Gaby Book 14 ~ The Girl ~ Chapter *29* Party Planning

Printer-friendly version


Audience Rating: 


Character Age: 

TG Universes & Series: 


gaby book 14 cover.jpg
 get the complete book here! {Or here (US)}
*Chapter 29*

Party Planning

Apparently I’m not ill enough to bunk off school although riding is out for a few days, I go back to the Frauenklinik Mittwoch when hopefully I lose this flippin’ bag.

“Come on, kiddo,” Dad pressed.

“I’m coming as quick as,” I bad temperedly replied.

In truth I should’ve let Dad fetch my school bag down, he did offer, but no, I had to clamber up to my eyrie myself and now – well let’s just say stairs are not good for me right now!

“There you are, got everything now?”

“Think so,” I mumbled.

It’s bad enough I have to go to school, worse that I must needs wear a skirt – okay that’s not the worst but because of my er sanitary arrangement it’s a long ugly thing from Goth Gurl’s wardrobe.

“Come on then, we might just get you there in time.”

I went the long way round to the car to avoid more stairs, Dad was sat tapping the steering wheel by the time I got there. It wasn’t quite as bad this morning getting in, the swelling has reduced and the bruising is coming out nicely now. I made myself as comfortable as possible and the parental unit set off for Silverberg Gymnasium somewhat quicker than my usual transport.

“Nice outfit,” Nena offered as I hobbled into school.

I gave her a look.

“Just saying.”

“So you are all sorted now?” Brid enquired.

“Hopefully,” I mentioned, “I have to go back Wednesday then I have to go for check ups every month.”

“Sooner you than me,” Steff mentioned, “I hate gynae exams.”

“Who doesn’t,” Pia agreed.

“You are still on for Mart’s?” Con queried.

“I probably won’t be up to disco diva but try keeping me away.”

School is school, if you make it to registration you’re taught with no regard to how you feel, I might not be measles like ill but I’m not exactly firing on all cylinders. My teachers were aware that I’ve had some sort of surgery of course; something female which gets some sympathy from the females and scant allowance from the male Lehrer. Thing is, apart from walking like John Wayne I don’t look ill.

“Did Amanda tell you what we’re doing for the party?” Pia asked as we set about our lunch.

“We’re doing that Day of the Dead thing yeah?”

“She didn’t tell her,” Steff stated.

“We haven’t really talked that much, so we are still doing that?”

“Well yeah but we thought we’d ramp it up,” Brid chuckled.

“Ramp it up? I thought it was like the whole skull face thing.”

“It is, but we thought we’d make it a bit more, er exciting,” Pia supplied.


“Well maybe exciting is a bit strong,” Con put in.

“Just how does this manifest itself?” I queried around my banana.

“We all bought the same dress, with the makeup you won’t tell us apart,” Brid offered.

“We got you one too, Gabs,” Nena added.

Joy, “So what’s this dress look like?”

“Hang on, I’ve got a picky on my handy,” Pia supplied.

She fiddled with her phone before presenting the tiny screen to me.

“It’s a bit er brief.”

That description hardly does the frock justice, it barely covers your fundament with a flared skirt and a chest baring off the shoulder bodice, the whole in a dark red taffeta by the look.

“That’s the thing,” Steff noted, “we don’t usually wear this stuff so people will be confused.”

“We’ll wear the same hose with heels,” Brid enthused.

“The only thing different will be our faces!” Nena finished.

Yeah, apart from I’m a short arsed blonde; the others tower over me so I’ll fit right in – not.

“So um, where is this Kleid?”

“Amanda took it for you,” Con advised.

“When were you going to tell me?” I quizzed as we waited for Hannah at the Tanzklub.

“Tell you what?” Mand enquired.

“About the party, something about a dress?” I prompted.

“Oh sh…” she did at least look contrite, “I forgot all about it, Gabs.”

“I let you out of my sight for one day, you get lost and shanghaied by the girls!”

“I’m sorry.”

I just chuckled, the dress is typical Angels – even without Anna’s influence things get a little bit out of hand.

“I just hope I can wear it,” I mentioned.

“I never thought.”

“Neither did I, I’m sure the doc never mentioned me having to wee in a bag.”

“Ew, gross!”

Clearly I couldn’t be directly involved with cheer tonight, I really was the coach – at least for this week. Maybe I should see if I can get some coaching tips off the web, I’ve only got a limited number of moves I can teach this lot easily. Perhaps I can mail Miss, I mean Fran Cowlishaw, see if she has any tips, she’s been on coaching courses and everything.

Well apart from not training Tuesday wasn’t that much different to usual – well I caught the Ahr Express instead of Dads taxi as he had a meeting in Dusseldorf at nine. Apart from the bruising everything downstairs seems good, the swelling is much less at any rate. I’m really not very happy about the dilating business – it’s just wrong!

“You know how you’re doing your face for the party, Gab?” Mand asked as I stirred the spätzle I was doing for our tea.

“Dunno,” I admitted, “I’ve not even seen this dress yet.”

“Erm sorry about that, I’ll go fetch it.”

With that she disappeared, I was plating up our food before she got back.

“Where’d you get to?”

“I printed this off.”

“What is it?”

“I printed it off the internet,” she advised showing me the picture.

“Looks simple enough.”

“There were some a lot more elaborate but I’m not exactly Picasso.”

“Might have a look later.” I mentioned plonking the plates on the table.

“What do you reckon?”


I looked up to see her holding the frock up with one hand and the printout in front of her face.


“Really?” she lowered the paper and looked at it.

“Aaargh! No it’s too terrible, cover it up!”

“Huh?” the penny dropped, “Gaa-ab!”

“Sorry couldn’t resist, put them down, your spätzle is getting cold.”

“Yes, mum!”

“Why you!”

Wednesday was nearly a repeat of Tuesday – well until school kicked out. Mum was waiting outside to take me to the Frauenklinik, a visit that I’m not looking forward to.

“Everything okay?” Mater queried as we negotiated our way out to the bypass.

“I guess, it’s been easier on the stairs today at least.”

“Well that’s good.”

“Still feels like there’s a saddle in my knickers.” Well it does, it’s like having three maxi pads down there.

“Too much information, kiddo.”

“You did ask – watch that tractor!”

We swerved around the slow moving farm machinery, far too close for my liking.

“I saw it.”

“Yeah, at the last minute.” Mum’s driving is legendary – it’s that bad.

It was actually the first time I’d seen the clinic in full daylight, it’s a typical concrete public building of the seventies, only the name over the entrance differentiating it from so many other office type blocks. Mum slotted her A Klasse into the only vacant parking spot, the seats being higher than the C Klasse estate I managed to get myself out unaided. Well here goes.

“Gabrielle Bond for Dr Schindler,” Mum offered at reception.

The woman found me in the appointment book, “If you go along the corridor, there’s a waiting area, they’ll call you.”

“Danke sehr.”
We walked through to as instructed, inside the clinic is a lot nicer than it looks from the exterior and the waiting area was nicely decorated with comfortable chairs.

“Hope it’s not long, I need a wee.”

“There’s a toilet just back along the corridor,” Mum advised.

“Be right back.”

So of course I had to change my bag, after the first couple of times I worked out how not to get wee over me and the floor – well at least only a few drops. But of course I’m in a hurry and it ended up with as much on the floor as in the bag, talk about embarrassing.

“You were a long time, the nurse has just called us.”

“Flippin’ catheter,” I mumbled.

“So, Gaby, how are we?” the Doc asked once we had the niceties out of the way.

“Not quite as sore but this bag is a real pain.”

“We’ll see about losing that if everything is okay, so if you can pop next door, change into the gown and hop onto the chair, I’ll be through in a minute.”

I did as instructed although I left my BH on; she’ll be looking downstairs not at my boobs. I’d only just got onto the torture machine that is a gynaecological examination unit. I’ve seen one before, when Bernie went to antenatal but I never dreamt then that I’d be subject to its indignities before the year was out – well at all actually.

“Good girl,” I winced, “have you been on one of these before?”

“Ut uh.”

“Hilde will get you all set up, if you feel anything pulling tell her, we don’t want to undo all of Dr Fischer’s hard work do we?”

Going through this once is once too many; I certainly am not looking for a repeat. The nurse, Hilde, placed my legs into the stirrups and with a few deft cranks of the controls had my lady bits exposed and accessible for the doctor. First of course the dressing had to come off, that empty space between my legs feels weird on a level of eleven, there wasn’t much there before but it was my not much and I miss it.

Yes it’s uncomfortable, yes it’s undignified and no one should go through this voluntarily!
“Ah, very good, let’s get rid of this bag at least for now then we can see the wood for the trees.”
Maddy Bell 19.12.15

If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos!
Click the Thumbs Up! button below to leave the author a kudos:
216 users have voted.

And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks. 
This story is 1750 words long.