"Do you want to start again?" I asked.

"No, no. Let's just... Okay. Here's what we'll do. I'm going to tell you what I see and hope it makes sense to you, because it doesn't make any sense to me. Okay?"

I thanked her and went into the inner office. Mr. Bryant and my aunt were there, waiting. "Well, well, well," he said. "My favorite student."

That didn't sound good. I didn't want to be the principal's favorite student, did I? "Am I in trouble?" I asked.

CATERING FOR ALL SORTS - A DRABBLE.

He’d drawn the short straw, undercover waitress, his partner, much bigger, obviously male was the kitchen ‘washer-upper’.

He complained of sore red hands, ‘she’ complained of sore red toes and cursed her heels.

“Any leads yet?” ‘she’ whispered.

“Gotta be here somewhere,” he replied.

This is a fictional tale about a guy, who just wanted to recreate for him self a part of a fantasy story he read. But as we all know things don’t always go as we plan, and this was no exception. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it

Chapter #2.

She started laughing, but I cut her off.

"I know that everything I do is oh-so-funny, but I'm really scared. Should I tell my parents? Or hope that they won't find out? And are you going to narc me out just so you don't get in trouble?"

"So...," Mom began, "What are you going to do about boys?"

"Uh, boys?"

"Yes, what are you going to do when boys start showing interest in you?"

"What do you think I should do?" I asked (and I think I managed to sound very innocent).

"What's the problem?" she repeated, almost in a shriek. "I'll tell you what's the problem! What if you fell and split your silly head open?"

"But I didn't," I protested weakly.

Dad shook his head. "Your Mr. Bryant told me that in case we were in witness protection, our cover had been blown. I told him we aren't, but of course he doesn't know what to believe. How in the world do you get into these messes?"

"I don't know," I protested. "I don't do anything!"

This is the second entry in what I hope to be a continuing series of single-panel cartoons.

My Transgender Childhood #2
Copyright 2008 by Heather Rose Brown
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

I awoke with a start. It took me a few moments to get my bearings — I was back in my room. My brain felt a bit fuzzy; probably as a result of whatever the doctor injected me with. I rubbed the spot where the hypo had made contact. There was no soreness, nor any bumps on the skin.

"It was pale yellow," she recalled. "I could sort of see it through the dress."

"Uh, it wasn't a bra," I replied. "It was a bathing suit."

"Oh," she laughed. "A bathing suit?"

I sighed. How much was I going to have to admit to?
 

While she was doing my face, Margo was working on my hair; with some curling tongs she put a slight curl on my fringe at the front and bottom of my hair. Lesley finished off my eyes with black mascara before outling my lips with a deep purple lip liner and then filling in the remainder of my lips with a pale lilac lipstick. Finished with my face both girls let me have a look at their creation. Looking back in the mirror was a very attractive seventeen year old–in fact I even fancied myself!

"Look, Diana," I said, "I'm sorry I had to tell you no. I wanted to go with you, and I thought that I could." She started to say something, but I put up my hand. "Wait. The thing is, Miranda is smart. She's fun to be with, and she's the same size as me —"

"Come on, Chapters!" she scolded, "Nobody gives a bleep about your bleeping height!" (Yes, she really did say "bleep" and "bleeping"!)
 

"Miss Donner?" he asked, "Is your life usually so... exciting?"

"No," I said. "Just since I came here."

"Hmm," he said. "If things keep up at this rate, I won't need to watch television any more."

At that, George leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.
“Goodnight Alex.”
“Yeah… goodnight.”
I watched him go up the stairs and heard his room door close. I poured myself another drink and sat down, opening my bag and taking out my cigarettes to light one. Three or four more drinks later, and another couple of cigarettes, I was going to bed as well. My brain was in turmoil and had all sorts of thoughts running through it.
Amongst that turmoil, was a single, important question that I was trying to answer: What am I?

Nancy Patterson’s Criss-crossed Christmas Pageant
By Jennifer Brock

Nancy Patterson’s Christmas Pageant would be talked about for years, but not the way she’d been dreaming it would. (No offense is intended toward those who are active in their respective congregations.)

I'm glad to say that nothing wild happened in church. No one recognized me; there were no slapstick moments. I think Miranda was a little disappointed, until we ran into the odious Robert outside.

"Hey, baby," he said to me. "Did you get my little gift?"

"Don't call me 'baby'," I told him, "and yes, I did get it."
 

I closed the door after waving goodbye to Sue and Judy and returned to the dining room where I had been doing my prep. Mummy had laid a cheerful checked cloth on the table so all I had to do was put out place mats and lay out the cutlery. Auntie G kept the "dining-room cutlery"–as she called it–in one of the drawers of the Welsh dresser, so I went straight to it and opened the drawer, and sure enough, there were knives, forks and spoons for all occasions–many of them strange to me–but I was able to select what I thought was needed and laid up two places.

Having to reveal my thoughts on transition to Saint Nicholas made me a little uncomfortable. I wondered secretly whether he even had the power to fulfill my desire. “Sir, it seems that my feeling that my body was of the wrong sex was prevalent even in my preteens. I suppressed those feelings thinking the it was not natural and a passing fad. As I reached my teen years and found that I would be different from my mates, I found myself questioning my masculinity."