Copyright© 2011 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
“So what’s troubling you now?” Simon asked as he stroked my leg and rather than enjoying it, I found it irritating.
“I’m a bit concerned about Caroline.”
“She seems to have fallen for Jenny.”
“I thought I saw them together earlier.”
“Yeah, well Jenny likes Caroline as she is, a sort of she-male.”
I waited while Simon got his head round that one. I suppose it’s my fault, I’ve spent the last few years trying to stop him thinking of pre-ops as possessing a male organ, even if it was an ineffectual one, and now I was reminding him of what he’d been asked to forget.
“Right, does that make them lesbians or what?”
“I have no idea because it would depend upon how they saw each other and themselves—after all it’s just a label isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’m concerned that Jenny is manipulating Caroline into staying as a functional male and possibly even to reverting.”
“Isn’t that between them?”
“Yes, that’s my point—men are relatively easily manipulated by women, especially pretty ones and what’s the saying, they are made fools by love—or lust.”
“I wasn’t easy to—um—manipulate was I?”
“Yes of course.”
“Oh,” he squeaked as if I’d just popped his ego balloon. He paused for a moment, “But if Caroline claims to be a woman, shouldn’t she be more difficult to mess with—I mean you are.”
“I’m not sure what I think about Caroline, which was one of the reasons I offered her a job—so she could experiment within the role and earn some money. While being gainfully employed, this would count as part of her real life test.”
“But you said that Jenny was manipulating her, so implying you think Caroline is acting like a man.”
“I’m really not sure what I think, except I’ve watched Jenny push her buttons and seen Caroline respond like a love sick duckling.”
“Duckling—don’t they usually say puppy?”
“She follows her around like a newly hatched duckling—they imprint on the first moving object they see.”
“Ah yes, the bloke with the balloons.”
“Konrad Lorenz, yes.”
“Goodness, it’s like going to bed with Wikipedia.”
“Well, I’m good between the covers,” I said and then blushed. Fortunately we were lying in the glow that came from the streetlights and the light in our driveway.
“That you are, allegedly—would you care to conduct a scientific experiment?” Simon said and I could just make out a bit of a smirk on his face so I knew it would be a rude suggestion.
“Well, let’s test the hypothesis that you, like wiki are good between the covers.”
“Simon, if this is meant to be a demonstration of manipulation by you of me, when I say no, you must promise not to cry.”
“Boo hoo,” he said, several times and we both lay there shaking with laughter. “Are you game then?”
“If I was you’d be shooting at me.”
“True, here grab my blunderbuss and...”
I won’t go into all the jokes we cracked while we sort of relaxed each other, but he did go on about muzzle loaders quite a bit. I said very little, it being thought impolite to speak with one’s mouth full.
When we were lying there sated and becoming sleepy, Simon suddenly said. “If she’s got spinal damage, how will she be able to have sex anyway?”
“Depends upon how badly her damaged her spine is, I suppose.” The idea of not being able to feel anything down below or worse, not control bladder and bowels, made me physically shudder.
“Yeah, someone just stepped on my grave.”
“How could they, you’re not dead yet?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Nah, you’re female, you never say what you mean.”
“Si, that was a sexist stereotype and I’m greatly disappointed.”
“You just proved my case.”
“What you meant was, don’t say that it annoys me.”
“You didn’t say that though, did you?”
“That fact that you were able to decipher the core message shows that I did say what I meant.”
“Or it could mean you’ve manipulated me into understanding you.”
“Which is more than I do you, I’m going to sleep now, night night, darling.” I pecked him on the lips and turned over and drifted off to sleep. He was still talking but not saying anything worth listening to as per usual.
Sometimes it must seem as if I’m incredibly arrogant in my relationship with Simon—I’m not, we know each other very well, and yes, we can push each other’s buttons with occasionally explosive results, we also love each other and I hope would be able to talk through anything that was a real issue.
I fell asleep dreaming about Jenny holding up red balloons in front of Caroline who was following them and wagging her tail—goodness even my dreams seem to have mixed metaphors. I remembered the dream because half way through it I had to get up and wee—it’s better than lying there and doing it. It was certainly much cooler in the bathroom especially as I was absolutely starkers. I had to think for a moment when Simon had got my pyjamas off, but somehow he must have done and presumably I let him—oh yes, now I remember and felt my nipples harden. I felt about the place and my PJs were down by his side of the bed, so he had taken them off me—oh well, we are married—just as well, and his kisses were so tender—especially down—um—back to sleep. Damn, I feel quite randy now.
I did go back to sleep which was just as well as Trish came in and plonked herself between us. “Ooh, I can feel Daddy’s willie,” she giggled and Simon sprang from the bed and into the bathroom as if the cat had bitten him somewhere—except we don’t have a cat—yet.
A bit later, I said, “I hope you weren’t sexually abusing our daughter.”
“No I wasn’t, it was my morning wake up call to go for a pee, how did I know she was going to jump on it.”
“Awww, shall I kiss it better for you?”
“You can when we go to bed, like you did last night.”
“It wasn’t sick then, as I recall,” I pretended to be trying to recollect it.
“It wasn’t until fifty pounds of Trish hit it.”
At that point I lost it completely and couldn’t see for crying with laughter.
“Why is it that if a man’s willie gets bashed it’s funny, if a woman bumps her tit, it isn’t?”
“I don’t know, historical, I suppose.” I continued helpless with laughter.
“Hysterical you mean.” Obviously unamused, he walked briskly out of the bedroom which made me laugh even more. Don’t ask me why, but then I thought of the old joke—Man who walk through airport turnstile sideways, going to Bangkok. It set me off again and it was several minutes before I could gather my remaining wits and go down to breakfast. Of course Caroline was dancing attendance upon Jenny and it was really beginning to annoy me.
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