Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 864 by Angharad

---

“Wait here,” I instructed Julie when we got into the drive. I ran into the house and found Stella who’d just come out of the shower. I quickly explained the situation to her, watching her eyes get bigger and bigger. I then asked if she’d examine the hapless teenager. She reluctantly agreed.

The kids were still in their respective bedrooms and I told them to stay there. Once the way was clear, I brought in the underdressed teen and escorted her up to Stella’s bathroom. Stella took one look at her and shook her head. “Strip, get in the shower and call me when you’re ready.” Julie nodded and began to strip.

Feeling embarrassed I made my excuses, but Julie asked me to stay. “Julie I’ve got five kids to organise breakfast for.”

“Just five minutes, please, your sister scares me.”

“She frequently terrifies me, okay five minutes.” I watched as she turned her back to me and pulled off the boots, the patterned tights, then a skirt and panties–a thong, there’s a surprise–and finally a bra with breast forms in. The hair was real. She stepped into the shower and ran the water then washed herself. A few minutes later I handed her a towel for her hair and bath sheet for her body.

Stella was summoned and checked out the various bruises. I’d mentioned the facial bruising, there were blue and black patches all over, ribs arms and legs, back and genitals. At least Stella was an expert there. Her opinion was it was mostly superficial although sex or peeing would be painful for a few days and if any significant blood was passed to seek urgent medical advice.

I thanked her and so did Julie, who was at least able to move about now. “What size are you?” I asked.

“A ten.”

“I’m a twelve, okay I’ll see what I’ve got–it might have to be a skirt, ‘cos my bum’s bigger than yours.”

“I’m grateful for whatever you do to help me.”

I shook my head and left her in the bathroom, Simon was still in bed reading.
“Could you get the girls started on breakfast, Si?”

“And the boys, I suppose–where have you been?”

“The university and a long story, can you lay an extra place?”

“Are we having a visitor?”

“She’s here.”

“Oh, anyone I know?”

“No, she’s called Julie and she’s had a hard time–so not too many questions, okay?”

“As if I would?”

“Yes you would.” I grabbed some clothing, panties–my bras would be too big–an old denim skirt with a belt, some tights, an old blue jumper and some knee boots. I dashed off to Stella’s bathroom and gave her the clothes.

I watched as she reused her bra and placed the silicone inserts into the cups–how that took me back–then she pulled on the panties and tucked herself back–more memories. The top fitted quite well, it was getting too small for me, and the skirt wasn’t much too big either. The tights were a bit long–my arse usually takes up quite a bit of them, but they were thick ones and should help keep her warm. It seemed she was the same shoe size as me. So she zipped up the boots and after combing her blonde tresses pronounced herself ready.

I shoved the boots and her other clothing in an old shopping bag, and hid it in the back of my wardrobe until she went. I’d need to look out a few more things if she was going to Brighton, but I could sacrifice some and put her on a train–end of problem. At least she looked like an ordinary teen, not a hooker.

“What’s your surname?” I asked as I led her down to the kitchen, from where came sounds of children’s voices and Simon trying to keep order.

“Kemp.”

“Okay, I’ll introduce you as Julie Kemp, and say you’ve been mugged, okay?” She nodded.

“Thanks for all your help, I don’t what I’d have done without it.”

“I’ll give you a reasonable breakfast and sort you out a couple more things to wear, and send you off to your friend in Brighton.”

“Thanks, that’ll be great.” The look in her eye or tone of her voice told me something wasn’t quite right, but I’d probe a bit more after breakfast.

“Gosh, how big is this place?”

“It has six functional bedrooms plus two more attic rooms, three reception, a huge kitchen and is full of lunatics.” I got a smile for that remark.

“I should feel at home then.”

“Perhaps, let’s go in.” I pushed her through the door and the noise stopped–in fact you could have heard a spoon drop–Danny was the one who dropped it. “Right, everyone, this is Julie. From the right going anticlockwise, that’s Livvie, Billy, Trish, Mima, Danny, the big one is Simon–he’s my husband, the wrinkled one behind him is Tom or Gramps, Stella you’ve already met.

“Right folks, Julie met with a bit of an accident early this morning, but she’s feeling better now. So please give her some space, not too many questions you nosy lot. Billy if you shove any more cornflakes in that dish there won’t be any room for milk, will there? C’mon use your loaf.”

Just then the toaster pinged and Simon pulled out the charred bread and popped in two more slices. I decided we needed a bigger toaster.

Danny suddenly became very chivalrous and helped her to a seat next to his, he got her a dish and a spoon and passed her some cereal. He even went and got her the milk and later some toast. She ate like she hadn’t for a couple of days.

I made some tea and poured out half a dozen mugs of the hot fluid. Julie had one with sugar. I re-boiled the kettle and set another pot to brew, eating a slice of toast while I did so.

I watched the interaction between the teen and the other children, it was quite interesting–they were all bursting to ask her questions but respected my request to give her some space.

“That’s a nasty bruise on your face,” said Trish, unable to keep her peace any longer.

“I fell on the ice,” said Julie, in a very female voice.

“Yes, it can be very slippery, can’t it?” added Danny–he fancied her. I nearly choked on my toast.

After breakfast finished and we cleared up the kitchen, I took Julie into Tom’s study–with his permission. The kids all went out to ride their bikes with Simon going out on his–my God! I nearly fainted, until I realised he’d only be going up and down the road, probably racing the boys.

“Right, Julie Kemp, sit and please answer my questions.”

“I thought you were going to send me to Brighton?”

“There’s time for that. Now date of birth?” I waited while she told me, December 9th 1993. She was barely sixteen. It came out too quickly for it to be a made up job.

“Do your parents know where you are?”

“I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“They more or less kicked me out.”

“They can’t at sixteen.”

“No but I can leave–so I did.”

“For where?”

“I changed at a friend’s house.”

“From boy clothes?”

“Sort of, they were girl’s jeans and fleece with a tee shirt.”

“Who’s this friend?”

“No one you’d know.”

“I thought about getting your clothes back.”

“Oh, might be able to.”

“What were you planning on doing?”

“I wanted to experience life as a girl, went to a club–it was great fun.”

“Is that where the bloke who assaulted you picked you up?”

“Yeah, he was good fun, bought me drinks.”

“Did he know how old you were?”

“I told him I was eighteen.”

“Still, supplying alcohol to a minor is an offence.”

“When did he try it on?”

“In his car–at first it was like, just kissin’ an’ things. Then he shoved his hand up me skirt and...” she looked down at the floor and tears began to flow.

“He discovered your little secret?”

She nodded her answer and grabbed a tissue from the box I pushed over to her.

“Then he called you names, hit you a few times and kicked you out into the cold.”

She nodded again.

I shook my head, “Julie, please promise me something...”

“What?” she sniffed.

“Don’t go trying to pick up boys or men until you’ve got a bit more to offer them. It’s not a game to play unless you know the rules–and that takes experience. Promise me?”

“Yeah, promise.”

“So you can’t go home?”

“No, my dad’ll kill me.”

“Why?”

“He thinks I’m a poof.”

“Even if I took you?”

“He’d wait until you were gone, if he let me in at all.”

“How long have you been dressing as a girl?”

“Not as long as I’d like, but I’ve been buying the odd thing for a year now. I started growing my hair about two years ago.”

“It looks very nice.”

“I got a salon to bleach it for me yesterday.”

“So your father wouldn’t recognise you?”

“Not at first, then he’d beat me up.” I knew that experience.

“What about your mum?”

“She does what he tells her.”

“Officially, I should hand you over to the police or social services.”

“You wouldn’t would you?” she had real panic in her voice.

“Relax–I said I should, I didn’t say I would.”

She sat down again, “What are you going to do with me?”

“I don’t know. What about this friend in Brighton, tell me about them.”

“He’s about twenty, likes girly-boys and we chat over the internet.”

“I don’t think he sounds particularly suitable. What about school?”

“I wanted to do an apprenticeship.”

“In what?”

“Hairdressing.”

“Okay, that sounds reasonable, but you’ll need to register with a college or something.”

“I’d have to do that as a boy–I’d rather die.”

“Julie–the way you’re going, that’s a distinct possibility. You have nowhere to go, your parents don’t know where you are and neither do the powers that be. Right, we need to try and find somewhere for you to stay but first, you must speak to your mother and tell her you’re safe.” I handed her the phone–“Here, don’t worry it’s an unlisted number.”

She took the phone and dialled. “Hello Mum, it’s me–yeah I’m okay, I’m staying with friends. Dunno, maybe never. Bye.” She rang off before I could grab the phone.

I took it and hit redial, she looked astonished. “Hello, this is Cathy. Look I picked up your child in a back street in Portsmouth in the early hours, he’d nearly frozen to death.

“Was John dressed as a boy or a girl?”

“A girl, and he’d been assaulted.”

“Oh my God, I kept telling him to stop it, his dad’ll kill ‘im when ‘e finds out.”

“So don’t tell him.”

“I’ll ‘ave to.”

“Why, I’m sure this won’t be the first secret you’ve kept from him, will it?”

“No, I s’pose not.”

“Right, has John been to see a specialist in gender matters?”

“No, why should ‘e?”

“Because he thinks he’s a girl, and at this moment, I’m inclined to agree with him.”

“What sort of woman are you–leadin’ my boy on like that?”

“I’m going to ask him to see a friend of mine, who happens to be a very well qualified psychiatrist with experience of transgender children.”

“How dare you–you bring ‘im ‘ome, you ‘ear me?”

“What so you can beat him up, or let your husband do such a thing? I’ve a good mind to report you to the NSPCC, if I do–they’ll be very interested in you both. So will social services.”

“You bring ‘im ‘ome, you pervert, I’ll report you to the police for kidnapping.”

“Not before I report you for child abuse, and I think they’ll pay me more attention than you.”

“Just because you sound posh, don’t mean you’re right.”

“John didn’t want to call you, I can see why now. I shall be speaking with social services later,” I glanced at Julie and she went quite pale. “So don’t worry, your child will be quite safe in my house, and is free to go if she pleases.”

“She–he’s a bloody boy, you pervert.”

“Goodbye, Mrs Kemp.” I cut off the call, “I see what you mean.”

“You’re not gonna tell social services are you?”

“I have to, Julie. If they’re happy, you can stay here until we find you somewhere more appropriate.”

“What? I can stay here? As a girl?”

“Yes–is that a problem?”

She just burst into tears, and threw herself at me, “I don’t know what to say,” she hugged me, “Thank you so much.”

I put my arm around her, “It’s okay, Julie, it’s okay