No Longer a Secret
This is a Little Sissy Story for a Little Sissy
By Maryanne Peters

Every secret sissy boy should have a mommy who is into womanless beauty contests. That way, she gets to lead her little sissy into a world of lace and ruffles where everything smells like roses. Well, almost everything.

What do you do when you look 7 years old, but you're actually a college student in your late teens? For Kathleen's entire life, she had fought against people treating her much younger than her actual age. Feeling obligated to grow up fast to show people she wasn't the age of her size, Kathleen never let her inner child out. Tired of fighting against the world, she explores the adult submissive world. What she finds, however, is an enjoyment of regression. Had she made a mistake? Would life be better if she just let people treat her how she looks, 7 years old?

In two thousand and eighteen I volunteered for the dunking booth attraction at the relaunch of the 'Discover Benton Festival' that has become a yearly event that draws a number of people to our small, little delta town. I was fourteen then and just starting to come out of my shell. I was new to Benton and in a way, I was still frail. Beside dealing with puberty and the discord that it brings, I was also trying to come to terms with me being transgender. My mother had just been buried four months before, and because I was in hospital when the funeral took place.

I haven't written many solos but just lately I have finished a couple of stories that were just too complete to be serialised.

…..and the swirl of the plaid.

I have heard people say that you should try everything once. I have often thought that this could be a little crazy. Say, you tried skydiving and got it wrong, there is no second time. Or, maybe, you take up scuba diving and forgot to head for the surface. Whammo! No chance to go around again.

Pas de Deux A novel by Bronwen Welsh A Sequel to 'Antonette's Story' Copyright 2021

Chapter 5   Raymonda

CHAPTER 44
The weather was once more closing in, along with the calendar. I was getting old, I realised, and everything was telescoping. Time was shortening, each month flying past, but the House was buzzing with life, each of my girls opening up at their own rate, but opening, nevertheless. They formed a little phalanx each morning as they headed off to the school Heidi had found for them, and while I was still working my full range of duties for Bert, I was spending very little time at Ruth’s. It had always been my go-to for a decent breakfast, but with so many teenagers to be fed each morning, it would have been awkward. Fester would have lost his mind, though, over what they chose to eat.