Copyright© 2011 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
The next morning found Julie and me driving to Bristol. She did offer to drive—my Jaguar—no chance, but nice try. I’d packed us some food which we could prepare at my parent’s house, and we’d have time to check round the place, even mow the lawn if it was necessary—although I do pay someone to look after the house and do the garden, so it looks lived in. I couldn’t bear the idea of someone living in my parent’s house, so even though I had initially offered it to the Soames when their house caught fire, they never took up my offer—which upon reflection, I was glad about.
“So what’s this group about then?”
“They’re a tg group, that’s all I know.”
“So what can we like, expect?”
“I have no idea, probably a mixture of folk—some cross-dressers, some transsexuals, some who are exploring ideas to find their own level.”
“I don’t know what it means either, but it sounded like a good idea when it popped into my brain.”
She snorted and smirked, and I chuckled too. “What are we gonna, like say to them?”
“I have no idea.”
“Why did you ask me to bring my hairdressing kit?”
“If it gets boring, you can help one or two with their hair or wigs.”
“You have a problem with that idea?”
“Yeah, I usually work for money, I leave the charity stuff to you and Dad.”
“If you do do anyone’s hair or hair piece, I shall see your time does not go unrewarded.”
“We have a lady who comes to the salon, she wears a wig—she’s as bald as a coot, no eyebrows either.”
“Alopecia,” I offered.
“Bless you,” she said and sniggered.
“I’m glad you feel happy...”
“Yeah, but Snow White doesn’t like it.”
“Snow White? Sometimes you leave me standing with your associations. Good job you don’t have psychoanalysis, they do things like word association. A few minutes with you and they’d be as crazy as you are.”
“Huh? You said about feeling Happy, I just thought Snow White wouldn't like me feeling Happy.”
“Surely she wouldn’t want to see you unhappy?”
“M-u-m, Happy is one of the seven dwarfs.”
“Yes, but which one is happy, and are the others unhappy? If so why?”
“Probably because they took a long car journey with a smart arse like my mother.”
“What’s for lunch?”
“I brought us some salad stuff and cold meat, with some home made rolls.”
“Did you bring something to drink?”
“Some milk and tea bags.”
“No, but there should be some cans of cola or something else in the cupboard or the fridge.”
“Aren’t you supposed to switch the fridge off and leave the doors open?”
“I did, so they’ll be in the cupboard.”
The seven dwarfs, why?”
“Can we stop to get some cans then?”
“Okay, but you drink too much fizzy rubbish, it doesn’t do you any good, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah—I’m not going to live forever, anyway.”
“No but being a great big lump with no teeth and diabetes is hardly a turn on for most people.”
“But I need the caffeine.”
“If you need caffeine, you have a problem.”
“No I was up till about three watchin’ this like crazy film.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Okay already, I just think a can of Dr Peppers will sort me out.”
“A twenty minute power nap might do you more good.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She paused, “Are we gonna tell ’em we’re like real or what?”
“Real what? Real transsexuals?”
“You’re female now, anyway.”
“I can introduce you as my adopted daughter Julie, who’s training to be a hairstylist—that suit you?”
“Ummm—“ she shrugged her shoulders.
“Look, if it embarrasses you, no one needs to know.”
“I dunno if I want ’em to know I’m adopted.”
“Okay, I’ll introduce you as Julie, my daughter—let them sort it out except I suspect I mentioned it to Caroline, already.”
“Sorry, it was what they call unwitting disclosure.”
“Not being aware I was telling her something that could embarrass one or both of us at a future date. I could just introduce you as Julie, but then they’ll wonder if you’re a tranny too, or why you’ve come.”
“To advise them on hair and makeup.”
“If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll have.”
“Yeah, it’s what I want but I expect I’ll call you Mummy or some of that witless disclosure thing.”
“Unwitting disclosure, darling.”
“For you maybe, for me it’ll be witless—it’s Trish you shoulda brought.”
“I want to encourage or inspire them not frighten them to death.”
“Yeah, megabrain can be kinda scary.”
I pulled up outside a shop, “Go on hurry and get your jungle juice.” She ran into the shop and emerged with a clanking carrier bag which she put in the boot.
“What’s in the case?” she asked on returning to the car, “You’re not changing are you?”
“Yeah, I’ll be checking round the house—I’m not going to get all dirty and then wear the same things to speak to this group. I want to make a good impression.”
“Yeah, marry a banker and buy designer gear.”
“I notice you’re wearing some expensive clobber yourself.”
“Yeah, well I’m a successful stylist.” We chuckled about that all the way to the house.
The house was spotless and the garden in good order. We had a cuppa—or I did, Julie opened a can of Dr Pepper and sank it. She wandered about in the garden in the sunshine while I sat and did the Observer crossword all except one clue which annoyed me.
I made up the lunch, which took all of ten minutes and we ate it out in the garden. For mid October, the weather was remarkable, hardly any wind—perfect cycling weather and here am I trying to knock down the butterflies in my tummy by dropping food on them.
I changed into a summer dress—not an expensive one, I bought it in Marks and Spencer. It’s a green background and red and blue flowers over it; with a fitted waist, capped sleeves and a scooped neck. The skirt part is A line, so I suppose it fits my large backside reasonably well.
Julie changed too, she had on a light coloured vest top which just covered her bum, a pair of black footless tights, and a shirt over the top. I noticed when she walked the vest top exaggerated the movement of her bum—she looked very female. The hormones have been kind to her and must have caught her at just the right time before her pelvis completely fused because she has quite a nice shape, slim but with sufficient curves to make her look natural.
The traffic in Bristol was relatively light and we found the charity’s offices and parked on the road outside. The door was locked—wonderful. Then I spotted a doorbell and pressed it. We waited and by now we’d been there several minutes. Still no answer.
Julie looked at me and put her bag of hairdressing stuff down on the pavement. “It’s not a wind up, is it? I mean I’ve given up my bloody Sunday for this lot, the least they could do is open the bloody door.”
“I’ve got a phone number, hang on.” I fished out my Blackberry and dialled Caroline’s number.
“Are you lost?” she asked as she answered.
“No, we’re outside and have been for ages.”
“Oh, sorry, didn’t I tell you to come round the back.”
“No you didn’t.” I was feeling a bit cross now.
“Stay there I’ll come and get you.”
“She’s coming to get us,” I said to Julie.
“’Bout bloody time,” she sighed and looked at her watch—it was after two.
We stood around waiting for the door to open, when a red headed person came trotting round to us. “Cathy—wow, you look wonderful and who’s this?”
“This is Julie who’s come to help with hairdressing if anyone wants advice.”
“Hi, Julie, I’m Caroline—where are you parked?”
“There,” I pointed to my car.
“Wow, a white Jag, you could park it round the back.” So that’s what we did, all got in the car, and I was led to the car park and from there I could see a back entrance which doubled as a fire exit.
I locked the car and we followed Caroline into the building. Inside there were half a dozen people seated in a semi circle facing a table. I began to wonder if I’d done the right thing and especially so in bringing Julie.
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