This story is completely different from my usual stories. This time I’ve written a sweet romantic fairy tale. I hope some of those who don’t like my usual stories will like this one and that those who like my usual stories don’t get too disappointed.

Once upon a time in a place beyond our world and time there was a village. The village had had a quiet existence for centuries. The inhabitants were quite happy with that. They only knew all too well that living in interesting times was not something that ordinary peasants enjoyed.

Of course life was not perfect. Sometimes harvests were bad. Three rich farmers had managed to get control of the village. Human weaknesses such as envy, greed, lack of courage, intolerance … were no strangers to the people in the village. However, in general life was good in the village. Then things got interesting!

The first day in my new High School started off well. The buildings were new, teachers actually interesting, the school turned out to have a great football team. I just love football. Not that I’ll ever play for the school being rather a ”petite” boy but you can always watch. I never missed a game at my old High School except that one time we gymnasts had an away competition at the same time. I had spent part of the lunch break looking at the football trophies and pictures of the team.

So everything was great until I had to go to the bathroom.

The Scribbler’s favourite way to spend those sweltering summer vacation weeks is to get into a nice hot airless class-room far away from home immersing oneself in irregular verbs, different cases (dative, genitive, instrumental, locative, vocative ....), where to place the verb, making sure that the female plural pronoun didn’t appear together with a male singular adjective, whether to use words like ”the”, ”a” or instead use suffixes or totally ignore any difference between determined of non-determined and so on … and on… and on.

Well this year The Scribbler, for various reasons couldn’t go away to have fun. Forced to stay at home The Scribbler had a look at the July contest at BCTS. That was not the original plan but it was worth having a look though.

The encounter with Carl Delaforge in "Commutation" was a bit depressing so let’s cheer up and revisit the family from “Where did I go wrong?”, only two years later. If you haven’t read that story this will contain spoilers.

I was not feeling very well coming down into the living room that Saturday morning. What I saw there did NOT make me feel any better. The room was a mess! A ridiculously short, and expensive looking, sparkly blue dress on the floor. On the same floor some flimsy lace black thong panties featured prominently. Black 5 inch heel shoes thrown around, one on the floor, the other in an armchair. A bra, that matched the panties in material, color and sexiness, in the other armchair. Stockings, and garter belt draped across the back of the couch. A couch that by all evidence had been used to have wild, wanton sex on. Fortunately I couldn’t see any stains and the used condom had missed the carpet, Who could be responsible for this?

Cheryl? No, she’d never wear five inch heels. Wait, five inch heels? Michael!!!

My second big mistake was going to school in a skirt the first day after coming back from hospital with a broken bone. It was stupid but it was so much easier a way to deal with the cast.

Of course my first big mistake was to break my leg. I’d have liked to say that I was a victim of unfortunate circumstances or I that I had done something heroic. The simple truth was that I had tried to do something really stupid. I failed. It hurt.

I finally had tricked my wife into a bet where as her forfeit she’d finally do something in the bedroom that she’d absolutely refused to do ever since that first crazy night of debauchery we’d spent together. There was no way I could lose the bet. I was really looking forward to collecting since there was no conceivable way I could lose. I could already smell the sweet smell of victory. The only thing I was worried about was that reality wouldn’t live up to memory.

I lost.

Wednesday morning as I entered the office Veronica in reception greeted me

- Hi, James. Nice to see you dressed properly again.

I hated it. Just because I decided to joke the Friday before and come dressed in a skirt, a nice blouse that just barely showed the bra under it, pantyhose and shoes with a bit of a heel my life was utterly and completely destroyed. My girlfriend and I had thought it would be hilarious and she had helped me to put on some make-up. Nothing over the top. Just some nice make-up that actually made my 25 year old but unfortunately rather babyish face a bit more mature.

At first everything went according to plan. The other engineers got the joke and had fun comparing my outfit with the usual “dress code” at the design office, i.e. jeans, baggy college shirts and such. Actually I was the only one in a skirt. Not that there were many females among us but anyway. I also got compliments from other people that I met while going from one place another. In one morning I had become modestly famous in the company. Then things started to go wrong, terribly, horribly wrong.

The woman I was interviewing for a job at first gave me a very good impression. In person she confirmed her CV. Competent, decisive, with a no-nonsense getting things done attitude. Perhaps a bit aggressive but for the position in question that was not necessarily a problem. In fact everything went well until she noticed that I was wearing a bra. I should have known better. Never wear a colored bra under a white shirt, even if it’s the most exquisite turquoise.

Not as twisted as normal. Sorry, BarbieLee!

My husband and I are blessed with five children evenly spaced out with two years in between them. They really are good kids but sometimes I wish that the two oldest girls would have a bit less of drama in their relationships. Well, the oldest one, 19, left for college a few weeks ago and I was spending a “girls’ Friday night” with Cheryl, my 17 year old daughter since my husband was away on business as usual. The other kids were in their rooms, I thought. Cheryl and I had been watching romantic comedies and chatting until well past midnight when I heard a car drive away which was strange since our neighborhood is very calm at night. Soon afterwards the front door was slowly and carefully opened and Mike, 15, tiptoed in. Well, in those shoes that really was the only angle his feet could be in. In the few seconds before he noticed us I could see from his satisfied face that he had had a very good evening. The smeared lipstick on his otherwise immaculately made up face confirmed this. I had not had the least suspicion of his leanings! Where did I go wrong?

A school somewhere in England a long time ago (well, actually recent past).

Please enter through the door that has the sign

Headmaster
James Heuchler

on it.

A beautiful Sunday early in the summer I finally decided that I’d had enough. This had to end!

”I AM telling the truth.” Phil, my oldest son, repeated.

Between us on the table lay the very pretty and obviously very expensive silk dress that I had found in his closet and my 18 year old daughter said he had stolen from her closet.

OK I said I'd look silly stealing a twisted idea proposed by Daphne Xu in a comment to a recent blog. With her permission I did it anyway. Of course I added an extra twist of my own.

Belle leaned forward to kiss the ”Beast”. He raised a paw and gently stopped her. In his strong and yet soft manly voice he said:

”I have to warn you. When I was cursed ten years ago the witch told me I had to find love in my heart and be loved back before my 21th birthday, which is tomorrow, otherwise I would stay a beast. A beast I truly was then. The witch made me look like I was inside, in every way. If I found love I would revert to my previous physical form. It may not be what you expect”

This story references some violence, actually quite a lot of it. No sex though so it should be safe for the US market.

The Monday it all started I sat alone on the bus to school as usual. This was OK since I could spend the time to forge a letter from my parents recusing me from the upcoming school camping trip. Yes, I was not really the most popular kid in school. The fact that I didn’t conform to the usual stereotypes didn’t really help. Petite, long hair, artistic, dancing ballet and sometimes wearing a skirt made people peg me as gay, which I’m not, I prefer to think about myself as ”equal opportunity”. On the other hand my black belt in karate confused people as did the fact I was the school’s star pitcher. However, all this wasn’t really the direct reason why everyone kept their distance from me. I was also the favorite target of the group of bullies that styled themselves ”The Magnificent Seven”. They even had an ongoing ranking list of who was the worst bully.

I was amazed. The house looked exactly like it had done twenty years ago. Now when I finally had got this far I suddenly hesitated. Was I really prepared to meet my father? Could we put all everything behind us and start anew? Could all the prejudice be overcome?

It’s not easy for a single mother to raise a son but I think that Sam and I have done OK for the last ten years. Of course a job with a good salary helped. Sam and I have grown quite close so it came as complete surprise when I came home to find Sam at my vanity, wearing only a set of sexy lingerie, including garter belt and stockings, crying over the complete mess of an unskilled attempt to apply make-up.

I hadn’t really associated Sam with anything feminine. Never a trace of make-up, no skirts, no dresses. Talking about dresses; the apparently brand new dress, still with the tag on it, hanging next to the dresser was completely inappropriate for a first date. The stress was definitely on the L in LBD. Way too skimpy!

It was a lovely end-of-summer day. The Friday of the first week of my second year in High School. I was waiting for the school bus. The sun shone, the birds were singing, no classes in the afternoon due to try-out for the school teams. Then I turned around.

Sigh! I had implored him, begged him to be sensible but there I could see him coming dressed in a shortish denim skirt.

Coming to the restaurant that Friday evening I couldn’t have been more pleased with life. That morning I had been appointed executive vice-president of the company. While my wife couldn’t join me this evening she was recuperating very well from her heart attack. My oldest son had started a promising Wall Street career and my younger son achieved excellent results at law school. Not that I ever really had had that much contact with my sons but they were both coming home for the week-end to celebrate. While I was huffed by my promotion I hoped that the dinner wouldn’t end too late.

Just for once I had managed to get away from the steel mill at 4. It was Friday after all. Coming home tired after a very bad day and opening the door I surprised my 16 year old son getting ready to go out. I was appalled! He was wearing a calf-length dress, pumps with a 2 inch heel, a necklace and ear-rings that had belonged to my departed and sorely missed wife, red lipstick and a little rouge. Where did I go wrong? I had tried to be a good parent but it hadn’t been easy since my wife passed away four years ago.

Back to comedy.
I dedicate this story to Licorice who inspired it

It was Monday morning the second week of Fall term. We had almost finished changing for gym when a naked boy stumbled into the girls’ changing room. Well, actually he was pushed into it. In his hand he had a pink leotard and a towel. He immediately tried to exit but someone outside made sure he couldn’t open the door. Failing to open the door the poor naked boy turned around and gave us a frightened look.

Instead of waking up in our small flat next to the university campus I wake up in my old boy’s room as it looked when I was 16. I check my alarm clock. The date is the day after my 16th birthday. Something else feels wrong too. Instead of my usual buzz-cut my hair goes down to my shoulders. Looking down on my chest I see two mounds through the neckline of my PJs. Two smallish but pert breasts, exactly the kind I like; on girls! Panicking my hands go down to my crotch. IT isn’t there any longer! Just an extra slit!

AAAARGH!!!