Summer Intern
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Who could believe such an asshole could become my closest friend? I put it down to the power of womanhood. When it comes down to it, we are the superior sex. Our chemistry can dominate and drown out the worst things about men.

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Cause all we are we are
All we are we are
And every day is a start of something beautiful
And in the end the words won't matter
'Cause in the end nothing stays the same
And in the end dreams just scatter and fall like rain

After a fancier hair-do and a lot more daytime makeup than usual, and wearing my best lacy undies to get me in the mood, I put on my white cocktail dress, bolero, pill box hat, and a totally impractical pair of 4” stilettos which would be difficult on the grassy areas around the rails, and for the first time really felt myself to be a glamorous attractive woman.

I washed my face and looked at myself in the mirror again, glanced at my nails and my chest and sighed. In for a Pennyworth in for the whole Wayne Manor, I decided.

Leslie and Casey steps into the store. Leslie stops, just inside the entrance, and looks at all the stuff the owner had on display “oh, I could spend days in here. This place is more equipped than Ching’s in downtown London.”

A smile appears on Casey’s face as she listens to Leslie’s comment. She knew her wife loved Asian items “you can do some shopping afterward.”

“Okay.” Leslie heads towards the back of the store.

This is a sequel to ”My Date as Teenage Girl Model”. You really should read that first (can be read as stand-alone). This time it’s told from Darius’ point of view.

I had really enjoyed my date with ”Amy Amstel” but I thought that was it. I was mistaken. The (very) local TV-station got hold of it and made a silly piece about it. This caused me and Andrew some discomfort. Andrew made a joke out of it and I – well, I just let it blow over and that was it, I thought.

A couple of weeks later I was asked to come over to Andrew’s place. Why? We never interacted. Well, apart from the “date” but that was definitely with Amy and not Andrew, remember. When I got there I was getting very worried since a representative from Amy Amstel’s agency was there. Had I got myself involved in some breach of copyright or anything like that? Honestly, it was just a bit of fun! So what if I’m a bit obsessed with Amy Amstel? I’m not a stalker. At least I don’t think so. The situation was worse than I thought at first. They offered me a summer job. A completely outrageous, ridiculous job bordering (on the wrong side) of lunacy.

I’ve written over one hundred stories for BC and a handful of non-TG novels. Picking a favorite is treacherous – but this story just might be it.

Each chapter is written with a new narrative character to allow us to get to know the main character from various perspectives. Each chapter could be a standalone story.

You will be angry at the start of the story. The rage you’ll feel is needed to complete the entire picture. Please don’t be put off – the story ends as it should.

Suicide is a very dark topic and too real, to too many in our community. This story deals with a suicide -- but it is far from as dark as you might imagine. It tells the story of a transvestite from the point of view of his wife, his daughter, his mother-in-law, his best friend, a psychiatrist -- and herself. If somehow this story brings you down, I apologize, as it's not written to elicit that response.

I couldn't stand the thought of being in the house alone with Ben so as quickly as I had gone in, I'd taken a change of clothes and left. I hated the way his eyes followed me everywhere when I went in the house so although I didn't want to be around Doug and the others after what had just happened, I had no choice.

The outfit I'd chosen was a simple one. It was a peach crop top paired with a black skater skirt. I'd kept on the same pair of flip flops as before.

Patsy Power Part 39

On the Sunday we went for walks in the city parks but had to get a taxi when someone thought they knew me and was getting a bit too personal. Sunday evening we flew back to Nashville. It seemed that we were better off in a town where everyone knew us and let us be.

This photo of Hotel Classic Inn is courtesy of Tripadvisor

Saturday Afternoon
Harry was relaxing on a Saturday afternoon, the recliner tilted back, the cat in his lap and a good novel in his hands. His wife Carmen was out shopping, leaving Harry a very contented man. So content that the good novel was resting upside down on the cat, who was sprawled across Harry's lap in a posture that only a trusting feline could find comfortable.