Sometimes life is disillusioning. I have sat here in my closet for about twenty years now, and for the past five or so the door has been open far enough to hand out these columns. Believe it or not, I really don't have a great urge to fling the door open and come out in my finest. I know that I am too far from the feminine norm to ever be more than a conspicuous fraud, but it doesn't bother me. I enjoy dressing for the sake of dressing, and enjoy the company of my sisters once removed via the post office.

This book is a companion story for “To Be a Different Someone”. It is not required to read to understand the plot or the characters…but you may enjoy to know the other side of the story.

A Matter of Fact: Chapter 2 (parts 4 – 6)
By Camospam

March 27, 2007. Prince George, BC

 Who might be so brazen to actually believe they have the right to decide what somebody else’s life should be? While a parent might guide a child into adulthood, and a true friend should only offer ideas as support, but really - just what type of person is it that would dictate to another: who you are?

Just a short story that was going to be a solo but will now run to 2 or possibly 3 parts.

HUGS!
S

(Since I no longer have access to the article that got my dander up, I have let the author be anonymous in my response. You can probably figure out just what she said from the context.)

Pardon me, but my dander is up. I know that is a difficult, and potentially embarrassing to raise a dander while wearing a skirt, but by golly it's hoisted and flying in the hot air of opinion.

Can you stand to read one more personal story about a sister coming out of the closet? I know that every CD newsletter uses these stories as fill when there isn't enough other stuff to put on the page, and that you have read a million of them, but this time I'm the one telling the story. For that matter I don't care if you read it or not, I'm gonna tell it anyway.

Ever have one of those days that just went sideways?

Ever have a week?

How about a month?

Why do I ask. Well.....

To start with my name, my real name, is Tony Smith...yes smith. Is it the last name of my parents? I have no idea I was an abandoned baby so nobody knows. Raised in an orphanage till age six then multiple foster homes.

What you whisper now, tomorrow people will shout from the roofs of their homes old proverb.

Julina wavers back and forth as a certain amount of untidiness precedes the departure of the Royal Party

 
Julina of Blackstone
Her Chronicles, Book 2

by Julia Phillips

080 – The Question

I saw another one today. I was driving along a country road and over there on the left, by the well kept farmhouse was another of those rather weird examples of modern art known as the "moonie". Have you ever seen a moonie? No, I am not talking about some earnest and well scrubbed youth in the airport lounge selling flowers for the Korean Messiah, but rather the mushroom shaped and gaily painted depiction of someone's legs and nether regions that are sprouting on lawns all over country like, well like mushrooms.

It was a brilliant moonlit night. The warm weather of the past few weeks had made the nights unbearable for sleeping.
One of those who couldn’t sleep was William(Bill) Clancy. That night he’d gone for a drive down to the coast in his car.

As he topped the crest of a hill, he saw the gleam of the sea ahead. He wasn’t there yet. There was a steep hill to negotiate first.

He carefully started down the hillside. He saw another pair of headlights on the other side of the valley. He judged that the car was heading his way.

The first children born on Betelgeuse VII have reached the age when they can submit a request for the use of hormones, body implants and transgender surgery.

A trip of a diplomatic mission to Betelgeuse VII.

Chatty Kathy

Jonny Steele was “huge,” he was a legend in our neighborhood. He was thirteen like the rest of my friends, but as I said, he was huge; five foot seven, one hundred and fifty-five pounds. Jonny was a lefty at the plate, though I think he wrote righty in school. Anyways, he was at bat, and I was third base coach.

Dear Readers, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Apologies for the delay. Here is the full Chapter 8.

I sat on the edge of the bed, in a bathrobe, and held my head in my hands.

Why a bathrobe?

Because the maids had ensured there wasn’t a single scrap of clothing in the entire suite other than a bathrobe and fluffy slippers for me to wear.

Oh, and those slippers were shaped like bunnies.

The year 1989 marks the 100th anniversary of the Brassiere, as it was first called, an item of apparel dear to the hearts of all transvestites. I find it hard to conceive of a time without the bra, so integral has it become to feminine fashion in our culture. It and the jockstrap are the only garments that have an anatomical function limited to one sex; all other clothing takes its gender from the culture. A male wearing a bra can only be doing so for the pleasure of it, as we all well know.

I was seven years old when my life turned into the proverbial mother of all train wrecks. The date was December 19, 2008.

Mom, dad and my baby brother James were coming home from a hospital visit. James, who was 3 years old, had come down with a nasty cough that just wouldn't go away, and mom and dad had taken him to the hospital while I was in school so he could be examined.