Evan cursed a lot. A lot as to the point in scared his friends. His mom was fed up.

One day, when Evan came home from school, his mom decided to put his plan into action.

“Hi Evan! How was your day?” she said.

“Fucking boring, bitch,” he replied angrily. His mom was fed up.

“That’s not very ladylike,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m a fucking guy, of course it’s damn not.”

“Not for long,” his mom muttered. “It’s hot outside, have a drink.”

FYI: This is NOT a sequel to the story I posted earlier today.

In the dress shop two weeks before Prom.

Mother: It’s a lovely dress and you just look fabulous in it but it’s really expensive, James.

James: Mom! It’s not MY fault we’re here!

The pale green nightlight casts a dim light on the pitch-black room. Sweat cold and chest heaving from nightmares. Sitting up, I held my head, wiping the sweat. My chest is heavier than usual. Did torso day enlarge my pecks? I shook my head. The nightmare still burned in my memory. The dream with disgusting pink and ugly femininity trembled my soul. I shoved the perverted dream back, out of my mind and filled it with Tom Brady.

So over this last few years I have been trying my best to get out and wear dresses in (public) well one of the local adult video arcades. As I have said before I have been collecting my wardrobe and now I'm wanting to know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of anal sex. So just to be clear I am not passable by any account I am a 5'11" 220# man in a dress. But it is not going to stop me from experiencing what I hope will be a life changing experience. So I find or make an excuse to get out of the house for a few hours and find someone who is interested in the same.

"What have we here?" my mother asked as I stood admiring my legs in the heels my sister had offered to let me try walking in.

"Why is your husband still in that kinky French maid's uniform? The Halloween party was over a week ago?"
"Well I may have made a few changes to the instructions for the GLOO, not that my husband was ever any good at following instructions anyway."
"So what did you do?"
"Well, you know how it says if the GLOO is not removed before 72 hours that it permanently bonds and would require mutilating surgery to remove?

Nerd-No-More
by Ellie Dauber (c) 2018

Tired of being bullied? Take Nerd-No-More and see the change.

* * * * *

Nerd-No-More -- Available by prescription only; talk to your doctor now.

I dreamed this, it was like Indiana Jones meets the Ghostbusters....

The first day of sophomore year I walked down to the school bus stop. My best friend since we were toddlers, but who had spent summer somewhere else, was already standing there waiting.

- Hi, Sally! Love that dress!

Sally looked at me surprised. I don’t know why. That dress really was beautiful and it made her look gorgeous. The thin black pantyhose made the most of her stunning legs.

- Jake! You knew. You knew all the time!
- Yep. I probably knew before you did yourself

I answered my best friend who the last time I’d seen him had been known as Sal, short for Salomon. I was happy for her. It had taken her much longer time to come out of her shell than I had expected and hoped. I was looking forward to what new relationship we would have. I really was.

I decided to try out a new style of writing. Sorry that I haven't posted anything. I've been doing a crap ton of readin'.

I'm confused. Well, more than I usually am, and that's a bad sign. I need Identity, I need a Label to pin my hopes and dreams to. I thought I was a Transvestite, but lately I have found out that is too clinical a word and I shouldn't use it. So I tried being a TV but the rabbit ears kept falling off my head and the satellite dish was just unbearable.

I have been indulging in a solitary vice again, but don't worry - I mean reading, not what you thought. While perusing the Skeptical Inquirer I came across a review of an odd little tome of pseudoscience called Dressed to Kill: The Link Between Breast Cancer and Bras. Now really, what would your average brassiere obsessed crossdresser do but immediately sign on to the library computer and get a copy delivered to the local library to find out what's going on here. You didn't think I would pay for the thing, did you?

I what to know who makes up the rules, and when I find her I want her to change them, now! It may come as a shock to you, but life just ain't fair. With my new job I am living in a two room apartment all by myself on weekdays. My wife is in school two hours away from my apartment, which is two hours away from our (supposedly permanent) home, and we navigate from node to node on this triangular route each weekend. I thought life was supposed to get more stable when you hit your forties!

I'm sure that you have seen an ad or two (or twenty) for one of those 900 phone services. They usually have neat names like 1-900-HOT-HOTT, which is a real number that a teenage neighbor called twice on my garage phone before I caught him. I never could understand why someone would pay $25 for the first four minutes of talk when for a smaller monetary investment you could go to a bar somewhere and buy some floozy a few drinks and get the talk live, or possibly something more if you have a golden tongue.

“BOOM!” Goes the snub nose revolver I test fired making my ears ring. The smell of gunpowder permutated from the gun. I never shot a revolver before, but this is the first and last day I fire one. My body was jittering as I pull back the hammer of the revolver.

I walk into my garage. I was dark and warm. A nice place to end it all. I sit down in a chair and put the revolver in my mouth. I slide my thumb in the trigger guard. I close my eyes and slowly squeeze the trigger.

Casting Call for the Black Badges

A white-haired girl walks down the middle of the shadow of death. There is nothing in the barren wasteland besides craters and tree stumps. The wind kicks up the dirt and grime.The girl is not fazed by the flying layer of dust. Not a speck of the filth touches her beautiful fair skin and none penetrates her glowing blue eyes. She abruptly starts sprinting to the top of a hill and lays down. She unslings her rifle and aims at a black-haired, red-eyed man.

I made this story back when I was a wee boy in about, I think, sophomore year of high school. The reason why this story was never finished is that I ended up finding out that I am a girl, not a guy. So, queue the dysphoria and severe levels of depression. I'm interested if anyone wants me to reinvent the story to make it more interesting. Somehow I still have the ideas and plans for this story. By the way, this story is not done and the original will probably never be created.

Last night's nightmare on current world events.

 “You’d have to be a right plonker to willingly start something like this.”

Hello everyone,

I'm new as an author on here. This is a rather personal story/ poem, but it fits into the TG context.

I'm working on an actual series, but as a slow writer it will take some time for that.

I still hope you can enjoy reading this here.

Best wishes,

Filas

Visitor from my dreams

Author's note: I read a writer's prompt on facebook, and it went something like "She came to me in my dreams, and in my nightmares", and my muse took it from there ...

At first, i thought she was a nightmare, the girl in my dreams.

For I was a boy, or supposed to be. So where could this girl I dreamed of being come from?

Then there were the nightmares in truth, but she was not the monster in them, but rather a victim - a prisoner, tormented and captive.

“I mean honestly, who goes looking for this sort of trouble?”