butch than I was. Dad caught me playing with her and that was the last I saw of her.

"You told me you'd smashed her and thrown her out."

"I wanted to but your mother stopped me. It's been up in the attic ever since."

I felt my eyes growing moist, "Why did you bring her today?"

"I hoped maybe we could start again."

"I don't know Dad, you did some awful things to me."

"I know so..girl, I was trying to stop you doing what you've done. I wanted you to be a man and be happy as one. Looks like I got it wrong, your mother was worried but she did what I wanted. I'm sorry, we got it wrong." He began to cry and I felt this awful pain inside my chest, it was his hurt I could feel and I wanted to scream. Instead I held out my arms and he picked me up and crushed me with his embrace. We both cried.

Stella and the priest eventually prised us apart, "Come on girl, lets touch up your eyes, they're not too bad."

"I don't care," I said almost starting the waterworks again. In a few moments we had touched years of anger and hurt and changed it into something else. I didn't know what, but it was better than I had hoped. Sadly it took my mother's death to reunite us and for my father to accept me, if he actually had. I was trying not to read too much into this meeting, it was a time of strange feelings and new situations for both of us, he could still revert to type and I was still frightened of his power, but not as much as I had been.

I looked at him, the priest was calming him down, talking so quietly that I couldn't hear what he was saying. He looked at his watch, "It is time to go," he said and held the door open for us.

Stella and I stood with my father in the first row of the congregation, they brought in the coffin, bedecked in flowers and I began to cry. I don't remember anything else except my father holding his arm around me as we both wept openly.

At the graveside, I pulled out the rose that I had brought with me, a single red one, and dropped it on the coffin. Stella led me away and we went back inside the church. No one came to speak with me, or if they did I didn't notice, maybe Stella kept them away or maybe they thought they'd catch something. I couldn't face the tea and sandwiches afterwards, so we left after another hug from my dad and a promise to speak again.

We stopped at a pub outside Bristol and Stella had a whisky and I knocked back a brandy and soda. I hadn't eaten anything all day, so it went straight to my head and I fell asleep once we were back in the car. I woke up back at Stella and Simon's house, my head aching and my eyes sore.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & A.Christie.
Heinz 57.

The car had stopped, which was just as well because it would have run into Simon's Volvo, if it hadn't. I glanced at Stella, "Can't I just go home?"

"Certainly not, I spoke to Simon while you were snoozing and he agreed that I should bring you here."

"Look I'm not really into company at the moment, so I'd be better off at home."

"You've had a very difficult day and I think you need to have people near should you feel upset."

"Does that mean I have to talk to Simon?"

"Only if you want to, he'll understand because he's so used to being ignored by pretty women."

"Why, he's such a lovely man."

"If you don't stay I shall tell him you said that and he'll never leave you alone."

"I'll tell him you lied to him."

"Damn, he'd probably believe that," she looked pensive for a moment, "Shall we call a truce?"

"Fine with me. He doesn't deserve the treatment you give him, you know."

"I know, but he is my only brother, so I have to keep his confidence up."

I nearly choked, was she joking or not? It didn't actually sound like it but I'm sure it was a quip made to make me think, which considering my mental processes at this minute, could be seen as unkind.

"Come on, let's get a cuppa," she said slipping out of the car. I sighed and with reluctant effort followed her.

"Hello Cathy, how did the funeral go?" asked Simon holding up a bottle of wine and shrugging.

"I'd prefer a cuppa, thanks. It went, I was in a sort of trance so I can't really say much, Stella may know more."

"She was a big, brave girl who helped her father through a difficult afternoon."

I wondered if Stella had been at the same funeral, because my recollection was a bit different, well okay very different. However, I felt too fragile to challenge it and she may have been exaggerating for Simon's sake, after all he didn't know as much about me as she did.

I had a couple of mugs of tea and perhaps it rehydrated me or did something similar because I began to recover my energy and emotional balance. There were loads of thoughts buzzing around my brain like an angry swarm of bees, but I seemed able to let them tire themselves, whilst I enjoyed the company of my hosts.

Enjoyed was the right description, because I really did feel comfortable in the company of these siblings. At times it was funny and I'd laugh out loud, at others, I wince at the razor sharp comments they'd make at each other. Yet I knew they genuinely loved each other, as much as any other brother and sister I'd ever known.

Simon was so long suffering, he'd got the dinner on by the time we got there and she criticized him for forgetting to take something out of the freezer. I withdrew to a safe distance, not wishing to get involved. Simon just let it fly over his head, ignoring it.

A little later he asked her how many traffic offences she'd committed going to Bristol. I'd lost count after twenty, but I kept it to myself. She simply accused him of being the one responsible, he'd apparently taught her to drive.

"No I didn't, I went out with you a few times to give you some practice," he protested, "but it was the Kamikaze School of Motoring who got you through your test. Personally, I think they only passed you because you frightened the examiner so much he thought if he failed you, he might have to repeat the test and might not survive it twice."

"You mean toad, I passed it first time," she complained.

"I rest my case," he said winking at me.

"Sounds convincing to me," I said winking back at Simon.

"You pair of rats," she accused, "you can do the dishes, I'm off to watch telly."

"Goodness, I won an argument with Stella, you must come more often."

"I keep telling her to marry you," sniped Stella as she wandered through the dining room to get the paper. I blushed and I suspect Simon did as well. "Has he proposed yet?" she fired at us on her way back waving the Radio Times.

"No he has not, nor would I expect him to!" I glared at Stella, but she merely poked her tongue out at me.

"I think I'd like to get to know you better first," remarked Simon, which almost caused me a fit of apoplexy.

"I don't know if I'm the marrying kind, Simon." I tried to pour cold water on this discussion.

"Oh I think the right proposal, coached with the right words and at the right time."

"How did your day go?" I asked him and with great sublety switched the conversation.

"Much the same as most others, I made my bank about ten million before lunch and lost half of it by tea time. They were still five mil up so they won't complain."

"Oh," I said looking at him until he noticed and I looked away. Well how was I supposed to know it meant I found him attractive, I know more about dormice than men.

"How is the dissertation coming on?" he asked me.

"It isn't, I've been too busy with other things."

"Would having a car help?"

"Not unless it can type," I replied drily.

"Ha ha, that's quite good," he laughed far more than the pun was worth but I ignored him, he was probably just being polite.

"It just that I have the chance of a little runabout for a song."

"It wouldn't really help, my bike is fine for around town and there's always the buses. Besides I could never repay you nor afford the running costs."

"Who said you'd have to?" he looked puzzled.

"What, I couldn't accept that." I felt myself get very hot.

"Why not, it would mean you could come and see Stella and me as often as you wanted, besides you could also nip up to Bristol to see your dad."

"No I couldn't, it wouldn't be fair."

"Fair to whom?"

"To you," I was blushing like a heat lamp. "I'm going to need to go home tomorrow to change for the dance."

"See if you had a car, that wouldn't have been an issue."

"If Stella had taken me home in the first place it wouldn't have been a problem either, instead she kidnapped me and brought me here."

"Yes we do a good line in white slavery, but now you know about it we may have to kill you."

"Can I get my bike back first?"

"Oh all right then." He smiled at me and my stomach flipped at the same time I felt sick because once he found out the truth, he'd drop me like a stone. Part of me felt I should be used to it by now, it had happened all my life.

"Don't get too close to me Simon, I'm bad news." I said quietly before I got up and ran up to my bedroom and locked the door.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 58.

"What did you do?" asked Stella emerging from the lounge.

"I didn't do anything?" Simon felt guilty even though he knew his conscience was clear.

"If you didn't do anything, then how come she's gone screaming up to her room?"

"She didn't go screaming," declared Simon firmly.

"What did you do, offer to show her your etchings?"

"Very funny Stella, how come I'm not laughing?"

"I don't know, but you're usually a few minutes after the punch line." Stella put down the Radio Times and asked, "She's had a very trying day, do you want me to go and talk with her or are you expecting to waste those dance tickets for tomorrow?"

"We pay on the door," Simon shook his head.

"However you get in, do you want me to go and see if I can repair the damage you've done?"

"I didn't do anything, she just told me I was very kind and that she was bad news."

"Bad news?" Stella looked puzzled, "She wasn't going to use you in one of her experiments was she?"

"Stop being frivolous Stella, is there anything about her I should know?"

"You mean apart from the mass murder and the sex change?" Stella threw back at him.

"Very funny, now is there?"

"She's supposed to be doing a bike race on sunday, apart from that, how am I supposed to know? I only met her a couple of hours before you did, and I've been trying to get her to date you ever since."

"Your efforts are appreciated Stella, but I can't understand why she said that about being bad news."

"Maybe she's just upset about losing her mum, she went to her funeral today after all."

"I know all that, I just can't figure her out."

"Maybe it's her period?"

"I suppose, you're strange enough when your having one, maybe she is too."

"I'm not strange, how dare you?"

"Stella, you are crazy at the best of times, at the worst you are positively barmy."

"I prefer deranged, as in flower deranging."

"Members of the jury I rest my case."

"What?" asked Stella looking around.

"Well it was getting heavy."

"What was?"

"My case."

"What the hell are you on about?"

"Who?"

"You, you B.O.B!"

"B.O.B! What's a B.O.B?"

"Brother of a bitch, why?"

"Did you just invent that?"

"Yes, why?"

"It's good, yes I like that, BOB, he he."

"I thought you might, tell me do you fancy Cathy?"

"As I'm neither blind nor celibate, yes of course I do, but then I suspect half the male population of Portsmouth does, the ones who aren't dead."

"Do you want a relationship with her?"

"If she wants one too."

"You know she is very shy?"

"Yes, but that makes her slightly vulnerable and adds to her attractiveness."

"She is very vulnerable, she is as green as grass when it comes to boys and I don't want to see her hurt. I suspect she may have a history of abuse."

"Oh, I see." Simon shook his head, "Well that could certainly cause her to think she was bad news."

"I think she mentioned she sees a therapist."

"Poor kid."

"Exactly, look you're going to have to face it, but she may not be interested in sex for a long time if at all."

"Oh, pity."

"So does that mean you're not interested in her anymore?"

"Don't be stupid Stella, even I'm not that shallow!" Simon tried to sound indignant.

"No you're at least a metre at the deep end."

"Very funny, I don't think."

"Look, I'll speak with her in the morning and tell her you're prepared to wait for her to feel ready, how does that sound?"

"I suppose."

"Well is it okay or not?"

"Yeah, it's okay."

Instead of saying anything, Stella hugged her brother. "Thank you, I'm sure she'll be worth the investment."

"I do the financial stuff around here," Simon hugged his sister, "but on this occasion, I agree with you."

"You've got a real soft spot for her haven't you?" said Stella quietly as they continued the embrace.

"So have you, why?"

"She's a bit like a kitten, cuddly and defenceless. I'm just trying to help her grow."

"What into a cat like you?" Simon felt pleased with his remark having got one back on his sister.

"You bastard," she said and hit him on the shoulder.

"Ouch! That hurt."

"It was meant to."

Oblivious to all this, I was lying asleep on my bed exhausted from the day's trauma, I hadn't even undressed or removed my makeup. In my haste to feel safe and escape Simon's generosity of which I felt unworthy, I had slammed and locked the door and thrown myself on the bed. Then I had howled to myself for a while until fatigue overwhelmed me and I fell asleep.

The first I knew of the morning was that I was still curled up on the bed in my navy suit, it was creased to hell. My neck hurt and I had red wrinkle lines on the one side of my face where the skin had been held against the sleeve of my suit and taken an imprint of the creases.

I looked in the mirror, I had dark rings around my rather bloodshot eyes and my skin looked pasty. My tongue was grey and looked more revolting than usual and my head ached. Despite a full night's sleep I felt like going back to bed and never waking up again, just sleeping forever. However, I knew that I had to get up and go home and somehow make myself look alive enough to keep my promise to Simon for his dance tonight. I felt more like death than dancing. A fleeting thought of Ravel's Bolero went through my mind, a dance of death, however, the nearest volcano to Portsmouth would be either Iceland or Italy. Both were a bit too far away to dance to and I wasn't sure Simon would be too interested in throwing himself into the fire. Come to think of it, neither was I, much too painful. I wondered if there was a Bolero for wimps?

The bedside clock showed it was nearly nine, I had slept about twelve hours, so how could I feel tired? I stripped off and donning the robe on the back of the door, slipped into the bathroom for a pee and a shower.

The warm water refreshed me a little and I cleaned off the makeup as well as my mood. There was a sadness, of course there was, no one would ever fill the void left by my mother's death, but it felt a little more bearable today. The funeral had provided an element of closure.

I recalled my departure from Simon last night. I wondered what he had made of it, in part I hoped I had put him off, while the other part of me was feeling more and more for him. Had he offered me the use of a car or had I dreamed it? I was so out of it last night I could have imagined it.

Walking back to my room, I realised I had no other clothes except the suit, but when I opened the bedroom door, I saw Stella had been clearing out more of her wardrobe and denim skirt and white top were left on the bed, along with some white panties. I silently offered a prayer to my fairy godmother friend, and got dressed, slipping on the navy courts after combing my hair back off my face.

Downstairs, Stella was eating some toast and reading the paper, "Hi," she greeted me and I replied in a similar manner. I poured myself some coffee and drank it, allowing the caffeine boost to kick start my system.

"Where's Simon?" I asked noticing his absence.

"He's gone out somewhere."

"I think I shall either have to tell him or end it with him." I felt sick saying it but felt it was the only choice open to me.

"Don't do anything hasty," Stella gave me a firm but supportive look, "I've told him you're emotionally fragile at the moment and had some difficulties with sex."

"You did what?" I gasped, horrified at her boldness.

"I told him you'd had a bad experience sexually and it might take some time for you to be able to have a full relationship."

"What did he say to that?" I was incredulous with Stella's scheming.

"He'd be sympathetic and supportive."

"Stella, I can't lead him on like this, it's dishonest."

"No you have a medical problem, but we can get that sorted eventually."

"No, I need to tell him."

"Don't do it yet. What happens if the relationship falls apart anyway, do you want to hurt him by letting him know he was dating a boy? He doesn't need to know yet, let's find out how it develops and if he falls for you, then obviously you'll need to tell him then."

"I don't know Stella, I don't like deception."

"Neither do I, but honestly, I think it's for the better to leave things as they are and if it falls apart, what his eye didn't see his heart won't grieve over.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 59.

"I still think I ought to tell him." I dreaded the idea and was hoping Stella could convince me not to.

"Fine okay, you tell him and maybe we'll meet sometime, maybe we won't, you certainly won't see Simon again, and what will it have proved? That you are honest but stupid."

I looked at the floor, "But I'm deceiving him."

"How are you deceiving him?"

"I'm not a proper woman."

"What's a proper woman? You look pretty female to me."

"You know what I mean, down below."

"Jeez -us, how much longer are you going to go on about that? Look, I just put a freeze on his libido by saying you had problems. He accepted that, because he's that sort of guy. He's prepared to wait which means you have a chance to see if the relationship is going to work. If it doesn't you both remain intact and have a chance to have another, if you tell him he's going to be devastated and it's going to hit him hard in the confidence stakes. He may act as if he's confident, but he isn't it's all bravado. One wrong word from you and he'd collapse like a pack of cards."

I felt like I was being lectured by a school ma'am, which maybe was what I needed. I certainly didn't want to hurt Simon nor did I want to lose him, I actually quite liked him. He was gentle and kind, what more could I want? Then my doubts weren't about him, they were about me.

"All right, you've made your point, I'll keep quiet for a bit longer."

"You don't want this relationship to work do you?" Stella just ran straight through my defences.

"I don't know."

"You like him too much, don't you?" Had she just read my mind?

"Maybe," I tried to act nonchalantly.

"There aren't any maybes about it, are there?"

"There might be," I said defensively knowing she had destroyed my side of the argument.

"Look Cathy, I like you and I don't want to see either of you hurt. What began as almost a prank on my part, changed very quickly when I saw the chemistry changing and realised that I liked you. But Simon is my brother and he doesn't get hurt if I can help it. Is that clear?"

"Yes loud and clear, so before that happens maybe I should just go and not come back."

"Is that what you want to do?"

"I don't know what I want to do, except I don't want to hurt him, alright? I've said it, yes I do like him very much."

"I knew it."

"Whoopee! So you bloody knew it, can I go now?"

"Go where?"

"Back under the stone from which I crawled."

"If you do that, what will it achieve?"

"A return to normality for me."

"What back to dissertations and no social life?"

"Probably, I don't care."

"I don't believe you. In the past week you have done things you could only have dreamt of before."

"Only because you pushed me."

"No, you pushed yourself, I just helped to preserve the momentum. You spoke to your professor, you went to the funeral and faced down your father, you agreed to go out with Simon and it was you who agreed to ride in the bike race thingy tomorrow. You as Cathy, not the invisible Charlie. Do you want to give up all that, if you do then you are more stupid than I thought?"

"I can't go back can I?"

"Go back to what? To being a misfit boy? No certainly not, nor can you easily go back to being a wall flower. You happen to be one of the prettiest girls in the area it would be criminal not to share that beauty with others."

"What do you mean share?"

"Have fun, date boys be out with girl friends, shine in your department. You said Prof Agnew wanted you to improve the aesthetics of his team, so get out there and get a life."

"Date boys, wouldn't that annoy Simon?"

"Not if he's the boy, but he's got to do his side of things too, make you want to go out with him rather than other boys."

"At the moment he seems to think he can buy me."

"No he doesn't, if he did, I'd quickly disabuse him of that idea. He is showing you he cares, because he isn't very good with words or understanding his own emotions, he thinks actions speak louder than words, so he does things he thinks you will either like or get benefit from. I keep trying to tell him, perhaps if we both tell him, he might eventually understand. If he did, that would be a big step forward for him."

"But if he likes me, why can't he simply say so?" I felt a bit out of my depth.

"Because he can't for some reason, so he does things, buys you things, takes you places, gives you flowers. It's all very adolescent but that is how he is. Have you told him how you feel?"

I found the carpet very interesting at that moment, "Erm no."

"Why?"

"Because I'm scared of where it could lead."

"I think he may have a similar feeling."

"Oh no, this is just going around in circles."

"Yes, relationships do until someone takes control and gives the other party the opportunity to feel safe enough to take risks as well."

"Why have I got to take control?"

"It's usually the woman who takes emotional responsibility."

"Isn't that a bit old fashioned?"

"Not necessarily, it's usually because men are emotionally constipated, so they need someone to show them it's safe to let go. Which is what women are for."

"Sounds a bit stereotyped to me."

"So what, just get on and bloody well do it."

"How do I start?"

"Cathy, if I have to spell that out to you, you are not ready to do it which means you are more emotionally retarded than our anally retentive, Simon."

"Now hang on a minute, a week ago I was still wearing trousers and calling myself Charlie..."

"Were you? You told me you called yourself Cathy and saw yourself as a female, just waiting to emerge, or was that untrue?"

"No, it's true." I blushed and examined the carpet some more.

"I know this is quite new for you and getting the gesture and fine adjustments sorted isn't easy, but much of what I'm saying comes from inside you anyway, it's part of being female. Are you trying to tell me you don't understand any of this?"

I felt a strong sense of doom arising in me, was Stella telling me that she didn't think I was female, just playing at it? If she was right, what did that make me? What did it do for the sense of rightness that I had felt for the past week, a feeling that I'd never experienced before. Was it all some ghastly self delusion? Was I some sort of cross dresser who'd never make the grade?

"I don't know what I think or feel and all this stuff you've raised has made my mind reel. I need to go home and think some of this through. I don't know what I am anymore, I thought I was female now I just don't know anymore." I felt tears run down my face and Stella noticed. She came to me and embraced me.

"Come on girl, you're as female as I am except in one little place and that can be sorted, and you're prettier than I am. I don't mean to lecture you, I want you both to be happy. You're both important to me."

"How can I be important to you, surely it's only Simon you care about?"

"In the past it's been that way, but with you it feels very different, almost as if you were a younger sister. You haven't learnt the guile of most women, which is both worrying and refreshing but it makes you vulnerable." She paused and we hugged each other for a few moments.

"Come on have something to eat and I'll take you home."

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....

No animals or cyclists were killed or injured in the writing of this story.

Easy As falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 61.

My sleep following the attack was poor to say the least, or it was to start with. I awoke about nine thirty, suddenly remembering that Simon was due in half an hour. I switched on the kettle and jumped in the shower, then threw on the racing skins plus my uni sweat shirt.

I noticed that my knuckles were grazed and I had broken a couple of nails. I worked out that my back up to Simon had been the principal cause, and I'd obviously caught my hands on the pavement when trying to beat Big Mac's sidekick to death. I would have to watch my temper in future. Just thinking about it got my heart racing, so I made some tea and ate my cornflakes.

Simon arrived just after ten, he had a bruise on his cheek, which I kissed better for him. It made him smile anyway. He carried my bike down and shoved it on a bike rack on his Volvo.

"I didn't know you had a bike rack," I said in surprise.

"I don't, but a good friend does. I borrowed it." He loaded the bike and we drove out to the start area, which was near the university sports centre.

"You didn't bring a change of clothes then?" he asked.

"Nah, I was going to ride home to sort of unwind." I hadn't thought of a change of clothes, I could hardly use the showers anyway. "I prefer to shower at home, I got athletes foot in communal showers, so I avoid them."

"Oh, okay," he seemed to accept my reasoning then asked, "How about coming for some lunch after?"

"I erm, erm, okay." I couldn't think of a valid reason for saying no.

"Good, I made a booking just in case." He smiled and I poked my tongue out at him.

We arrived and much to my surprise Stella was waiting with some weedy looking bloke. "Who's the bloke with Stella?" I asked Simon as we unloaded the Litespeed.

"John somebody or other, he's a doctor at her hospital. He works under her." I giggled at the double entendre. "No he reports to her."

"I thought she was a nurse?" I said looking incredulous.

"She is but a special one."

"Well yes I know she's special," I smiled.

"She's a nurse specialist in urology, didn't you know?"

"What?"

"Urology, you know she plays about with prostates and bladders and things."

"Wow, I knew she was clever, but.."

"Yeah, she takes the piss professionally." He smirked as he said it and I nearly wet myself.

Stella spotted us and came over to give me a hug, "I heard about last night, are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Pity I wasn't there, I could have done with a workout."

"Kicking them to death might be construed as criminal," I offered.

She threw a kick at me which she pulled inches from my face. I stepped back shocked at the speed of it. "Maybe you're right," she said and hugged me again. "So where is the best place to watch my 'little sister' win a bike race?"

"What me? You're joking, I'll be lucky to stay with the fitter riders for half the race, let alone win it."

"You are so modest, anyway come and meet John." She introduced me to him and after talking with him for a few minutes he didn't seem to be so wet. Simon arrived with the bike and I mounted it and rode it around for a few minutes. I felt stiff and sore almost everywhere from the dancing and fighting, I hope the ride would reduce some of that, but I wasn't at all confident.

Jill emerged with Amy and three other women, "We're still one short and may have to use Amy." At this Amy winced, but she was aware of her limitations. Not that I had anything to brag about.

About ten minutes later Ann Sommers arrived, she waved at Jill who sighed with relief. "Now we have a chance of redeeming some pride."

"Isn't that cheating?" I asked.

"Not at all, she teaches on the nursing courses. All's fair in love and bike racing."

"Hi Cathy, so you've got dragged into this as well?" said Ann arriving at our group.

"Looks like," I answered smiling back at her.

"Hi Stella, John," she waved, "Hi Simon." She looked at me and said, "It was that Simon then," she winked at me.

"I didn't say it wasn't, and he saved my life last night." I related the story of the attack, only in my account he drove them both off.

"Wow, Maybe you've managed to pull him out of his banker's shell."

"I don't think I did anything," I replied as we did some warm up sprints.

"Can't think of anyone who went out twice with him, so you're special to start with." Before I could reply, she shot off at twice my speed and then we were called to the start.

It was an unofficial race, a sort of team time trial, where the first six members of each team counted. So in other words the first team with six riders home, won.

We had the route outlined and we were assured there were marshalls at any controversial points who would direct us. As we were riding on roads, we had to obey the traffic laws and safety was the priority, so not to take any risks.

Then we were off. It was all new to me so I got left a bit at the start and had to ride harder than I'd wanted to get up the field a little. I didn't want to be last at any rate.

After a few miles and two steepish hills, the field was beginning to spread out and sadly I was towards the rear. I hadn't realised how good some of these women were. Amy was way behind me, as were a few from Southampton, but they had about twelve riding for them as opposed to our eight, another had turned up just as we started.

I had tried to count where I was with regard to placings, but breathing and counting were too hard. The race was sixty kilometres and my computer told me we were about half way through, we were also looping back towards Portsmouth.

Then I saw Stella and Simon standing with John, "Come on girl, you're lying thirteenth," Simon's voice carried over my grunting and puffing.

Thirteenth? Bugger, that's no good, I need to make up two more places to count towards the race. At least the stiffness had gone and my movement was easier. I upped my pace a bit and after about ten minutes spotted three of the enemy in front of me. Two more minutes and they were within attacking distance.

I actually passed them on a roundabout, not the wisest thing to do, but there was a copper stopping the traffic as we came up to it. They had slowed, I didn't. If my maths was correct, I was now in ninth position and still going well. My effort was going to help the cause although I suspected there were more of them ahead of me than our lot.

With ten kilometres to go, I caught and passed one of ours although I tried to encourage her to keep up she was fading. I was in eighth place if my count was right.

I could see two more of the enemy ahead, but no matter how hard I tried the distance stayed the same. Or it seemed that way. The last two Km included a bit of hill, a long drag of about half a Km. I knew it well, I also knew of the downhill the other side and the sharp bend at the bottom. I redoubled my efforts.

I don't know if I was stronger from my training or they were weakening but I began to catch them. I was watching my cadence, it was about ninety. I was almost level when we crested the hill, they hadn't seen me at all and I passed them on the downhill, pedalling like fury down the middle of the road touching speeds of about fifty miles an hour.

I knew there was likely to be a parked car on the bend and I wasn't disappointed, there it was and having the better position, I carried on, they had to brake and pull out. I was now in sixth place or thereabouts. I considered we'd still lose but at least we'd given them a fight.

In the last kilometre I caught another one and I knew I had her. Some long time ago, I remembered talking with an experienced racer, who had told me that when they get tired they up their gears because they don't have to pedal so fast. As I came up behind this opponent, she clicked up and tried to pull away, I kept up my spinning and forced her to sprint harder, then a couple of hundred metres out, I also clicked up and stood on my pedals. I won the sprint by about a couple of metres.

When I managed to stop gasping for breath, Jill and Ann came to congratulate me. I had made fifth place, beating two regional riders in the process.

We did lose, but only by a handful of points, we had first, third and fifth then ninth, eleventh and twelfth. It seemed everyone was happy, Southampton because they won and Portsmouth, because they came a closer second than last year.

"If you don't join the bike club, I'm going to shoot you," said Jill, "You're pretty good but you could be better."

"I doubt it, that was the fastest ride I have ever done and I suspect it was a one off."

"Nonsense, there's always room for improvement."

"You did better than you have on our rides Cathy, maybe Simon is good for you," Ann winked as she said it.

"Our rides?" I gasped, "we've met a couple or three times and we weren't training as far as I knew."

"We will be in future," smiled back Ann.

It's all in the timing and Cathy's watch is slow!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike
by Angharad & Bonzi Cat.
part 62.

Simon, Stella and John arrived back at the sports centre. Simon wanted to run me home but I felt I needed some time to myself. The idea of the car ride was so tempting as my legs began to ache and stiffen from their recent effort, it was like doing two training runs at the same time. I don't think I'd ever ridden so fast for so far, but it was quite enjoyable to think I'd beaten a couple of riders who would normally be regarded as better than I was.

I drank my isotonic drink and agreeing that Simon could collect me in an hour, trundled home to warm down. I noticed the Volvo was around as I got home, so I reckoned he was keeping an eye out for either of the two morons who jumped me last night. Fortunately, they didn't show up. The shower was bliss but knowing how limited the time was, I aborted it and dried myself and then my hair.

As the weather was turning cooler, I opted for the denim skirt with my boots, a white long-sleeved top and my denim jacket. If I'd put on the cowboy hat, I could have gone to another barn dance. Some minimal makeup and a squirt of smellies and I was ready, I checked my watch and I had exactly one minute to wait before Simon knocked on the door.

"Hi, Supergirl," he said smiling at me.

"Erm," was my intelligent response, followed by more excellent dialogue, "erm, why did you call me that?" I blushed for good measure as I said it.

"Someone who could jump eight places between us seeing them and finishing the race must have superhuman powers."

"Yeah, I decided to fly over the top of them until I got stuck in a telephone wire and by the time I freed myself, four of them had already finished."

"Gosh Supergirl, I'd have thought you'd have melted the cable with your infrared vision."

"Nah, my sunglasses stopped it working."

"You certainly flew onto that chap's back last night."

"You didn't do so bad yourself, Batman."

"Holy chronometers, Supergirl, we need to get to the batmobile quickly or we'll be too late to eat the bat-feast."

"Bat-feast," I repeated, "that means one of two things, either it's a plate of luscious insects or a meal made of bats. Either way, yuck!"

"Go on, don't knock until you've tried it," Simon smirked, then looped his arm through mine and half carried me down the stairs, I barely had time to grab my bag and keys before we were out of the building and in the Volvo.

Waiting for us at the pub was Stella, John was apparently on call and had been bleeped to go to the hospital. She looked a bit fed up so I tried to cheer her up with a few jokes. I was never too good at telling jokes, and today I was worse than ever. However, both she and Simon were laughing uproariously, not because the jokes were funny but my technique was so bad they were laughing at that.

"You know, only a real comedienne can make weak jokes so funny like Tommy Cooper was an expert magician, he needed to be to make his tricks work with all the fooling around and Les Dawson was quite a good pianist to be able to play off-key like he did. So I suggest Cathy is probably a superb joke teller and raconteur."

"Me?" I squeaked my voice shrivelled by embarrassment. I tried to explain that this wasn't rehearsed, it was real. I really was that bad, forgetting punchlines and half the characters, was it a Scotsman, an Irishman and an Englishman, or was he Welsh or French? I couldn't remember and sadly it did make a difference to the story. So then I'd have to make corrections and Simon would practically be rolling on the floor. I still didn't know what was so funny.

"Did you hear about the English kamikaze pilot?" I asked then remembered that was wrong. "Hang on, I think it might have an Irish one. Yes, that's it, did you hear about the Irish kamikaze pilot?" With tears in their eyes, they shook their heads for no. "He flew a hundred missionaries, no, I mean trips, you know missions." At this point Simon collapsed on the floor and I wondered if I might have to do CPR. I had to admit the idea was more attractive than a week ago. He recovered and roared with laughter again.

By now of course I had half the pub listening to me, with some hushing newcomers who arrived talking. I hadn't realised how many were listening and thought I'd better shut up. So I did.

"Come on tell us another," someone called from behind me. "Baz, have you thought of hiring her as a regular comedy spot?" Called another. I began to wonder what I had started. It certainly wasn't what I had intended.

"Come on, one more," the voice sounded insistent and almost familiar. I thought about turning around to see, but then that would be even more daunting.

"There was a girl who went back to the shop to complain about her scarf. I think she may have been fair-haired, no she was blonde. Yeah, she was blonde right, and the woman in the shop asked what was wrong with it, so she said it didn't fit or something." I paused unable to think what the punchline was. "Oh yeah, she said it was too tight, that's right she took it back because it didn't, no it was too tight."

"Did they give you your money back?" called some wag from the back and Simon nearly choked on his beer.

Despite my first and last attempt as a standup comedian, I enjoyed my lunch. The bike race had primed my appetite and I was quite happily able to see off a roast lamb dinner with all the trimmings. All I needed then was somewhere warm and dark to curl up and go to sleep.

"I'm off to do some ironing," declared Stella. Simon looked surprised and I must admit, I assumed she threw things out when they got to that stage or gave them to me. She hugged us both and departed.

"I can't remember the last time Stella ironed anything, I think it was the budgie and she was about five years old."

"Not like the bloke who broke his window, no he broke his arm. That's right, he broke his arm ironing his window 'cos the curtains were open. No, he broke his arm ironing his curtains, he fell out the window." The bloke on the next table laughed more loudly than Simon and I felt myself go bright red. I never seemed to learn to stop when I was ahead.

"What would you like to do now?" asked Simon his eyes boring through my body.

"I don't know," I replied yawning.

"Am I keeping you up?"

"Nooooooooooooooooooo" I yawned again, "Sorry," I said yawning a third time.

"How about a nice walk?" and that was how we ended up walking around the old harbour not far from HMS Victory, Nelson's flagship.

We strolled arm in arm and chatting about all sorts of things, none of them important, then Simon said, "You know, I've never known a girl like you before."

I'll bet, I thought to myself. "Why do you say that?" I asked instead.

"You're the first one who has actually agreed to come out more than once with me."

"So, what does that prove?"

"I'm not sure, maybe we're more compatible than the others?"

"I hadn't thought of that," I said without thinking at all.

"Oh?" he said, "So what did you think then?"

"I was simply going to say, that the others may have been the losers. If they had tried a bit longer, they might have seen what a nice guy you are."

I blushed and looked at him, he was blushing too. I stopped him and putting my arms around him whispered, "Kiss me." He didn't need to be asked twice.

More kisses and self exploration with a little help from Abba.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Bonzi Cat & Angharad.
part 63

Simon took me home and after escorting me up to my room and kissing me goodbye, left. I shut my door and leant against it, I was walking on air and my head felt somewhere else. It was wonderful, an amazing warm feeling that I had never experienced before.

Convention had led me to believe that I would fall in love with a girl, marry her and raise a family. It looked as if I would be decidedly unconventional, or was I? When I looked at things, they were actually very conventional, except that I was the girl, or would be when I could organise it.

I closed my eyes and could feel Simon's lips on mine, a sensation I never wanted to end, it was so lovely. I thought about the kiss from the lad from the garage, and although something physiological had happened - I'd ejaculated, nothing like that happened with Simon.

I made a cuppa and sat down, trying to work things out. I was falling for Simon big time, that I could recognise, but did I fancy him sexually? I didn't know.

I tried to imagine being in bed with him, him playing with my body and then taking me, there was no enthusiasm, why? Surely if you love someone you fancy them, or did you? I had no idea, this was the first time I had been in love and it felt wonderful but rather scary.

I wondered who I could ask, really there was no one except perhaps Dr Thomas, and I wasn't sure I wanted her to know I was seeing a bloke. It would probably be alright, but I wasn't sure, maybe she'd say I was gay or the opposite, that the reason I didn't fancy him was because I wasn't gay. That would imply I was still a boy myself, which I would refute. I may have male genitals but that's as far as it goes.

So what did that make me? I didn't know. Did I fancy Stella? No way, she frightened me to death and although I liked her, it wasn't in the biblical sense. Oh boy, was I reverting to my asexual norm? If so Simon could be in for a long wait, even if I had surgery.

I wondered what Garage Boy had that Simon didn't, and I recollected the way he'd stolen the kiss and I'd had an orgasm. My body was buzzing again and suddenly, it happened again, I came in my pants. I felt myself blush and this wan't some sort of post orgasmic suffusion it was embarrassment. How could Garage Boy excite me and Simon didn't? I was obviously a basket case.

I looked at the clock and realised it was nearly one in the morning, I had sat nursing an empty mug for over three hours and was still none the wiser. I needed to see Dr Thomas, but then I'd have to tell her and I wasn't at all sure about it, but before that, I thought I'd better have a little wash and change my pants.

The night was a torment of strange dreams which I presumed were linked to my current dilemma. In lots of ways, it seemed bizarre that I had only spent a week in my female role and was already being torn over questions about boys.

In one of the stranger dreams I was in a club dancing with Simon to something by Abba, 'Dancing Queen' I think. We seemed to be happy enough and I was shaking it all about for him, then Garage Boy cut in and began to smooch with me. His kisses were addictive and he began to almost make love to me on the dance floor. I shut my eyes and kissed him back, suddenly I had the most intense orgasm and my whole body shuddered and I screamed in ecstasy. It woke me up and when I went to the bathroom, I found a little wet patch in my pants again. It was three in the morning and I was sat on the toilet crying my eyes out.

I made myself some more tea when I managed to pull myself together and to feel less lonely I switched the radio on, the song 'Name of the game' by Abba was on. I knew it well from my earlier student days, Abba was a favourite with the disco DJs and good for dancing to, it also had a timeless quality about it. I knew the song roughly but had never really listened to the words before. Now as I sipped my tea I seemed more receptive than usual.

'I've seen you twice
in a short time
only a week since we started
it seems to me
for every time
I'm getting more open hearted.'

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as the first verse seemed to sum up my situation. The second verse seemed apposite too as I had considered myself 'an impossible case no one could ever reach me'. Then, 'I'm a bashful child beginning to grow.'

'I have no friends
no one to see me
and I am never invited
now I am here
talking to you
no wonder I get excited.'

I could see myself walking around the harbour with Simon and burst into tears again.

My first priority tomorrow was to get whatever CD the Abba track was on. I needed to explore these feelings that somehow the music and the dilemma seemed to be unlocking inside me. After so many years of being a shadow of myself, I seemed to be beginning to live and while it frightened me it also excited me and that was an entirely new sensation.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 64

When I went back about four, I slept solidly until about ten. The radio was still on and the music was much more contemporary and not to my liking, so I switched it off. I showered and made some tea.

Dressed in jeans and flat shoes, denim jacket and tee shirt I set off in pursuit of the Abba album that had the song I'd heard last night. I hadn't remembered the name of it, so I would have to research it. These days I bought CDs over the internet, they were usually cheaper but today I had to have this album if I could find it. I went to the HMV shop and found they had several Abba albums. I glanced at the names of the tracks and it could have been any one of several.

One or two I could recall because they were so well known, Waterloo, Money Money Money, Fernando and several others. To some extent they all sounded similar, you can tell an Abba track even if you have never heard it before.

I opened the case of 'Abba - number ones' and found the list of songs with the lyrics. I felt that I might just find it. Then after the third page of words, I wasn't so sure. By page five I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever find them. Then on page eight, there they were and the title of the song, 'The Name Of The Game.'

Half an hour later I was standing in my room and slotting the disc into my CD player even before I shut the door of my room. Most of the day I sat about playing with my dissertation and listening to the CD. After a little while I began to know which song was coming next but I couldn't stop listening to it.

I didn't hear my phone ring so when I happened to pick it up I was surprised to have a voicemail from Prof Agnew, asking me to let him see the draft of my dissertation by friday. Bugger! Now I had to get some work done. I turned down Abba and began to read the existing draft on the computer. I found a couple of typos,including 'doormice' and 'mammels' so I was obviously concentrating to some extent.

I added a paragraph to the conclusions mainly of my concerns about the continued existence of a number of small mammals, especially harvest mice and dormice due to the increasing mechanisation of farming and destruction of habitat. The effects of global warming were inconclusive but could prove to be a factor if temperatures rose and crops changed.

I rose to make a well earned cuppa only to realise it was nearly dark and I had been at my task for about six hours. My tummy rumbled and I recognised its need for some food. I drank my tea and checked out the fridge, I had some remnants of a salad. I needed to pop across to the shop.

In the shop I bought a couple of big potatoes and a tin of tuna, I decided I'd have a favourite, tuna jacket potato. I handed my purchases to the owner.

"Did you go to the funeral?" he asked.

"Yes, I did, you were right. I'm now talking to Daddy again." Where did that come from, I haven't called him that since I was about eight.

"I am so glad," he beamed back at me, "and how is your brother?"

"Erm," I had almost forgotten about the yarn I'd spun the first time he met Cathy. "He's getting there, I suppose."

"Did he also attend your mother's funeral?"

"Oh yeah, just a bit disabled." I couldn't remember if I'd said he'd broken an arm or a leg or both so I kept quiet about anything further that could give me away.

"Do you need more milk, you don't seem to have bought any for several days?"

"Oh that's a point, I probably do, thanks for that," for changing the topic I added silently.

I was walking back to my room when I encountered Big Mac on the stairs. I don't know which of us was the more frightened as we both froze. He was standing a step above me and with his extra height he towered over me. I swallowed and glaring at him I pushed past him and to my door. My hand was shaking so much I couldn't get my key into the door but I felt a wave of relief as his rapid footsteps down the stairs faded as he got further from me.

I got in and after dumping my purchases on the table, I sat on my bed and wept, my body shaking with emotion. I think I must have dozed off because I heard my phone ringing in the distance. By the time I found it, the caller had rung off and I had to call my voicemail. It was Simon, I nearly cried with relief.

"Hi Cathy, how are you my sweet? Well I hope, look I have some bad news." My stomach churned. "I have to stay in town for a couple or three days, visiting VIPs from Europe and the States, so I have to earn my brownie points and entertain them. It is so boring, eating too much, drinking far too much, going to the theatre or other events. I wish I was taking you to a concert or even to the cinema. Stella is about some of the time, when she isn't piss taking, if you get lonely give her a bell. I'll give you a ring as soon as I get back. Take care sweetie-pie."

I felt sad, my week was going to be empty. It was true that I had to finish the draft of my dissertation but that was nearly complete and I could conclude that by tomorrow evening. I wanted to get some more rides in before the weather turned too cold or wet. I was by inclination a fair weather cyclist, not one of these real enthusiasts who turn out in all weathers. It probably explained why they were fitter and faster than I was. Some bike rides would be in order I had the time for the next couple of days, although it would depend upon the weather.

It was too late to make myself much to eat, so I chucked all the food in the fridge and made some toast and another cuppa. I went to bed and tried to read. Even Dan Brown couldn't get my attention and I called it a night at about midnight. I was tired and twitchy but not sleepy and I tossed and turned until nearly three o'clock when I must have drifted off.

I dreamed I was in London with Simon, he helped me out of the cab and I stepped onto the pavement, my long dress needing to be held off the ground unil we got on to the carpet. Simon looked so attractive in his dinner suit, we were so lucky to get invited to the premiere of this film and meet one or two of the stars involved in it.

The cameras flashed and I smiled politely as I held onto his arm in near terror and as a help to walking in the heels I was wearing, which were quite ridiculous. We climbed the steps into the cinema and were introduced to others waiting in the foyer.

While we were waiting to be shown to our seats I felt someone's eyes boring into the back of me and someone just to the side of me saying, "Yes, she's quite convincing until you get up close then you can see she used to be a man."

I woke up feeling sick and sweating. Would I never be free of my past? Are we ever free of it, even if others don't know we do, so do we delude ourselves?

I got up and made myself some tea then after drinking it I felt sick and had to rush to the toilet. I brought up my cuppa and my toast and after a drink of water went back to bed, feeling cold and shivery. Was it wind in my stomach, had I caught some sort of bug or what? I went back to bed and was soon asleep.

More vomit and tears!( That'll teach you to ask!)

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad (series editor Bonzi Cat).
part 65.

I spent most of the night either asleep or shivering, that was when the stomach cramps weren't too active, and I was sick again. It was a memorable night, I hadn't been ill like this since ...I don't know when. It was like I was drunk, my head spun faster than a CD in a player and I felt so ill. I awoke at about ten and crawled to the bathroom. It was just as well I sat on the loo these days, because I'd have fallen over trying to stand up. I grabbed a glass of water and my phone and went back to bed.

I sent a text to Stella, advising her that I was ill but as I didn't know what it was, to keep away in case she caught it. After that and drinking the water I felt exhausted and drifted off to sleep. Some time later I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing. It was Stella.

"How are you doing?"

"Terrible."

"What's the problem?"

"Dunno, sick and shivery earlier now I feel hot and sweaty."

"Got any paracetamol?"

"Can't take them after.." I didn't know if she knew of my suicide attempt, so I kept quiet.

"After what?"

"I had a liver problem, they told me not to take them."

"Oh," it sounded as if she was questioning what I'd said, which I suppose as a nurse she might. "So you can't take them at all?"

"Nah, I'm allergic or something," I lied and blushed making myself feel even hotter.

"That's very unusual," she didn't sound convinced.

"That's me." I wished I had kept completely quiet.

"Egomaniac," she chirped, she was probably right.

"Can I get you anything?"

"A new body, this one feels shot."

"Ha ha, do you need any food or drink?"

"Not really, I got everything last night."

"Flat Coke is good for dehydration, it's pretty well isotonic."

"Yeah, it's bad enough to drink when it's fizzy, when it's flat it's 'orrible."

"Suit yourself. Just make sure you drink plenty."

"I will, water seems to be staying down for the moment."

"Oh good. Look I have to go and do a clinic I'll ring a bit later."

"Thanks." I felt glad that someone knew I was at death's door, at least that way they would find the body before the flies got too numerous.

I slept some more and awoke about five feeling very thirsty and my stomach was rumbling like a thunderstorm. I made a miky coffee in the microwave and drank it. It wasn't my favourite drink but it would give me some nourishment and enable me to see how sensitive my tummy was to the idea of food.

My temperature seemed to be near normal and I was sitting about in my nightdress, a tee shirt thing with a picture of a panda on the front. I had just sipped the first mouthful of my coffee when the door was knocked, I nearly dropped the cup in my lap.

The knock was repeated, rat tat tat. I put the cup down and edged towards the door. If it was Big Mac and friends, I was in no position to do anything but try and survive the siege. It couldn't be Simon, he was in London and I'd told Stella to keep away, so who could it be?

I was now stood behind the door and I didn't know which was pounding the hardest, my heart or my head. I felt awful. The door was knocked again and I nearly jumped out of my body.

"Come on Cathy, open up!" followed by a another rat tat tat. The voice was female and had to be Stella's.

I drew open the door, "Keep away, I don't know if it's contagious," I sort of half spoke and half croaked.

"Good, I could do with a few days off, maybe they'd miss me then," Stella declared as she breezed into my room with a huge bunch of flowers and large bottle of the leading brand of cola. "I'd have brought you some fruit but I didn't know if it would make you sick. How are you?"

"Better than I was," I sat down before I fell over. Picking up my coffee, I took a small sip.

"Good, now make sure you drink plenty and this is the stuff."

"Yeah okay," I groaned.

She felt my head, "You don't have a temperature. So what is it, food poisoning?"

"I don't know."

"God, you don't like Abba do you?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

"Oh my giddy aunt, did you know that Simon is a closet Abba fan."

"No I didn't." I was surprised at this revelation.

"This CD looks pretty new, you sure you didn't know?"

"No I didn't. I bought that yesterday, I heard one of the tracks on the radio and couldn't get it out of my head."

"So saturation therapy, eh?"

"Something like that."

"I'm willing to bet he's managed to swing one of the theatre trips to go and see Mamma Mia."

"Oh has he?" I was mildly interested but didn't really care, all I wanted to do was finish my coffee and go back to bed. "Sorry, would you like a cup of tea or coffee?"

"Nah thanks anyway, gotta go, things to do, people to shag etcetera."

"Yeah okay," I replied barely noticing her provocative statement.

"If you need anything, let me know." She blew me a kiss and left.

I finished my coffee and crawled back to bed. Around ten my phone told me I had a text. I struggled awake and looked it up.

'Hi S tells me UR ill.
Hope U feel betr soon.
Been 2 c S o Music! OK not
my choice. Will call 2moro.
Get well soon. Si'

No, I thought, you'd rather see Mamma Mia, so probably would I.

I crawled to the bathroom, made another drink and went back to bed.

The next morning I felt a bit better but not right. It was thursday and I needed to get my dissertation finished enough to print off a copy. After the usual ablutions, I sat eating some cereal while the kettle boiled and my hair dried. Throwing on some clothes, namely a pair of jeans and jumper, I sat at the computer and reread my draft.

"God, this is so boring," I confided to myself, but I emailed a copy to the good professor and printed off a hard copy and did a back up disc. I made a drink and sat down in my easy chair. I woke up at about five when the door was knocked. It had to be Stella, I opened it and was about to say something cheeky to her when I realised it was a complete stranger. She was carrying a huge bouquet of flowers.

"Miss Watts?"

"Yes," I croaked.

"These are for you." She shoved the flowers into my hands and left. I opened the card attached and they were from Simon, wishing me better. I shut the door, put them on the table and burst into tears.

An hour later I had composed myself enough to send him a thank you text. I went for a little walk to the street and back and found a letter in my mail box.

'Dear Cathy,

Thank you for your support at your mother's funeral. I didn't have time to tell you, but you looked very much like her when she was younger, which is a roundabout way of saying you looked lovely.

I was too upset to notice too much of anything, for which I hope you will forgive me. Friends tell me that they could see you were my daughter but they didn't speak to you because you seemed rather distressed and your friend was very protective, keeping everyone away from you.

I hope we can begin again and progress beyond the mistakes we made. I know you are busy, but see if you can find some time to come and see me. I sent the heart people a cheque for research in her memory, maybe it will help save some other family grieving.

love,

Dad.
xx'

So my mother had died of a heart attack, it made sense in terms of the suddeness of it all, not that I was any sort of expert. I felt overcome by her loss, went to my bed and cried myself to sleep.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 666 (he he!)

I awoke the next morning feeling exhausted. My head was clearer and I felt better but my energy was zilch. I felt very down, and even looking at the beautiful flowers that Simon had sent me, didn't raise my spirits.

I slumped in the chair waiting for the kettle to boil, looking at Dad's letter and missing my mother. It was friday and I'd sent off my dissertation the day before, but the virus or whatever that had hit me had drained my reserves and my depression from the loss of my mother was keeping my tanks empty. The fact that a few days before I had held my own in a bike race, seemed a lifetime away. Now I'd be lucky to hold my own in a sleeping competition.

Simon would be back tonight or tomorrow, Stella could be doing anything with John or whatever his name was. She might even be working. The flowers were lovely and it was sweet of Simon to send them, I couldn't even recall if I'd thanked him for them. I sent him a quick text.

'Thx 4 the flwers,
they R luvly.
So R U.
C. xxx'

Now I had and I felt a little better for doing so, in fact for doing something. I made some toast and then had a little cereal. I stood for ages in the shower letting the warm water attempt to wash away my blues. It didn't but I certainly didn't feel any the worse for it.

By the time I'd dried my hair and dressed myself, I felt a little more alive but still nowhere near normal. I sat looking at my father's letter. Although we had changed things quite a lot, I still wasn't sure how I felt about him.

The thousand pounds he'd sent me was very helpful but I wasn't going to be bought. There was an awful lot to be talked through with him and I wanted some apologies for his abuse and violence. I also wanted some more detail regarding my mother's death. He'd hinted at the cause as being heart problems, but I'd like to know more. There were too many questions and few answers. He would be the main source of the answers. I did wonder about getting a train and going to see him but I couldn't be bothered. It was just too much effort in my weakened state.

As I read the letter again, there was a knock at the door, I put the letter away and answered the door. I was expecting Stella if it was anyone, instead there was some bloke stood there in a suit and a smarmy smile.

"Miss Watts?"

"Yes." I wondered what was going to happen next.

"Simon asked me to give you this." He held out his hand concealing something in it.

"You know Simon?" I said, asking the obvious.

"Oh yes, I've looked after his motoring needs for several years."

Still the penny didn't drop and I lifted my hand to accept whatever was in this man's hand. He pressed a key into it. I looked at it, it had the Mercedes logo on it.

"What's this for?" I asked completely confused.

"Come on down to the street and I'll show you," smiled smarmy face.

I followed him trancelike into the road and there before my very eyes stood an A class Mercedes, in a deep blue. It was a couple of years old by the number plate but in very good condition.

"Why are you showing me this?" I asked.

"Simon asked me to bring it to you."

"What for?"

"Presumably to drive round in."

"But I told him I didn't need a car, I can't afford one."

"I think that's why he's sent this one. If you fill it at our garage, the fuel goes on his account, same as Stella."

"But I can't accept it."

"Why ever not, it's in lovely nick, low mileage very economical."

"That's not the point."

"What is then?"

"I don't need a car, I have a bicycle which is fine for around town and to and fro the university. Besides it's ecologically more friendly."

"Well Miss Watts, that's between you and Simon, can you please sign the form to say I delivered it?"

"I don't want it."

"I'm sure you can sort that out with Simon, just please sign the form so I can get back to work, I have a mountain of paperwork to do."

"But I can't sign it, because I can't accept it."

"Miss Watts, the form says I brought it out to you, it doesn't say you have to keep it. That's between you and Simon later, please I need to get back."

"But I don't want it."

"Look darling, that isn't my problem, just sign the piece of paper, okay?"

"Can't you just take it back?"

"No I can't, it doesn't belong to my garage any more."

"Who does it belong to then?"

"Simon, I suppose."

"Well take it to his house then, I'm sure Stella would enjoy it."

"Can't do that, I'm instructed to bring it here and give you the key. I've done that, now please sign the form so I can go."

"But I don't want it."

"That isn't my problem, just sign the friggin' form."

Against my better judgement, I signed his stupid piece of paper and he snatched it from my hand and ran over to a car where his colleague was smirking. They drove off seconds later, presumably before I changed my mind. I could see an envelope inside the car addressed to me. I opened the car and reached it from the dashboard. It began to rain and I jumped in the car out of the weather.

Opening the note which was from Simon, I read it while listening to the pitter patter of rain on the roof.

'Dear Cathy,
I know you don't like the idea of 'being bought', so let me make this plain from the beginning, you are not being bought. This little car was going for a song and I thought you'd like the use of it, perhaps you'd like to go and see your father or friends in Bristol. Now you can and no excuses about not being able to afford to run it, I've taken care of that too. Please enjoy it.

love,

Simon.

PS. I won't be back until saturday sometime, be ready for dinner at 7.30. I'll collect you, so wear something tidy. S xxx'

I looked at the interior of the car, it was immaculate and had only done twenty thousand miles. It was beautiful, so why did I feel so bad about it?

I tried to understand what was going on inside me. People were being very nice to me, but they weren't listening to what I wanted, they were running their own agendas. It was as if I had no voice or was a child, because no one was listening. I felt totally powerless.

I'm sure they thought they were doing things for me, but I was capable of doing things for myself. I didn't know what to do, part of me wanted to shove the car as far as I could up Simon's arse another part wanted to kiss him to death. It would be a lovely surprise if it was something I wanted, instead he and I would have words tomorrow and they might not be nice ones.

Clutching the letter, I went back indoors. As I did so, my phone was ringing. Thinking it was Simon, I picked it up ready to give him the big heave ho.

"Yes?" I snapped into my mobile.

"Is that Catherine Watts?" asked a voice I didn't recognise.

"Yes, who wants her?"

"Do you mind if I call you Catherine?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Margaret Soames, a friend of your parents. I'm ringing because your father has been taken into hospital...."

My mind went blank and my ears stopped working as all sorts of scenarios went through my mind. In short I panicked.

"Catherine, did you hear me?"

"Erm can you repeat it?" I asked.

"He's in Southmead Hospital, we think he might have had a stroke. He's asking for you. Do you still have some keys for the house?"

"I don't know, I don't think so."

"Can you get yourself up here sometime today, if you need money I can loan you some until you can sort things out with your dad."

"Yes, I can borrow a car, Let me pack a few things and I'll be up sometime this afternoon."

"That's great, he really wants to see you. I'll meet you at the house sometime after three." She gave me her number if I was early and also the number for the hospital.

I called it immediately. The switchboard there is designed to make them money and you frustrated. I took at least five minutes to get through and another few to get hold of the appropriate department. I explained to the ward sister who I was and she gave me a very brief and guarded report. He was there on ward S2, he might have had a cerebro vascular accident. He would be there for several days while they assessed him and organised the appropriate treatment.

"Can I see him."

"Of course you can, but he's likely to be at the scanner until four pm."

"That's fine, I've got to come from Portsmouth. Can he talk?" I knew that strokes sometimes affected people's ability to speak.

"Sort of, he's been asking for you."

It confirmed what his friend had said, it surprised me that he had remembered my new name and status, but somehow he had. "Do I need to bring in anything for him, pyjamas or anything?"

"Some PJs and toiletries would be good, usually helps them feel more comfortable."

"Okay, I'll sort that. Thanks, maybe I'll see you later?"

"Doubt it I'm off at half two, but the staff nurse in charge will be able to answer any questions you have."

"Thank you, I'll be there about four."

Stunned for the second time that day, I took a few seconds to process what was happening. What a phenomenal coincidence that just as I needed a car, one becomes available. Was it providence or simply good luck? I didn't have time to think. I shoved some clothes in a bag and after sending Stella a text explaining where I was going, I got into my new car. I checked the gas, set off for Bristol.

Cathy meets a neighbour...read on, if you dare!

Easy As Falling Over The Cat.
by Angharad.
part 67.

I had stowed my weekend bag in the boot and was busy familiarising myself with the controls. It took a little while but I got there, including flashing my windscreen wipers at some bloke who cut me up. By the time I'd got the lights switch, he was long gone.

After getting out of Portsmouth, I felt a bit easier and the clutch and gear box felt more comfortable. I had stalled it twice, but then I wasn't a regular driver, if I'd stalled my bike I would be cross!

It was a lovely little car, remarkably quiet and responsive. I remembered my father joking with me that Herr Benz had called his car after his daughter, Mercedes, because it was quiet and responsive like a woman should be. He laughed at his joke, I didn't but I now understood one more dimension of it.

The boot was definitely on the other foot and I wasn't at all sure how I was going to play it. As I drove I thought through several ways things could go, but the one firm conclusion was, for the first time I was coming from a position of strength. In his hands that had led to abuse, In mine I was determined for that not to happen whatever the outcome. At worst I would just pick up my bed and walk. That was no problem, it was if the best thing happened that frightened me so I stopped thinking about it.

I'd elected to ditch the motorway as soon as I could. As primarily a cyclist, they were verboten, a sort of forbidden world and I was glad to get off and take the much more scenic route up the A36 from Southampton. It touches on Salisbury and Wilton, Warminster and Bath before it leads into Bristol. A row of historic towns and cities and en route, a pile of historic traffic jams and slow progress. Any advantage I thought I had was now being lost behind slow moving lorries and trucks, or the odd even slower tractor.

I was expected between two and three o'clock, I was approaching Bristol before one, so I had an hour to kill. I drove up on to the downs near Brunel's suspension bridge over the Clifton Gorge, the sight still thrilled me. Isambard Kingdom Brunel, might not have been a very likeable character, but as an engineer, he was a genius. I wondered if I spent any time here if I'd manage to visit the SS Great Britain, one of the world's first steam ships and the first to be driven by a screw propellor. It was years since I'd been there and was curious to see how much more restoration had taken place.

Now I had a car, I could do these things. I stopped myself and corrected my illusion, I didn't have a car, it was Simon's and he was generous enough to allow me the use of it. I must not abuse that generosity, nor must I forget that I didn't really need the car.

Then I had another more depressing thought, if my father was badly affected by this stroke, I might be up and down this road quite often, assuming he wanted me to come and see him.

Then the idea of staying at the house I used to call home depressed me. If my mother had still been alive and living there, it would have been different, but she wasn't and the ghosts it held weren't very nice ones, especially in recent years.

"Bugger," I heard myself call out in frustration, "Why did this have to happen now? Is this their fucking god punishing me, or testing me. well you can fuck off now, because I'm going to do what I want for once!" I yelled at the sky. Historically, I believed the god of the Judeo-Christian religion was a sky god.

I threw the remains of my sandwich to a group of pigeons, only to have a herring gull sneak in and pinch most of it. It was typical of my life, I plod along like a pigeon and some sodding gull comes along and everything changes. I suppose in that analogy, I had to be wary of any peregrines that might be around, or I would be an ex-pigeon very quickly.

My mind somehow switched to a Monty Python sketch, the dead parrot one and I began to laugh and laugh, almost hysterically. Anyone watching me would perhaps assume I was psychotic, screaming at the sky and then laughing hysterically. Maybe I was, if it was the case then whose fault was that? I sneered at the sky again knowing the message had been received. Anyway, a lightning bolt would have been useless, in cars, the Farraday cage effect happens. Knowing I was safe, I poked my tongue out at the sky as well. Well small things please small minds, so I was quite happy.

I calmed down and checked my makeup in the vanity mirror on the back of the sun visor. It was okay. I finished up the drink I had and deposited the bottle back in the plastic bag I had looped around the gear lever. I freshened my lipstick and checked the time. It was nearly a quarter to two. I started the car and remembered it had a CD player. I would do a copy of the Abba album I'd bought and keep it in the car, for now I shoved the original in the player and its bouncy music lifted my spirits as I headed for my father's house.

"Knowing me knowing you, aha,
there is nothing we can do."

I sang along to the disc and suddenly I had parked outside the building that had once been my home. It felt very strange. I killed the engine and collecting my handbag walked on nervous legs to the front door. It opened before I had a chance to ring the bell.

"You must be Catherine? Come on in, I'm Margaret Soames." She held out her hand and I shook it weakly, all the strength I thought I had acquired had disappeared and I was once more powerless and helpless in my father's fortress.

"Would you like a cuppa?" She asked and it felt odd to be entertained in my old home by a woman I'd never met before.

"Did I meet you at my mother's funeral?" I asked trying to figure out where she fitted in the scheme of things.

"No sadly, I was on holiday visiting my son in Australia. I only got back a few days ago, still a bit jet lagged to be honest. I didn't know your mother for very long, we only moved in to the area about six months ago and we met in the local Asda can you believe?"

Well she hadn't mentioned church or god yet, nor decried me as an abomination, so things are looking up. "In Asda, the supermarket?"

"Well the cafe place it has. It was a busy day and we shared a table and got talking. She invited me around and my husband got on with Derek, they both support Gloucester in the cricket and like the rugger, so we all got on very well.

I had to know what was coming, so I had to pry. "So you're not from the same church as them, then?"

"No, neither of us has much time for religion although I believe it's important to your pare... your father."

I sighed a huge breath of relief. "Thank God for that," I said quietly, but not quietly enough.

"I take it you have problems with your father's church?"

"It was one of the reasons we didn't get on too well."

"Oh I see, enough said then. Milk and sugar?"

"No just milk, thanks. Shouldn't I be serving you?" I asked still unsure about my status.

"I suppose technically this used to be your home, but I've been popping in to help Derek cope with things since your mum died, so I suppose I know my way around quite well."

I don't know if she sensed my unease or if I registered some sort facial expression, because she suddenly changed her position. "Of course now you're back home, I'll only come when you need me or if Derek asks me to come back and help. Two women in one kitchen, and that sort of thing." She smiled but it wasn't a friendly one, I was challenging her status quite deliberately.

Now it was time to show my graciousness. "No please do feel free to come and go as you please, I don't know how long I shall be staying."

She smiled again, a little more friendly this time, but if she got under my feet, I'd ask for the key back. Suddenly I didn't feel so helpless, I was for the moment the woman of this house, something I had never felt before. Maybe my stay was going to be easier than I at first thought. Whatever happened, I felt stronger than I had ever been before in that house and it felt good. It wasn't my home any more but it was my territory and I was becoming proprietorial.

We had tea and chatted. "I didn't know Derek had a daughter until I came back from my holiday and he said you'd come to the funeral. He said there'd been a schism between you both, and you didn't see each other too often."

"Yes that's right, we had a difference of opinion about religion and things got rather heated. I left and didn't come back until now."

"Gosh, and what about your brother? I remember them talking about him but not you. I find that strange."

"Yes it is." I wondered how she would receive the truth or if she actually already knew it and was playing games.

"What did they tell you about Charlie?"

"That he'd become apostate and left after a row, a bit like yourself."

"Yes, just like me." If this were a spy film or a thriller, I'd let her ramble on then kill her. It was so tempting, but then she did do dad's vacuuming, so I'd spare her life for the moment.

"He lives in Portsmouth too, do you see him often."

Only when I look in the mirror, "Occasionally."

"You both do biology at the university?"

"Yes."

"Are you twins or something?"

"They didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I killed him."

She went white and her teacup began to rattle in its saucer. "Oh!" she squeaked.

"Only metaphorically," I added. I could really get into this power stuff.

She gave me a perplexed looked.

"I am Charlie, or I was."

"What?" She shook her head in disbelief.

"I'm transsexual."

"Goodness," she sighed, "I'd never have guessed."

"Sorry if I shocked you, I needed to know what you knew before I said anything."

"You didn't need to say anything."

"Daddy would probably have said something eventually and I thought I'd give you my perspective first."

"I see, so it wasn't the religious stuff that you fell out over?"

"Oh that as well, but when he beat me up for telling him what I was, I vowed never to speak to him again."

"He hit you?"

"He did it regularly, I didn't match up with his standards of masculinity and asked awkward questions about religion. I'm a scientist, I need to verify facts as best I can, religion doesn't do that for me. The night I told him I was transsexual he beat me quite badly. I tried to finish the job with paracetamol back in Portsmouth and only by accident was discovered. I see a wonderful woman doctor who is helping me realise my true self."

"Goodness that is amazing, I'd never have guessed. You make a very pretty woman."

"Thank you. I'm sorry if I scared you earlier." I felt rather ashamed of the earlier powerplay.

"Oh that's all right. Look why don't you come around for dinner when you finish at the hospital? Come and meet my husband Greg."

"Does he have to know?"

"I suppose not, but he'll flirt with you mercilessly if he doesn't."

"Is that a problem?" I asked not sure how I had taken her last comment.

"I don't know." She looked as if she had said something that revealed something she didn't want to say. "It shouldn't worry me should it?"

"I can assure you that I won't steal him away from you. If I did my boyfriend would want his car back." I smiled as if I'd just cracked a joke but I was testing her reaction and she wasn't doing too well in hiding them.

"You have a boyfriend then?"

"Yes, didn't you at my age?"

What she wanted to say was, 'Yes but I'm a real woman, you're not,' but she didn't, instead came, "I suppose I did. I'm sorry Catherine, you've caught me on the hop a little."

"If you want to cancel the invite, it's okay."

"No certainly not, the more I know about you the more I like you." She was lying, but what the hell?

Soon after she left and I found my father's set of keys, and collected his PJs plus any other stuff I thought he might need. In doing so I went up to my old room, I would have to make up my bed but otherwise it was much as before, it was me who was different.

Difficult as visiting someone in hospital...

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 68

The drive from home to the hospital wasn't very far. Southmead is a large hospital in which it is very easy to get lost as I discovered. It took me longer to find the ward from the car park, than it did to drive from the house to the hospital.

Eventually after a few false starts, I did manage to locate ward S2 and when I got there found he had been moved to ward P3 for stroke rehabilitation. I kept my cool and wandered about for another quarter of an hour. Sadly wards P and S were not in the same block.

I was aware of my heels clattering up and down the corridors and also that my feet were not entirely appreciating the fact that I was wearing those boots again.

Eventually, I happened on ward P3 and discovered he was actually on P1, I let the nurse know that I was PO'd, she apologised and pointed me in the general direction of the new ward. If I'd walked over much more of the place I could lead tours.

Finally, with tired and aching feet I entered ward P1 and didn't need to ask if he was there, I could see him. He looked so small and my stomach flipped. "Can I help you?" I jumped at the voice which came unsighted from my left side.

I spun around and a young nurse was stood by the side of me. "Yes, I've come to see my father, Derek Watts."

"He's along there, third bed on the left."

"Yes I can see him, can he speak?"

"Oh yes, but he gets a bit confused and frustrated."

"Nothing new there then."

"I beg pardon," she gave me a strange look.

"I was joking." I blushed getting even hotter than I was feeling already.

"Oh, okay."

I nodded to her and went to my father's bedside, he was sleeping but I could see the right side of his face was drooping and he dribbled a little. The characteristic Bell's Palsy of a stroke, it made me feel pity. Here before me lay a man who was still taller than I was, but he looked somehow diminished lying helplessly. His right hand was clenched into a fist and I suspect he wouldn't be able to move the fingers if he wanted to.

I sat alongside him on his left side and gently grasped his left hand. "Hello Daddy."

His eyes opened and he took a moment to register where I was, let alone who I was. "It's me, Cathy."

"Affy," he mumbled and smiled. "Affy."

I rubbed his hand against my face, "How are you?"

"Bad," he said more loudly and shook his head.

"It's early days yet, you may feel better tomorrow." I squeezed his hand, he smiled and squeezed back. "I brought you some pyjamas and some toiletries."

He nodded, and seemed to be thinking. "'ike vou uvver."

I had to stop and think what he said, "I'm like my mother?"

"'es." He nodded to confirm what I'd said as right.

"You said that to me before, which I take as a compliment." I smiled at him and squeezed his hand. He looked so pathetic like some lion that had been deposed by a younger one and had just blundered into a pack of hyenas.

I tidied up his bedside locker and wiped the dribble from his face. I also combed his hair and made him feel a little tidier in himself. He thanked me for my help and I felt a lump in my throat.

Not that long ago this man was the biggest threat to my safety I had ever faced, now he could barely stand up let alone threaten me. How were the mighty fallen, it was very sad and I had dificulty not crying in front of him.

"I'm staying at the house for the moment, but I don't know how long I can get off my course," I lied. I didn't want to commit to anything and I couldn't bring myself to suggest I would help him in the long term. Why should I? Because he's your father and he needs you, came back the answer.

"Monday," I thought he said.

"Monday?" I repeated.

"No, no." He shook his head violently.

"Monday," he shook his head, "Monday," he thrashed about in his bed.
Then he unclasped his hand from mine and rubbed his thumb over his fingers.

"Money, are you trying to say money?"

" 'es, monday," he shook his head in frustration.

"What you need some money?"

"No, no, vou do." He pointed at me to emphasise the point.

"I'm okay for the moment."

"No, no. Vou do."

"Okay so I need money, but how are we going to get it, you can hardly write a cheque for it can you?"

"Vou 'ank."

"Me, go to the bank?"

"'es."

"Alright I'll go and speak to the bank, but it won't be easy for them to believe me. To start with I don't have much in the way of ID with me."

"Vou do."

"Okay, I'll go and see them on monday. What about work, do they know?"

" 'es."

"Anyone else you want me to tell? Auntie Doreen?"

"No,no."

Okay so he didn't want to let his sister know he was ill. I felt relieved, she wasn't my favourite relative, although my cousin David was a nice kid despite his parents. He was going to study law at Oxford, the last I'd heard, even more of a bookworm than I was.

"So there's no one else you want me to notify?"

"No no."

"Okay. Is there anything else you need. I brought you some tissues, some deodorant, your flannel and two pairs of jarmies, oh and your slippers. I've got some change for you too," and put a fiver's worth of coin in a money bag, into his drawer. "Do you want any books or magazines?"

"No no," he shook his head.

"I met Margaret Soames, she was kind enough to let me know what had happened."

He nodded, "'ice 'ady."

"Yes she seemed quite nice. She invited me to dinner tonight and to meet her husband, George?" I deliberately got the name wrong to see if he understood what I was saying.

"'eg," he said shaking his head.

"Egg?" I said quizzically.

" 'arget add 'eg," he struggled to say.

"Greg?"

" 'es."

"Of course his name is Greg, I called him George. Silly me, maybe I should be blonde?"

He nodded and smiled.

"Gee thanks Daddy," I looked at him reproachfully.

He laughed at this then coughed.

We carried on in this vein for another hour during which time I fed him his tea, a cottage pie and some jelly and ice cream. It felt strangely comfortable that I was mothering my own father, although I suppose tending the sick isn't really gender specific. Was it just me exerting my dominance while he was weakened, sort of the king is dead, long live the queen! I didn't know.

When I left the ward it was with regret. He needed me for the first time in his life, for the first time in mine, I was wanted. I wasn't sure how to process all this new emotional stuff. So rapt in my own internal thoughts I didn't realise that I was completely lost with regard to geography, having wandered without being aware of where I was going.

My feet were burning by the time I found my way to the car park and sat in the car. Fortunately getting home was relatively easy. It was dark by the time I pulled into the drive. I presumed my father's car was in the garage but I'd check that in the morning.

I let myself into the house which now felt a little eerie in the shadows from the street lights. I half expected my mother to ask how he was. She didn't of course, how could she? But in my head she did and in the same place I answered her.

I went and showered, changing into a skirt and top that was neither too sexy nor too covered up. With the booster pads, I had a bit of a cleavage if you were stood close enough. Then I made up my bed, the duvet and sheets were ones I'd used when I'd lived there. I also hung up my clothes on the front of the wardrobe, my old clothes were still hanging inside and I didn't want to revisit those.

At eight o'clock I knocked on the door of my neighbours, a house about fifty yards up the road from ours. I had a small bunch of flowers and some wine.

Dinner is served, for Greg, Cathy looks like the main course....

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 69.

I stood waiting at the door, the coolness of the night was beginning to pervade the thin top I was wearing and I became aware of my nipples standing out.

The door opened and behind it stood a middle aged man, "Well hello, you must be Catherine?" He sounded like Leslie Phillips and my heart dived into my boots, I just hoped this wasn't going to end up like some 'Carry On' film. "Do come in," I could feel his eyes burning through me as I entered the house.

Margaret arrived and saved the day, "Hello Catherine, how is your father?"

I handed her the flowers, "I'm not sure, I hope to speak with the sister or a doctor tomorrow. I don't know if they should be mobilising him or if he should rest."

"He looked very rough when we saw him yesterday and he was very confused too."

"I think he knows which way is up, but his speech difficulty is causing great frustration. Daddy never was very patient, this must be driving him crazy."

"Thank you for the flowers, I'll just pop them in some water. Greg stop staring at Catherine and get her a drink."

He scuttled off into the dining room and called, "Red or white?"

I'd brought a bottle of Beaujolais. "Red please," I replied, I hoped it would be a decent one.

"Here my dear, Oh I'm Greg by the way."

"I gathered that much, I'm Cathy."

"Pleased to meet you Cathy," we shook hands and he had a quick peep at my cleavage. I know I was going to have to get used to being objectified, as all women are by some men, but I didn't have to like it. At the same time part of me felt a little frisson of excitement. It was so easy to get men all hot and bothered.

Greg led me into the lounge and offered me a seat, I sat awaiting instruction from Margaret as to when dinner would be ready. If he was supposed to be entertaining me, he wasn't doing much of job. I decided to engage his conscious mind rather than his fanciful one.

"Margaret tells me you've not known my father very long."

"Haven't counted, a few months or so. Yeah, he's a good bloke, must be he supports Gloucester."

"Yes Margaret said you were a cricket buff."

"Well I like to watch the game although all this short version stuff is killing the county game. The problem is the young oiks can't keep their attention span for longer than twenty overs. Do you watch it?"

"Not really, watched some of the Ashes, but I prefer cycling."

"What all that drugs and shaved legs brigade?"

"They don't all do drugs, and the fact that the offenders are being caught, shows that the sport is trying to do something about it."

"Maybe, I'm not convinced. What about the drugs they haven't got tests for yet?"

"Wherever you have lots of money or prestige, there will always be those to try to get them by any means possible. There will always be cheats, the answer is not to let them."

"Do you cycle then?"

"Yes, a bit."

"What a racer?"

"I've got a road bike and a mountain bike."

"Do you race?"

"I took part in a bike race on Sunday, albeit an unofficial one for the university against Southampton."

"How did you do?"

"I didn't win, but I did okay."

"You have to do much training for that?"

"I do a couple of hours twice a week when I can."

"What sort of distance is that, a couple of hours?"

"Between thirty and forty miles, depending upon terrain."

"Thirty and forty miles in two hours, I'm impressed."

"Serious riders do more than that."

"Serious, so what are you then?"

"I'm on the fringes, I may do more if the time or fancy take me."

"Right, well from where I'm standing it certainly keeps you looking trim."

"Yes, that and the karate." I was lying but I wanted to see his reaction.

"Karate? Hardly ladylike my dear."

"No but it helps keep me fit and also helps keep some of the dross at bay. No one has pinched my bum and lived to tell the tale."

"I can well believe that," he replied rising to get another glass of wine, "Top up?" he asked brandishing the bottle.

"Oh, this is towards dinner," I offered up my bottle of wine.

"Thanks," he said taking the bottle out of the bag, "New Season eh? Jolly good, I'll open it and let it breathe." As he was doing so Margaret called us to eat.

Greg helped me to my chair and slid it in behind me. I nodded my thanks. "Cathy here is a black-belt at Karate and cycling," he reported to his wife.

"I'm not a black-belt, nor is there such a thing in cycling," I tried to make it sound as if he'd made a joke, which he might have done.

"She's an expert in both."

"Really, So did you go to watch the Tour of France thingamy when it was over here? Can't think how they can call it that when it goes into other countries." Margaret tried to sound interested.

"Oh yes, I helped to marshall it on the sunday from London to Canterbury."

"So what did that involve?"

"Getting up very early, standing around for hours and when the race came through, trying to stop the spectators from standing in the way."

"Did you wear your black-belt?" asked Greg.

"No, I wore jeans with a red belt, and a high viz waistcoat."

"Do help yourself to vegetables Catherine. What's a high viz waistcoat?"

"Thank you Margaret, it's one of those reflective orange or yellow things to help motorists and other road users see you. It also made it obvious who was helping and who was simply spectating."

"I see, one of those fluorescent things?"

"Exactly." I helped myself to some potatoes and carrots while Greg held the serving dish, then to some cabbage.

"So that was the Tour de France, what about the Milk race or whatever they call it these days?" asked Greg as he passed the gravy boat.

"The Tour of Britain, is what they call it these days. It's good but much smaller than the TdF, and run on a shoestring."

"So did you help with that as well?"

"I did, but they ask for their vests back."

"Oh the French give 'em away, do they?"

"Yes. These chops are lovely Margaret." The pork was succulent and the veg and gravy delicious.

"Thank you Catherine, I'm glad you're enjoying it."

"Very much."

"Do you cook much?"

Although I seemed to be talking primarily to Margaret, I was aware of Greg's eyes on me the whole time, it was quite uncomfortable. "A bit, but cooking for one isn't much fun and my facilities are pretty basic."

"Don't you cook for your boyfriend?" I felt almost as if Margaret was asserting her dominance in her territory as I had done earlier.

"Not really, maybe when I get the chance to I might, but not where I'm living now. Not enough room." I felt defensive and I suspect she knew it.

"What does he do?" asked Greg.

"Who, Simon?"

"If that's his name?"

"He works in a bank."

"What a clerk or assistant manager?"

There was no way I was going to say what he did, so I lied again. "I think he's in management, but he isn't allowed to talk about it and I'm not too keen on the idea myself. I mean he never asks me about my mammal studies."

"You study mammals?" asked Greg.

"Yes, dormice and harvest mice."

"What, they give you a degree for that?" he poo pooed the very idea.

"Yes, I'm hoping a doctoral one in three years, I've just been told my masters is accepted."

"What, a masters degree in dormice?"

"Yes, they are an endangered species. Have you ever seen one?"

"No, I can't say I have."

"They are very secretive and shy creatures, very difficult to find. I spend much of my time out mapping their numbers and territories."

"You don't say." Greg was obviously bored with mammals, but I wasn't.

"Yes, I'm hoping to get a government grant to do my doctoral degree on studying their populations with regard to climate change."

"Is that really good use of public funds, counting dormice?" asked Greg in a distinctly off hand manner.

"Yes, I think it is. If we don't study our environment how are we going to know how much we are destroying."

"Yes but for few dormice, I mean who cares?"

"I do for one." I was beginning to get a little cross with the old tosser.

"Fair enough old girl, keep your hair on."

"Without earthworms and bees, this planet would be almost dead. There are epidemics affecting each species, without research we'll never be able to save them and ourselves into the bargain."

"What? I never eat honey, so it won't affect me." Greg was dismissive again.

"The potatoes, carrots and cabbage you ate, did you enjoy them?"

"Yes of course I did, what's that got to do with bees?"

"Not as much as it does with earthworms. They aerate the soil. If they didn't, within ten or so years it wouldn't grow very much, so you could say goodbye to your veg. Your meat too, there'd be less grass."

"Nah science would sort it."

"Not necessarily. I'm a scientist and it's far better to try and preserve the status quo, it works better than anything we could devise. After all it's had millions of years for evolution to make it efficient."

"That's another thing, evolution. It's only a theory."

"It has loads of evidence to show it's more than a theory."

"If you say so my dear, you know more about these things than I do." Greg patronised me and I felt like kicking his shins under the table. "What's for pudding dear?" he asked his wife.

"Profiteroles."

"My favourite," said Greg smirking.

The evening wore on and he got more boorish and boring. Once or twice I felt like slapping him, but then I wondered if they deserved each other. Superficially they were nice like my parents, but when you got a bit deeper they showed they were full of all sorts of prejudice and bias. Maybe it was the age difference, but they seemed old fashioned and bigoted to me.

I was extremely glad to help Margaret in the kitchen to clear up, while Greg finished the bottle of wine and fell asleep. "Look at him, when he's asleep he's like an angel, when he's awake he's a pain in the neck."

"I think lots of men are like that," I offered giving her benefit of my vast inexperience on the subject, "and I suppose they say the same about us."

She gave me a strange look for a moment as if I had no right to say that, then shook her head and made us some coffee. It was a very tasty meal and well cooked but I would not be accepting their hospitality again.

Easy As Falling Asleep!
by Angharad & J. Austen
part 70!!!!!!!!!!

It was quite cold as I took my goodbyes from Greg and Margaret Soames, the hosts from hell. I walked as quickly as the high heels of my shoes would allow as they clicked along the road. I was very glad to get home and into the warm.

I went to make myself a cuppa to warm up and noticed a text message on my phone, it was from Simon. I put the kettle on and read the text.

'Sry 2 hear UR Pa is ill.
Let us no wot's hapnin.
LOL Si.'

As I drank my tea I wondered about the use of LOL. To me that had two possible meanings, laugh out loud, or lots of love. It couldn't mean the first, so unless there was another meaning of which I was unaware, it had to be the second. Was it a Freudian slip on the part of Simon, or just an expression which meant nothing? Now I was in a quandary.

I checked the time, it was after ten, was it too late to call? I felt like talking to someone I liked or at least with whom I felt comfortable. I also felt Daddy could pay the cost of the call. I was about to dial it when I had another thought. He would know their number then. Instead I sent a text.

'Call me when convenient. C' I included my home number.

Ten minutes later the phone rang. I picked it up in some hesitation, "Hello?"

"Hi Cathy, it's me Simon. How's your dad?"

"He's had a stroke."

"Oh I am sorry. Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Not really, he's in the best place for the moment, but it's kind of you to ask."

"How long are you likely to be up there?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen the doctor yet so I don't know very much. I'll try and find out tomorrow."

"Okay, well don't forget to let me know."

"I will."

"So when will I see you?"

"I don't know, but I feel I can't leave here for a day or two."

"So do you want me to come up?"

"I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't, I offered."

"It's a long way to come for a date."

"Maybe I'll ask your dad for his daughter's hand."

"What?" I almost fell over.

"Yeah, I'll come and have a chat with your dad."

"You can't, he's had a stroke."

"I can sit and talk to him, bring him a bag of fruit and bunch of flowers."

"He'll think you're gay if you bring him flowers."

"Okay, forget the flowers. I'll bring him a bottle of Scotch."

"He's a regular churchgoer!"

"So? Most of the ones I know drink like fishes."

"He doesn't."

"Don't believe a word he's saying Cathy, he's winding you up. How's your dad poppet?" It was good to hear Stella butting in.

"Not sure, still waiting to see the doctor or ward sister."

"Anything you need?"

"Only some nice company. Went to dinner with some neighbours tonight, he couldn't stop ogling me and she was jealous."

"Good time then?"

"Oh yeah, next time they ask I'll slash my wrists, it'll be more fun."

"Well do it in the bath, 'cos otherwise it makes an awful mess."

"Yeah okay." How come whenever I talked with Stella it went onto matters crazy, like a script from a poor comedy show? Was it because I was comfortable with her, honest with her or just we were as crazy as each other? She knew about my darkest secret, Simon didn't and I didn't feel strong enough to tell him yet. I was getting fonder of him but I wasn't completely sure how he felt about me. That made it easier and harder to tell him - oh bugger, how do I get myself into these situations?

"Here's Simon again, bye poppet."

She handed the phone to Simon, "So what time do you want me to come tomorow?"

"It's an awfully long way to come Simon."

"It's worth it to sleep with my girlfriend."

"I erm, erm.." Jesus, did he say what I thought he said? "That's not possible."

"Don't you have a spare bedroom in your parent's house?"

"Is that a good idea?"

"I think so. I'm not asking you to take off your chastity belt just yet."

"I erm..." I got all flustered again.

"I'm only joking, because I know how lovely you look when you blush."

"You pig!"

"Oink oink!" he replied.

"You sound more like a guinea pig!" I laughed.

"That's better. What time will you be free tomorrow?"

"I have to go to the hospital tomorrow afternoon."

"Okay, I'll come up tomorrow morning, I can always go round a museum or something while you're with your dad."

"I could be with him for some time."

"Don't you want to see me?"

"Of course I do."

"I've missed you this week babe."

"I've missed you too."

"Right see you tomorrow, where are you staying?"

I reluctantly gave him my home address and went to bed thinking that my home seemed rather ordinary compared to his. In short I was almost ashamed of it and was he serious about staying? Oh geez, I wouldn't sleep all night now!

Don't try this at home - Cathy's night of gymnastics!

Easy As falling Off A Bike
by Angharad.
part 71.

A hour after putting the phone down my mind was still twittering to itself. He was joking wasn't he, about staying? He can't stay here, what will the neighbours think? Who gives a shit? I'm over twenty one. What if he gets randy and I can't dissuade him? Oh my god! He'll find out. If only there was some way of hiding my you-know-what?

There was, I had seen something on the net about it, in fact there were various things you could buy or you could do to yourself. I stood naked in the bathroom, I could barely see the tiny organ which was the manifestation of my imperfection. I felt like cutting it off, there and then. However, I knew that would hurt, even with the freezing spray we had in the cupboard.

I started playing around with my little gonads and their dangling companion. With some effort and discomfort, I could just about push my testes back up into my body, probably because they were smaller than they used to be. I then pushed my willie back inside itself. It was so small now that I felt if I pushed it too hard it would disappear inside me, which would make weeing something of a problem. As it was, the mirror showed it was just protruding outside my body. When I scooped what was left of my scrotal skin around it, it disappeared and I was left with what looked like labia.

Unfortunately, I couldn't walk around like this with one hand down my knickers, however realistic it looked. I needed something to hold it there, superglue would do nicely. It could also do nastily, and I remembered the occasion I was trying to repair a broken bike light and stuck it to my hand. Took me all evening to free it. The thought of sticking my hand to my genitals was terrifying as well as absurd.

I decided I would let the matter rest in the lap of the gods. I threw on nightie and went to look in the kitchen cupboard where such things would be. If there was glue in the house or garage, I would try to temporarily alter my anatomy. If there wasn't, I wouldn't. Seemed fair enough to me.

I searched high and low, there was none. I pulled on a cardi and went into the garage, there was none there either. Finally with a torch, I went to the garden shed and looked there amongst the cobwebs and their active occupants.

I had so worked myself up into doing this, that I felt disappointed verging on disgusted. "Call yourself gods?" I said loudly at one point. Then I raised the bargaining a little.

"If they don't have any at the all night garage, I'll know it isn't meant to be." Five minutes later, I was dressed in jeans and jumper and starting the car. Not much later I was at the garage, which is attached to a superstore.

I walked into the garage and looked on the shelves, my perusal drew a blank. "Need some help?" asked the young woman behind the check out cubicle.

"I was looking for superglue."

"What the instant stuff?"

"Yeah, I broke the photoframe my boyfriend gave me and he's arriving tomorrow. He'll kill me." I now seemed to be able to lie at will, my mother would be turning in her grave if she could hear me. She despised liars, although she worshipped through them for many years.

"I don't think we sell it, they do in the store."

"Yeah, but the store is closed."

"Fraid so."

"Damn, anywhere that is likely to be open who sells it?"

"Tesco, but that's miles away. Hang on, let me see what I can do."

I waited while she served a couple of customers, then she seemed to be muttering to herself. Finally I heard her say, "Thanks."

Some more petrol customers took her attention and I pretended to look at the magazines in the garage shop. She was dealing with the last fuel purchaser, when young man came into the shop wearing the supermarket uniform, he went to the check out and after a brief exchange, left.

"Here we are," she called from behind her armour plated post.

I looked around to see to whom she was talking. She waved at me to come to her. "Me?" I mouthed pointing at myself.

"You still want the glue?"

"Yes."

"That'll be three ninety nine then."

"You got some?"

"I had some sent over from the store."

"That is awfully kind of you," I purred handing her a five pound note.

"Well I didn't want your boyfriend to kill you."

"Hopefully now he won't be any the wiser," I said smiling wickedly. She thought I was talking about photoframes, I was meaning something else, but what the hell.

Half an hour later I had showered and dried myself, and had trimmed my pubic hair so it wouldn't get glued. My heart was beating like mad and I had an extra light on the floor, running from an electric point in the hallway. I also had a mirror placed at a strategic angle to see more clearly what I was doing. For the first time in my life, my breasts were getting in my way.

With trembling hands, I repositioned myself to hide everything and create the effect of a pudenda. I didn't believe I could do it in one stage without risking sticking something somewhere it shouldn't be. The risk was in blocking my urethra. It could cause me loads of pain and even lead to kidney damage if it prevented urine flow. Having committed myself to doing this however, I was sweating and beginning to think the gods were punishing me for my hubris.

After practising with the folding of the skin a couple more times, I decided I could do it in one stage, but with my willie held downwards inside it, which would also enable me to pass urine downwards, not spraying out the front.

Convinced I could do it, I took the top off the little bottle of glue and was promptly sick. I was terrified I was going to get this wrong and end up looking a right lemon at Accident and Emergency.

I cleaned up the mess and myself, took a shot of my father's brandy and went back to my task. It occurred to me that if I didn't push up my willie into my body cavity a little, then sitting on a bike saddle was going to be very attention grabbing. I experimented with positioning a few more times and was sure I could accommodate the need for comfortable riding.

I opened the glue again, and carefully spread it around my various bits, then before it dried, carefully but quickly moved them into position. I held it all for ten minutes, my back was aching and sweat was dripping off my forehead.

I pulled my hand away, breathing a sigh of relief that I hadn't actually stuck it to my groin. My arm was shaking having held it in one position for so long. I slowly stood up straight, my back was sore. As I stood, I could feel a pulling on skin in my new pubes. Oh no, I can't stand up straight or I'll rip something off!

I kept straightening my back, the pulling was like a burning sensation, then it stopped. I was upright and not destined to act as a model for Quasimodo, I nearly wept with joy. In the mirror, it looked as if I had a fanny. I actually looked like a woman for the first time in my life. I wanted to jump up and down, but thought better of it. It was stinging a bit, but it was worth it.

Now came the sixty four dollar question, could I pee? I sat on the loo and tried. I could, but it squirted everywhere and after wiping I discovered that the glue was coming unstuck. Bugger!

I was now nearly in tears. It took me an hour to readjust and restick everything. This time the flow was clearer and it all stayed as it should. I looked at the time, it was three in the morning. I was exhausted both physically and emotionally. I slipped on my nightdress again, and fell asleep in minutes, praying that it would all hold for a couple of days.

More emotional trauma for our heroine.....read on, I dare you!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike
by Angharad & Bonzi (the bored)Cat.
part 72 (that's like six dozen!).

I awoke, it was still dark and I had a pain in the superglue. Rolling out of bed, I stood up very gently and carefully walked to the bathroom. It was all burning or stinging, but at least I could pee and that bit wasn't hurting, thank goodness. I wiped and examined it all with a hand mirror. Apart from the discomfort, it looked pretty good. I didn't somehow think I'd be riding a bike for a few days, however, so on a trade off, maybe that wasn't too bad.

I checked the time, it was four in the morning. I'd barely had an hour's sleep. I minced back to bed, well I took small steps 'cos it didn't pull so much. Back under the covers I started to snooze until I had a horrible thought, what would happen if it stuck like this for any length of time, would it make it difficult for the surgeon to rebuild?

I decided it would, so this would be for special occasions only and once it became unstuck, I'd stretch it all and hope that it was okay. But then, the thought struck me, what happens if it doesn't unstick, maybe the skin will fuse? Oh shit!

I worried about this for some time knowing that there were solvents and I knew from previous experience that nail varnish remover would loosen it. Then I saw myself dancing around and squealing as the remover solution stung like mad. If I hadn't needed to sleep, I'd have laughed at myself.

I drifted uneasily into sleep and woke an hour or so later needing to pee again. Gee whizz, what is it with my bladder, I mean it's not as if I'd had surgery and everything got displaced?

I lurched into the bathroom, I was so tired that I stubbed my toe against the door. God it hurt and I danced around my eyes watering, I was in too much pain even to swear. I also wet myself and added insult to injury.

Back in bed and now wide awake, I turned my thoughts to Simon. I could now be semi- intimate with him. I imagined him kissing me and touching my breasts - suddenly I had a pain in the you know where! Gee bloody whizz, I was now seriously beginning to wonder if I had done the right thing. I went to the toilet again, but only dripped a few drops. So what was all that about? I didn't get erections anymore, but something must have happened when I was having my dirty thoughts. What a pain, quite literally. It could well be that in sticking myself up, I had inadvertently made difficult and possibly painful, the whole reason for sticking it all up in the first place! I felt like crying.

At about six o'clock I finally fell into a deep sleep, after another visit to the toilet of course. The next thing I knew was a ringing sound. I jumped out of bed, hobbling on my painful toe and uncomfortable groin. I was half way down the stairs thinking it was the doorbell, when the ringing was obviously coming from the phone. I continued down the stairs and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hi sweetie-pie, Houston we have a problem!"

"What's the matter?" I asked, trying to focus my bleary eyes on the clock.

"My bloody car won't start. I'm waiting for the garage to come."

"Oh dear, does that mean you're cancelling?"

"No way, if necessary I'll borrow Stella's car. It just means I'm going to be later than I planned."

I yawned and my eyes watered impairing my vision, so I still couldn't see the sodding clock. "So when do you think you'll be here?"

"About two hours after they get this bloody thing started. I've packed my bag and done a route on the internet, plus I've got my sat nav."

"You drive carefully!" I exhorted.

"I always do babe, you know that."

Compared to Stella so did most people! "Well I'm just making sure you do."

"Okay, okay I'll go carefully, is that okay?"

"All right, I suppose, but you make sure you do."

"I will. So how did you get on with the Merc ?"

I blushed, I hadn't said, a thank you to Simon. "Gosh, I haven't said thank you. It's wonderful, goes like a dream. Thank you so much Simon."

"That's okay, you can show your gratitude later."

My stomach flipped as he said it, exactly what did he mean by that? I hoped it wasn't what I thought it meant. I got a twitch from down below and realised I needed a pee. "Sorry Simon, I have to go to the loo," I said hopping from one leg to the other. I put the phone down and scrambled to the toilet, just making it in time. I realised that it felt comfortable and wondered if it had all come undone. I went to wipe it with some toilet roll and discovered it was all as I'd left it. Phew!

Rushing back to the phone, I discovered Simon had rung off and I felt a little pang of guilt. I hoped that he believed me because I didn't want him to think I had deceived him. Then I thought about something else and felt myself getting very warm.

While I drank my tea, I decided I needed to tell him about me and live with the consequences. The question was when and how? Did I do it while we were at a posh restaurant, "Oh by the way Simon darling, I'm really a boy."
Or perhaps when we're lying in bed together and he's pleading to shag me, "You can't I'm afraid my love, I don't have a fanny 'cos I'm a boy!"
Maybe I'd do it while we were driving, "Simon, I have something to tell you about a little personal problem I have. I'm a man, watch out for that truck Simon!"

Oh hell, why did he have to like me? Or worse, why did I have to like him? It would really hurt to end it now and we haven't really got things going yet, but it would be even harder if I wait until we are really attached to each other. Then it would really really hurt. I hated what I was going to do to my Simon. Hark at me, my Simon! He won't be when he finds out. I felt salt water trickle down my cheek, and moments later I was bawling.

I was in deep self pity, accompanied by red eyes and fluid loss when the phone rang again. I felt really miffed to be disturbed while having an emotional release. I stamped out to the hall and picked up the receiver, "Yes?" I said and sobbed.

"Hi flower, it's me again, I'm ready to roll, hey are you crying?"

"Yes," I squeaked.

"What's the matter, your dad's okay isn't he?"

"It isn't him," I sobbed and sniffed.

"What is it then?"

"I can't tell you, ask Stella, she knows. Don't come, I can't see you ever again, I'm sorry." I put the phone down and went up to my bed. I heard the phone ring but I refused to answer it. I fell upon my bed and howled.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 73.

I lay on my bed weeping for some time, my little flirtation with happiness had run its course and I was back to being alone. I cursed my body, why did it have to be born male, while me inside it was so female?

Why couldn't I have met Simon in a year or two, I might then have been in a position to enter into a full relationship, from which I would have been able to tell him of my past, assuming the relationship lasted.

Eventually I fell asleep, waking only to go to the loo again. It was midday and I felt dead. I showered after and dressed, drying my hair and using a tiny amount of makeup. I had to go and see Dad, so I had to look tidy for that and I didn't want to worry him with any of my problems.

I wore a skirt, the denim one with a tee shirt and my boots. I don't know why I didn't put on jeans, probably I felt a need to reinforce my femininity to my father. I know he said he accepted me but I wasn't going to give him any chance to change his mind. A skirt gave me confidence to challenge any dissent.

I moped around the house, finding little jobs to do, that Margaret hadn't done. I found more than I expected, tidying this polishing that and finally washing up after my breakfast and lunch - I forced down a sandwich for the latter. I also made a shopping list of things needed like bread and milk. It kept me from crying, keeping my hands busy and trying to occupy my mind when it switched on again. Most of the time it felt dead.

At last two o'clock came and I could go and see my dad. I pulled on the denim jacket and stepped out of the front door. Parked across the drive was a large Volvo.

My immediate reaction was elation, it looked like Simon's car, followed by the realisation that he wasn't in it and then deflation. That was followed by the memory of what had been and was no more. I sank into deeper gloom and seemed unable to sort out what I felt or thought, my mind just stopped.

I don't know how long I stood there, it could have been seconds or minutes. I couldn't go anywhere until his car was moved and he wasn't there. Was he playing tricks with me? I wasn't much in the mood for them if he was. I felt far too frail and would capitulate almost instantly.

Why had he come, to rub salt in the wound? I hoped he hadn't because it wouldn't have been in character. Leastways, not the character I knew and loved. Yes, there's that word, I love him which is why I can't deceive him any longer, however tempting that might be.

Where is he? Why doesn't he show himself and put me out of my misery? I slowly turned to go back into the house and realised I've left my handbag inside with my keys in it. Even if he hadn't parked and blocked me in, I couldn't have gone anywhere. My car keys were in the house along with my house keys. So I couldn't get into the house or the car. I had no money nor my mobile, I had fucked up big time.

Normally, I would have thrown a tantrum and threatened to kill myself for being so stupid, then after the initial exhaustion had passed, I would work out how to sort things out then do it. Now, here, today, I collapsed into tears and slumped onto the front doorstep feeling so down that even the bottom of a mineshaft would be a long climb for me.

I sat sobbing when I saw a pair of legs standing before me. "You okay?" It was a familiar voice.

"No, I've locked myself out and ...."

"Hang on, I'll go and get Margaret's key," I watched as Greg trotted back to his house. He was probably the last person I needed to meet and I had to be careful not to give away any hints that I'd finished with Simon.

Two minutes later, he was back and helping me open the door. "There, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'll be fine now, thanks so much."

"There seem to be an awful lot of tears for just locking yourself out, are you sure you don't want to come back to our place and I'll make you a cuppa or something stronger?"

That was the last thing I wanted and I played the only trump card I had, I lied. "It's you know, women's troubles," I rubbed my stomach and grimaced. I hoped he would be too polite to offer any sort of advice.

"Oh poor you, fraid I can't help much there, shall I get Margaret to call you when she gets back?"

"No," I said almost too decisively, "I've got some pills inside. I'll take one and it will ease off presently."

"Can I make you some tea, or anything," he asked helping me into my own home.

"No, thank you for your help so far. Please don't say anything to Margaret, I don't want her to think I'm a wimp."

"No, okay, although she has suffered in the past. But don't hesitate to call us if you still feel rough."

"I won't, I think I'll go and lie down for a bit. Thank you so much." Against my better judgement I pecked him on the cheek and he went off feeling satisfied with himself. As soon as he was gone, I shut and locked the door and fell into a heap again.

Where was Simon? It seemed bizarre that his car was there and he wasn't. why was he preventing me from leaving my house, or was he going to repossess his car. If so, then I could use my dad's but I'd have to check the insurance and his Mondeo wasn't as nice as 'my little Merc.'

I think I must have dozed because I awoke to the doorbell ringing. I jumped up and nearly fell over, unaccustomed to the heels in my sleepiness. If that was Simon what should I do? My face must look a mess, because I could feel my eyelashes sticking together.

I couldn't go near the door, because the glass panel would show I was there as I approached it. I needed another viewpoint. I sneaked as stealthily as one can in high heeled boots up the stairs. Then from my parent's bedroom I stole a glance outside. Simon's car was gone, my heart sank. All I could see was a white van of some sort parked in the road.

Could it be someone from Simon wanting to collect the car, or worse could it be Margaret or the dreaded Greg? The doorbell rang again and again, I felt almost a pain go through me with each ring. I didn't want to open the door but I couldn't go on ignoring it.

I carefully descended the stairs and walked to the door. I couldn't make out who was the other side, all I could see was a vague outline through the frosted glass. Almost in a trance my hand reached out and turned the handle, and the door opened.

***************************************************************************
Author's note:
I'm away for a week having a short holiday. Normal service will be resumed as soon after as possible (unless Bonzi takes over - he tends to use his noms de plume of Rowling or Hemmingway.)

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 74.

As the door drew open I was met by a young woman holding a gigantic bouquet of flowers. "Are you Cathy Watts?"

I nodded an affirmative, concerned that she should see me in such disarray and with makeup probably all over my face.

"These are for you, are you alright?" She passed me the flowers.

"Yes, I had a bit of an upset with my boyfriend, and I'm on." Lying was becoming so easy.

She gave me a knowing look and offered, "Looks like he's sorry," she nodded at the flowers which threatened to overwhelm me.

"Yeah, maybe," I wasn't going to be drawn any more, "thanks." I closed the door and struggled with the bunch of vegetation to the kitchen table. Attached to the outer wrapper was a card. I opened it and read the following:

'I hope we can work through this as I'm getting rather fond of you.
Missing you,
S. xxx'

I puzzled over the note. It could mean he'd spoken to Stella and she may or may not have told him. I didn't know, nor would I until I spoke to one of them. Was it his car I saw? I didn't know that either.

The white van had gone, presumably it belonged to the florist. I needed to go and see my father before it got any later. I cleaned myself up as best I could and making sure I had my car and house keys, set off for the hospital.

Of course it was too late to catch either the sister or a doctor to discover his prognosis, and the staff nurse nabbed me as I entered the ward. "He was getting quite upset, he thought you weren't coming."

"I'm sorry, I got a bit caught up in things. Is there anything he needs?"

"Don't think so, does he drink at all?"

"He likes an odd glass of beer or wine and even the occasional brandy, but he isn't much of a drinker. Why, did you want me to bring him in something?"

"It might help him a little. He doesn't like hospitals, but then who does?"

"Okay, I'll ask him which he'd prefer." She nodded at me and I went off to sit with my father.

"Gaffy, Gaffy!" he said loudly, his eyes brightening up as I approached his bed.

"Hi Daddy," I kissed him on the cheek. I gave him the two magazines I'd bought for him. He thanked me and put them on the bed.

We chatted as best we could. His frustration at trying to speak was painful to behold and I felt very concerned. He was going to take a lot of looking after and I didn't have either the time or the resources to do it. I felt guilty as well as worried for him.

He told me as best he could, that he was frightened I'd left him, abandoned him might be a better description, although he wasn't capable of saying it. I didn't deny it, my father was one person to whom I would not lie, especially now. So I answered in questions and half statements, "Does it look like it? Why did you think that? I got waylaid, I'm here now." I refused to give any statement about the future.

Half my mind was on Simon, wondering what he knew and his response if he did. Had he sent those flowers knowing my situation or did he assume it was the past abuse? I wish I knew.

Once or twice Dad caught me not paying attention and it was needed to understand what he was saying. Eventually, he managed to tell me that they had organized an assessment by a speech therapist for monday. He was hoping she could help him speak more clearly. They had also put him down for physiotherapy. Perhaps he could become self sufficient again, I sincerely hoped so for entirely selfish reasons.

At about seven, having helped him with his supper, I left promising to bring in a bottle of brandy the next day. I confirmed I would go and see the bank as well and arrange a temporary power of attorney to manage his affairs until he was well enough to take them back. It was something I wasn't too happy about because I didn't want to know about his financial affairs or anything else. I was an expert on dormice not a financial manager.

I drove home and popped in a supermarket en route, getting most of the things I needed - I'd got my keys but left my list behind. I hoped it was stress not dementia.

My funds were looking a bit low, so it was going to be necessary to see the bank anyway. I'd chat with Daddy tomorrow and get his agreement to borrow some.

I got home about half eight and there was a message on the ansafone from Simon, asking me how my dad was and to call him back.

I ummed and aahed for ages before I picked up the phone and dialled the cottage. To my surprise Stella answered. "What are you playing at?"

"What do you mean?" I asked feeling completely thrown by her attack.

"Telling Si to ask me about you. I told him nothing, it isn't my place to. If you want him to know you can do your own dirty work. Don't ask me. You know what I thought a few days ago, I haven't changed my mind."

"Yes but I don't want to hurt him," I whined in my defence.

"That is the only thing we seem to have in common," she blasted at me.

"No it isn't, we both love him."

"What?"

I repeated my previous statement.

"If you love him then how can you put him through all this?"

"Because we both believe in honesty to each other."

"Has he told you all about himself, all his failed romances, his fights, his drinking?"

"No, he hasn't."

"Well until he does, I'd keep quiet about your little problem."

"It's a bit more fundamental than that Stella. The relationship is founded on the premise that he's a man and I'm a woman."

"Yeah, so?"

"I'm not a woman am I?"

"Only in the biblical sense. Look I know what you're on about but until things get a lot more committed, I'd keep quiet about it. Tell him when he starts talking about marriage."

"What?"

"You know what I mean. Look it's good that he has someone as nice as you to play with. His relationships usually don't last very long. Given his record, I'd wait a bit and let him either show his intentions or see if he screws up again."

"You don't sound too hopeful?"

"Maybe this time things will be different but I doubt it. He usually screws it up within a month or two, the only time it lasted longer was when the girl he was seeing was seconded to Africa for a couple of months and the note she sent him took two months to get to him."

"Oh dear, poor Simon." I remarked.

"No poor Stella, Simon is the wealthy one.

"You know what I meant."

"Well I'm afraid you can't speak to him, he's up in Town again today, had to take the train, his car went phutt after the garage managed to start it."

"Has he been in London all day?"

"Far as I know, why?"

"I thought I saw his car outside the house this afternoon."

"Nah it's up at the garage, he's using a Saab."

"Oh, must have been someone else then."

"Must have been. How is your dad?"

"About the same, he got upset 'cos I didn't get in to the hospital as early as I'd like and certainly not as early as he'd like."

"If he's feeling weak and watery, he would. Just think about it for a moment, he's lost his independence and needs you for the first time in his life. So he's in a bereavement situation again, very soon after the other. It's not a nice place to be."

"I appreciate that, but have my own life to lead and with a chance of a government grant to do what I love doing. His dependency frightens me as much as it does him. I may never get a second chance to do this."

"Well just because you're a woman doesn't mean you have to sacrifice your career, not these days."

"No but it sure lays a whole mass of guilt on me."

"Don't let him do that, you don't owe him anything."

"My head tells me that, but my heart somehow disagrees with it."

"The advice of your Auntie Stella is, do what makes you most happy because you don't get second chances in this life. Look I've got to go, talk soon." She rang off leaving me with my thoughts and a pile of dirty dishes.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 75 (that's like three quarters of a hundred! gulp).

I was so rapt in my thoughts that I didn't notice that I had washed everything twice, oh well I suppose it was cleaner than ever. My conversation with Stella had really got me confused. I had set my mind on coming as clean as the dishes, but now she made me think again. Then there was my father, what was I going to do about him?

A million years ago, if I'd known he was going to accept me as I really was, I might have been prepared to play housekeeper for him. Instead it took circumstances to force him to do it, like my mother's death. If that hadn't happened there might still have been radio silence from Bristol.

I poured myself a glass of wine and sat in the dark in my parent's lounge, my head spinning with all the possibilities and all the conflict of what I wanted to do versus what others wanted me to do.

I drank the wine and decided I'd have another. I rose to go to the kitchen when I saw my mobile phone. I remembered I'd not thanked Simon for the flowers, I poured some more wine and picked up the mobile.

'Sry 2 hear re car.
Thx 4 flwrs - luvly.
Luv. C xxx.'

I pressed send and the little sign came up to show it had gone. I sat down with my wine and sipped it slowly. It wasn't helping me decide what to do, but it might help me sleep.

I was jerked from my reverie by the phone ringing. I picked up my mobile but the ringing continued, "Silly cow!" I said to myself as I trotted to the hall and the landline phone.

"Hello?"

"Hiya Gorgeous, glad you like the flowers."

"Yes thanks, they are beautiful." I felt my heart rate quicken when I heard Simon's voice. It was pounding in my ears, worse than if I'd ridden up onto the Downs.

"Sorry I didn't make it, they needed me to go into the office, someone had boobed and I had to sort it out. Stella tell you my car died again?"

"Yes, do you need this one back?"

"What? Be seen in that thing, no way!"

"She is lovely Simon, how can you say that?"

"It's a girly car. I was going to give it to Stella but it may survive longer with you."

"She's a Mercedes."

"So what, they break down as well you know?"

"Don't say that Simon, I haven't got a clue about cars." I almost felt as if he was jinxing me.

"Oh it's AA or RAC covered for breakdown, it's all in the glove box somewhere."

"I'll check tomorrow." I would too, I was terrified of cars breaking down because I was helpless. Bikes I could fix, cars were alien territory.

"I've got a Saab at the minute, goes like a train, may decide to keep it and ditch the Volvo."

"You seem to like Scandinavian cars, this one should go faster isn't made by jet aircraft manufacturers?"

"Not anymore, it's General Motors, nothing to do with Saab aircraft, hasn't been for years. But then Volvo is Ford, so I'm not too worried." He paused for a moment and I heard him swallow.

"What are you drinking?" I asked him.

"A bottle of beer, you're not supposed to hear that."

"Why? I was drinking a glass of wine before you rang."

"Had you finished?"

"No, I hadn't."

"Well go and get it, I won't ring off."

"No, it's okay."

"No it isn't go and get it, and make sure it's a full glass."

"You trying to get me drunk or something?"

"Probably or something, go on, go and get it!"

Reluctantly I put down the phone and took my nearly empty glass to the kitchen where I filled it with more wine. At this rate I would be tipsy.
I tottered back to the phone in the hall, I should have taken off my boots but I'd got so used to them.

"Hi, I'm back and feeling a little woozy."

"Good, serves you right."

"Why, what have I done?" It seemed wine gave me amnesia as well.

"Nearly gave me heart failure, that's what! Remember?"

I felt myself blushing so hot there seemed to be a real danger of me melting the phone which was against my head. I felt a tear well up in my eyes and a moment later it rolled down my cheek, I sniffed.

"What's the matter, have you got a cold?"

I shook my head, which is really useful on the phone.

"You still there Cathy?"

"Mmm," I sniffed.

"Are you crying?"

"Nnn nnn," I lied sniffing again.

"Yes you are, there's salt water coming from the phone, nearly went in my beer."

I snorted at this and laughed.

"That's better. I like to hear you laugh."

"I don't deserve to," I replied sniffing some more. I wiped my eyes with my fingers and rubbed mascara over half my face.

"Why ever not? This sounds serious Cathy. Look Stella told me a bit about your past, you have nothing to feel guilty about."

I shook my head again, how could I go on deceiving him like this? At the same time how could I know for sure that we were going to get serious enough to warrant me telling him? Stella's argument made some sense, I just didn't like lying to him. He was becoming too important to me. Shit! Why did I let this happen? More importantly, how did I let this happen? In two weeks or so my life hadn't just changed, my whole universe had changed completely, my Milky Way had gone from skimmed to full cream, homogenised!

"You there, Cathy?"

"Yes," I answered very weakly.

"Stella mentioned she thought you couldn't have children, is that what all this is about?"

Geez Stella, why didn't you just tell him the whole truth? "Some of it." I was aware that I was speaking in a cross between a whine and a whimper.

"It's okay, honestly. I mean I don't know if I wanted kids or not anyway, so it's okay, besides we could always adopt or whatever."

I know he was trying to cheer me up, but it was having the reverse effect, I was feeling worse. "I have to go."

"Cathy wait, how is your dad?"

"Much the same."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so, but thanks."

"I'm getting really fond of you girl...."

"I have to go, night." I interrupted and put the phone down, I drank the wine down quickly and went to bed. I tossed and turned for an hour or so before the alcohol took effect and I zonked.

Hangovers and Mummy's wardrobe, is it just a bike that Cathy is falling from?

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 76.

I awoke needing the loo, it was just getting light. I staggered to the toilet my head was pounding and I felt a bit dizzy. As I sat on the 'throne' I recalled the previous evening. Three large glasses of wine were more than I usually drank. My headache was deserved.

I was tempted to go back to bed, but instead got up and after drinking a large glass of water, I put the kettle on and got in the shower. Most of my makeup was still smeared around my face and I felt better under the warm water as it cascaded over and around me. I stayed under its sensual influence longer than I needed to to get clean. It simply felt nice and my fragility needed a little self indulgence.

Once dressed, I made some tea and forced down a couple of slices of toast, then dried my hair. I was getting better at styling it myself, although I was a long way from doing it as competently as I wanted. If I'd had a bike here, I would have gone for a ride to work off the aldehydes, the breakdown products of alcohol that cause hangovers. But I didn't have one and besides I'd need to shower again after riding it.

It was a sunday morning and not quite nine o'clock, I had all day to do nothing and nothing to do all day. The house was clean and tidy, I'd done the laundry and the ironing, I was looking for jobs to do and there were none to be done. I even looked around the garden, but apart from picking some late runner beans, there was little if anything there either. Dad must have tidied it all up just before his stroke.

I had a car, so I could have gone for a drive, except I didn't want to use up its precious fuel, I didn't have the money to replace it. I know I still had some of the dosh my dad had sent me, but that was all I had and there would be need for more clothes and stuff, like changing my name. So I had to hang on to it. When I'd sorted something out with the bank, I could at least borrow some cash from Daddy to see me through my stay. I would ask him first, but I couldn't see him refusing. Assuming I could get the bank to hand some over in the first place. I wasn't looking forward to that experience. I suddenly thought, the hole in the wall or ATM, if he could tell me his pin number I could draw some out before I saw the manager and at least I could put some more juice in the car.

I had found his cash card and also his credit card, I put them somewhere safe just in case anyone broke in. Poking about in his belongings felt very strange, poking about in my mother's felt even stranger. He hadn't parted with much at all. I saw some of her jewellery and a handbag or two that would be nice to have, so I'd need to speak to him about those as well. After all he now owned all her stuff, at least on a technical basis. It felt so strange knowing that this was like old times looking at her clothes, only she wasn't coming home to disturb me or catch me red lipped and in her underwear.

I was completely absorbed in looking though her things that I didn't hear a car pull up. When the doorbell rang, I jumped so much that I actually fell into her wardrobe. The shock that ran through me was that of, Oh my God, she's caught me playing with her things!

The door bell rang again as I was trying to disentangle myself from the clothes I'd inadvertently pulled off their hangers when I fell into the wardrobe.

Trying to tidy myself as I trotted down the stairs, the doorbell rang again. I now felt a bit irritated by whoever it was. "All right, I'm coming," I called as I approached the door.

I pulled it open expecting it to be the neighbours from hell, asking if I felt better and did I want to go to sunday lunch? I was shocked, there before me was Simon. "Oh!" was all I could say and that was in the form of a gasp.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Mmmm," I mumbled and stood back, my heart beating like a super-charged metronome, my jelly legs trembling as if I had recently finished a cycle sprint.

"Good morning," he said and engulfed me with a hug simultaneously closing the front door. Then his lips found mine and I melted with his kiss. Time seemed to stand still as he held me. My legs seemed so inadequate to carry my weight that if he hadn't held me up, I'd have fallen like a stone.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and held my head against his chest, his powerful arms around me. I wanted this moment to last forever, knowing that it wouldn't or couldn't, but it was so lovely I couldn't bear to cause it to end.

"Happy Sunday," said Simon, hugging me tightly.

"Mmmm," I said almost purring, if I'd had a tail, I'd be wrapping it around his legs right now.

"Is that all you can say, after I've driven all this way?" He released his grip to try and prise me away from his body.

"Nnn nnn," I replied. My vocabulary was enormous on occasions, this just wasn't one of them.

"Is that it?"

"Nnn nnn," I responded, then added, "Kiss me again."

"That's more like it old girl," he said with enthusiasm and once again his lips found mine. I held my body against his as tightly as I could and felt his hand reach for my breast. A shiver ran through me and I felt a small wetness in my pants. I had come in my pants, Simon had turned me on! Oh my God!

I held onto him for several more minutes, occasionally kissing him, and I began to kiss his hairy chest unbuttoning his shirt a little. I knew I had to be careful because I couldn't give him what he'd be wanting. Instead I just rubbed against his crotch as I kissed his chest and found one of his nipples, which I licked. I felt him stiffen for a moment and knew that he had just messed his pants.

"Oh God Cathy!" he exclaimed and I wanted to laugh. I had a panty pad in my knickers, so I was okay. He would be making a mess in his trousers. "I'erm need to go to the bathroom, quickly." I pointed to the cloakroom under the stairs and he disappeared. I giggled all the way up to my parents bedroom where I found him a pair of underpants that my dad had never worn.

I knew I had crossed a line with him and would need to lay down some guidelines very quickly. I needed to take control of this at the same time I recognised I had just fallen in the deep end or did I dive? This was now getting serious and had been exactly what I had been telling myself to avoid.

I knocked on the cloakroom door and left the pants for him to find while I went to fill the kettle with a big smirk on my face.

Does Simon stumble across the truth and will Cathy come clean, and I don't mean in the shower?

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & V Pendleton.
part 77 (Sunset Strip?)

I stood waiting for the kettle to boil while Simon changed his undies. I still had a smile on my face but the realisation was dawning upon me that perhaps I had been a trifle impulsive. Now I was blushing, had I done something stupid? It seemed to be a habit these days - I mean who else would lock herself out of the car and the house at the same time? Herself, I just described myself as herself. It slightly shocked me, it was about the first time I had used the term while talking to myself in my head. I blushed some more.

"Can you get your dad to buy Calvin Klein's next time," Simon put his arms around me from behind.

"If his don't suit, you can always borrow some of mine," I offered as the kettle switched itself off.

"No these will do."

"They are brand new."

"Yes I appreciate that."

"And Marks and Sparks make good underwear."

"Do you buy yours there?"

"Erm, no." I felt myself blushing again.

"Well then."

"If you had controlled yourself, you wouldn't have had to change."

"Hah, I'd like to see you stop yourself from coming when you are being kissed and touched up by a beautiful girl."

"I think I could manage it."

"Oh yeah, what about if it was beautiful young man?"

"That's two questions, that's not fair." I took the moral highground in a facetious way, but it showed that I could make decisions, or I hoped it did. "Anyway, if you bring me the dirty ones, I'll wash them for you."

"Ah, that's okay." Now it was his turn to blush. I nearly shot myself in the foot by misquoting an old joke, 'Underpants, not the best thing in the world but close to it!' I was glad I had refrained. I'd indulged myself already.

"Are you going to see your dad today?" Asked Simon as I made the tea.

"I have to I'm afraid."

"Don't apologise, I'd like to meet him."

I nearly dropped the teapot, "Why?" I asked instead of asking him to repeat his shocking statement. Scenarios of Daddy somehow managing to say, 'She wasn't always Cathy, until two weeks ago she was Charlie.'

"I'd simply like to meet your father."

"He's had a stroke, he can hardly talk, let alone converse with you. He's quite poorly," I lied but how was he to know any better.

"Stella said he'd abused you," he hesitated while saying this as if he wasn't sure if he should be mentioning it.

"He beat me a number of times, he won't do it again." I felt my stomach flip over and I almost wanted to be sick.

"He won't if I have a word with him."

"No Simon, if I need your help I'll ask for it. Please let me do this my own way." Please Simon, God knows what he'd tell you if you threatened him. "Besides, since my mother died, he needs me more than I need him." And that puts me in the driving seat for the moment anyway.

"If ever he lays so much as a finger on you, I'll rip it off and shove it so far up his arse it will give him a sore throat." There was coldness in the statement, I believed he really meant it.

"You're frightening me Simon, you can't bash Daddy just because you don't like his underpants." It was an attempt to change his mood.

"No one hits women and gets away with it while I'm around, I can't abide it."

I nearly told him I wasn't a woman when I last got hit, and even had a punchline, I was only a child. Well I couldn't say little girl, could I? But then, the idea of beating up a child is even worse that hitting a woman. "I can handle it Simon, he's no longer the monster he was and I can now hold my own if necessary."

"When did he last hit you?"

"I can't remember," I lied, I could almost tell him to the minute when it was.

"Stella tells me you ended up in hospital."

"Not for that."

"Oh, what else was it then?"

"Nothing important." I felt quite angry that Stella had told him bits and that he was assuming he was my protector. I wasn't even sure if I could describe him as my boyfriend, because we had hardly been out on dates and hadn't had sex unless you consider the little flirt in the hallway half an hour ago, sex?

I think my irritation showed, because he looked sheepish and said, "Sorry, I mean it's not as if you were having a sex change or something."

"Would it be important if I had been?" I glared at him.

"Erm, I was only joking love."

"Answer the question, please."

"This is a nice cuppa," he blushed as he changed the subject.

Maybe I shouldn't have been so assertive? I didn't feel encouraged by his embarrassment, and I really did wonder if he could cope with the truth. Maybe Stella was right after all, this might just fold before we get to the stage where it becomes essential. So I'm living a lie and deceiving him, so what?

It's quite bizarre how I've spent most of my life trying to prevent others discovering my inner femaleness, now I'm trying to stop them uncovering my outer maleness. How time changes things?

"When are you going to see your dad?"

"Anytime after two, why?"

"I wondered if we could find somewhere to have lunch."

"I'll cook something if you want," I offered, albeit weakly.

"If we had more time, I must just have let you do that, but there'll be plenty of time for that, won't there? In the future I mean."

"Will there, how should I know? You might get fed up with me."

"I don't think so."

"Maybe I'll get fed up with you," I could have cut my tongue out the instant that was out of my mouth. Simon went from looking self assured and confident to suddenly looking very unsure of himself. Sometimes I was a real bitch! "I know a nice little pub, but we might have to book," I said brightly trying to change his mood and the subject.

"Yeah, maybe you will, just like all the others."

"What, book a pub lunch?" I asked looking puzzled even though I knew exactly what he meant.

"No, dump me after a short time." He looked like a little boy lost.

"Simon how can I dump you, we're hardly a couple yet are we?" I tried to keep it real.

"There see, I thought we were. I just don't understand women. Maybe I'd better go."

"Simon!" I said loudly and he stopped in his tracks. "Please stay," I said more quietly. "We hardly know each other, so how can we say we're a couple? What I see of you and the more I know, the more I like you, but there are things you don't know about me and I suppose there will be things I don't know about you."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," he looked sheepish again. "My trouble is I'm in too much of a hurry. I think I like you a lot." He blushed and looked at the floor - I was glad I'd washed it yesterday.

I was also glad he didn't look at me because I was blushing as much as he was. "I think I like you too." I placed my hand under his chin and lifted up his head, then I kissed him gently on the lips.

The emotional roller coaster continues, read on.....

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Bonzi Cat,
part 78.

My experience of men and I suppose boys, was mostly negative. They either jeered at me or beat me up. Standing here with Simon, I began to realise that he might have similar experiences with women, albeit, with less physical violence.

"You are so different from all the other women I've dated, Cathy."

At this sort of statement the warning lights flashed a little, "What do you mean different? Is it my two heads that give it away?" I tried not to probe too deeply in case he starts thinking. After all he wasn't entirely stupid, even if he was a man.

Simon chuckled, "Nah, I like the two heads except when they give me three opinions." I smiled at this, which for Simon was almost funny. "No it's more about your attitude."

Oops! Am I doing things more like a boy then? "What do you mean?"

"You're about the only one I've met who seems to be honest and not take me for a ride."

I blushed at honesty and felt a guilty need to cover it up, "No, I'm just a better class of liar." I smiled a false smile clicking my front teeth together.

"Nearly all the women with whom I've been out, seemed to delight in messing me up in some way. Until you came into my life, I'd almost taken a vow of solitary celibacy, especially when Stella took up with that doctor fellow."

"What do you mean messing you about?"

"Belittleling me or trying to question my masculinity. You know the sort of things you girls can do to a bloke."

I didn't but I nodded anyway, "Why do you think they did that to you?" I sounded like a student counsellor.

"Because they could? I don't know. I would shower them in gifts because I liked them and then, they'd either become gold-diggers and I'd ditch them, or they put me down and move on. One of them stuck all the stuff I'd given her on Ebay under the title of, 'Presents from a dickhead.'

"I don't understand why anyone would do that to you." I still had my hands on his shoulders.

"They all do it, I half expect you will too eventually." He looked at the floor and I think I saw a tear drip on to it.

"I think I can say that I won't. I have issues about men, but I don't go trying to revenge myself. It would show that I have the problem not them."

"Yeah, but maybe I do have the problem, as they all did it to me. They can't all be wrong can they?"

"Simon, I can't answer for any or all of the others, but I can speak for myself. I think you are a gentleman in all senses of that word and have been a great support and help to me, for which I am truly grateful. Without the car you loaned me, coming up to see my dad would have been much more difficult."

I pulled him to me and hugged him tightly, feeling his arms encircle me and hold me. Then he bent and rested his head on my shoulder, whispering, "See you are different."

In more ways than you think mate! "No I'm not, or if I am maybe it's because I know similar sorts of abuse from others, myself. Yes maybe I am different, but then so are you. When I said I didn't want a sexual relationship, you agreed to it. Not many men of our age would, unless they were hoping to change my mind later. I feel safe with you Simon, so you must be different." Shit! Why didn't I say I didn't want sex even if he is different?

"Thank you, I won't betray that trust. When you are ready maybe we can have a full relationship, but only when you are ready." I felt a wetness on my shoulder, he was crying.

So was I, jeez, why do I bother with makeup, I don't need waterproof mascara, I need one approved for deep sea divers!

I snuggled against him holding him tightly. His body shook very gently as he cried on my shoulder, and I rubbed his back making a cooing sounds.

"I'm sorry," he blubbed, "maybe they are right and I'm not much of a man. Look at me weeping like a girl."

Whilst I suppose I could have worked an opportunity to tell him about myself, I felt it would be even more traumatic for him, he was already upset. I needed to do it when he was more calm and collected, preferably after a good meal.

"There is nothing wrong with crying, it isn't a sign of weakness, it's a sign of deep emotion." Thank you Dr Freud!

"I'd better go, before I make a fool of myself." He went to break away from me.

"I thought you trusted me?" I asked reluctantly letting him go.

"I do," he replied looking hurt.

"So how are you going make a fool of yourself?"

"I usually do."

"So?"

"Well do I need to say more?"

"Yes you do, because nothing you have said or done makes you appear anything like a fool in my eyes."

He sneaked a look at me, but I couldn't hold his gaze and his eyes went back to staring at the floor.

"Don't you feel safe with me?"

"Of course I do."

"So do you think I'm going to let you make a fool of yourself or profit from it?"

"I suppose not."

"So why do you need to go?"

"Erm, I don't know, I just wanted to run away in case I couldn't cope. Your opinion is important to me and I didn't want you to think I was such a prat."

"Simon, please look at me." The words were forming in my mouth by themselves, I had no control over what I was saying, it was pure emotion and I could feel his pain so deeply. At the same time I didn't feel it was my job to stop his pain only to facilitate his dealing with it. We may never be an item, but I could help him do better with his next effort.

His eyes slowly moved up from the floor and it seemed with some difficulty gazed into mine. "Simon, I think I am falling for you in a big way. I am never going to hurt you."

Oh my God, what have I said? My treacherous mouth seemed to be on auto-pilot. He took a moment to process what I had said, thank goodness I didn't use the 'L' word, but it was pretty well implicit in what I'd said.

He stared at me for a moment, then he dragged me to him and hugged me so tight that I could hardly breathe, and then he really burst into tears, sobbing, his whole body heaving. I lightly patted his back and tried to comfort him.

We stood like that for several minutes, my shoulder was quite wet when we finished. I handed him a piece of kitchen roll to wipe his face. "Come on sit down and I'll make us a nice cuppa."

He nodded his assent and sat at the kitchen table. He looked exhausted and I didn't feel much better myself, but I had to be strong for him. This was his crisis and he needed me to help him through it. When I did eventually tell him, he'd probably have another but that would be different, now he needed me to be there and to concentrate on his troubles.

I watched him staring into space, a faraway look in his eyes. I suspected he was remembering something or perhaps projecting into the future. Whatever it was, he wasn't here with me for those few minutes. I made some tea and passed him a mug, he made some grunting noise which I suppose was a thanks but he didn't really recognise what was happening.

I sat opposite and held his hands, he looked at me smiled and went back to his reverie. Finally, he looked hard at me and said very quietly, "Thank you Cathy."

"I looked deeply into his eyes and asked, "Was it always that difficult with your mother?"

He nodded and squeezed my hands, "How do you know?"

"I didn't, a guess or maybe some feminine intuition, I don't know."
Shit I'm a scientist, intuition shouldn't come into it. I'm a trained observer, okay of small furry things, but I always know how to find them, even when others can't. Is that intuition, or just experience and learned skill?

This was getting way too deep for me but I couldn't pull out now.

"Thank you," he said and slumped exhausted in the chair.

If life is so easy, where is Cathy going wrong?

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & The Killer Kitten.
part 79.

I sat and watched Simon, he looked as tired as I felt. We had been talking maybe an hour, yet it felt like a month. I hoped it was still sunday, but if it wasn't I thought I might just about understand.

"Why don't we go and sit in the lounge, the chairs are more comfortable?" I stood up and he took hold of the hand I proffered, he rose and followed me into the lounge. We sat on the sofa, not saying much at all and not too many minutes later, he was lying with his head in my lap, fast asleep as I stroked his hair.

I was too tired to think we were acting like a couple, I just wanted him to be comfortable and could see he needed a nap, so I sat and guarded him while he slept little knowing what was under the trousers I was wearing.

I suspect I nodded a bit at times too, I was so tired. Why was emotional stuff always so tiring? I would have been less knackered riding a bike up and down the Ridgeway. I puzzled over my question about his mother.

I knew nothing about their parents, not even if they were still alive. So where did the question come from? I have heard that in psychotherapy, a good therapist can almost climb into the head of the client and see what they are thinking, the empathy in the relationship is so good. I was no therapist, perhaps in need of one, but I got the picture of a little boy and his aloof mother.

I tried to look at the clock but I couldn't quite see it, bloody thing! I'd left my watch in the bathroom when I'd washed my hands earlier, so I had to move Simon's arm to see his wrist and eventually his watch.

He was dreaming, I could see his eyes moving under the closed lids, which meant he was either going into deeper sleep or coming out of it. I hoped it was the latter because I was getting very stiff, his head was heavy and I needed to pee.

As I pulled up his arm so his eyes opened, "Wassup?" his sleepy eyes looked straight through me and then seemed to focus on me. He smiled.

"Hello sleepyhead, feel better?"

"Hi gorgeous," he said back.

After I explained a need to micturate, he sat up and on stiff legs I managed to waddle out to the loo. I still handn't noticed the time.

"What time is it Si?" I called as I walked back to the lounge.

"Half twelve, are we doing lunch or what?"

"I doubt we'll have time now. I'll have to make us something."

"Sorry, I said I'd take you to lunch. Cocked up again!" He looked downcast.

"You do enjoy beating yourself up don't you?"

"I don't enjoy it, but I seem to be pretty good at it."

"I had noticed. Look if you don't trust my cooking, we could try ordering a pizza."

"Can't say I enjoy them that much, and it isn't that I don't trust you it's more that I don't want you to have to bother."

"Maybe I want to bother, I don't get the opportunity to play the little wifey very often." Shit! What a stupid thing to say, what am I saying here - unconscious messages that I want him to propose to me? Geez, I must watch that stupid mouth of mine.

"Okay, if you want to pretend to be a hausfrau, you carry on."

I scuttled out to the kitchen and checked out the fridge. I had enough to make some omlettes and a salad garnish. I chopped and fried some onion and potato, then made an omlette mix.... ten minutes later I was carrying two Spanish omlettes into the dining room. I called him but no one came.

Thinking he'd gone off to sleep again I went into the lounge, he was nowhere to be seen. I checked the cloakroom and the bathroom, he'd gone. I ran to the front door, his car had gone. I sat at the table with my head in my hands and began to cry. What had I done wrong? Surely he hadn't guessed about me had he? Where the hell was he? If he'd nipped out for a paper or a bottle of wine, wouldn't he have said?

I waited my eyes watery, watching the steam rising from the plates decreasing. I don't know how long I waited, long enough to know the food was cold and that he wasn't coming back. I scraped the plates into the bin and on heavy legs went up to get ready to go and see my father. I hadn't felt much like it before, now all I wanted to do was curl up and cry myself to sleep.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 80.

On the drive to the hospital I kept a look out for the Saab, but there was no sign of it. I parked up at the hospital carpark and checked my mobile, there was nothing. Why he left was a total mystery to me. I so badly wanted to call Stella but if I did he might take it the wrong way when he found out. Nothing seemed to be going right for me today and I'd just as soon have gone home to sleep as be in a hospital where everyone but me seemed to be in bed.

The time I spent with Daddy was a strain for both of us. I was distracted thinking about Simon, so I didn't catch half of what he was trying to say. Since his stroke his speech had been difficult to understand. Actually it was better today since his session with the speech therapist, but he was tired and kept falling asleep. He even fell asleep when I was helping him to eat his tea, which reminded me of seeing a baby fall asleep with a spoonful of food in his mouth.

He didn't ask me what was distracting me, thank goodness. If he had I would probably have lied and told him it was tiredness. I did remember to bring in his brandy, which brought a smile to his face and I told the nurse I had brought it in. He was to be allowed a small glass each night to help him sleep.

The time for visiting was finally over and I was absolutely knackered as I wandered back to the car park. It was dark and all I wanted was to go home and sleep, possibly with a hot bath in between them. The drive home was uneventful.

After parking I opened the front door and there was an enevelope on the door mat. There is no delivery on a sunday, so this was by hand. It was addressed simply to, 'Cathy'. I had a feeling I knew who its author was, so I made myself a cuppa and took it up to the bathroom.

After settling myself in a nice hot bath with my tea close to hand, I opened the envelope.

'Dearest Cathy,

Forgive my running off this afternoon but I had to get away to think. I am truly sorry that I did so without any notice to you and that I let you cook a meal for nothing. I'm sure it would have been delicious.

You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and I am so scared of spoiling it. You know of my difficulties with relationships as I know of yours, and I am so scared of losing you that being with you is almost painful because it lets me know what I would be missing if I blew it again.

You told me you were "falling for me", it's an experience I can mirror because I fell for you the moment I saw you. Why can't I say these things to you? Cowardice? Fear of losing you in case I'm wanting to move too quickly for you? I don't know.

As you correctly guessed, I had a difficult relationship with my mother, who sent me off to boarding school because I complicated her life. I'm not sure I have forgiven her, even though she has been dead for several years. The memories of the pain I felt at being sent away from home at the age of eight are still with me. I'm sorry, I'm rambling, please give me some time to get my head straight and then we can talk.

If, on the other hand, you don't want anything more to do with me, and I would understand, just let Stella know. The car is yours, although you would have to tax and insure it in a year's time.

Thank you for the time we have had together, I hope we might still have a future, but that is up to you.

Love,

Simon.
XXXX'

I read the letter so many times I thought it would fade the ink. I felt a total confusion and a maelstrom of emotions, including slashing my wrists while in the hot water. I also felt like killing him, the twit!

What was going on? How can someone who purports to like me, perhaps love me, run away because it was too painful? I almost laughed at the idea that someone fell in love with me after I'd been a woman for about an hour, it was ludicrous, or it was to me. But who was I to judge others?

Simon obviously was coming with loads of baggage, so was I. The problem was, could we actually cope with that of the other as well as our own? Seeing as we weren't coping with our own too well, it might be too much. On the other hand, maybe we could help each other too.

I puzzled over his note until the water got cold and so did I. In the end I had to take a warm shower to ward off the hypothermia. When I walked into the bedroom in a borrowed dressing gown of my mothers, I saw it was nearly midnight, no wonder I felt so tired.

The one meaningful conversation I had had with my dad was about my mother's belongings. He didn't want to make a shrine to her at the same time he couldn't bring himself to throw her stuff away, especially as he now had a 'daughter' who might want some of it. Effectively, he told me to take what I wanted and dispose of the rest. There were a few bits and pieces he wanted like her wedding ring but he was happy for me to have her engagement ring, which amazingly fitted me.

Washing out her clothes and packing them up for the charity shop would also give me something to do. He agreed to my using his cash card and gave me the pin number. He asked me to keep a note of all I took out of his account and offered me twenty pounds a week pocket money as well as meeting the costs of my food and fuel. I thought he was being pretty generous and accepted. At the same time, I tried to give no long term commitment to anything.

I took a cup of drinking chocolate to bed with me. It wasn't a favourite of mine, but I hoped it would help me sleep, especially with the generous sloosh of brandy I had included. After reading the letter another hundred times I eventually fell asleep.

I dreamed that Simon and I were dormice living in different colonies on either side of a busy road. The humans for some reason had a soft spot for us and had built a bridge over the road, so we could get together. I climbed up on to the bridge only to see Simon scarper in the opposite direction. I woke up crying.

Cathy encounters the red tape brigade...read on!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Mercedes Bonz.
part 81.

The next day was monday and I tried to phone the bank but could only speak with a call centre, who were not prepared to deal with anyone but the account holder. I decided to go and see them, which I should have done in the first place and saved myself half an hour of hair tearing.

I dressed sedately, so it wasn't my David Millar outfit. Actually I wore a denim skirt and jacket that Stella had donated, they were from Oasis, so looked pretty tidy. Under that I wore a plain vee necked tee shirt which hinted that I had a bit of cleavage (but only with the booster pads).

It felt strange looking through my mother's jewellery, and while she didn't have anything very valuable, she had some nice pieces. I hoped she would approve of me wearing them. I chose a matching sapphire and gold necklace and drop earrings and a gold bracelet. I also pinched some of her Chanel No.5. My makeup was simple, a bit of lippy and some mascara with a lttle eyeliner. I didn't need blusher, my cycling had given me enough facial colouring. Pulling on my boots, what would I have done without them, and picking up my bag and keys I set off for central Bristol.

Parking in any large city is a nightmare, Bristol is no exception and it was difficult, but I eventually managed to pop it in a carpark up near the University, near Hotwells Road.

I tottered down the hill to the commercial area and the bank. I thought it better to withdraw some money before I spoke with them, just in case they got funny. I took out a couple of hundred and carefully stashed it in my purse.

Inside the bank, I felt quite nervous as I walked up to the enquiry desk. "Can I help you Miss?" asked a nice young woman behind it.

"I hope so. My father has an account here and he has a slight problem. He has had a stroke and is in Southmead Hospital, he's asked me to look after his affairs for the moment."

"And you are?"

"His daughter," I said thinking what else would I be if he was my father?

"Yes, I know that, what's your name?"

"Yes." I suddenly thought I've been here before. "Watts, Cathy Watts, my dad is Derek Watts."

"You'll need to talk with one of the under-managers, there are certain protocols we need to follow to protect your father's account, I'm sure you understand."

"Of course." I was expecting this and was not disappointed.

I waited strolling round looking at all the free leaflets. It's amazing what banks can do these days, insurance, legal services, over draughts, mortgages and so on. It's nearly as comprehensive as Tesco and I could have got a sandwich there while I waited.

I had pretty well exhausted my interest in the leaflets when some young bloke came out to me. "Miss Watts?"

As I was bent over looking at the lowest level, I jumped up and nearly knocked myself out on the display, "Ouch!" I said rubbing my head, not sure whether to laugh or cry, or even crawl away with embarrassment.

"Oh dear, I hope you haven't hurt yourself?" The voice came from some distance away. I looked up and realised he must have been about six foot six. He was tall, taller than Simon and he's quite tall.

"Would you like to come into the office?" he asked having ascertained that I wasn't mortally wounded, simply terminally embarrassed. I noticed he was wearing a wedding ring, pity he was very good looking. Goodness, I'm turning into such a tart!

He went through the process and we agreed it would cut the red tape if they sent someone from the bank to see my dad and then I'd come in and sign for power of attorney. Seemed straightforward enough, until...

"According to our records, your parents have only one child."

The pit of my stomach had Hamilton rev up and shoot off in his MacLaren.I knew what was coming, but decided to play stupid, maybe he wasn't so cute. "Yes that's right, me."

"I'm afraid not Miss Watts, it says here a son named Charles."

"Ah, not any more I'm afraid."

"Why has something happened to him?"

"Sort of," I said biting my lip and blushing somewhat.

"What happened to him?"

"The good fairy visited and turned him into me." I thought I'd play it for laughs, it was a mistake, it usually is.

"Are you trying to tell me you are Charles Watts?" he looked horrified.

"Was, I think is the operative word, no pun intended." I groaned at my own joke, silently of course. His face was a picture and after making some excuse he left the room. I half expected several more staff to have to call in to view the freak. I then realised it was probably all being recorded on CCTV. Oh well, I hadn't done anything illegal or immoral.

He came back with an older woman. "Hello Miss Watts, we have a slight difficulty due to your change of status, but I'm sure we can sort it." She gave a smile but it was very superficial and only involved her mouth, her eyes said more, 'why did you have to drag me away from what I was doing to deal with this ditz?'

"Have you dealt with this sort of thing before?"

"The attorney or gender change?"

"The gender change," I smiled at her.

"Oh yes, that's nothing new these days and with the new legal status possible, it's relatively straightforward. Do you have proof of identity?"

"Only my student union card and library pass." I pulled them out of my purse.

"You don't have a legal change of name, statutory declaration, that sort of thing?"

"No, not yet, it hasn't been necessary until now. The university usually accepts my body as proof of my existence." I smiled again.

"I'm sure it does Miss Watts, but they only give out degrees, we have responsibility for your money."

"Not mine, I bank with with someone else." I smiled cattily at her and she returned it with a look of, 'We have a right one here!'

"That's your prerogative," she said looking at my ID card. "Nice photo, usually they look awful. Department of Zoology, what are you studying?"

"Dormice."

"You weren't involved with this thing in the news recently, about dormice?"

"No thank goodness, I wish they had contacted me, I think I could have helped."

"So you're an expert on dormice?"

"My prof seems to think so, he's invited me to spend government money watching them, along with some colleagues from Bristol. I'm going to lead the dormouse element."

"Sounds more interesting than banking," she said whistfully.

"Not when it's pissing down at three in the morning." I could be so direct.

"You're out at that time of night?"

"Yes, they're largely nocturnal critters."

"I hope you have someone with you young lady."

"Not usually, I think I'm safer out in the woods than I would be in town. Remember Portsmouth is a naval base, hello sailor and all that!"

"Yes quite!"

"Well, I think if you are there when we speak with your father, he can give us proof of your identity in lieu of formal paperwork. I would urge you to sort that out, it may make things easier for you later. I take it you've not had surgery yet?"

"No, on the list," I offered ambiguously, I didn't allude to which list.

"Well good luck, I think you made the right decision and I'd never have known without your disclosure. Mr Martin, here, will be seeing your father tomorrow afternoon at half past two, could you attend?"

"I think so. I'm only clearing out the stuff my mother left."

"She left?"

"She had to, her body would have smelled after a while, so they burned it."

"Your mother is dead?"

"Yes, didn't you know?" Obviously they didn't.

"Does she have an account here?"

"I don't know."

"We'll make some enquiries, if she did we'll need to have a death certificate to close the account. We'll freeze it immediately."

"Okay, I'll look at home and see if he sorted it out, I doubt it, he was pretty shell shocked when Jesus wanted her for a sunbeam."

"Shouldn't you be more respectful of your mother?"

"Probably. Yes I'm sorry, I should be but we weren't very close for a few years."

"I see. Well goodbye Miss Watts, Mr Martin will meet you and your father at Southmead Hospital tomorrow at two thirty."

"Okay, fine, I'll be there."

I left feeling that my flippancy had been misplaced, she was quite right, I should respect my mother. I did, it was the bank's formalness that pissed me off. I wandered around the shops for a bit, got a copy of Cycling Weekly and went to Tesco to get some food and fuel.

Cathy bakes a cake and goes cookie? See for yourself...

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 82.

Carrying my shopping back to the house, I had to make two trips - all right, I confess if I hadn't bought some clothes in Tesco, I probably could have made one journey and would have avoided my yucky neighbours.

I have already described Greg as being as flesh crawling as scabies, so I think you'll get the picture. If they made a short video of him for use in convents, there would be no difficulty with celibacy amongst nuns.

Anyway, he was standing alongside my car so I could hardly say I didn't see him, because closing the hatch back could have endangered his life. Thinking about it maybe I should have closed it, at least I wouldn't have had to make excuses.

"Hello Cathy," said the creepy one, "I see you've been to Tesco."

Well yes, it's like written all over the bags, duh! "Yes I needed a few things, thought I'd bake my dad a cake and take it in this afternoon."

"What a lovely idea, better than hospital food, eh?" All that was missing was 'nudge nudge, wink wink,' as in the Monty Python character.

Not learning of course I perpetuated the conversation. "Oh I don't know, you haven't seen my cooking. It carries a public health warning." I nearly added, my omlettes can empty a house faster than the fire brigade, but then I felt sad, so switched back to dealing with the worm in human form who stood before me. I shut the hatchback, the draught from which caused his hair to flap a little. He stepped further away from the car. "Oops, sorry I didn't realise you were standing quite so close," I lied of course.

" Margaret and I wondered if you wanted to come over for dinner again this evening?"

"That's awfully kind but I've arranged to go out with a friend tonight, going to the cinema."

His face looked less than pleased, here he was taking pity on a virtual orphan, and she'd declined his manly offer. "Oh well, another night then."

"If that's okay, I'm going to have to go back down to the university at some point and let them know what's happening, so I'm really not sure exactly what my movements are going to be for the next few days." I was getting so good at lying, it would have my mother spinning in her grave, except we cremated her - next time I saw a dust devil, one of those whirling wind things they have in cowboy films, I'd think of her.

"Oh, alright then, anyway the offer is there if you want to come."

"If my friend cancels, I'll let you know." I stepped towards the house hoping he'd get the hint. After all I needed to get a move on if I was going to bake a cake, that bit was real, and organise some lunch. The cafeteria in Tesco was tempting, but I decided that it was not a good policy to eat out all the time and my culinary skills could do with improvement. Hence, I was doing my own lunch.

Thanks to my fibs, I'd also have to make something I could take off with me to eat later as I'd have to stay away for a couple of hours this evening or be seen as a liar. Why was life so complicated? I wondered what was showing at the local flea pit.

Thankfully Greg took the hint when I kept looking at my watch, and I was finally free to mess about in the kitchen. I switched on the oven and then the kettle, a cuppa was the first priority.

I bunged a lasagne in the oven, I hadn't thought particularly to eat it today, but while the oven was on, it seemed sensible. As I sipped my tea I checked the recipe for a sponge. I knew how to make one, I'd done it loads of times - okay, it was twice unless you count the one which caught fire, so that's three. I mean how was I to know they were going to show a Harry Potter film that night? It was meant as a surprise for my parents and it certainly proved that all right. The kitchen needed repainting anyway...

I mixed up the flour and eggs and fat with a fork. Apparently it aerates the mixture better than a spoon and you fold it rather than stir. Hark at me, I sound like Delia Smith, what a laugh, she's a practicing Catholic who supports football, and I'm a cycling agnostic who can't cook. I've read all her books, well the ones Mum had, the plot's quite meaty in places! That's a joke, oh never mind.

I shoved the mixture into the greased tins and popped them in the oven, the lasagne smelled nice. I did a green salad to go with it. I wanted oven chips but due to an absence of cycling thought restraint may be safer on the weight front. I also set the timer, deciding that the kitchen was in fairly good decorative order.

I made some cheese and salad rolls for my evening snack and put some fruit and chocolate in the bag as well. I'd found a cooler bag in a cupboard and shoved in one of those ice block thingies designed to induce frostbite in lettuce. A bottle of mineral water made up the rest of my evening meal.

While the cake cooled I ate my lunch, it tasted better than I thought and although it was a smaller portion than the uni cafeteria, it tasted as good if not better. I think they use road kill for their meat source. I sat looking at it, the sponge that is and felt amazingly proud of myself. I could really get into baking cakes and things, I could make one for Simon...oops! He said he wanted space not Salmonella, maybe not just yet.

I wondered how much space he wanted. Did he mean as in light years or just the few cubic feet my body occupied? I suspect it might have been the latter and I sniffed under my armpit just in case that had been a factor. I couldn't actually smell anything but cake.

I promised myself that I wouldn't think of him until he contacted me again and got on with making a buttercream filling to put in my sponge, we even had some jam in the fridge which didn't have mould on the top! My Mum was brilliant, stand the jar upside down and it creates a vacuum, so bugs can't develop. She used to tell me these things, dunno why, I never listened properly. But then I open the fridge looking for jam, and see the jar upside down and it brings back memories. I miss her more than I like to admit.

I could just hear her saying, "Don't forget to wash your hands before you start, Catherine." She always used my full name. I spun around, it was as if she were there. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I felt all cold.

"Mum, Mum are you there?" I called walking from the kitchen into the hall. I checked all the rooms. Of course she wasn't there, she was dead and here was I her son, walking around in a skirt and one of her pinnies making cakes for her husband. Was I going nuts or had I already got there?

I went back to the kitchen and spread the jam on the sponge and then the cream, it looked quite nice. I popped it in a Tupperware box and did the dishes, musing on what I thought I had heard. It was crazy and obviously my imagination, it had to be. What else could it have been, a ghost? The hair on the back of my neck stood up again.

Dammit, I was hardened field worker, used to walking around woods late at night with nothing more than a torch and a walking stick, but the thought of coming back into the house after dark was frightening. Why? It didn't make any sense to me, then I thought, but that was all done as a man. Okay, a man who thought he should have been a woman and was taking hormones, but still a man. Now I was a woman, did that make a difference? I supposed it could, it would make me a potential victim to a different sort of predator.

Now my head was awash with all sorts of scenarios, from sex hungry spooks from horror films, to stalkers in the woods. Gee whizz, what was happening to me? I had a quick flash back to the bank and the woman telling me to be careful. I'd never worried before, why should I now?

Common sense and statistics tell me that young men are more likely to be attacked and killed than young women. They get involved in fights and drunken brawls and so on. However, as a man I felt a little more empowered to fight back if I was attacked. Actually, I had never done so as a boy, well only once. And more recently, I had got stuck in when those two morons got funny and Simon intervened. Then I was so angry and they were hitting my Simon. I do miss him, oh why can't I phone him?

I made another cuppa, I was close to tears. Was I unstable, I mean having auditory hallucinations? Since when had my mother ever called me Catherine? Except it was so real.

I chucked the tea and grabbed my stuff, including the cake and set off into the afternoon sunshine to Southmead Hospital.

Cathy heads back to Portsmouth and a meeting with Stella.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 83.

Somehow I caught the 'back from lunch' traffic and it took ages to get to the hospital. I missed my bike, once Simon resurfaced I needed to organise getting it back.

I eventually parked up and got to my father's ward, he was with the speech therapist. Wonderful, I could have spent another hour at home, then I recalled how it had spooked me and it was somewhere I didn't feel anything like as happy to be.

About an hour later, a porter wheeled my father back to his bedside, he smiled when he saw me, and with a huge effort said, "C-ath-y," I smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek.

"Well done," I said and kissed him again. Then, seeing he was tired I got straight to business. I gave him his cake, which he smiled at, especially when I reassured him he didn't need a new kitchen. I also told him that the man from the bank was coming tomorrow to see him and that I had to be there as well. I explained that I'd drawn out two hundred pounds, he seemed okay with it and nodded.

I explained that I needed to go back to Portsmouth and that I would be back for the meeting tomorrow. I wasn't enjoying the idea of the long drive each way, but it felt like I should do it and it was a way of avoiding the house at night.

After another fifteen or twenty minutes he was yawning and drifting off to sleep. I'd fed him a cup of tea, hospital variety, and had one myself. He'd also had a slice of cake and enjoyed it. I had a taste too, it was pretty good. Maybe I would bake one for Simon, then my heart sank again. How much space did he want and for how long?

I pecked him goodbye and left him to sleep in his chair. Then I rushed back to the house and packed a few things, then off to Portsmouth. During the drive, I sorted out a few things in my mind and during one spell of stop go driving, sent a text to Stella, telling her I would be back at my flat that night. I also organised an appointment with Prof Agnew for the next morning.

By the time I got back, it was too late to speak to the bike shop and I didn't think I was likely to have time tomorrow morning, especially as I wanted to see my prof. I grabbed a pint of milk at the local shop and the Indian shopkeeper told me he thought I was looking lovelier each day. I blushed and left, hoping I had something in the fridge for my tea, then remembered I had made the rolls.

It was a struggle to carry everything back to my room and took me two trips. On the second I collected my mail, which included the registration documents for the car. Simon really had given it to me, it was two years old and worth at least ten thousand. I felt my hand tremble as I read the document. That was too much money, even if I baked him a cake every night for a hundred years, I couldn't pay him back that sort of money. He was generous to a fault and I felt enormously guilty.

Another envelope contained insurance details and a copy of the covernote in Simon's name with me as the named driver of the car. The insurance form suggested the insured amount was eleven thousand pounds.

I checked the rest of the stuff and one was a letter from the uni telling me my dissertation was accepted and I should attend for the viva the following week. I made a mental note of the day and time, but the prof had already told me my work was good enough for the MSc, so I wasn't too worried. Then I remembered, apart from the prof and the dean and student health, no one else knew about me. Oh shit, that was going to be fun. Oh well, too late now, should have backed out when I could, except Stella had locked the door.

After eating my tea, I went on the net and down loaded a pro forma for a change of name statutory declaration for a change of name. I did the bits necessary to personalise it and printed it off. I would pop into a solicitors near the uni tomorrow and see if they could witness it for me.

My mobile rang and I jumped, I looked at the number calling it was Simon and Stella's house. My heart fluttered as I answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hi Cathy," it was Stella.

"How's your dad?"

"Daddy's fine, well he was until he ate the cake I baked for him."

"You bake cakes?"

"Sort of.....why?" I wondered why she asked me such a question, I mean I'd already confessed to doing so, did she need it in writing?

"Did you know Simon loves cakes?"

"Simon, erm, isn't speaking to me at the moment," I said hesitantly.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure I should talk about it."

"Yes you bloody well should, as my protege, I have a vested interest in your love life."

I felt myself get hotter, part of me wanted to tell her it was none of her business, but the rest knew she'd only get on to Simon if I didn't and besides, if we were to become an item, her help would be essential.

"I erm, don't know how to start.."

"Right girl, get your arse in your new car and meet me at..." she gave me directions to a country pub and to be there in one hour. That would be eight o'clock. I just about had time to change and get there.

Pulling into the pub car park of 'The Barking Duck,' where do they get these names from, I saw Stella's car, and parked alongside? She was sat there making a call on her mobile, she waved and I waited for her to finish.

"That was John, I'm seeing him tomorrow and he had to let me know if he'd got the tickets."

"Did he?"

"Dare he fail?" she said with mock sterness.

"Not if he knows what's good for him."

"Exactly."

"So where are you going?"

"To Southampton to see, 'Lord of the Dance'."

"Is that still going? Crikey my parents saw it two or three years ago."

"It is, and this will be my third time. You should get Simon to take you, you'd enjoy it."

"Right now, I'd settle for a ten minute cuddle with your brother."

"Ooh, you sound as if you have it bad girl." She smiled at me and I blushed profusely. "So tell Auntie Stella what's happened."

"Hasn't Simon said anything?"

"No, he's back up in Town, so I haven't really seen much of him. But last seen he was still gushing about you."

"He ran off and left me on Sunday." I said quite quickly and then began to feel myself tear up.

"What do you mean he ran off?" Stella looked puzzled, "Simon hasn't run for a couple of years."

I explained as best I could in between sobbing fits, when she rubbed my hand. "He doesn't know does he?" I finally managed to ask.

"Not from me he doesn't and as our worlds hardly clash, I doubt from anyone else. Not the way he was talking on Monday before he went to work."

"It's only Monday now, Stella."

"So it is. Well this morning you were still flavour of the month. So it sounds like cold feet. I'll give him space, the lily livered, chicken shit when I'm finished he'll be seeing stars!"

"Please Stella, just let him come around by himself. If it isn't going to work then it isn't going to work. I've got plenty to worry about as it is, what with Daddy and the university."

"I'd still like to slap him," said Stella through her teeth, "my shithead brother. You are perfect for him, and you're also the first girlfriend he's had that I actually like."

"A somewhat imperfect girlfriend," I added.

"Don't worry about that, that can be sorted. Simon is another matter."

"What does that mean?"

"He needs to tell you himself." She took a sip of her wine.

"Now you have me worried, he's not some psycho is he?"

"Nah, it's nothing like that. Look, you don't think I'd let you near him if he was dangerous or anything like that. No he's not a sex fiend or a criminal, he's a bit boring at times but as for the rest he needs to tell you himself."

"Does he have a drink problem or something?"

"Look, let's talk about something else. Bought any new clothes?"

"Only this, I got it in Monsoon on Saturday." I showed her the top I was wearing.

"Is that a skirt I gave you, 'cos I don't recognise it?"

"No, it's one my mother had but had never worn. It's probably twenty years old."

"Stand up girl, let's have a proper look." I did as she asked and she gasped, "Hey it's lovely, goes really well with the top, you're really getting a sense of your own style."

I felt quite chuffed, maybe I was. I had seen the skirt while I was going through my mother's things and put it to one side. There might have been one or two other things, but most of it was destined for Oxfam. There was a plain black wool coat which looked pretty timeless and I thought I could use a bag or two.

"You know, you're a natural at this girly stuff, most of us take years to get where you have in what, three weeks?"

"Something like that," I blushed. I didn't know how much I actually believed Stella. Was she just saying that to build me up or did she mean it? I suppose it didn't really matter, but I did feel I was getting better at becoming me, the me I felt I wanted to be.

Part of me thought that I'd like to get a proper job and earn some money, the rest enjoyed what I did and wanted desperately to keep it that way. I wanted to be the best dormouse woman I could be, that is an expert on mammalian behaviour and ecology related to dormice. If I got the PhD. the prof was on about, I could also look for a teaching post at a uni or perhaps some research abroad. Somewhere like Menorca, they have dormice there too and it was an island I'd quite like to go to, anyway. But all that was for the future, right now I had to organise myself, my father and perhaps Simon as well as my career. It was probably enough to keep me busy for a few days!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 84 (That's like 7 dozen!).

Stella and I sat and talked a little longer although much of it was about my family. Stella wanted to know all sorts of things about my parents and I could only answer so much of it because I didn't know the answers.

"Why all the interest in my family?" I asked.

"Well if you're in the running to become my new sister in law, I like to know these things."

I was on the hard stuff, chewing the ice cube that came in my still water. I nearly swallowed it whole. "Christ Stella, you nearly killed me then!" I was red faced and coughing. She simply laughed with a twinkle in her eye. "I think you might also be jumping the gun a little."

"Merely preparing myself, should the eventuality occur."

"You sound like 'Linda' in 'The Archers'( a radio soap which has been running for about fifty years, nearly as long as this story! Linda is a character who is a frightful snob and verbose)."

"Who, moi?" she said aping the character and we both laughed. "I haven't listened to it for ages."

"Nor have I, until I got the mean machine, caught it on the way to the hospital and again this evening."

"Anything happened?"

"Don't be silly, it's 'The Archers' apart from murder, robbery, rape, horse-slashing, drug taking and visits by the Royal Family, nothing ever happens in Ambridge." This led to another round of laughter which attracted the attention of two young men I hadn't noticed before.

"Look out, we have company, play it straight and see what happens."

"What do you mean Stella?"

"Just follow my lead, okay?"

"I'll try."

"Good evening ladies, mind if we join you?" Before we could answer, the two men sat themselves at our table.

"Can we get you a drink?" asked the second man.

"Oh thanks, I'll have a spritsa and my friend is drinking diet water." I could have murdered Stella.

" Diet water, you on the wagon or something?"

"She's in training, British Olympic Team and it's low calorie water." Stella took the smirk off his face.

In between worrying about what she was going to say next, I also tried not to laugh at her joke about the water. Plain water has zero calories, but I thought I must remember that one and ask for it again.

"Really? I'm impressed, what discipline?"

"Cycling, she's in the road race team. That's right isn't it Rachel?"

Who the hell is Rachel, unless she means Rachel Heal? I do not like where this is going. I decline to answer.

"So you'll know Nicole Cooke?"

I knew Nicole Cooke, in like I read about her in Cycling Weekly on a regular basis. Knowing her as an acquaintance, that was something else. "Stop teasing them Stella. I cycle but not well enough to be in that league."

"Pity, I was going to ask you to get her autograph for me. So you cycle do you?"

"A bit."

"What sort?"

"Road, why?"

"I do off-roading, got an FS Marin."

"I've got a Scott."

"Carbon?"

"Yes, it's in getting the wheels sorted, had a bit of a prang."

"Shame, I could have borrowed a bike and come out with you sometime."

"Not unless you're willing to ride it to Bristol," Stella seemed to enjoy stirring things up.

"Well I have been known to travel a few miles to get a ride," he winked to his companion.

"I'll bet you have," remarked my companion," and it wasn't on a bike."

"Oh it was once, what was her name Dan, the office bike?"

"Rosalind or Rosamund, something like that."

I was fast going off these two predators, although Stella seemed in no hurry to withdraw from the jousting.

He went to the bar and came back with a glass of water for me and a white wine and soda for Stella, the two men had a pint of lager each.

"They didn't have any diet water, only Perrier, will that do." I nodded and thanked him and Stella tapped my ankle under the table as she coughed. "So what do you lovelies do for a living?"

"As little as possible," offered Stella, which I knew to be a lie.

"I can't believe that," said our questioner.

"Okay, you win, we work in the GUM clinic, treating STDs, don't we Sally?"

It took me a moment to work out what she was talking about, Genito-Urinary Medicine and Sexually Transmitted Diseases. I nodded, it was better than giving away any real info.

"You nurses then?"

"Yep, I hold 'em down while Sally shoots 'em full of penicillin."

"Do they still use penicillin?"

"Yeah, for Syph 'n clap, why do you want us to put you down for a couple of shots?"

"I don't think so, but thanks for the offer."

"Sally also does a nice line in freezing off genital warts, don't yer gal?"

I nodded, moved my hand and went, "Pssssssssst," and smiled. They both winced.

"Ah good old liquid nitrogen," said Stella beaming.

"Doesn't it hurt?" asked one of our would be suitors.

"I haven't felt a thing yet," I said smirking and Stella nearly cracked up.

"What's that other one that seems to be rampant at the moment?"

"Chlamydia?" offered Stella.

"That's the one, can that affect men?" asked one of the boys.

"Sure can, can cause urethritis and affect fertility according to the latest research."

I had seen something about that in New Scientist or something similar proving I do read more than the Dormouse Times, so I felt able to contribute to the conversation. "It can and it can also affect any baby you might father, they can go blind."

"I wasn't thinking that far ahead," said the boy winking at me.

"I was, that's why I'm leaving," I said and stood up, "You coming Sam?" I threw at Stella or shall I see you at work tomorrow?"

She took a swig of her drink and stood up, "No, I'm coming with you."

The men shrugged and made way for us."Shall we reserve some penicillin for you?" asked Stella as we walked past them.

"Where do you inject it?"

"Where it makes your eyes water," she smiled and we left.

"You don't inject it there, do you?" I asked as we got out to the cars.

"What, in the buttock?"

"I thought you meant, in the you know where?"

"Some of them probably deserve it, but not usually."

I don't know why I felt happier with that reassurance, being a virgin it didn't really matter anyway.

"Come back for a coffee if you want."

"I don't think I'd better," I replied, I felt quite tired and if Simon was there, it would be awkward.

"He won't be there, leastways I'm not expecting him."

"No, I have a few things to do, so I'd better go and do them. I have an exam to prepare for."

"I thought you'd finished."

"They do an interview on your dissertation, checking any mistakes you made and looking for depth of understanding, possibly your grading as well."

"I thought master's degrees were pass or fail?"

"Or distinction."

"Oh, bright spark are we?"

"Not expecting one."

"What did you get for your bachelor's?"

"A pass."

"Oh you silly girl, I know that! I'll bet you got a first."

"Does it matter, what I got?" I blushed.

"You did, didn't you?"

"I'm not going to tell you," I blushed profusely.

"You don't need to, I know. Did you know Simon got one as well?"

"No I didn't." I was genuinely pleased for him.

"Yeah, he did PPE at UCL."

"A first from London eh, clever clogs eh?"

"I'm quite proud of my big brother."

"So he's pretty clued up in Politics and Philosophy is he?"

"I don't know, but the Economics came in handy in his line of work."

"I'll bet they did. I have to go." I said prompting a hug and a kiss from Stella.

"Keep in touch and let me know how the interview goes."

"Okay, I will." I drove back to my room, knowing a little more about Simon, but nothing very much that answered the mystery about him. Was he gay or something? Did he have some horrible disease, or was he impotent? Did he go trainspotting? Or take drugs or gamble...the list was endless and it was making my head ache. I would just have to wait until I found out, assuming he came back to me with more than the cold shoulder.

I put the security bar on my room when I got home, and after a cuppa went to bed. I had all sorts of weird dreams, from hauntings to giving injections to the two men who'd tried to chat us up.

I awoke early the next morning and thought about a quick bike ride. The thought of what it would feel like with my glued gonads and a racing saddle came to naught when I discovered it was raining heavily. However, I also discovered that if I took the wheels off, the bike would just about fit in the boot of my car. I wondered if mine would do the same, then recalled that my dad had a bike rack at one time, I wondered if he still had it. I would search when I went back.

I showered and breakfasted, not at the same time as it tends to make the toast soggy. Then dressed wearing the outfit I'd worn to the bank the day before. Near the biology department is quite a big firm of solicitors, I called in there before going to see Prof Agnew.

"Can I help?" asked the girl on reception.

"I need someone to witness a statutory declaration," I informed her.

"Take a seat, I'll see who I can find for you."

Some five or ten minutes later a dumpy but attractive young woman appeared and was pointed at me. "You have a stat dec to do?"

"Yes," I said standing and blushing at the same time, I knew I'd master multi-tasking eventually. She led me into small interview room and not more than ten minutes later and five pounds poorer, I left with a piece of paper declaring my name was now officially Cathy and I renounced my previous name of Charles. I could now start the ball rolling in officially changing my identity.

Awkward questions are asked...but by whom?

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 85.

Clutching the envelope with the name change in it, I walked to the biology department and to Professor Agnew's office. I had spoken briefly with his secretary yesterday who gave me a knowing smile, told me how nice I looked and waved me in. I knocked on his door and entered.

"Ah Catherine, how nice to see you again." He shook my hand warmly and smiled, his whole face lighting up. "You look better than ever my dear."

"Thank you Professor, you look pretty good yourself."

"Me, I'm a fat old git, who drinks too much, eats to much, farts too much and exercises too little, apart from that I'm fine."

"Well I'm glad I know you."

He blushed at me and smiled a thank you. "So what brings you into my lair, and how is your father?"

"He makes slow progress but is at least improving a little. I have to dash back this morning for a meeting with his bank."

"Is this going to compromise your further research?"

"I hope not. The fact that some of it will involve Bristol might be an advantage, if I can organise borrowing some facilities there."

"I'll have a word with them, it shouldn't be a problem. On the other hand if you want to take time off to look after your father, I'll understand although once the project gets underway, I won't be able to keep a place open indefinitely without risking losing our funding."

"I know that Professor, which is why I hesitate a little, but feel that my first loyalty lies with you and the department."

"What, over that to your family?"

"Until he had no one else, my father had practically disowned me. When I told him I was transgendered his response was violence. I feel guilty because he has no one else, but I'll have to try and cope with it. This is a great chance to protect dormice as well as learn a great deal more about them. It's also a Godsend, with the government funding it."

"Not to mention a potential doctorate," added my mentor.

"That seems way down the pile."

"Catherine, don't become too self effacing just because you're female. As your future career may depend upon it, I'd put it somewhere near the top just after coming to dinner with me the next time you're in Portsmouth."

"Professor, you are too kind. I'd be delighted to come to dinner but I'll have to come back to you on dates."

"Okay, talking of dates you got the one for the interview on your dissertation?"

"Yes sir, it's next week."

"Everything okay for then?"

"I think so. I'm hoping I can also show how I want to develop the work I've done to incorporate the sort of stuff I suspect you're going to want me to do."

"Sounds good, if you can give me a broad outline of that, I can see how we might incorporate it in our business plan for the Minister."

"When do you need it?"

"By friday, I'm afraid. I have a meeting in Bristol on tuesday and we're putting together the proposal and then meet with the Minister the following week. This could be up and running after Christmas for the feasibility studies and then officially after April, when the money becomes available. I'm already using some stuff from your dissertation in my appendices. I hope that is okay with you?"

"I'm pleased to be of help." Crikey, my name appearing in the bibliography of a research proposal, I felt a warm glow inside me.

"I have a copy of my statutory declaration of my change of name, do you mind if I do some photocopies of it."

"I think the budget will stand it, don't forget to leave one with us, will you?"

"I won't."

"When are you going to show your face in the department and squash all the rumours?"

"What rumours?"

"About your 'sister'."

"What are they saying?"

"Exactly what has happened, that you've had a sex change."

"That's a work in progress, sir."

"I know that Catherine, but the sooner they see you and realise how beautiful you are, the gossip will hopefully end."

"Beautiful, me?"

"Yes you silly girl, take my word as an experienced and expert judge of totty, you are a beautiful girl. So go down the labs, reintroduce yourself and make them all randy or jealous. I'd take you myself but I have a meeting in ten minutes."

"I don't know, I erm.."

"That was an instruction, now go woman." He stood up and pointed at the door, which was also the direction of the laboratories. There was a photocopier down there, so I shrugged, thanked him and left.

The labs are at the other end of the block from the admin area, three floors of them. The one I used was on the ground floor, just as well, my legs were like jelly. I glanced at my watch, it was nearly ten o'clock. I had a maximum of an hour before I needed to drive back to Bristol.

Boy, that corridor seemed much longer in heels, and I clicked my way towards my next ordeal. Why do I have to explain anything? It's only the wrapping that's different and the way I will act and respond and think and speak! Oh shit! Forget it.

Eventually, some two hundred years after setting off from the prof's office I walked through the first door of the labs. They require a code on the lock and I had to think for a moment before inserting it. Thankfully, the door opened and I walked in.

I got a 'who are you?' look from one of the technicians, "Can I help you love?"

"Not really Neal."

"Do I know you?"

"Sort of, I'm Cathy Watts."

"Cathy Watts?" He paused for a moment. "Any relation to Charlie?"

"Neal, I was Charlie, I thought the grape vine had told you that much?"

"Jeez-us-aitch-Kerr-ist!" He walked towards me and then around me, "F'kin 'ell," he said under his breath. "Nah you're not Charlie, no bloke even one as small as 'im could turn into a babe like you. It's a joke like, innit?"

"I have a statutory declaration about my change of name here," I said waving the envelope, "I was Charlie but now I'm Cathy, okay?"

"It's okay with me love, want me to introduce you to the rest?"

"I don't have long, I have to dash back to Bristol, my dad's had a stroke."

"Didn't you lose your mother not so long back?"

"Yes, hence having to get back to Dad."

"Wait 'ere, I'll round up some of the troops." He went off to bring in one or two technicians and whichever students were around.

While I waited I did twenty copies of the stat dec and remembering to take the original out of the machine, put them all in the envelope and that into my shoulder bag.

"Right boys 'n' girls, Cathy 'ere has somethin' to share with us." Neal gave a minimal intro to the seven bodies who stood around.

"Hi, I erm.." nervously began, I felt quite sick and was as hot as hell, "I might look familiar to some of you, if I do, it's because I am. I was Charlie Watts, the dormouse man, I'm now Cathy Watts, dormouse woman. I hope you'll respect my privacy and not broadcast this all over the uni or the town. The university are supportive of my changeover and I hope you will be too. If you have any questions, urgent ones, because I have to dash back to Bristol in a few minutes. Otherwise I'll be happy to talk to you when I'm back in the department."

One of the boys at the back put up his hand, "You free for a date sometime?" This was accompanied by laughter, which I shared although I blushed profusely.

"Have you had surgery yet, I um mean while you've been away?" asked a young woman who I think was called Jo, she wasn't in any of my classes.

"Do you need to know that?" I asked feeling a little irritated.

"I was thinking about toilets, not sure I want someone with boy bits in the ladies."

"I can assure you you won't see any boy bits."

" 'Ere Jo, don't your muvver n' favver use the same bog at 'ome?"

"That's not the point," she snapped back blushing, "I'm happy for Cathy to use the toilets once she's a proper woman."

"She looks pretty okay to me, I don't have a problem," offered Louise a student a year below me.

"There is a disabled toilet." Someone else suggested.

"I'm not disabled," I returned smiling although my internal dialogue was wanting to separate their head and body.

This went on for another few minutes before I withdrew and Neal accompanied me back to the admin end. "Don't take too much notice of the dissenters, they'll come round in time. I think you make a cracking woman."

I thanked him and left Portsmouth to head back to Bristol.