-----

1.

“That’s so….”

“True? Accurate? Logical?”

“Stupid,” I said, frowning at my friend Sara and getting a return frown in response.

She rolled her eyes and stood up with a huff. “No, it’s not! Just look at all the signs that are there!”

“Like?” I asked, trying not to talk with my hands, since I was currently half-way through tearing a very messy turkey off the bones.

Sara set her phone aside and went back to prepping the salad. “Like, he’s always coming over to hang out with us, right?”

“Yeah, because we’re friends.”

“And he buys me all these little gifts.”

“He does for me too,” I pointed out, hissing as I stabbed myself on a turkey bone.

“He pays for my meals when we go out.”

“And mine, because he knows we’re barely making rent most months.”

“Ugh! Seriously, Mikey. It’s all there.” She pointed with her elbow toward her phone.

I looked over at it and read the video title again: “Why Men And Women Can’t Just Be Friends,” in big lurid letters. Just to add insult to injury, it was even in comic sans.

“There’s a big flaw in your ‘logic’ you’re ignoring, Sar,” I said, finally wrestling the stabbity bone free of the turkey around it.

“And what’s that?”

“I’m a guy?”

“Psssht.” Sarah waved that off, sending a slice of cucumber flying in the process. “You don’t count, you’re an honorary girl.”

I sighed and shrugged that off, giving the bowl full of turkey meat one last look-through to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. “You sure? Maybe I put up with your messes and your bringing guys home at 3 AM and your smelly farts because I’m in love with you?”

“Bfah! I don’t have smelly farts!” Sara complained, half-way between an indignant snort and a laugh. “And if you were in love with me I’d know.”

“Is that so?”

Sara thought about it for a moment, casually popping a cherry tomato into her mouth as she did so. “Yeah,” she finally said. “See, according to the video—”

“Ugh!” I gave up and took the salad away from her before she could pick anything else out of the bowl. “You’re right, though.”

“About the farts?”

“No, about not being in love with you,” I said, softening it with a hug. “Not that I don’t LOVE you, just….”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, hugging me back. “I’ll get you about the fart thing though.”

“Sure. For now, can you get the black eyed peas off the stove?”

“Sure.”

It didn’t take long for us to finish prepping all the Big Things for dinner that night. We slid most of the casserole pans and bowls into the oven to stay warm, and made sure the rest were secure in their plastic wrap in the fridge, then both sat down, proud of our work.

“What time are they supposed to be here again?” Sara asked me, popping the cap on a wine cooler.

“In about….” I checked my phone. “About an hour and a half.”

“Why so late?”

“Football,” I said, sharing a grimace with Sara at the thought.

“Blegh.”

I agreed. I was more than happy for them to do the football thing at Davey’s place.

Sara took a long drink from her wine cooler and sighed. “So, you still going with your regular resolution this year?”

I thought about it. “Yeah.” My ‘regular resolution’ was a simple one: to get one of the big publishers to accept one of my books for publication.

“That’s nice,” Sara said with a stretch. “I think I’m gonna make this year’s resolution to get my MRS.”

“MRS?” I asked, curious.

“Yeah, my MRS degree. Get married,” she explained when I continued to look at her cluelessly.

“MR-- Oh.” I rolled my eyes and walked over to the fridge to grab myself a drink, going for a root beer rather than anything alcoholic in case I had to drive folks home later that evening. “Why that?”

Sara shrugged. “I’unno. We both turned twenty-eight this year, and it just seems like it’s time, y’know?”

“I guess,” I admitted. “Though I can’t imagine you settling down with one guy.”

“Hey!” Sara said indignantly. “Just because I had a couple dozen boyfriends last year doesn’t mean --”

“39.”

“—I can’t… what? It can’t be that many.” She looked off and counted on her fingers, then counted again. “I only get 37.”

“Are you counting all three Steves?”

“There weren’t… huh.” She shrugged. “Well, it was a bad year.”

“Year before it was 44.”

“No way.”

I gave her a Look.

“Ugh! Okay! So maybe I’m not great at sticking with one guy! I’m telling you, Mikey. Davey’s in love with me, and I think I could really make something work there.”

Awkward pause.

“What are you thinking, Sar?”

“Oh, it’s nothing! Just….”

“Come on, out with it.”

She sighed again. “Listen. It’s Davey and his roomie Ryan, and Lisa and John?”

I nodded.

“Okay. So, ever since Lisa and John got married they’ve been all insufferable and shit with trying to get the rest of us hooked up with someone, right?”

I nodded again, laughing a bit at the disastrous triple-date they’d tried to arrange back in November. I could still smell the axle grease on the guy they’d brought over for Sara. I’d lucked out – the nonbinary person they’d brought for me to date had told me right off the bat they were ace and only along for the free meal, so we’d had a good time talking about MMOs and writing and ignoring John and Lisa’s attempts to get us to smooch.

Come to think of it, Sara’s date was one of the Steves.

“So, here’s my plan. Ryan makes an extra guy at the party… if you attend as a guy.”

“Sara, no.”

“Come on, Mikey!”

“Sara, NO.”

“But it’s—”

“NO!”

“Pleeeeease?!” She begged me, tossing her now-empty wine cooler and dropping to her knees. “I need this!”

“I’m NOT going to try and seduce Ryan just so you can ruin your friendship with Davey over this whole stupid thing.”

“I’m not asking you to seduce him! Just, y’know, keep him occupied so I can make my move.”

“Sara? I’m. A. GUY.”

“But you look so cute when you dress up, I just thought—”

“AND,” I said, cutting her off, “you’re the only one who knows I’ve ever done that.”

Silence.

“Sara….”

“I mean….”

“SARA.”

She groaned. “I’ve only sent them pictures a few times, okay?”

“SARA!?!”

“Hey!” She said, backing up defensively. “Davey said you looked cute, and Ryan sent back peach emojis! They don’t care!”

“That’s not – wait. Davey said I looked cute?”

“You did!”

“When was this?”

“That lilac sundress with the daisies on it.”

“...Is that why he bought me that purple suitcase for Christmas?”

“Maybe?”

“Huh.”

“Listen, I’ll….” She trailed off, staring at the trash can for a moment. To my surprise, she reached into it and pulled out a turkey bone. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No, I’m serious!” She said, holding up the wishbone. “Snap it with me. You get the bigger piece, I concede to you that guys and girls can just be friends. I get the bigger piece… and you wear that lilac sundress again.”

“No, I’m not… really with the puppy-dog eyes, Sara?”

No answer: just pout.

“I’m not… ugh.” I rubbed my temples. “Not the sundress. It’s January.”

“How about—”

“Your grey slacks. The ones with the houndstooth pattern.”

“Pants?” She said, disappointed.

I nodded. “And your yellow blouse.”

She thought about it for a moment. “Cute, I guess. I’ll agree to the slacks, but only if you wear my pointy boots. And my plum wrap sweater in place of the blouse. You look good in purples.”

“Hmmm.”

She held up the wishbone, giving me one last hopeful grin.

Reluctantly I reached out and took one leg.

*SNAP*

-----

2.

“Hey guys!”

“Hey Sara, hope we’re not – whoa!”

“Hey guys,” I echoed Sara, waving from the kitchen. “Surprise?”

Sara gave me a nasty look as both Davey and Ryan pushed past her, both of them looking me over with wide grins.

I’d told her this was a bad idea.

“Wow! You look….” Davey started, then trailed off. Shaking his head, he walked over to the counter and placed the casserole dish he was carrying next to the plate full of turkey. “We brought over some leftover seven layer dip from the football party.”

“Oh, that’s, ah, great?”

“And chips,” Ryan added, tossing two brand-new bags and one with a clothespin holding it closed on top of the plastic wrap over the dip. His hands empty, he walked over and gave me an unexpected hug. “Dang, Mikey, you clean up nice!”

“Ack!” I screeched, and smacked him with my spatula when he grabbed my ass. “Hey!”

“Yeah, don’t be a prick,” Davey warned him, stepping forward and pulling Ryan back, then giving me an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. You do look nice, though.”

“Oh, this old thing?” I gave a little curtsey, holding out the apron I was wearing like a skirt. Last thing I wanted to do was pay the dry cleaning bill for Sara’s sweater.

“Geez, I was just… alright,” Ryan said, pulling away from Davey’s grip. “Sorry, Mikey.”

“No big,” I said. “But next time I use the sharp side of the spatula.”

“The sharp side?” He asked, then winced when I held up the metal, serrated spatula for him to get a good look at. “Yikes! The hell is that?”

“Combat spatula,” Sara said, stepping up and wrapping herself around Davey in a close hug. “So how’d the game go, handsome?”

Davey looked at me and rolled his eyes, and I rolled mine back. “Pretty good,” he said, giving Sara a light hug. “The Commodores won my six bases, but the Ataris got four yellow flags and led in layups for the first six quarters.”

“That’s great!” Sara said. “The Commodores are great, huh?”

“Yep,” Davey agreed, rolling his eyes at me yet again. “What about y’all? Anything big going on?”

“Not really,” I said, hanging the combat spatula back on its hook over the island. “Talking resolutions and losing bets.”

“So that’s?”

“Yep.”

Sara grinned. “I got the bigger bone.”

“That’s surprising,” Ryan said, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “I thought you were the only one of us who didn’t have one.”

“Eep!” Sara eeped as Ryan pulled her away from Davey. “Put me down you jerk!” She slapped at his hands, but she was laughing as she did it.

Davey shook his head and we watched Sara and Ryan wrestle for a while before breaking things off, Sara dashing out the door and Ryan chasing after her.

“Is she twenty eight, or twelve?”

“Twenty eight,” I confirmed for him. “I checked her birth certificate.”

“Hmm,” Davey said, smiling. “So what’s for dinner?”

I started pointing at dishes. “We got turkey, and salad, and potato casserole, and dressing, and cheesecake, and Hawaiian rolls, and black eyed peas with bacon in ‘em.”

“Sounds more like Thanksgiving than New Years,” he said, walking over to the potato casserole and reaching a finger toward the bowl.

“Naaht!” I warned him, pointing at the combat spatula again. “Not unless you wanna lose the finger.”

“The blood would ruin the food.”

“Hmm.”

He laughed. “So, really, what’s up with the outfit?”

I sighed. “Sara wasn’t lying. I lost the wishbone pull.” I shrugged, choosing not to add the rest of her plan, given that at the moment she was the one distracting Ryan while I was hanging out with her supposed target.

“Well, I approve,” he said, wrapping me in a much friendlier and warmer hug than the one Ryan had given me. Even with the two inch heel on the boots he was still three inches taller than me.

He was still hugging me when we heard a knock on the open door to the apartment, pushing us apart like we’d been electrocuted.

“Oh, hey, you two! Wow, is that you Mikey?” Lisa asked as she walked in, grinning mischievously at us. “Something you wanna tell us?”

“I lost the wishbone pull,” I said again, not bothering to explain further.

“Ah. Well.” Lisa held up the half a watermelon she was carrying. “Sorry it’s so weird, but SOMEone ate the plate of cookies I’d baked to bring over, so we had to improvise.”

“Hey, they were white chocolate macadamia nut! I was powerless!” John said, walking over and giving Davey a high five. “Man! Those Wolverines, right?”

“Yeah!” Davey said, stepping away from me and toward the couch. “Alabama just….”

I tuned them out as I walked around the island and into our little kitchen area, now overflowing with dishes of food.

Lisa gave me a commiserating look as she began unwrapping things and pulling spoons out of our drawers to go in the dishes. “Guys, amirite?”

“I mean, present company excluded?”

Lisa laughed. “Hon, just because this is the first time I’ve seen you dressed like this doesn’t mean you were one of the guys before.” She looked around the room, her eyes twinkling. “So where’s Sara run off to this time?”

“Last I heard was the stairwell door slamming behind her and Ryan while he chased her down the hall.”

“Are we sure she’s—”

“Twenty eight, yep,” I confirmed, reaching into one of the bottom drawers and pulling out the salad tongs for her. “So how’s the baby doing?”

Lisa groaned, patting her only slightly more obvious than usual belly. “Doc says they’re due in April, but I’d swear she wants to be out in February.”

“She?”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “How much of a bitch she is sometimes? Trust me, she’s a she.” I laughed at that, and Lisa poked me in the side. “So, what about you and Davey, huh?”

I pulled away from her and looked over my shoulder, making sure neither Davey nor John were listening. To my dismay, they’d put a replay of the game on the TV in the living room. “Ugh, really? I thought—”

“Hey, no distractions! You two?”

I shook my head at her. “No way, Lise. He’s not into guys,” I said, ignoring her bark of laughter as she looked at my outfit. “‘Sides, you know Sara’s convinced he’s in love with her, right?”

“You mean the girl who’s probably making out with Ryan in the stairwell right now?”

“The very same,” I agreed, more than aware of what my less-than-chaste roomie was likely getting up to. I would be surprised if making out was all that happened.

“Hey girls, can we get some beers?” John called from the living room, his eyes never leaving the television.

I groaned. “Y’all know that’s getting turned off when Sara and Ryan get back, right?”

“You know that’s not gonna be for at least another ten minutes, right?”

I looked at Lisa.

Lisa looked at me.

We both shrugged at the same time, then grabbed the guys some beers, and orange juices for ourselves.

-----

3.

“Burp.”

“Eww!”

“What?!” Sara asked, giggling, before letting out another belch. “Bluuurp.”

“Ohmigod, stop!” Lisa said, waving her hand in front of her face. “That’s so rank!”

“Least it’s not—” I started, only for Sara to cover my mouth with her hand.

“Don’t!” She said, still giggling like mad. “They don’t stink!”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Sara said, then fell down laughing.

There had been an extra ten minute delay after Sara and Ryan had returned before we sat down to eat, mostly because I’d immediately told her to go to the bathroom and at least use some mouthwash before we did.

She hadn’t found that as amusing as Ryan or the others did.

Despite that the meal had gone well, and we’d all eaten our fill. Now we were all sat in the living room, some of us with alcohol and some without, chatting like good friends do.

“So who has a resolution they wanna share?” John asked, leaning back and unbuttoning his pants in a very Al Bundy way.

“I’m hoping this is my year to get published,” I said, getting a cheer from Lisa and a positive thumbs-up from Davey.

“I’m resolved to John carrying the next cantaloupe,” Lisa said, getting a slightly sick look from her husband in answer, and more giggles from Sara.

“My folks want me to have a serious relationship this year,” Ryan said, not at all sounding enthused about the idea. “So I guess I need to do that.”

“I’ma get married!” Sara said, reaching for her wine cooler on the table and looking a little disappointed when it wasn’t there, because I’d taken it away the third time she’d almost missed the coffee table setting it down.

“Oh, who’s the lucky groom?” Davey asked.

Sara looked at him, ready to say something, but instead began giggling again.

Davey gave me an odd look. “I think this year my resolution is to start a real relationship, too.” He kept looking at me as he said it, and I couldn’t help but blush.

Ryan propped Sara up in her seat, then looked at John. “So what’s your resolution, since you started this?”

“To not be the only married man in the group!” He said, giving both guys a manly wink before taking another sip of his beer. “And to get a vasectomy so Lisa stops threatening to shove melons up my ass.”

“I threatened that once!”

“And that’s enough!”

We continued to laugh, and chat, and joke for another couple of hours before Lisa stood up and yawned. “I’ve had a good time, folks, but the cantaloupe insists it’s time we get home and get in bed.”

“Aww!” Sara complained, then giggled again, the most coherence we’d gotten from her in almost half an hour.

“Davey, Ryan,” John said, giving each of them a handshake. “Mikey,” he said, surprising me with a hug instead. “Take care of yerself.”

“Will do,” I agreed, then loaded him down with as many leftovers as I could convince them to take, including the last quarter of a pan of Davey and Ryan’s seven layer tip, the guacamole starting to look a bit gray around the edges.

I escorted them down to their car and gave both of them one last hug, promising them we’d see each other again in two weeks for the tabletop game at their house, before returning to my apartment to find Davey the only one still in the living room.

“Umm?” I said, looking at the place where Sara and Ryan had been sitting before I’d left.

Davey chuckled. “Sara whispered something in Ryan’s ear and they stumbled off to her bedroom.”

“Oh.” Well, so much for her seducing Davey. “Well, umm….” I looked around at the mess.

“Want some help cleaning up?”

“Please,” I said, relieved by the offer.

Davey gathered dishes and trash while I began the process of storing what leftovers were left and loading the dishwasher, and between the two of us we almost had the place in presentable order before the bed springs started creaking.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation.

“What’s so funny?” Davey asked me, leaning against the counter while I perched myself on the island.

“Oh, nothing. Just… Sara,” I said, as though that explained anything.

He laughed too. “Yeah, well.” He shrugged, then stood up from the counter and walked over, hopping up next to me on the island. “You really do look nice tonight, you know.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling oddly embarrassed. “I was kinda annoyed Sara sent y’all those pictures.”

He gave me a one-armed hug. “They were good pictures. I especially liked the ones of you in her old cheerleading uniform.”

I snorted at that. Sara had been annoyed when I’d fit in the thing and she couldn’t.

“Though I have to say, I think you looked nicer in that black dress last week.”

“I would hope so,” I agreed, sighing. The dress had been three hundred dollars, and the makeover another one fifty, and I had no idea when I’d wear it again.

“You still haven’t told her we’re—”

“No,” I said, leaning on his shoulder. “Not yet. I don’t wanna upset her.”

“You think she’ll be upset?” He asked me, tilting my head so he could look into my eyes, then glancing toward the bedroom where we could now hear a vocal accompaniment to the twanging springs.

“She’s Sara,” I said, like that explained anything.

“Well, I was serious about my resolution,” Davey said, leaning down and kissing me. “And I don’t want us to have to keep hiding it, either.”

“It was nice, just sort of being with our friends tonight,” I agreed.

“It woulda been nicer if we coulda been US with our friends, though,” he said, kissing me again.

The bed springs quieted down, but neither of us moved. There were only two possibilities – either Sara and Ryan were asleep, or they were going to have a round two, and neither meant we’d be getting interrupted any time soon.

I glanced over at the counter, where Sara’s phone was still sitting where she’d left it when we’d began my makeover, and thought about the video she’d been watching.

Could guys and girls just be friends and nothing more?

I was still sure the answer was yes… but then again, what did I know?

-----

END

-----

NOTES:

Okay, so this is something I just kinda cooked up over the last couple days, and wanted to try and get written and tossed out before the deadline just to say I did. I hope folks enjoy it!

As always, all comments and kudos appreciated. Love y'all!

Sometimes you have no idea what's gonna happen when you're asked to do...

-----

“This is so stupid,” I told myself for probably the tenth time in the last half-hour. Nevertheless, I planted my elbow on the counter, held my hands steady, and went to work.

Carefully, ever so carefully, I traced the line of my upper lid on my left eye with the slick, wet eyeliner, drawing the wing out almost to the tip of my brow. Satisfied, I did the same on the other side, then went back to the first eye, being equally careful as I did a thin line under the eye as well… then back to the left to repeat.

Good enough, I assured myself, nodding in approval at the results.

Not that the quality was a surprise. I’d been practicing this look for weeks in preparation for the coming party, spending hours pouring over tutorials, trying different brands and styles, and figuring out what worked for me.

I was being paid to do it, so I might as well do it right, after all.

“Are you almost done in there?” Jacob called through the door, not so much pleading as amused.

“Hey, I told you this was gonna take a while!” I yelled back, getting a laugh in response.

Rolling my eyes, I walked over to the door and unlocked it, letting it swing open on its own.

“Yeah, but-- wow,” Jacob said, stepping back when he saw me.

“That bad?”

He laughed again. “You know the answer to that. You look stunning, and Buddy doesn’t deserve you.”

“You’re damn right about that,” I muttered under my breath but smiled as I pushed past him. “Bathroom’s all yours.”

“Thanks, Reese.”

“No problem,” I said, walking over to the little island in our apartment and propping myself up on one of the stools. “Just don’t move any of the stuff on the counter; I need to pack some of it in my purse later and don’t wanna forget anything.”

“Righto,” he said, even as the door closed behind him, and I almost immediately heard the sound of him whizzing.

Probably didn’t even lift the lid first, I thought with a frown. Rather than worrying about it I reached for the glass of wine I’d prepared myself before starting. My nails made a gentle clinking noise as their dark red tips made contact with the glass, and I had to mentally kick myself for almost making a mess.

“This is so, so stupid,” I said once again, lifting the glass to my lips and taking a sip. I didn’t need to look down at it to know there’d be a lipstick mark on the lip, in the same dark red as my nails. “But at least I’m getting paid for it.”

I’d told Buddy it was a fool’s bet when he’d made it, but he’d never been one to let a little logic get in the way of a good challenge.

It was a year ago, but I could still replay the whole sequence of events in my head as though it were only last week….

-----

“You’re a goddamn idiot.”

“I know,” Buddy agreed, taking a swig of tomato juice and wincing.

“Like, a world-class one.”

“I know!”

“Then why did you—”

“Hey, you weren’t there!” He said, flinching at the volume of his own voice. “Can we have this conversation after my hangover?”

“Nope, ‘cause you deserve to suffer both,” I countered, trying not to enjoy my friend’s discomfort too much.

“Bitch,” he tossed back at me as though that were an insult.

“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

“Yeah, well, it’s 10 AM. Why are you still dressed like that?”

“Like that,” in this case, referred to the green-sequined cocktail dress I was wearing, with the three-inch heels, and padding in just the right places to give me a nice if not overwhelming figure.

“It was a helluva New Year’s party,” I said, as though that explained anything.

“And your girlfriend wanted you to—”

“Yes, yes she did,” I said happily. And it was the truth – she had been the one who’d insisted I left her house fully dressed again that morning. Given how the night before had played out, I’d only felt it honorable to oblige.

Buddy shook his head and took another half-hearted sip of his tomato juice. “Fuckin’ hell. I can’t even find a girl who’ll date me, and here you are dressed up like a goddamn supermodel because that’s how your girlfriend likes her guys.”

“Plenty of girls date you,” I pointed out. “They just won’t go out with you more than once.”

“And why is that, oh, font of knowledge?” He asked me sarcastically. “Since you seem to understand girls so well?”

“One.” I ticked a finger. “You’re a pompous asshole. A rich pompous asshole, but still. Two, you’re good at pick-ups but terrible at keeping the charm on past that. Three, you’re not as good-looking as you think you are.”

“Hey now—”

“Four,” I continued, cutting him off. “You only go for supermodels and rich girls, neither of whom have any reason to put up with your shit.”

“I mean—”

“And lastly,” I said, ticking off my thumb, “you don’t know when to take ‘no’ for an answer, so you push until any goodwill you might have had is burnt up because you wouldn’t stop getting handsy.”

Buddy sighed. “So, basically, I’m undatable.”

“No. You’re just a dickhead, and need to learn to treat folks better,” I said a bit more softly, then patted his back a bit in commiseration. “Not that I think this deal’s gonna help any.”

“What was I supposed to fuckin’ do?”

“I dunno, maybe not promise your folks you’d be engaged by the end of the year?!”

“And give up my trust fund? Are you crazy?!”

The look in Buddy’s eyes told me he truly thought I was. Then again, the idea of having to work for anything had always given Buddy indigestion.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Hey, you’re the one who came over here to talk about it, it’s not like I made you leave your apartment with a hangover, drive to our place, and drink tomato juice.”

“But you are making me drink the tomato juice,” he argued, taking another sip, this time with less objections.

“Nonsense. I just told you that you could either drink it or leave. Not the same thing at all.”

“Whatever,” Buddy said, sounding defeated. “It is helping though, thanks.”

“See? Listen to Momma Reese, I know what’s good for you.”

“Don’t push it,” he said but smiled – just a little – around another sip of the tomato juice. “But really, what’s up with the getup? Not that you don’t look good.”

I shrugged. “Lily wanted to take me to a lesbian club for New Year’s, ‘cause a lot of her friends were gonna be there. I argued I wouldn’t fit in, so.” I waved down at my outfit. “She liked it. They liked it. Was a lot of fun.”

“Your girlfriend’s a dyke, you know that, right?”

I glared at him but didn’t correct him, only because she used the same word for herself. “Who’s more manly, the guy who can’t keep a straight girlfriend, or the guy who can keep a lesbian one?”

“Got me there,” Buddy admitted with a sigh, then growled as he slammed our rickety card table with a fist. “But… shit. Whaddamigonnado?”

“Weeelll….” I thought. “You’ve got a year, right? And you just need to be engaged by New Year’s, not any particular amount of time ‘til then, right?”

“Two weeks,” he said, grimacing.

“Two weeks before?”

He nodded.

His parents are smarter than I thought. “Okay. Well, still plenty of time to work on your charm, figure out how to keep a girlfriend, and maybe find The One.”

“You really think I can do it?”

“Not a chance,” I admitted bluntly, enjoying watching him squirm a bit. “And we both know your parents are big enough assholes to hold you to it, too. But ya gotta try, right?”

He nodded silently, then gave me a weird look.

“What?”

“Listen, just… on the off chance I can’t.”

“No.”

“It’d only have to be for—”

“NO.”

“Twenty grand.”

“We’ll talk about it in November,” I said quickly, before I could change my mind. “Until then, I’ll do everything I can to help you do better with the ladies.”

“Thanks,” he said, downing the last of his tomato juice and giving me a relieved grin.

-----

He did not, in fact, do better with the ladies.

By the time November rolled around I was already resigned to holding up my end of our little deal, if he was to his. As proof, he’d shown me his savings account balance, so with Lily’s help I’d began preparations.

I’d expected her to object, but instead….

My phone ding-ed at me as I sat perched on the stool, and when I looked at it I couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey babe,” the text read, “at the club with the girls. Showed them pics of your dress and they wanna see you all decked out. Selfies?”

“K,” I texted back, then held the phone out and took a couple of pouty pictures of myself, sending them her way.

Almost immediately five more dings came from my phone -- one from her, and four more from some of her friends, all of them full of hearts and smileys and, in one girl’s case, an eggplant emoji.

Another ding, this time with more text. “Sad your not here, but make that money and see you tomorrow. Hugs.”

I sent “Hugs!” back, then checked the time on my phone. Only a little annoyed, I used the speed dial to call Buddy.

“Yeah,” he said brusquely, answering on the third ring.

“Hey, where are you, it’s nine thirty and I thought we had to be there by ten?”

“Around ten,” he said back, sounding annoyed. “And I’m on my way.”

I’d figured that much from the sound of traffic coming over the speaker, but didn’t say it.

“You wearin’ the tits?”

I frowned at that. “Of course I am. You paid for ‘em, I’m wearin’ ‘em. And the dress,” I added, a little annoyed myself.

“Good. I’ve always wanted a big tiddy goth girlfriend, and that’ll be enough of a nightmare for my folks that when we break up they’ll be praising me for it.”

“If you think so,” I said back, not so sure. “Just make sure my twenty grand is in my account before—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll transfer it first thing next year.”

I rolled my eyes. “Very funny.”

“Be there in ten.”

“A’ight. See you then.”

“Yep.”

*CLICK*

I picked up my glass of wine and took another sip. If Buddy said ten, it’d be twenty, guaranteed.

“Big tiddy goth girlfriend,” I said aloud to myself, and rolled my eyes again. “I shoulda never agreed to this outfit,” I added, picking at the black velvety material and stretching it just a bit, then letting it go so it popped my thigh.

Usually when I’d dress up with Lily we’d go for more of a natural look, with only a bit of padding on my hips and some cheap foam forms to fill out my chest, but Buddy had insisted that wasn’t good enough for him. I’d thought the E-cup forms were excessive, but it was the smallest size I’d been able to talk him into, and he’d only agreed then when I pointed out that I couldn’t wear a dress that showed any cleavage even at that size, since the edge of the forms – and the weight – would be too much.

That was a bit of a lie, and Lily had loved how naturally we’d been able to blend the forms into my own skin... but he didn’t need to know that.

The dress, combined with a bit of padding in my ass and hips, went a long way to giving a Certain Vibe to my look. Lily had tried to help me class the whole thing up a bit with some nice jewelry and a makeup job that was on the goth side but not too over the top, but it was still Buddy’s choice of dress, and… well, he’d made up for the “no cleavage” mandate by having as little material below the waist as possible.

I wondered for just a moment how worried I should be that one of my best friends had wanted me to meet his parents wearing a dress that was barely long enough to hide the tag on my panties… but hey, it was his money to spend and lose.

And I did look hot as hell.

As if knowing I needed confirmation, Jacob looked over at me from where he was playing Xbox on the couch and gave me a goofy thumbs-up and a wolf whistle.

Yes. Yes I did.

-----

Twenty-two minutes later Buddy pulled up and honked.

He rolled down his window as I walked toward his car, and whistled at me. “Hey babe, lookin’ for a good time tonight?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I told him, pulling the coat I’d borrowed from one of Lily’s friends tighter around me as I circled the car and popped the door. “I’ve been waiting outside for you for almost ten minutes, and been propositioned three times.”

“I’m glad you held out for me,” he said, taking off before I even had my belt on.

“You’re paying better.”

“Touche’.”

I reached over and turned the heat in the car up a few notches, getting a glare from Buddy over it, but I didn’t care – he wasn’t the one wearing the dress and hose.

“So, last check on the plan,” I said, rubbing my hands together in the warmth from one of the vents. “We go, we schmooze for a couple of hours, we get drunk enough we can kiss each other, then we fight and you bring me home.”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Buddy agreed, reaching over and squeezing one of my too-exposed thighs. “Though it’s kinda a waste you got a dick. Watchin’ you walk around the car was a treat.”

I removed his hand from my thigh and shot him a look. “Hey. Watch it.”

“What?” He said, leering at me. “It’s all part of the deal, isn’t it?”

I shook my head. “Y’know, if you didn’t treat girls like this you mighta had an actual date for tonight, instead of having to pay me to do it.”

Buddy laughed at that, and not in a kind way. “Hey, not my fault bitches act all hot ‘til I put ‘em on the spot, is it?”

I looked away, trying to hide my feelings of disgust. I was absolutely sure that I knew a few ladies who could change his mind on that real quick.

“So what kind of party is this anyway?” I asked after I’d had a few moments to calm back down.

Buddy snorted. “Just one of my folks’ stuck-up bullshit things. I only go every year ‘cause I have to, but here’s hoping that changes after tonight.”

“Your folks probably aren’t gonna like your ‘engagement’ going just long enough to win y’all’s deal.”

“Eh, they’re business-people. They’ll respect it. Oh, speaking of respect.” Buddy pulled a small velvet box out of his jacket and tossed it to me. “You said a size seven, right?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, catching the box and opening it. “Ooooh.”

“Nice, right?”

“Very,” I agreed, taking out the ring and sliding it on. Rose gold, with a single flawless ruby in it, the ring sparkled prettily on my hand.

Buddy nodded. “Just be sure to give it back to me after the fight so I can return it. Unless you wanna knock four K off your price?”

“No way.”

Buddy smirked, then reached over and squeezed my thigh again. “Then again, I might be willing to let you keep it if—”

I removed his hand again, less gently this time, and jacked the heat up a bit more in the car. “Jeezus fuck, Bud! No!”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, dressed like that, don’t tell me you don’t dream of sucking—”

*SMACK*

I grabbed the dash as we swerved, the breaks squealing, but Buddy got the car back under control with no issues, and only a smattering of honking horns.

“The fuck!”

I pulled the ring off and dropped it in the cup holder of the car. “Fuck this. Pull over and let me out.”

“Oh, come on, Reese, you’re not—”

“Now, Buddy!”

Buddy shook his head. “We’re in the middle of the fuckin’ highway! Just… listen.”

“I knew this was a bad idea,” I said back, pulling my phone out of my purse. “This isn’t worth twenty grand, and—”

“Hey, I’m—”

“—should call the fucking police about—”

“HEY!”

“What?!”

Buddy sighed, and actually looked contrite for once. “Thirty grand.”

Pause.

I looked down at my phone, and the half-finished text on it.

-----

“Mom, Dad? I’d like you to meet my fiancee, Reese Carlton.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Langdon,” I said, giving them a small curtsey while I kept my left hand – and the ring – conspicuously laying on top of my breasts.

“A pleasure,” Mrs. Langdon said, reaching out for a gentle handshake, that I happily returned. She was a tall and somewhat severe looking woman, but she had Buddy’s green eyes and nose.

“The same,” said her husband, a more solidly built man who was like a salt-and-pepper version of Buddy himself, but with blue eyes. He took my hand as well, but held it just a little too long. “Reese, huh? Like the candy?”

“Like the actress,” I countered, glancing sideways for his wife, but she had seemingly already turned away to talk to someone else.

“Equally delightful,” he said, not even trying to hide the lust in his eyes as he looked down at my chest, then further down at the too-short hem of my dress.

Like father, like son.

“So,” Mrs. Langdon said, turning her attention back to me. “You and our Buddy are engaged?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “A month now.” I flashed the ring again, and my best smile.

“I must admit I was a bit surprised when he told us,” her husband said, taking a glass of wine off a passing tray. “We’ve heard him talk about his… friend Reese before, but we always assumed you were a man.”

I grinned at that. “I can’t imagine what would give you that impression.”

“Neither can I,” he agreed, once again giving me a leering once-over. “Nor can I imagine what kept you two apart for so long.”

“My girlfriend,” I said, causing both Buddy and his father to hiccough in the middle of their drinks.

“Girl? Haha! That’s my boy!” Mr. Langdon said, reaching over and clapping Buddy on the shoulder even as Mrs. Langdon’s expression become just a little more disapproving.

“Oh, so you’re… bi… whatsit?” She asked me with false brightness.

“Not really, but how could I say no when Buddy asked me?” I said, with my own false brightness, being sure to bounce my tits just a bit more than necessary at the same time. Not that I was going to tell them what he asked me.

“I… see.”

It was a few more minutes of awkward conversation before we managed to extract ourselves from his parents, moving to cousins, then business partners, then uncles and aunts, before finally making our way to the small dance floor at almost a quarter past eleven.

“Jeezus,” I muttered, pulling Buddy close – and ignoring a particular protruding annoyance when I did so – so that we could talk more privately.

“You’re doing great,” he assured me, sneaking a covert squeeze of my ass while he thought I couldn’t retaliate, and barely groaning when I nailed his toes with one of my heels. “They buy it.”

“I think they’da bought it if you’d brought in a hooker,” I said, looking around at the other women at the party. I’d thought when Buddy had shown me the dress he wanted me to wear I’d be the sluttiest look at the deal, but it seemed like a lot of the fifty-something businessmen had payed for their dates for the night too… probably with more fringe benefits than I was giving Buddy added to the cost.

“So you’re saying I’m overpaying you?”

“I’m not a hooker.”

“Not yet.”

This time I stomped a little harder, and had to hold him up when he almost collapsed on the floor.

“Should I lead?”

“Motherfucker.”

“Not with the way she was looking at me.”

He chuckled at that. “Yeah, well.”

“Your dad, on the other hand.”

“I told you the tits weren’t too big.”

I sighed at that, and covertly checked the little feminine watch I was wearing. “We gonna dance for the next half an hour, or go get more drinks?”

“Drinks.”

“Thank God.”

We ended our dance, and I did my best to give Buddy the most lovey-dovey look I could as I nailed his pinky toe one more time with my heel, getting an equally loving grimace of pain in return.

The wine was decent, but not great. I’d expected better of such a fancy to-do, but we were over two hours in to the party, so I imagined they weren’t running the top shelf drinks at this point. I sipped on my glass while Buddy downed two of his own, then went for a third, all the while continuing to drag me from group to group, sneaking gropes in whenever he thought he could get away with it.

There was a projector set up on one wall, and on it we could see the live feed of the ball in Times Square. As the midnight hour approached, Buddy not-so-subtly began to guide us back over to nearer his parents.

The countdown began, and we embraced each other once more.

“You ready for this?” I asked him through a false smile that made my dimples hurt.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely.”

“My money?”

“On its way.”

The ball dropped, the room cheered, and I wrapped my arms around Buddy’s neck as the lights in the room went crazy. He grinned smarmily as he pulled me close and kissed me deeply, pushing for tongue and only yelping a little when I nipped the tip of it with my teeth.

“Happy new year!” Called the room, with several people watching us was we pulled back and smiled at one another.

I felt my phone vibrate in my clutch, and made a girly ‘excuse me’ gesture before pulling it out and checking it.

It was a message from my bank: “Transfer Complete.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

He doesn’t need to know how much you’re going to enjoy this, I reminded myself, working to keep the smile off my face as I put my phone away, took a step back….

And decked the shit-eating grin right off Buddy’s face.

-----

“You sure you’re sober enough to—”

“Yeah. Jeezus fuck, that hurt,” Buddy grumbled, only a little muffled by his swollen jaw. The butterfly bandages held the gash on his cheek closed, and I doubted it would even need stitches. I’d cleaned most of the blood off the ring, but I was sure the jeweler would have Questions when Buddy returned it. “Did you have to hit me so hard? I was expecting a slap or something but—”

“Hey, I’m not the slapping kinda girl. If you’re gonna hit someone, hit ‘em,” I said back, grinning as I waved to the parking attendant on our way out. “You wanted it to be realistic.”

“Yeah, but the screaming—”

“You are a cheating bastard, and you know it.”

“And the kicking—”

“I didn’t want to risk another punch with my nails, and you were on the floor.”

“The crying?”

“You saying you didn’t deserve it?” I gave Buddy a long look. He started to say something, but instead just rubbed his jaw and glared at me. “Thought so.”

“You really are a fuckin’ bitch, you know that?”

“Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “Club’s on Baker and Tenth. The Pink Kitten.”

“Cute,” he said, typing the name into his GPS. “Think I can—”

“No way in hell.”

“Fuck.”

“Go home and take care of that cut,” I told him. “And think about the stuff I yelled at you, too. I was serious about most of it.”

“Most of it?”

I gave him another long look.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Whatever. Shit, that hurt.”

I laughed. “Yeah, but your mom looked awful pleased when I threw the ring at you, didn’t she?”

“Did she? I was too busy looking for my tooth to notice,” he said, though he was finally grinning a bit. “You know, we can still—”

“Buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“You finish that sentence, and you won’t finish this drive.”

“...Fair enough.”

We completed the rest of the ride to the club in mostly-companionable silence, save for the occasional groan of pain from Buddy when we would hit a pothole or dead policeman.

I climbed out of the car in the sexiest way I could, then leaned back in the door before closing it. “Hey, Bud.”

“Hmm?”

“Text me in the morning to let me know if it worked.”

Buddy nodded. “Will do, Reese. Will do. And, hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Happy new year.”

“You too.”

I closed the door and watched Buddy drive away.

“Hey Cindi,” I said to the bouncer as I walked up to the doors.

“Hey yerself, girl,” she said, checking me out only a little less hungrily than Buddy’s father had. “Late to the party, aren’t ya?”

“Had to work late.” I grinned and gave her a Franklin. “Get yer girl somethin’ nice, on me.”

Cindi whistled. “Will do. Lily’s at your usual table with the girls.”

“Thanks!”

The club was loud, but not too loud. At almost 1 in the morning things were starting to wind down, even for a New Year’s celebration, and it wasn’t hard to pick my way through the thoroughly sloshed crowd to our normal table in the back corner, away from the stage.

Lily almost launched herself out of her seat when she spotted me. “Reese! You made it!” She said, leaping up to wrap her arms around my neck and hang on. Not that I was spectacularly tall, even in my heels, but at five nothing I still towered over her. “How’d it go.”

“Oh, about as well as you’d expect,” I said, wrapping my hands around her waist and holding on. I gave her a quick kiss, then another, welcoming her tongue rather than snapping at it like I had Buddy’s.

After a few long moments she pulled back, still grinning. “You punch him like you said you were going to?”

“Yep.”

“And did he?”

“Nope.”

She grinned even more. “So that means—”

“Yep,” I agreed, lowering her to the ground. “You win.” I pulled the wad of bills out of my purse and handed it to her.

“Hehe! Toldja he wouldn’t hit a girl.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrugged, then looked over her shoulder. “Hey ladies, how’s it been?”

“Great!”

“Wunnerful!”

“I wassaboudda make my move!”

Everyone laughed at that: Gretchen had been threatening to steal Lily from me for months, but had yet to succeed.

I slid into the end of the booth, and Lily climbed into my lap, once again wrapping her arms around me.

“So, what’s this Buddy like?” Ellie, a tall red-headed friend of ours, asked from the other side of the table.

I laughed. “Arrogant. Misogynist. Rich. Handsome. You know the type,” I said, pulling a picture of him up on my phone with his cut cheek and swollen jaw.

I passed the picture to her, and she nodded. “About your height, ain’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“About… one seventy?”

“One sixty-eight,” I agreed. “Last I heard.”

She nodded again. “Nice legs?”

“Just what are you thinking, Ellie?” I asked, absolutely aware of what she was thinking.

“Nothin’!” She assured me, smirking. “Just that you wouldn’t be friends with him if you didn’t think he was redeemable, right?”

“Maybe.”

“So, the asshole rich boys usually make the best foot stools,” she said.

I shook my head. “I don’t know if he’s into that, hon.”

“Worth a shot, ain’t it?” She asked, winking. “Can I at least have his number?”

I thought about how Buddy had wanted into the club. Well, if Ellie has her way with him, he might just get his wish. “Sure.”

I cuddled with Lily as Ellie took Buddy’s number off my phone and texted him.

“So, any new year resolutions?” She asked me, nuzzling my ear.

“I think I’m gonna swear off guys, be a lesbian.” That got a round of laughs and cheers from the table at large.

“Mmmm,” Lily said, licking my ear lobe. “Me too.”

--END--

-----

NOTES:

Alright, so I managed to finish an entry for the contest! Yaaaay!

It's a little bit different from my typical kinda story, but I had the idea and wanted to run with it. If you wanna read a New Year's story that's a little more typically "me," then my FIRST idea will be going up on the Patreon as a short multi-part series called "False Start," starting sometime in the next few days :)

All comments and kudos appreciated, and I hope people liked the read!

Melanie E.

A short story I'd cooked up as a bonus piece for my next published book. Unfortunately it doesn't fit the theme of the book itself -- "Enamored," coming to a Smashwords near you in a few days! -- but I still wanted to share it, so here it is!

-==-

Ellen looked at the cover of the magazine and sighed.

She had already read it four times before, and it was looking like she would be reading it again. The office had other magazines, sure, but nothing less than two years old, and most of the other choices were the kind of periodicals you find on your grandmother’s coffee table, full of pictures of country houses that cost more than the GDP of a small country to buy and twice as much to make so photogenic.

Not that the magazine in her hands was any more realistic, she admitted to herself, staring at the happy couple on the cover with their perfect teeth and the waves lapping on some beach with an unpronounceable name behind them.

Ellen had learned years before that there were two kinds of people in the world: those who found love, and those who never did. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had come to the conclusion that she was one of the latter.

Her issues started with her appearance. While she knew she wasn’t ugly, per se, there were times when she wished she were. Instead, she knew that she was simply ‘blah,’ her features falling somewhere short of attractive but not so much as to be distinguishing. Her nose was slightly beaky, her lips a bit too full on the bottom and too thin on top, and the milky brown of her eyes a bit too dulled by the drudgery of living paycheck to paycheck to be anything else. At twenty-nine she could already see the crow’s feet starting at their corners, warning of the same early aging she had seen on her mother’s face, one of many features she felt both blessed and cursed to have inherited from her.

She had been lucky to get her mother’s small frame and general features rather than her father’s bulk and height. It had made transition that much easier than it might otherwise have been, and meant that, as plain as she was, at least she knew that she passed.

But she would never look like one of them, those perfect people on the cover of the tabloids.

With a huff of frustration she dropped the magazine back in the rack and took her seat to wait her appointment sans reading materials.

What would it be like to have a life like that? To have more money than you could ever spend, the health to do any fantastical thing that came to your mind, and the lack of responsibility to go along with it? A humorless laugh escaped her, unbidden. After all, she would settle for enough money to be able to replace the heater core in her car. As for the health, she was lucky in that she was, at least, healthy enough to work, though how long until that would break her down, like it had her parents, her aunts and uncles, and everyone else she knew, she dared not ponder.

She didn’t even want to start on the responsibilities part of the whole fiasco.

“Ellen Reyes?”

Ellen sighed and put all her frustrations aside as she wound her way back through the familiar paths of the doctor’s office.

Her weight was down, that was good. Her blood pressure was a bit high, as per usual. Not so good. Height? Yep. A five minute chat with her doctor and she was on her way for her blood work and hormone booster shot, same as normal.

Then she stepped back out into the lobby.

He was gorgeous. Six foot three, at least, and built like an athlete. Chiseled chin with just the right amount of stubble, and he was speaking to the lady at the desk with a voice like black velvet covered in chocolate. Ellen felt her stomach tighten as her eyes traced him from foot to the top of his head, over his expensive slacks and silk button-down shirt.

He was one of the ones who had everything. One of the beautiful people. What was he doing at a gender clinic of all places?

Ellen’s thoughts were interrupted by a tug at her elbow.

“Hmm?”

“Miss Elen Reyes?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Could you wait out here for a moment? There’s an issue with your billing we need to talk about before you leave.”

“Ugh. Yeah, fine.”

Disgusted at yet another reminder of her have-not status Ellen took a seat, casting her gaze back toward the magazine on the rack with its beautiful cover people, only to be distracted again by the just as beautiful man from before sitting down next to her.

“Hi,” he said, in that voice that caused something inside her to twist and melt.

“Umm, hi,” she said back, giving him her best smile.

“Are you a patient here?” He asked her next, the smile on his gorgeous face slipping a bit with nervousness.

“Yeah,” Ellen admitted, blushing. “I started three years ago.”

“Wow,” he said, looking her up and down not unlike how she had looked at him earlier.

“What?” She asked, a little annoyed.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, abashed. “I was just thinking I wish I were as lucky as you.”

Ellen almost asked what he meant when it struck her like a ton of bricks.

“Gaby Stephens?” The nurse called, and the gorgeous man sitting next to Ellen stood up and gave her one last sad but still beautiful smile before walking through the same doors she had not half an hour earlier.

Ellen looked at the door, then back at the gorgeous figures on the cover of the magazine and, for the first time ever, imagined herself in the role of the man instead of the woman.

She shivered.

Maybe she wasn’t so jealous of a life like that after all.

- end -

Hope y'all liked it! Be sure to let me know in the comments if ya did.

Henry Harrelson's Custom Fit Boots: A Pirate Out Of Water

By Melanie E.

Nick's Halloween plans are taking shape, but everything goes out of control thanks to a spectacular pair of boots...

-==-

It was painful, far more than it should have been, but I finally convinced myself to go through with it. My face flush and my hands shaking, I grabbed the package off the rack of costumes and walked up to the counter, waiting in line nervously until it was my turn to check out.

The cashier didn't blink an eye as she rung me up and took my money, and like a shot I was out of the store, down the street, across the road, and in my house, slamming the door behind me before collapsing on the floor, breathing heavily after my ordeal.

I did it. I managed it! It's done!

I looked down at the bag in my hands, and carefully opened it to gaze at the contents within. An eyepatch, a tricorn hat, and a plastic sabre —with sheath and belt — stared back at me. With relief I picked myself up off the floor and made my way on unsteady legs for my room, proud of myself for fighting my urges and making it out of the store with what I had, and not some piece of lace or other.

My mind started to wander to all the possibilities I was missing out on, but I shook my head to remove the thoughts. No! I was a boy, and... well, I can't very well say boys don't wear those things. This was for Halloween, after all, and many of them WOULD.

But I couldn't. I shouldn't. I wouldn't. Because one of two things would happen.
A: I would pass, as I was sure I could. There would be an uproar, and I would be called a fag, and a fairy, and tons of other things before running home in tears. I had avoided that since middle school, and I certainly didn't want to do it again now.

Or, B: I wouldn't, and everybody would laugh at how I would look, thinking they were laughing WITH me, and I would try my hardest to keep a happy face on, while inside I would be torn apart.

Neither one was a good outcome. And thus, here I was, not clutching the fairy costume, or sexy nurse costume, or any of the others I had so desperately felt an almost primal need to grab, but instead a mid-priced Pirate set that I was sure I could build a costume around that would make it clear to everyone I was a boy, and guarantee that the girl inside was smothered for the night.

For Halloween, they would see Nick as they saw him every day; playing the part to make it through. I wouldn't be hiding behind my Goth facade as much, but the boy facade would be in place just as clearly, and that was all I needed.

With my new treasures — or “booty” I guess, I thought with a grin — laid out on my bed in their approximate locations for the final look, I began digging through what I had to find pieces that would work to complete the look.

Tight black pants? Check on those. The same with the eyeliner and even some black eye shadow to deepen my sockets. Being a Goth had its advantages for a costume like this, above and beyond the normal advantages of just letting me at least pretend in my head I was a girl getting ready for school each day. I already had an idea for my hair, too, and with a quick call another goth, Tamara, agreed to do all the little braids for me the next afternoon. She was ecstatic at the chance to play with my two feet of jet-black hair at last, even if it was just to prepare me for a halloween costume.

That left just two pieces; a top — SHIRT, I mentally chided myself — and boots. The shirt was simple enough as well, since my dad had plenty of white dress shirts, and our size difference meant a quick swipe and “thanks” later I had a to–shirt that could easily be twisted into a rough pirate's appearance. Maybe a cravat? NO LACE, I chided myself. Not even like that. Fighting the depression that was trying to consume me at even thinking about lace... well, anything, I instead turned to my collection of boots.

I had plenty. Work boots, combat boots, the typical chain and buckle-covered goth boots that went up past my calves, a pair of Converse that went almost as high...

But they were all black. Everything I owned was black, pretty much, so that wasn't surprising, but I didn't want black boots for the costume. I knew I should have settled for something I had, it would be easier, it would make sense... but I couldn't. I needed boots for the costume. I needed the right boots for the costume.

For the second time that evening I found myself outside. I knew what my parents would say if they knew I was going out again.

“You're sixteen years old, you shouldn't be going out without telling us where.”

“You need to be careful, son. You don't know what people out there will do to... people like you.”

“Isn't it a bit late to go shopping?”

But I HAD to have boots. Tonight. No waiting. And, if I hurried, I should just make it in time to look around before all the shops closed...

That was when I saw it.

Henry Harrelson's Custom Fit Boots was a fixture in our small town, and I'd heard all the adults around raving about it since I was little. Supposedly the guy who owned the place made the best boots ever, but his personality was quirky at best. Still, most people said that dealing with his idiosyncrasies was a small price to pay for the fit and quality, and as weird as he was he was always really nice.

And he just happened to be advertising boots for Halloween costumes.

I shouldn't. I REALLY shouldn't. They'll be expensive. It's just a costume...

I went in.

The old brass bell 'ding'ed as I swung the door open and walked into the shoe store, only to stop in my tracks when I saw all the goods around me.

The store was a bit run-down, with the tiles on the floor scuffed, even cracked in places, and a clear odor of wood and leather polish hanging about the place. But the boots. Oh, the boots.

They were beautiful, every single one of them. Cowboy boots, work boots, ankle boots, leather, cotton, canvas, nylon, high-heeled, flat... everything you could imagine was there!

Except the boots I needed, I thought to myself as I fought the urge to start walking around and just touching them.

I had just turned around and was about to open the door again and leave when I heard a quiet cough behind me and turned around.

“Can I help you, dear?” Asked the old man standing behind the counter, his spectacles sitting low on his nose as he smiled at me over them, dusting his hands on a white apron tied around his waist.

Dear?

“Umm, I don't think so. I don't see what I'm looking for, but thanks.”

“You don't?” He asked in surprise, looking around the store himself with a critical eye. “I could have sworn... why, you're certainly right! One moment,” he said, scurrying off through a door behind the counter and leaving me standing there, bewildered, as I heard boxes shifting and a few half-hearted grunts from the back room. “Ah, here they are!”

“They are?” I asked, more intrigued than I really wanted to be.

“Ah, yes!” He crowed as he walked out of the room with a long, flat box in his hands, smiling broadly. “I must have forgotten to put them out with the rest. Here,” he said, lifting the lid with flourish.

I gasped as looked at the boots within.

They were perfect. More than perfect, they were me! Soft leather in a rich, chocolate brown, knee-high with a turned-down top and a series of brass buckles going down the front. A small heel helped to elevate them just a touch, giving them an elegant but still functional look that I couldn't help but adore.

They weren't just the boots for my pirate costume. These were boots I could see wearing with everything. Jeans, a kicky skirt or dress...

With a sigh and what I'm sure was a sorrowful look in my eyes, I lifted the lid and closed the box. “No, I don't think these are them,” I said, downcast. “These are too... too feminine.”

“For a pirate costume? Not at all! They'll look ado-- splendid, I assure you. And I promise, if anybody makes fun of you or thinks less of you because of them, well, I'll make you a deal.”

I thought about it. “What kind of deal?” I asked, unable to stop myself. I couldn't keep from staring at the box, longing to pull the boots out and try them on...

The old man gave me another pleased grin. “Take the boots home. No charge.”

“WHAT!?”

“Now now, just hear me out,” he said, with a calming gesture. “When you get ready tomorrow, put them on, but not until then. Decide whether you want to wear them. If you don't wear them, or anybody gives you problems over them, you can bring them back to me on Saturday at no cost to you. If things go well, though, you have to keep them, and you can come in on Saturday to pay for them.”

“H-how much?” I asked, hoping the price would be high enough to stop me even thinking about taking him up on his deal.

“Thirty dollars.”

“You've gotta be kidding me, these are...” They were at least one hundred dollar boots, I knew from experience shopping for the ones I had, probably much more given their quality. No way was he serious.

“I couldn't bear to charge you more. You're just buying them for Halloween, right?” He asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah...”

Before I knew it the box was in my arms and I was outside the store.

“Enjoy your party Nicky, and don't worry too much, I trust you with the boots.”

I gave him a small wave as he turned off the lights and locked the door, and I started my walk home.

Wait. Nicky?

-==-

The next day at school was agony as I spent the day doing my usual act of playing up the Goth stereotype but still trying to pay attention to my teachers. Not that they were trying to get anything done, since they all knew that the only thing any of us students were worried about was costumes and parties, but it was the principle of the thing.

Tamara stopped me on my way out of the school, though, and took my arm as we started the walk back to my place.

“I'm coming home with you, so we can get right to work on your hair. It's the only way we'll get it done in time to make it to any of the parties tonight.”

“Okay,” I said, looking down at our entwined arms confused.

When she saw my look she gave me a small smile. “I'm sorry, it just seemed... right. And I'm SO glad I finally get to mess with your hair!” She gave my arm a squeeze and bumped shoulders with me, and I couldn't help but smile myself.

Tamara was more of the bubblegum goth type, all hot topic and bright colors balancing out the black, as opposed to my more classic style, and her bouncing, curly blonde locks proved it. Still, she HAD been trying to get me to let her do something for a while, and it WAS Halloween...

She was right, of course, and it took her nearly three hours to do all the little braids I'd asked her for, talking all the while. At first I tried to maintain my aloof Goth attitude, but it was so fun, and such a change from what I usually put up with, it wasn't long before I was chatting right back, even laughing as we talked.

“And then Aaron told her... oh! We're done!” She said at last, standing up from where she had been sitting on the couch with me in the floor before her and clapping her hands excitedly. “Oh, god, Nicky, it's awesome!”

Nicky? I didn't let myself dwell on it as I stood up and headed for the hallway mirror, too excited to see what things looked like.

She was right! It was perfect! Tons and tons of little braids fell down around me, and with a smile growing on my face I found myself rearranging them in different ways, seeing how the changes affected my looks. Was it masculine enough though? I wasn't sure, there was something there that was nagging at me...

Tamara came up behind me and smiled too, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently. “You look great! Everyone's going to love it.”

I hope so, I thought to myself as I looked into her eyes and grinned.

“Now, put on the rest of the costume so I can see it!” She said, clapping her hands again and shooing me off to my room with a giggle.

“What about yours?”

“It's in my bag, I'll change while you are! Now scoot!”

I stuck my tongue out at her, but did as I'd been told.

Changing was a quick affair, with the clothes being not all that different than my usual except for the blo-- SHIRT, and the eye patch. I had paid enough for the costume pieces that they were better than the normal elastic band and cheap plastic variety, so that helped.

Shirt kind of billowy and loose, with the sleeves doing the same thing? Check, and a black tank underneath so I could leave it unbuttoned a little low. Tight black pants for that all-important Pirate vibe? Check. Eye liner and eye shadow to give me a deep-set look? Check. Some gold earrings and the eye patch and I had the face somewhat finished. Maybe some black lipstick too? I decided it couldn't hurt, and quickly added it.

The eye patch was far from comfortable, though. It wasn't one of those cheap ones that just has an elastic band. Instead, this one had a ribbon with an adjustable buckle at the back. It was also throwing off my depth perception, so I decided to loosen it up and push it up on my forehead until I needed it.

The entire time I was getting ready, though, my eyes kept going back to the box sitting at the end of my bed, holding the much dreaded and desired boots. It took all my willpower to not put them on right then. Instead, I wrapped the faux-silk belt around my waist and hung the sabre on it, then grabbed the box plus my next best boots for the costume and took them into the living room, where Tamara was already sitting, rocking the Sexy Witch look.

“Oh, wow, Nicky, that's great!” She said, standing when I walked in. “I'm not so sure about the boots, though.” She gave the black boots in my hand a small grimace.

“I've got some others, but I'm not sure about them...” I trailed off as I set the black boots to the side and laid the box on the table, opening it more reverentially than I had intended to.

“Holy mother of... put them on,” Tamara said, not waiting for an answer as she pulled one of the boots out and grabbed my shoulder, spinning me into a chair faster than I could protest.

“Here,” she said, handing me the boot before turning to the other one and examining it with a critical eye.

With a gulp I lowered the boot, set my foot into it, and began to pull it on.

I felt a tingle across my entire body as the boot slid up and enveloped my foot, seeming to conform to every curve and turn in both my foot and lower leg as it rose up. The buckles went together easily, but still tight enough to give the boots a good fit over my pants. Without looking up I reached out for the second one, and Tamara handed it to me without a word.

It felt almost as good going on as the first one had.

Then I stood.

Tamara gasped. “My god, those boots are so great! They make the costume so much... more! You're going to drive them crazy!”

I pulled my eyes away from the fantastic — and perfect — boots to give her a confused look. “Who?”

She just shook her head, giving me a crazy grin. “You don't know? Nicky, you're... come on!”

“Where?” I asked, but it was too late, and we were already on our way out the door, with me never getting a chance to see the final look.

-==-

“Hey Nicky!”

“Nice costume, Nicky!”

“Good to see you coming out of your shell girl!”

I cringed, keeping a tight grasp on Tamara's arm as we made our rounds through the house on our way to the kitchen where all the drinks were being kept. The party was well under way by the time we'd arrived, but even that wasn't enough to distract the party-goers from our arrival.

“Great boots, Nicky!”

I tried to smile, but judging by my complimenter's expression I'd guess it came out more as a grimace.

“Hey, ease up on the arm a bit, or they'll think we're here as a couple!”

I tried to relax, only to tighten up again when one of the basketball players — dressed as a professional basketball player, not surprisingly — gave me a once over and a thumbs up, a cheesy grin on his face.

“Tamara...”

“What... are you okay, Nicky? Come here.” She changed our direction and quickly pulled us into a room off to the side, that turned out to be a utility room. She shut the door before turning to me and giving me a hug.

I hadn't known I needed a hug, but it helped.

“What's wrong?”

I laughed. “What's wrong? What's WRONG? WHAT'S...” She waved her hands in the universal gesture to quiet down, so I did my best. “What's wrong? Tamara, they all think I'm a girl!”

She gave me a 'well, duh,' type of look. “What did you expect would happen if you dressed up as a female pirate?”

“Wha? I'm a GUY pirate!”

She actually laughed at me! At least, until she saw the hurt in my eyes, then she came in for another hug.

“Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry! I thought... you didn't even realize, did you?”

“I, I...” I sniffled, trying to fight back the tears. “I was trying to be a boy. Why do I keep screwing it up?” The tears came whether I wanted them or not. “I just, I can't, I was trying so hard, and I still can't do it!”

“Can't do what?” She asked, keeping one arm around me as she reached into her purse and pulled out some kleenex. “It's okay, you can tell me.”

“I... I can't be a boy! No matter how hard I try!”

I heard her laugh again, more of a gentle feminine chuckle really — a chickle, if you want to call it that — but she kept drying my tears. “Well, why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you keep trying?”

“Because I AM a boy, damnit!” I said, taking a tissue from her hands and kneading it for a bit before blowing my nose.

“Nicky... Nick... I'm sorry. I just have to ask. Do you think everybody at school is stupid?”

“What? No!” I said, looking at her in shock.

She waved her hand to me to be quiet before she continued. “We've hung out at lunch almost every day for six years. I remember when you started your Goth phase, I remember when you used to spend all your time drawing horses, I even remember you coming to my eighth birthday party and dancing with me to Justin Timberlake. You know what I've never seen?”

I shook my head.

“I've never once seen you as a BOY. Oh, I know about what's supposedly between your legs, but hon, you were a girl to everyone a long time before you realized it.”

“Oh, come on, you can't be... you're serious?”

She nodded.

“...Seriously?”

“Seriously serious,” she said with a grin, wrapping one of my pinkies in hers and giving it a shake.

“But, I thought... everybody?”

She laughed again before giving me another quick hug. “Wow, and I thought some of the cheerleaders were wrapped up in themselves. You've never even stopped to pay attention to how everyone treats you, have you?”

“I just tried to avoid everyone.”

She nodded. “Hon, I don't know how you pulled it off, and I KNOW you don't know how incredibly, mind-bogglingly lucky you are, but pretty much everyone, well, I'm not gonna say everyone knows, but pretty much nobody cares that you're a girl. It's a non-issue. We're used to it.”

I was stunned.

“...Seriously?”

“You already asked that.”

“What?”

“That too.” With a gentle pull on my hands Tamara dragged me into the middle of the utility room floor. “Listen, I know this must be a huge shock, but you've always been Nicky, not Nick, alright? We might have played along to humor you, but it's time for it to stop. Now, let's step out there, and have fun, okay? You can find some girl, or some boy,” she said, grinning when she saw my blush, “and dance the night away, and just be yourself. If fuddy-duddy Nick wants to return tomorrow, whatever. But tonight, and tomorrow night, just be the girl you are and have fun, okay?”

“But--”

“Nope! No buts! Now come on and have a good time!”

And with that she pulled me back out into the room, and proceeded to try and help me do just that.

-==-

The bell 'ding'ed again as I walked into Henry Harrelson's shop on Saturday, a spring in my step I couldn't remember having since... well, ever.

It was only a moment before the pleasant old man came out of the back and gave me a wide-eyed once over before grinning like a fool. “Well, don't you look better today!”

I felt myself blush, but it was a happy blush. I had stayed the night over at Tamara's the night before, and this morning she had insisted on me walking out in what she called “norm drag,” consisting of a pair of plain jeans and a tee shirt that was an intense shade of yellow. With the curls and waves my hair still had from having been up in the braids two nights in a row, plus my fantastic boots, there was no way anyone would take me for anything other than the happy girl I was finding myself to be.

“So, did the boots work out well?” He asked, giving them only the smallest of glances.

“Better than I'd ever hoped,” I said, surprising him with a hug the moment he stepped out from behind the counter. “How much do I owe you?”

“I told you, the boots are thirty dollars.”

I shook my head. “Nuh uh. These are worth way more than that, and way more than just a Halloween costume. How much?”

A look of contemplation crossed his face as he took his chin in his hand and looked away. “I really only made them for... oh, you don't need to hear that. You're serious, though?”

“Seriously serious,” I said with a grin, bouncing on my toes as I waited.

“Alright then,” he said, after a little more thought. “I'll make you a deal.”

I let out a small groan, but listened eagerly as the old man laid out his new scheme.

-=End?=-

NOTES: yeah, yeah, as normal it's fluffy-cheesy-happy stuff. Feh, I like it!

Melanie E.

Oh! For those who are interested in the other Henry Harrelson stories:

A Miss-Matched Pair by Rev Anam Chara

Booted by Maeryn Lamonte

A Red Pair Of Boots by Faeriemage

You Can't Always Get What You Want by 'Drea DiMaggio (I'd forgotten about this title...)

A Quick Fix

A short written in the posting window

By Melanie E.

-==-

Why wasn't she happy?

Anna stared at herself in the mirror, fighting back the tears as best she could. The vision that stared back was supposed to be everything she'd wanted: the gentle curves, the smooth lower profile, the full hair and expert makeup. All the money spent, all the time waiting and longing had culminated in this, a vision of femininity that, objectively, she could tell was exactly what she wanted. Oh, sure, if she focused she could see the minor flaws: a scar here from implant surgery, a stretch mark there, or the occasional hair the electrolysis had missed she would need to pluck later. Perhaps her jaw was still just a little too square, were her brows a little too heavy? She shouldn't concentrate on the flaws, she knew that, when so much of what she wanted was there.

So... why wasn't she happy?

Wasn't this the goal? Then end game? She'd been so depressed as a man, pretending and acting and feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. She'd known this was right, that this was what would fix her. So many doctors had said no, but with diligence she'd found the ones who would say yes, for the right price. She would show the naysayers, prove them wrong, when she could stand tall and proud as the woman she knew she was, and she'd done just that, mostly, except there was still something missing, something... off.

So... why wasn't she happy?

This was the fix! This was the solution! This, THIS, was supposed to be the answer to all her anger and suffering! With a frustrated scream she spun away from the mirror and stared at her bed instead. Laying there were the clothes she'd chosen for the day, the sexy underthings and the feminine outer wear that would help to scream to the world she was a young, confident woman. She knew they fit, and they looked good on her. Next to them was the gun. She knew it fit, too, between her teeth, and just how far back it could go before it set her gag reflex off. She'd thought she would throw it out once her transformation was complete, but something had compelled her to keep it, and every day she still had to make the same choice she'd made for years before: go for the clothes, or go for the gun.

The tears dripped down her face, the face that was permanently made up to look so beautiful and fair, but she did her best to ignore them as she moved for the bed, reaching out. At the last minute she changed her mind, and leaving the gun in its place grabbed her clothes and slipped them on, piece by gorgeous piece. It was a slightly sloppy look, since she'd never had the patience to master matching pieces or doing her own makeup, and the tattooed look was a little stark for the clothing she'd picked. Once done, she looked into the mirror and once again saw the woman she'd wanted to be for so long.

So... why wasn't she happy?

-==-

Surgery is not the solution.

I know this sounds like a hypocritical statement coming from a member of the community who has every intent to get her SRS once she can afford it, but it's the truth: surgery, transition, these are tools meant to help us cope with a world that has trouble accepting who we are, that feels that gender is defined by the outside. It can be an affirmation to us of our own feelings, it can make us more comfortable, it can do so many things, transition.

But, when it comes to depression, it is NOT the solution.

We are, each and every one of us, more than the sum of our body parts, and the most important part of us is that which lies between our ears, and in our hearts. Depression isn't a sickness of the body, or a sickness of society: it's a sickness of the heart, one that has to be tackled on its own terms.

I am a transwoman, and I suffer from depression. I've been suicidal, I've been so stricken with melancholy I couldn't bear the idea of getting out of bed, I've been everything it means to be depressed. What's important to note is that, while my nature as a transwoman certainly adds to the stressors of depression, it is by no means the sole cause of it. Body dysphoria has a lot more layers than just "man or woman," and depression has a lot more causes than just the one obvious one so many of us cling to, and it's important to know where one part -- the dysphoria -- and the next -- the depression -- separate from each other.

I have a lot of issues I need to sort through, as do us all. Being trans might be the one that we feel is most important to our identity, but it isn't necessarily the one that needs fixed first if we're truly to recover and be happy. That's a big part of why psychologists are required for transition after all, is to help those who take that path to separate what they can fix with transition from the problems that have nothing to do with it. We may not like it, we may not always agree with it, but it's a system that exists for a good reason.

We shouldn't transition to try and repair our lives. We shouldn't transition because we think it's the key to happiness, either: happiness has to come from within, from a contentment with who you are inside. Transition is meant to be a tool to help us find contentment with our place in society and to help others see us for who we are, even to help us see ourselves the way we feel we should be.

But it's not a quick fix.

There's no quick fix for depression, and understanding that is the first step to coping.

Melanie E.

Note: This story takes place in Donna Lamb's 'Devil in Drag' universe, used with her permission. Image above is by C.D. Rudd of his character Ethan, cosplaying as Supergirl. Used by Permission of C.D. Rudd. Supergirl is a character owned by DC Comics.

Sophie Drake took a deep breath, and smiled.

Autumn had always been her favorite time of year. The fading days, the scent of decay on the air. It was the slow decline into the cold, hard winter, as the biting chill would start to worm its way into people's bones and seasonal depression would set in, leaving them morose and irritable.

Convincing The Old Man Upstairs to do it was still one of her proudest achievements, and no amount of angora sweaters and pumpkin spice the mortals could consume would change that.

"And on top of that, there's Halloween," she said aloud, getting a grumble of agreement from the brindle mastiff trotting along beside her.

The last two decades had not been particularly kind to Sophie. The Old Man hadn't been too happy with her after that whole fiasco with the singer and the politician, and the other singer, and Sophie's escapades tripping the light fantastic for a while. In the end she'd been left with two options: spend a hundred years among the mortals, living as they do, with no access to her cosmic powers, or cede her throne in hell permanently.

"Uppity little shit," she mumbled, getting another gruff wuffle of agreement from her companion.

Gabriel had been trying to convince the old man to kick her out for years and let him take over in Hell, arguing that temptation and trickery and lust just weren't the motivators they used to be.

Sophie was having none of it. He could keep his flow charts, and his reorganization plans, and his folders full of little colorful tags separating things, up in Heaven. 'I may be the avatar of sin and temptation,' she thought, 'but even I'm not THAT evil.'

If keeping Hell free of a multi-tiered corporate structure, and herself free to roam the world sowing mischief, required a measly century spent wandering around sewing said mischief in an entirely more personal way... well, she'd never been afraid of getting her hands dirty.

'Is it sowing mischief or sewing mischief?' she wondered. She rather preferred the idea of sewing it, since that involved jabbing things with needles, something she was always a fan of. It annoyed her a little that she couldn't take credit for the little evil of confusing homophones, something humans had cooked up all on their own.

The Old Man had done her one favor, and that was letting her choose her form. That was why she was now strutting her way down the street outside Hellsingr College, where she was enrolled as a co-ed. Lots of delicious trouble you could get into on a college campus, especially with the kind of build she'd opted for.

Bill hadn't been so lucky, but he'd settled into the role of her faithful pooch well, and had eased up on his moaning when he realized it meant he could lick himself in public with impunity.

Besides that, tonight was special.

It wasn't just autumn: it was October.

It wasn't just October, either. No, it was October thirty-first: Halloween.

And it wasn't just Halloween....

"Strangefellows Day," she said aloud, lifting one of her dainty hands and rubbing the soft material of her angora sweater against her cheek. The third odd Thursday in a month, and Her Day.

She could feel the tingle in her fingertips, just the lightest touch of infernal magic, as the weave of the world around her weakened. It was some time yet until that witching hour, when the bonds were at their barest, but maybe. Just maybe.

Her canine companion wuffled again and wagged his tail. One could almost imagine he was, in fact, chuckling.

"Come on, Bubb," she said, turning toward Greek Row and bouncing just a bit on her heels. Stuck on the mortal plane or not, Sophie was still the Devil... and the Devil always gets their due.

#

Riley West was having a bad day.

It had started with checking in at the meal hall only to find out that his food card was out of credit.

It had proceeded to only get worse from there, finding that someone had broken into his car and stolen his Psychology textbook (the second book he'd had stolen so far), getting a call from his mom that his old golden retriever, Bullet, was missing again, and, lastly, having to go to the costume store and pick up the embarrassment he was expected to wear at the Halloween party.

He hadn't wanted to go to the Halloween party in the first place. As a legacy pledge he hadn't had to go through the hazing that so many of his fellow freshmen had suffered, but he was still on the last rung of the totem pole. Ladder? Whatever construct you used, he was right there at the bottom.

Combine that with his small size and generally go-along-to-get-along attitude and his interactions with the other members of his fraternity tended toward... not antagonism, per se, but certainly a sense of misplacement.

Eta Epsilon Iota. HEI, though most everyone he'd met stylized it as HEL, appropriate both for Hellsingr College and for his own opinion of what the next four years were likely to be.

And that was without worrying about the party that night. A party that was not only compulsory for him, according to his older 'brothers' in the frat... but where there were certain expectations of the freshmen, expectations that even his legacy status didn't get him out of.

Expectations that were even now weighing down the garment bag in his right hand, distracting him from where he was walking... right up until he ran into a soft, pumpkin-spice-scented wall.

"Ooof!"

"Hey!"

"Grrrrrrr!"

Riley bounced once on his ass, barely catching himself before falling even further. That was little help, though, as he found himself thrown back yet again, pinned where he lay by a salt-and-pepper hound that probably outweighed him by twenty pounds, and out-drooled him by a gallon.

"Bubb!" Came a sharp, feminine voice from behind the dog.

"Yipe!" Said Riley as the dog bellowed again, this time close enough to rattle Riley's skull.

"William Caliban Bubb, you let him up right now!" The feminine voice said again, with fearsome authority.

The beast seemed to hesitate before stepping off Riley's chest, allowing him to take a breath he hadn't realized he was being denied as he pushed himself up on his elbows and gasped.

"Shit!" He rasped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...." Riley's words died as he looked up, and up, at the woman he'd run into. "Shit," he said again, this time more quietly.

He'd seen Sophie Drake around campus before. Everyone had -- she was hard to miss. A bit over six feet tall in the heels she always seemed to wear, with straight raven-black hair down to her ass. "Blacker than sin," he'd heard some of his frat-mates call it, the particular sin on their minds usually clear in the huskiness of their voices.

All curves from top to bottom, both of which were generous without being excessive, and all of that combined with a face that always seemed to have a little bit of a smirk on it.

She was just the kind of girl to get a title like "Ice Queen," if it weren't for the fact that she was known to be quite liberal with her affections. Rather, she had a reputation for being an entirely different kind of queen, the kind with whips and chains in her bedroom, and no safe words.

Riley had chalked most of that up to rumors alone, but sitting on the ground, staring up at her, there was an unmistakable air of control in her eyes, blue pits of flame that seemed to burrow into his brain and grab hold of something there. Not his libido, like so many of his frat-mates, but something else.

"You okay?" She asked, offering him a hand up. He took it less out of need than out of a feeling that he should, wincing slightly as the force of her grip shot a pain through his metacarpals and right into his wrist.

"Ah! Uhh, yeah. Just... think I mighta pulled something," he said, shaking the hand she'd pulled him up by once it was loose, though the pain faded as quickly as it had hit. "Sorry about, umm. I was--"

She laughed, a wicked sound for all its jollity. "Distracted? I'm used to it," she said, preening a bit.

"...Yeah," he agreed, not daring to admit that it wasn't her that was distracting him.

Her eyes went down to the garment bag he'd dropped. "Oh, that's. You're in HEL house! You a frosh?"

He could feel the blush burning his cheeks as he looked away.

Sophie laughed again, ominously. "It's superheroes this year, right? Or should I say--"

"Yes! It, ah, it is," he interrupted, feeling guilty about it but not wanting her to finish her sentence. Not in public.

"Uh huh." She looked him up and down, the fire in her eyes seeming to melt his clothes away as she did so. "Well, I'm sure you'll look...." She paused. "Gorgeous."

Riley tried to avoid her gaze as he bent down to retrieve his costume. What little dignity he had left defenestrated itself when her dog -- Bill? -- gave a woof and stuck his nose in Riley's ass, getting a shocked bleat from the boy.

"Down boy," Sophie said, then laughed again. "We're letting Riley off with a warning this time."

With a final wink, and a tug on a black leash Riley would swear hadn't been there moments ago, Sophie began walking away, leaving Riley wondering when he had given her his name.

#

"Hey Kara! Get yer ass over here with those drinks!"

Riley grumbled to himself as he picked his way through the crowd of frat boys and girls and other upperclassmen, two bottles in each hand. "Here ya go, Chuck," he said with false enthusiasm, trying to keep a smile on his face and well aware it was coming across more as a pained grimace.

"Finally! If you'd been any later I'da had to give you a demerit for your performance tonight," Chuck said, to a round of vicious laughter from his friends. "Then again, how good you look in that getup, I'm sure you could work a few of those off after the party." He leered at Riley, as if to imply he expected exactly that.

Riley stiffened, but kept the grimace-smile on his face as he turned his back on the boys, getting more mocking catcalls from his frat-mates as he marched off to retrieve more beers and take them to other attendees. He was underage, but no-one at the party seemed to care, and it wasn't like he was going to be drinking anyway.

Not the way he was dressed.

In a way, Riley supposed, he'd gotten off lucky. The Supergirl costume he'd wound up with was at least fairly modest. The skirt was shorter than he thought it was supposed to be, and the flare of it seemed to imply he had more shape than he did, as did the padding in the chest, but it was better than what some of the other frosh had wound up with.

Poor Derek had wound up in a Psylocke costume, and had spent half the night sneaking off to try and adjust things in the leotard. Gary was dressed as Nebula, likely because he already had the shaved head for it, and Barry had ended up wearing a classic black-and-purple 1960s Catwoman costume. He could almost pull it off, if it weren't for the moustache he'd refused to shave for the part. Chuck had given him six 'demerits' for that, whatever those meant.

Riley really didn't want to find out.

It had been a hell of a night. The party had started shortly after dark, and so had Riley's time as barmaid, delivering drinks and snacks to the upperclassmen at the party. He'd tried to call off on the whole thing, even going so far as to try and invoke his legacy status to get out of the job, but he'd been given an ultimatum: either 'man up' and do the job, or be out of the frat.

Out of the frat meant out of the frat house, meant his father's disapproval, meant losing a good portion of his money for college. For all his complaints about Hellsingr and its reputation for debauchery, it was his father's alma mater, and it had a great engineering program, both of which had led to him choosing to go there in the first place. Just a few years and he would be home free.

If wearing a skirt for one night was the price of that... he would pay it. How bad could it be?

He jumped and barely managed to set down the tray of snacks he'd picked up as he felt and heard the smack of a burly hand on his ass.

"Hah! Doin' good, Riley, doin' good," said Oded, a tall senior in the frat. He grinned at Riley and squeezed, making Riley jump again. " Sorry, I mean Supergirl. Y'know, if I didn't know better I'd--"

"I gotta get back to work," Riley said, cutting the senior off.

"Ah, okay," Oded said, giving Riley a slightly unfocused smile. Riley could smell the alcohol on his breath, wafting down the almost foot difference in their height and settling around Riley like an intoxicating cloud. "But if later you wanna--"

Riley walked away before Oded could finish what he was saying. He briefly worried about one of the 'demerits' so many of the upperclassmen had threatened the froshes with all night, but rumbling laughter from behind him and past experience told him Oded was unlikely to hold a grudge.

And it wasn't like it was the first offer he'd gotten that night.

He hadn't expected the group of Beta Kappa Phi girls to descend on him when he'd first started the night, but as soon as they saw him they swept him to the side and, joining forces, had given him a makeup look to match his costume.

They used the same tactic on the other froshes, but for most of them the results had been middling or comical at best. All the girls had cooed as they worked on Riley, though, praising his smooth skin and complexion and promising to make him gorgeous.

Gorgeous. Just like Sophie Drake had proclaimed.

Riley wasn't sure how much of the harassment he'd received during the night was his fratmates taking the piss and how much of it was legitimate interest, but as the night had gone on the gropes had become less frequent while the come-ons and even flirting had become more flagrant as the alcohol at once loosened inhibitions and levelled out libidos.

This time Riley did drop the tray of snacks as another hand groped him, this one not slapping or grabbing his ass but pinching it, hard.

"Oww!"

"Hah! And here I thought Supergirl was supposed to be immune to getting hurt!"

Riley spun around, glaring up at Chuck. Like Oded, Chuck was almost a foot taller than Riley -- not much of a surprise, given most of their brothers were. But there was one key difference between Chuck and Oded. Even after all the beers he'd had there was still enough clarity in his eyes to assure Riley he knew exactly where he was and what he was doing.

"Two demerits for dropping the tray," Chuck said, sneering. "Now pick it up."

Riley rolled his eyes, tired of everything and ready to pitch in the towel. A room and a legacy wasn't worth this. Nevertheless, he squatted and began picking up the scattered bowls and larger snacks, leaving the snack mix to get trod into the carpet.

"Hey. Hey!" A hand on his shoulder almost knocked Riley down, and he looked up to find Chuck still sneering at him. "Not like that. Stand up and bend at the waist. Show us that ass like a good bitch."

That was it.

Riley stood up. "No, Chuck. And I'm not your bitch!" He said, surprising both himself and the larger boy with the force.

Chuck took a step back, then snarled, "Six demerits. Two more and you're mine for whatever. Bitch." He laughed cruelly. "Get cleaning, Supergirl."

Riley rolled his eyes and squatted again, ignoring Chuck as he picked up the tray and bowls again. "I wish I really were Supergirl," he muttered under his breath. "Maybe then I could teach you a lesson about how to treat people."

He felt something strange surge through him, from his toes to the roots of his hair, before a pair of rough hands grabbed him under the armpits and began to lift him up.

"Bitch, you'll listen when I give you an order!"

Not quite sure where they found the strength, Riley spun in place, tearing free of Chuck's hands, and punched him in the stomach.

#

Sophie scritched behind Bill's ears as they sat on the bench across from the frat house, waiting.

The tracking spell she had placed on Riley was all she could manage at the time, but it had been enough for her to know when she needed to be ready, and as the night had gone on her magics had grown stronger, allowing her to subtly nudge here and nudge there, with lust and other emotions that lay in her domain, until the trap was set.

She'd felt the tug of the magics at work. She didn't have a lot of control, but it was 2AM, and the veil was at its thinnest, and the Wish had been made, honest enough in the moment to make all the difference.

And now....

She jumped, just a little, and Bill let out a surpised wuffle of his own as the front window of the house shattered, frame and all, and the body of a very large and very surprised Chuck tumbled out, over the porch rail, and into yard beyond, trailed by a mixture of screams, cheers, and one frustrated bellow of feminine rage.

Sophie smiled as she watched Chuck groaning on the ground. He was already one of hers, and had been easy enough to twist into the impetus she needed for Riley's change.

"Come on, Bill, time to go home," she said, standing up and walking away. The Clarences would be there soon, and she wanted to have a little time to gloat while they cleaned up.

She'd be in trouble, sure. But she'd been in trouble before.

It was worth it.

-End-

###

NOTE: I hope you enjoyed my little adventure in Lanie Lee and Donna Lamb's universe!

This story was written especially for "A Very Melanie Halloween," available now on Kindle:

https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/book-page/104062/very-melanie...

And if you aren't familiar with Sophie and her exploits, check out Donna Lamb's story "Blue Moon," available here on BC or on Amazon:

https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/book/13798/blue-moon-strangef...

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B017VM71UG/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8...

Questions and comments welcome :)

-Melanie E.

Jimmy stared at the page, unsure of how, or even where, to begin.

It wasn't that the assignment was tough, really. Or, perhaps it was; not on the surface, no, but at the core of what was being asked for was a larger question to be answered.

It wasn't really supposed to be a full autobiography, he told himself, just a few pages of miscellaneous words to introduce himself to the teacher and the class. Just a little something to show everyone who he was, what he liked, and how he thought.

How could the teacher have known that the answers to that would have been such a huge deal?

Jimmy pondered and pondered, but remained stuck. Perhaps moving it to the third person would be easier? Without much hope, he dashed out a quick introduction on his screen, then read it aloud to himself.

"There once was a boy."

No; that just didn't work. There was something wrong about it, something off. Something that wasn't HIM.

No again. It not being him wasn't the issue at all.

Jimmy smiled. He would write the autobiography the teacher had asked for. It was risky, and perhaps a little stupid... but it FELT right. It felt like it was time to let it out.

Correction; it felt like it was well past time to let it out.

A few moments holding the delete key was all it took to clear the page, and with a steady hand she typed in her new introduction. She might lose her nerve before class, but for now the screen said what needed said. She read the screen aloud again, quietly but with conviction.

"There once... was a girl."

--End--

NOTES:

Unlike how I normally do things here, I did a bit of editing before sharing this. It all started with me being bored and having an open Skype channel and no-one to listen. Soon, there came a story. Here's the original text, as I typed it into Skype (name removed for identity concerns):
[10:40:20 PM] ----: Jimmy stared at the page, unsure of how or even where to begin.
[10:41:12 PM] ----: It wasn't that the assignment was tough. Or, perhaps it WAS; not on the surface, no, but at the core of what was being asked was a larger question to be answered.
[10:42:04 PM] ----: It was just an autobiography, just a few pages of miscellaneous words to introduce himself to the teacher and the class. Just an autobiography, something meant to show everyone who he was, what he liked, and how he thought.
[10:42:29 PM] ----: How could the teacher have known that asking for that would have been such a huge deal, then?
[10:43:35 PM] ----: Perhaps moving it to the third person would make it easier, he pondered, quickly dashing out a sentence on his screen. Without much hope, he read it aloud to himself. "There once was a boy."
[10:43:58 PM] ----: No, that just didn't work. There was something wrong about it, something off. Something that wasn't HIM.
[10:44:10 PM] ----: No again. That wasn't the issue at all.
[10:45:53 PM] ----: Jimmy smiled. He would write the autobiography the teacher asked for. It was risky, it was a little stupid, perhaps... but it FELT right. It felt like time.
[10:45:57 PM] ----: It felt well past time.
[10:47:06 PM] ----: A few moments of holding the delete key was all it took to clear the page, and with a steady hand she typed in the words she had to write, then read them aloud, quietly but firmly. "There once... was a girl."
[10:47:10 PM] ----: The End.
This, people, is why you should never leave me with a blank page and any amount of free time.
Another fun note: First time stamp there is CST, and as of completing the post to put here it's now... 11:01 PM CST of the same day, so not a lot of time was spent on this. Still, I hope y'all enjoy!

-----

Newton’s Third Law states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

As such, it should have been no surprise to my friend Michelle when, after she suggested I wear one of her outfits for our night out, I promptly let out a terrified yelp and tried to hide in her closet.

“Come on, Al! It’ll be fun!” Michelle’s voice called, muffled by the door I held steadfastly shut.

“Fun?!” I scoffed from the safe darkness of the closet. “That’s what you said about the time we took your brother’s Vespa for a joy ride!”

“That was fun!”

“Says you! I still owe him 80 bucks for the damages.”

“Al!” She cried, in that whine that implied I was the one being unreasonable. “Leslie told me that Ted’s gonna be there, and you know I’ve been trying to get his attention forever, and it’s NOT gonna happen if I show up with another guy.”

“Then go without me!” I threw back, tucking myself further back into the floral-scented safety of my hidey-hole.

I expected an immediate snarky response. Instead, I got silence that lasted just long enough to start worrying me.

“Michelle?”

More silence, punctuated by the telltale ping of texts flying back and forth.

Shit.

“’Chelle, if you’re posting those bunny costume pics then I swear to God I’ll--”

“Isaac’s gonna be there too.”

I choked on the words that were halfway out of my mouth, instead letting out a strained gurgle before getting my voice back under control. “So?”

“So?” She asked back, in a playful tone. Even with the door closed, I could see her in my mind’s eye, standing just outside it with her hands clasped behind her back and rocking side to side. The teasing smirk went without saying.

“No.”

“But he really liked you when--”

“NO.”

“—and you were so flirting with him when we ran into him when--”

“NO!”

“—And Leslie told me he was really looking forward to seeing you tonight and--”

“GAH!” I cried, throwing the door open and marching toward Michelle. “Gimme the phone, ‘Chelle.”

“Nope!” She crowed, dancing away from me and hopping up to stand on her bed, holding the phone overhead. “And I already told Les to let everyone know Allie was coming tonight.”

“...You didn’t.”

“I did.”

Double shit.

“So?” She asked again, waggling her eyebrows mischievously.

-----

“You’re always so slow with your eyeliner,” Michelle griped from behind me as I carefully drew the pencil across my upper lid.

“Yeah, well, we coulda left almost an hour ago if you’d let me wear my boy clothes.”

“But you look so much better like this!”

I pouted into the mirror, but with the purple lips and stark makeup all it did was prove her point.

Finishing my eyeliner, I stepped back and did a quick assessment of the damage.

I’d discarded my boy’s jeans and hoodie, and in their place I was wearing a pair of cuffed, purple denim shorts over fishnets and two tank tops, a tighter black one underneath a baggy white one made from an old Hollywood Undead tee we’d stolen from Michelle’s dad a couple of years earlier. I’d used some of her spray-in hair color to add purple tips to my hair and finger-brushed the results into a shaggy but cute pixie-cut-ish look. It was a pretty close match to Michelle’s look, except she was wearing an old Def Leppard tee and black shorts, a better match for her long dark hair.

I was still wearing my own boots, though, a pair of scuffed Demonias I’d inherited from Leslie when she’d outgrown them.

With a few cheap “silver” costume jewelry pieces tossed into the mix, I looked like any of the rest of our girlfriends who would be at the show that night.

I whimpered just a little, really not looking forward to what that meant.

“Oh, come on! You’ve always had fun when we’ve done this kind of thing in the past!”

“Yeah, but--”

“And nobody’s gonna give you any shit, you know that.”

“I know, but--”

“And if you don’t get Isaac now, then some other girl might--”

“MICHELLE!”

“WHAT?!”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, already exhausted beyond belief, and we hadn’t even left her room yet. “You win. I’m going. Just promise me that you won’t abandon me at the show, okay?”

“Have I ever?”

“Promise.”

Michelle laughed. “Alright, you got it. I, Michelle Blythe, do so solemnly swear not to abandon one Allie Reagan to the wolves.”

“Thank you.”

“Unless Ted wants to--”

“HEY!”

“All right, all right, all right! Geez.”

I let out a sigh of relief, but in the battle between Michelle’s flightiness and her sense of honor, I didn’t hold out much hope of a victory.

Screw it. If things went south, I’d get a ride home from Leslie, I guess.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mumbled, wincing only a bit at Michelle’s happy squeal.

-----

As was expected, the place was packed when we arrived. The Green Goblin wasn’t the biggest club in the world at the best of times, and being the only one in the city that allowed underaged clientele meant that it was always a standing-room-only ordeal any time they had a half-decent act coming in. I was of the opinion that tonight’s act – a semi-local ska-punk group called Darkslide – were maybe a third decent at best, but even then, they’d already moved half the tables out to make room for the larger-than-average crowd they expected to attend.

And there, right in the middle of the floor, were our friends.

Leslie and Demi were there, wearing outfits not all that different from what Michelle and I were. Leslie was a tall blonde, and Demi was a bit of a short stack, so they were both getting plenty of attention from the guys in the room, something they’d have lots of fun with later when they inevitably made out with each other in the middle of the floor just to mess with folks.

Standing not far away from them, and scanning the room, presumably in search of us, were Ted and Isaac.

Ted was decked out in his normal skinny jeans and ratty hoodie, half his face covered by his mane of shaggy ash-blond hair. He managed to stand out from the crowd purely by grace of literally standing out from the crowd, his nearly six-and-a-half-foot height being enough to get him on most sports teams with talent as a technicality if it weren’t for the fact that he was skinny enough he’d make a better bat than a baseball player. Even with the tiny bit of a slouch he always seemed to carry, he stood close to a head above almost everyone else in the room and was using that height to periscope around.

Isaac, on the other hand, looked more vampire than skater. He was over half a foot shorter than Ted, but with his straight black hair and what was honestly a pretty decent teenage attempt at a goatee, he liked to play at more of a Dave Navarro kind of look and pulled it off pretty well, I felt. Well enough to be getting plenty of attention from other girls in attendance, all of whom seemed displeased at his seeming lack of interest.

Both of their sets of eyes found us at the same time, probably in part thanks to Michelle’s frantic waving from our position near the entrance.

Both of them gave us – me -- huge smiles.

Whoo boy.

“Come on!”

I didn’t dare fight the gravitational forces at work as Michelle grabbed my hand and dragged me toward our friends. The room was loud with the sound of canned music blaring over the speaker system while the band set up combined with the inevitable noise of dozens of teens and young adults crowded together into a hot, dark space, fueled by hormones, caffeine, and a functional absence of adult supervision, but even so I could still hear my own heart pounding in my ears as we slid through the crowd.

All right, Allie. You got this.

I whimpered anyway.

It only took about half a song of pushing, pulling, and elbowing to reach our targets. Michelle went to say something, but I cut her off, hoping to keep things from getting too awkward.

“Ah, hey, guys! Michelle thought it’d be fun to drag me along, hope that’s okay. She was really hoping it’d make pairing off a bit easier, I think,” I added, with a sudden flash of inspiration.

“Oh? Oh, sure thing!” Ted said, giving a little nod and smiling at both of us.

“No problems here,” Isaac added, still with only a half-interested look at best, though I could see the slight uptick at the corners of his eyes that showed he was good with things.

“Well, then,” I said, cutting Michelle off again. I stepped forward and took Isaac’s arm. “Let’s dance, shall we?”

Without waiting for an answer, I led him just far enough out into the crowd to separate us from the others. Leslie gave me a bit of a confused look as we passed, but Demi just grinned evilly.

Sigh. Well, here goes.

We had about twenty minutes ‘til the band would start playing, which was enough time to get a couple of dances and a cooldown in before the main event, so I kept Isaac running as much as possible, and as far away from our friends as I could. Michelle could have her space, and I needed to have a talk with Isaac before--

The music cut off with a screech, causing a pained complaint to rise from the crowd.

Another screech followed shortly after, and that was followed by a reedy-voiced announcer. “Sorry folks, issue in the sound booth. It’s close enough to concert time that we’re gonna go ahead and take a bit of a break while the band finishes getting ready. Don’t forget. Sodas are buy-one-get-one at the counter if you show your student ID and no outside drinks or food in the club. Thank you.”

Shit.

I looked up into Isaac’s eyes, but before I could say anything, his hands were on my hips and pulling me in.

“Isaa-” I was cut off by his lips as he kissed me, his tongue invading my mouth and lapping up the words.

What the hell? I closed my eyes and raised my arms to his neck, holding on tightly and ignoring the occasional sound of disgust or amusement around us as I enjoyed the kiss.

All too soon, but not soon enough, he pulled himself up and away from me, grinning like a crazy person.

“That what you wanted?” He asked me.

“No. I mean, yes, but… listen. We need to talk before--”

“Wow, you two!” Michelle crowed, not nearly far enough away.

Double shit.

I turned my head, and there she was.

And standing next to her, a confused-looking Ted.

“Ah, hey!” I said back, looking worriedly between the two of them. “Um… sorry?”

“For what? This is great! You’ve got Isaac, and I get….” It was about that time that Michelle turned and looked at Ted.

Ted, who was spending every other beat either glaring at Isaac or looking at me like a puppy I’d just kicked.

“Ah, I wanna see if we can find a way backstage. Coming, Isaac?” I asked, not waiting for an answer as I began to drag him away from the other couple, who were now looking at each other with a mixture of emotions I didn’t want to try to suss out.

“Sure thing,” he said, following me happily.

Get out of earshot, get out of earshot, get out of--

“So you didn’t tell Michelle you made out with Ted last week, huh?” Isaac asked me. If the music had still been playing, it probably would have been quiet enough, but with voices still tuned to Rock Out, it was more than loud enough to carry back through the crowd and directly to Michelle’s ears.

I knew tonight was going to be a disaster.

“You bitch!” Were the last words I heard before we slipped into the back hallway.

END

-==-

NOTES:
Just a short, silly one-shot, as always brought over courtesy of the BCTS Patreon! I'd normally post something like this on a Friday, but we're gonna be doing gaming tomorrow, so thought I'd toss it out tonight just in case tomorrow's a little hectic :)

On Patreon there were a number of comments suggesting I should continue this. I felt it was perfectly complete as is, but I promised I'd see what folks here thought too, so if you want to see more with these characters, be sure to let me know.

As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!

I laughed as my pappy picked me up and helped me to stand on the old farm gate that made up one of the panels of the cobbled-together safety fence, the only thing that separated the raucous crowd on our side from the action on the other.

I always loved going to the rodeo. The music, the smells, but most of all I loved the animals. The bulls with snorts and mad power, and the horses with their glistening flanks and wild beauty. Even at six years old I knew that was where I wanted to be when I grew up, in there with the animals, and the cheer of the crowds.

I didn't want to ride the bulls, though. I didn't want to be out there on the angry stallions either or racing around the barrels.

No.

What I loved the most were the showcases... especially the trick riding.

The girl in the arena was beautiful. Her long, dark hair was pulled back, whipping in the wind as she rode, and her purple leotard and white jeans shimmered and flashed as she performed her routine, standing on the horse's back, dragging herself behind it, rolling under its belly or neck. I couldn't help but stare in awe as she raced around the arena, to the applause of all.

Pappy must have noticed my slack-jawed awe, because he patted me on the shoulder and laughed. "Be careful o' bow-legged girls like her, Patty," he said, in his slow raspy way, barely audible over the noise around us.

"Why?"

"Cause they spend more time in the saddle 'n' on their feet," he said, with one of his grins that told me he was telling me something I shouldn't repeat around Mom unless I wanted soap in my mouth.

He started laughing again, so I laughed with him, even though I didn't really get what he meant at the time, then went back to watching the show as another rider came out, and the two girls started doing tricks together, holding hands or switching horses or all kinds of other things, each more exciting than the last.

And I wanted it.

*

I was eleven before my folks let my cousin start showing me some of the tricks. They didn't want to, because as they said "trick ridin' is fer girls, not boys," even when I would show them videos on the computer of lots of boys doing it too, just because the local club was all girls didn't mean it was everyone who did it. My cousin was in the club, and I'd been begging them for years to let her teach me, but it was Pappy who finally got them to give in.

"Marnie," he said to Ma, "you got a good kid. He don't fight ya on nuthin', he helps with more 'n' his share o' the chores, an' he keeps his nose outta the dirt. If he wants ta learn some fancy ridin', just let 'im."

"But Pa, he's already smaller'n the other boys. They hear he's been doin' trick ridin' and--"

"An' they'll know who c'n get 'em a date with one o' them bow-legged girls," Pappy said, with that same wiseass grin of his as he winked at me.

Mom scowled at him, I guess knowing herself what he was getting at. "You shouldn't talk about those girls like that, Pa."

Pappy chuckled, but bowed his head. "Well, if y'don't think they'd be a bad influence, let 'im try it." He ruffled my hair and handed me his handkerchief to try my face, where I'd been crying after another rejection. "S'long as he don't let one o' them horses tump over on 'im he'll be a'ight."

Tina started showing me some of the basics the next week, and to everyone's surprise but mine I was a natural. At thirteen I went to the local trick riding club to ask to join, only to get the same complaint as Mom.

"We don't got no boys in our club."

"But I love ridin', and I'm good," I cried, again fighting tears. Much as I tried, I'd never been good at not crying when I was upset.

"He is," Tina said, her hand on my back. "I've been teachin' him and he's already better'n I am."

The lady who was representing the club gave us a long look. "You've seen our shows. We don't wanna change things for no boy."

"Then don't!" I cried. "Just treat me like one of the girls, I don't care!"

She laughed at that. "Oh? You'd wear one o' the spangly tops and pretty up then?"

I sniffled. "Yes. I'll do whatever it takes. I just want to ride."

"Stand up, boy." When I did, she looked me over long and hard. "Small, ain't ya?" When I didn't bother saying anything she frowned.

"He wears the same boots as I do," Tina volunteered. "He's been usin' my gear to train, so he's good with it."

"Can't nobody but the club and yer folks know yer a boy on the team."

The lady's face changed from a frown to a gasp of surprise when I practically tackled her in a hug.

It didn't matter, so long as I got to ride.

When I got home that night Ma had a few things to say again.

"What would yer pa think? Bless his soul," she said, collapsing at the kitchen table. "You 'n' that damn fool gymnastics o' yours."

"Ma...."

"And you," she said, staring at Pappy as he stood behind me with his hand on my shoulder. "Encouragin' all this! You should be ashamed!"

"Damnit, Marnie. It makes th' kid happy, seems about t'only thing that do. It ain't hurtin' no-one."

"But when folks find out!"

"Then don' let 'em. Tina can lend 'im some fem'nine clothes t'go to shows in an' nobody gotta be none the wiser."

"You know what God had t'say about men in women's clothes, Pa."

Pappy's hand tightened on my shoulder, and I didn't have to see his face to feel the glare he gave her. "I also know Pat ain't doin' this t' peep on th' girls, so that don't matter."

Back and forth for what felt like another eternity... but I got to join the club.

*

For the next three years my life was filled with school, chores, and riding. A few of the girls in the club were upset the first day I showed up with Tina in some of her old hand-me-down riding clothes, but their attitudes softened when we showed them what I could do, and true to Pappy's word, nobody but us had to know that "Patty Clarke," the little blonde firecracker with the giant smile on her face at every event, was really me, Pat Callahan.

Ma kicked me out of the house on my sixteenth birthday, when I came home from practice carrying gifts from the girls on the team, none of which were for boys. That was okay, because Pappy let me stay with him. He gave me Ma's old room, I think partly to rub it in her face, and offered to re-decorate it for me but I didn't mind the dusty rose and cream colors at all.

Without Ma around to bother me about it I spent more and more time with the girls from the team, and it wasn't long before Patty just stayed around and let Pat rest. Nobody at school batted an eye with the change, since jeans were jeans and boots were boots and nobody but the Mennonite girls wore skirts to school. Pappy just took it in stride.

"If'n yer happy, yer happy. An' you ain't hurtin' no-one," he would tell me, with plenty of hugs.

*

"You okay to ride today?" Sally, one of the other girls asked me.

"Yeah. I need ta," I told her, wiping my tears away carefully to avoid mussing my makeup any more than I already had. "It's what he'da wanted."

"You sure, 'cause Lisa said she'd--"

"No! No," I softened, plastering a smile on my face for proof. "Please, I need ta."

I rode out into the arena and waved to the crowd, soaking in the cheers, and the smells, all the same as they had been when I was a little kid.

Except this time, for the first time ever, there was no Pappy waving back to me from the side of the fence.

*

I was on my third loop and getting ready for my finale when it happened. I must have not checked my straps well, because my saddle straps buckled and slipped, and I went with them. I'd trained for falls, and managed to roll with the force as I tumbled across the dirt and mud and landed with a thud, my breath knocked out of me.

The crowd's cheers turned to cries of alarm. I tried to stand up, but it wasn't until I felt a pair of hands take me under the arms and lift me that I managed it, the cheers returning.

"Thanks," I said, turning to look at my rescuer. I expected to see one of the clowns or hands, but instead I found myself staring into the deepest brown eyes I'd ever seen. "Umm."

"Randal," he said, blushing. "Sorry, I jumped the fence when I saw ya fall. Ah..."

"Patty," I told him, blushing myself. Even at eighteen I'd never hit a real growth spurt, and Randal towered over my five-three frame.

Our staring match was interrupted by the medics arriving and checking me out. they gave Randal a stern lecture about picking me up off the ground as they examined me and loaded me onto a stretcher.

"She gonna be alright?"

"I think so," the lady medic who was looking me over said. "But we're gonna take her out on the stretcher just in case."

"Uh, can I see you after?" He asked me, blushing even more.

"Me?" I asked in surprise. Sure, I had a bit of padding on, but even then I wasn't a match for none of the other girls on the team.

"Ah yeah. I've watched you at a lot o' these shows and ah..."

"An' what?"

"Well," he grinned, with that same shit-eating look Pappy always had. "I've always had a thing fer bow-legged girls."

-==-

NOTES:

This is the last of my solos to bring over from Patreon. Next week I'll start bringing over the Patreon version of Double Date Dare!

As always, all of my stuff is available at the free tier on the BCTS Patreon for anyone who wants to give it a shot, so if you don't wanna wait, hop on over, and maybe consider giving the site some support while you're there!

Confession
By Melanie E.

A dark, disturbing little something that popped into my head this morning while I was thinking about Pearl Jam's "Alive."

Anyone familiar with the actual connotations of that song should have plenty of warning: others, this is very, very disturbing. Read at your own risk.

-==-

Father, forgive me. It's been twelve years since my last confession.

Twelve years. Wow. I was thirteen then. It's surprising how quickly one can lose one's faith when you wake up and witness the betrayal of everything you are in the mirror every morning. That was the year I decided god was either deaf, dead, or had never existed in the first place, because there was no way any caring spirit would have done what He had done to me. I can pinpoint the day for you, even: it was the first day I'd woken up with soiled sheets, a racing heart, and that ache in the pit of my stomach and in my groin. The day I became a man.

"Became a man." Hah! Like some biological process you have no control over decides who you are for you. I knew it was wrong then, and I know it's just as wrong now. I wasn't a man, I never have been, as much as others may have told me otherwise. Do you know what that's like? Being looked down on by everyone you thought loved you, who YOU loved? Your own mother, your own sister and brothers. Having them look at you with those wild, angry, hate-filled eyes...

It was the eyes that attracted me to Linda. We'd talked a few times at the laundromat, just idle chatter really, two people wiling away the time while they wait for the spin cycle to finish. She was a little dumpy, and her hair was always a mess. She said it was because she didn't have time to take care of herself anymore, not with the kids keeping her busy, but through it all she still had those amazing blue eyes, the kind of eyes that told you she could forgive anything.

The eyes lied, though. I told her, father. I shared who I was with her, and watched in agony as those beautiful, friendly eyes changed. I saw it, father, I saw the hate, the disgust, began to build, and I couldn't stand it, not again.

I'm still not sure what happened that time. All I remember is blacking out, and when I came to there she was lying on the floor of the laundromat, the sheet around her neck and her beautiful eyes glassing over as her flesh cooled. I knew I had to get out of there, before someone caught me, but I just couldn't leave those eyes, so I took them with me.

It was the same with Carrie, too. That night in the bar, she came up to me and talked to me. She talked to me, father! I'm always left alone when I go places, but she came up and sat next to me, in her little dress and fishnets, and we talked. Her eyes weren't kind like Linda's, but they were full of life and a hunger for something. I thought it might have been companionship, or maybe just casual sex, something I learned long ago to ignore the pain and violation of and simply accept for the release it gave.

No. It was money. Sure, she told me, the companionship could come later, or the sex, whatever I wanted. All I had to do was fork over five hundred dollars and she'd be there for anything at all.

It was disgusting! How could someone with eyes like that be so callous? She was no different than the others, was she? So I gave her her money, and in exchange I took her eyes, too.

I think that's the first time they I remember seeing my name in the paper. "The Oedipus Killer." Idiots, not even understanding what they were saying or how incorrect it was. But it was a catchy name, nonetheless.

They were the first, but they weren't the last. I wanted to stop, I tried to stop, but what else could I do? I couldn't bear the thought of showing myself to the world again, being rejected again, and money's just always so tight, father, you know how it is. I couldn't afford the help I needed to make my life my own, to escape it all.

But I could find eyes. Such beautiful eyes, father. Brown ones, blue ones, green and grey. There was something about them that calmed me, that made the pain go away.

That's how I met Tommy, too. When his exhibit opened at the gallery, "In Your Eyes," I just knew I had to meet him. I found out quickly he was gay. I'd never been with a man, father, not before Tommy, but isn't that what women do? Man and woman, husband and wife, it just made sense! His actual eyes didn't touch me like the others had, or like the ones he painted, but I could look past that for how he made me feel.

Until last night. See, I decided to tell him last night, father. I invited him over to my home for the first time ever, and told him I had a surprise for him. While he waited in the living room I went up to my room and put on my prettiest dress, did my hair as best I could and put on my makeup before heading back down. Surely HE would accept the me inside, the me I'd hid from everyone, right?

When I came back down he was stood in the middle of the room, admiring my eyes. I kept them on a shelf above the television, in their own jars, each one labeled with the lady's name. I knew he'd appreciate them, and I wasn't disappointed, his eyes wide as he sat there entranced, until I walked into the room. He'd jumped father, and when he looked at me it broke my heart. There in his eyes, in my Tommy's eyes, was that same hatred, that same fear and disgust as everyone else.

I didn't wait for him to say anything; there was nothing to say. I simply did what I had to do, and sat his jar on the shelf with the others, as a reminder of why I can't ever open up to anyone.

Except you, father. I've been watching you for a couple of months now, I even started attending services again because I wanted to hear you speak your message of love and acceptance, to feel you look at me the way you do the children and congregation you love so much. You've changed so much since mother died and you found God again, father. Maybe now you can accept me, can embrace the daughter you always had but never wanted to acknowledge.

But you can't, can you father? There's no reason to lie. You see, I can see it in your eyes.

Forgive me father....

-==-

NOTES:

Weird, right? Sorry for this, I've just been working on a collection of non-TG horror stories here and there so when a little pseudo-TG plot presented itself I figured why not? Anyway, lemme know what you thought in the comments, good, bad, or whatever. I was unsure what all tags to use here.

I should have been going to bed but wrote a short piece for Halloween instead. I hope y'all enjoy it.

00000

Tamara looked at herself in the mirror.

It was the same costume she wore every year at the haunted house. The mask, the paws, the heavy suit and large, awkward boots. It all added up to the same image of a large, hulking wolf creature, there to terrorize the teens and adults (and, when she was lucky, give candy to the kids who were brave enough not to run away.) It was manky looking, and stank to high heaven, that mixture of rubber, sweat, and mothballs from storage that no method they'd tried could ever get to go away.

She usually ended up burning the clothes she wore underneath it, since they always smelled just as bad after.

She frowned at her reflection, the wolf head still tucked under her arm, as she considered the trials she would be facing the next week. The days when it would be so hot in the suit she'd be marinating in her own juices, sometimes followed by days or nights where she'd be shivering as she stood stock-still in the graveyard or the haunted woods and waited. Her muscles and back would be sore every night, and her feet swollen, and her hair, don't even get STARTED on her hair!

It was the same every year, but like so many others she came back, time and again. Some said they did it for the charity, since all time was donated and the proceeds the haunted house would bring in went to the children's hospital down the street. Some claimed they liked being able to let the monster inside out, even if just for a few nights of the year. Tamara knew the truth though: they all did it because, deep inside, they all had an extra scoop of Kid tucked away, just as excited about Halloween as any of the young ones who would come through dressed up for trick or treating.

This year, she mused, she had even more to look forward to.

It was the same costume she wore every year at the haunted house. The mask, the paws, the heavy suit and large, awkward boots. It all added up to the same image of a large, hulking wolf creature, there to terrorize the teens and adults (and, when she was lucky, give candy to the kids who were brave enough not to run away.) It was manky looking, and stank to high heaven, that mixture of rubber, sweat, and mothballs from storage that no method they'd tried could ever get to go away.

This year, though, she wouldn't be burning the clothes she wore under neath it. She would be saving them as mementoes, since it was the last year she would be the wolf creature. Much like so many other costumes she had been wearing over the years, she would be discarding this one in favor of one that fit her better.

Tamara smiled as she donned the mask for her final showing, not as the wolf man, but as the wolf woman. A new recruit would be shadowing her that night, learning the spots and cues. He was big and strong, traits she could easily tell the hormones had impacted on her own diminishing frame, though the weight she had lost made the suit lighter, more nimble, than it had been ever before. She did her scares, her growls and her snarls, and enjoyed every yelp, scream, and laugh she got in return.

She was sure she'd enjoy it even more as the cackling witch the next night, and every night from then on.

00000

I think it's pretty safe to say that most if not everyone here has some familiarity with wearing costumes, if not of the physical variety then the mental kind. Trans or not, everyone has experienced those times when you were forced to convey an image that didn't fit the person you felt like you were on the inside.

Most of us are familiar with the negative forms these costumes can take. Hiding your disgust at a noxious remark or joke because of the people who you're around. Fighting to keep your emotions, your joy and your sadness, under wraps because of how others might react.

Sometimes these costumes can show the best of us as well, though. Standing tall and brave despite one's fears. Speaking out for what you know is right despite the world around you telling you to remain silent.

Being yourself when everyone tells you to conform, and maintain the status quo.

Costumes are just that, a covering or a mask to hide what's underneath. They can be claustrophobic, uncomfortable, even painful.

But only as much as you let them be.

Embrace the costumes that help you grow, progress, and live.

Discard those that stifle you, smother you, and limit you.

And most important of all, no matter what costume you wear, remember: you're still you underneath it all, and that's all that's important.

Note: many applicable tags for this piece have been left off so as not to spoil the "surprise," but those who dislike things that are dark and morbid be forewarned.

----

----

Yeah, this is really morbid, but I've been watching a lot of ghost videos and listening to a lot of creepypastas, so this kinda formed in my head.

This is the first run through, so apologies if some of the rhyme and rhythm feel a bit off. Then again, given the subject I'm guessing that would be the least of people's problems with it.

Melanie E.

John’s social life is ruined when his ex-girlfriend starts spreading rumors about him at school -— can his best friend Don do anything to help him out?

Dear John
by Melanie Ezell

I hope you enjoy the story.

---

"Nah, man, it's okay. Forget her anyways, it ain't like there aren't other girls around here." I reached up to give John a friendly pat on the back, about the most comforting thing I could do in the school hallway.

"I'm sorry, dude," John sighed, hanging his head. The brave face he had on would probably fool the rest of the school, but not me. We had been friends for years -- sometimes, it's like I know him better than he knows himself.

I just nodded and followed John down the hall. It wouldn't be long before we had to split up for our different classes, but especially this morning we had needed to talk. It might have been way too soon to just say "everything's gonna be fine", but I couldn't leave him so down first thing at school.

I felt John grip my arm tightly, so I turned towards him to see a look of anguish on his face. "I dunno, Don, did I do the right thing?"

"Of course! Do you even have to ask?"

The fact that he did feel he had to ask just proved to me how bad Sarah had been for him. I mean, seriously! She might be the "queen" of our high school, but I always thought at least John would be immune to her tricks. But no, even he fell for her. Being tall, blond, and a basketball player, John didn't have any trouble getting girls. Still, he had felt so good about getting a date with her that I never had the courage to tell him how bad she was for him, not that he would have listened if I had. John always fell hard for any girl he dated, and nothing could be said about them to make him think they were anything but perfect. Everybody but John knew she was just dating him because his family had money, and it wasn't long after they started dating that he was having to spend hundreds of dollars on her a month. Sure, his family could afford it -- but that's not the point. John might have thought nothing of it, but now he was being hit hard by her trying to use him, and in a way he couldn't ignore.

Another student backed into John and mumbled a quick "Sorry," but he seemed to not hear it as he was still caught up in his own thoughts.

"I just still can't believe she thought I'd DO something like that! She completely totaled this girl's car, and she wanted me to get my dad to change the records around so it looked like it was all the other girl's fault? That's not right."

John's dad might be one of the big lawyers in town, but he's also a good guy, and we both know that he would never do something like that, and what he would have done to John for asking. He's a great dad, who works hard to teach John how to be a good person too, something that John , unlike most of the other guys in our school, is mature enough to appreciate.

"No, John." I stressed his name to make the point. "It isn't. Trust me, your dad would be proud of the decision you made."

"But... she broke up with me 'cuz of it."

"So? You don't need someone like that. Sarah's always using people to get her way, that's just who she is. You don't need to sink down to her level. There's lots of other girls here at school who would love to date you." I spotted Jessica North, a cute girl from his grade, walking down the hall toward us, and waved at her. Everybody knew she had a bit of a crush on John. When she noticed me looking at her she quickly turned and walked away, but not before John caught my wave and expression.

"Ya think?" John asked me, his voice full of hope.

I nodded enthusiastically. "Not just yet, though. You and Sarah broke up last night, right? That's way too soon for you to go after another girl yet. Wait a week, so things can chill. Trust me."

John looked up at the ceiling as he thought for a moment, then answered me with a simple "Okay."

Even though I don't date myself, he had learned a long time ago to trust my advice when it came to girls. A lot of our friends and classmates, both guys and girls, trusted my opinions on the other sex. That Halloween the rest of my sophomore class had even asked me to do a dating advice booth as part of our Fall Festival activities, and it had been surprisingly successful.

Unfortunately, this time around my advice turned out to be wrong. WAY wrong. I had forgotten one important fact -- Sarah is an evil little... I'm not going to say the word. In less than a week she had rumors going around school that John had forced her into having sex with him, and was playing the "abused ex-girlfriend" role to the hilt. I mean, I'm pretty sure most everyone figured she was lying, but there were enough wannabes and hangers-on trying to get on her good side who were willing to support her story, truth or not, so it just kept gaining momentum. Not one girl would talk to John for any reason, and there were even a lot of his other so-called friends who started giving him the cold shoulder, because they didn't want their girlfriends to think they were like him. It didn't matter how hard I worked to try to counter the rumors, because -- just like always -- Sarah had more pull than me, even after I enlisted the help of my cross-country teammates. God, I hate her!It was just like every other time she had pulled out all the stops to make someone miserable, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Any progress I made was quickly ripped to shreds by a new rumor or claim and more of Sarah's crocodile tears.

By the time Christmas Break was over, I was pretty sure John couldn't get much lower. John had always been a pretty big guy, not overweight just stout, but he had stopped eating lunch at school and lost a lot of weight, and even quit the basketball team -- something he always loved -- after social maneuvering by Sarah had him booed off the court by some of her friends on the cheerleading team. No girl would be caught anywhere near him, either because of the rumors or simply out of fear of what Sarah would do to them if she found out they had been nice to him. What was she trying to do, drive him out of school? If so, her plan was starting to work.

Seeing how horrible John felt made me feel horrible too. We had known each other for what felt like forever -- my mom runs a housekeeping business, and back when she first started it his dad had become one of her first customers. His mom and my mom had become pretty good friends, and it wasn't long before they were setting up play dates for the two of us. Despite our age difference and growing up on different sides of the tracks, we had been close ever since. Where you found one of us you could usually find the other. He was quite a bit bigger than me -- obviously, he's older than I am -- but that never stopped us from roughhousing, playing sports, or getting in trouble together. He often joked that I'd be bigger than him soon, since it wouldn't be long before I hit puberty and caught up to him since we both came from families with big guys. I had to find some way of making him feel better, I just HAD to.

A plan, really THE plan, hit me about mid-January. I say hit me, but I wasn't really the one who thought of it, Ashley did. Ashley's my little sister, and for an eighth grader she was pretty cool. Pretty much whenever I'm not with John I hang out with her, and we talk, play games, watch movies — fun stuff that brothers and sisters are usually too busy arguing to enjoy. I guess we're closer than most, and always have been, but I have an extra special relationship with her. We talk about everything, and she knows things about me I’ve worked hard to hide from the rest of the world, even John.

In all the world, she was the only person who knew about Dawn.

There's a reason John was always my only close friend, and why I never dated. Dawn, well -- she was that reason. I hardly ever saw her, since we had to keep her out of sight, but as often as I could get Ashley's help, we would let her out. I was still young enough that making all the little changes wasn't that hard, and once we were done, there I would stand, as my true self. Dawn. Ashley and I would spend every hour we could hanging out as sisters. I would tell her all about my fears and worries, and she would tell me about hers, or what boys she liked, or any other little bits of gossip she wanted to share. I would always drink it in, relishing the time we had together. We were as close as any two sisters could be, and the little issue about me TECHNICALLY being her brother never came up when it was just the two of us. To the rest of the world I was Don, but Ashley knew better -- in a lot of ways; I think she knew me better than I knew myself.

It was about half-way through January when she had "the idea." We were sitting in her room talking, I think about some group we had just heard on the radio, but I was only half paying attention. Ashley, I guess, noticed how out of it I was, 'cuz she asked me what was bothering me. So, I told her about how worried I was for John, not for the first time. I had about given up trying to change what was happening at school, it was just too much for one person to handle, so instead I had been trying to think of something, anything, I could do to pull him out of the depression that had been swallowing him, but nothing I tried seemed to be working.

"If only I could find him another girlfriend, one who was actually good enough for him." I remember saying out loud.

Ashley's face took on a strange expression for a half a second, but quickly changed to a smile as she looked over at me. "I know!" she yelled as she jumped up and down on her knees and grabbed my hands. "I know what you can do!"

"What?" I asked, getting just as excited. If it could help John, I was prepared to do anything.

"We can introduce him to Dawn!"

"What!" Well, I was willing to do "almost" anything.

"Introduce him to Dawn."

"WHAT!" Our conversation was going nowhere.

"Oh, come on, big sis. You wanna find a girl who isn't scared of being seen with him, right? Well, you're with him every day! It’s perfect!"

She was almost right. "Okay, I can see that. Only one problem, though, Ash."

"Uh huh, what's that?"

"I AM scared of being seen!" I shrieked. "Just what do you think I'm gonna do, go to school like this?" I gestured down at the cami and shorts I had on, then up to where we both had our raven hair tucked into matching hairbands. I looked alright -- I hadn't hit any big growth spurts yet, thank God -- but I was still afraid that anyone seeing me would instantly know I was technically a guy.

"Oh, yeah. Hmm." She grinned at me. "Then why not be his SECRET admirer? You can write him little notes and leave them in his locker, all mysterious like. He never has to know who you actually are, you can just be some random girl at school. And if it works, then by the end of the year I'm sure things with that bit..."

"ASHLEY!"

"Sorry." She quickly apologized for what she had almost said, though she didn't act like she felt all that bad. "Anyways, by that time maybe things with that little WITCH Sarah will have calmed down enough that you can just kinda, you know, fade away," she said, with appropriate fluttery hand motions. "Maybe hand him off to another girl who has a crush on him."

"None of them are good enough for him."

Ashley quirked an eyebrow as she gave me a questioning look.

"Well, they aren't! Look how they’ve all treated him."

"Oh-kay." She gave me another weird look, like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. "So will you do it?"

I didn't have any better ideas -- I was completely out of any other ideas whatsoever -- but I wasn't sure if Ashley’s brainstorm was a GOOD idea. I started trying to think of something, ANYthing, that would be a deal breaker.

"But, my handwriting will give me away."

"No it won't!" She shook her head vigorously. "I've seen you practicing in those composition books you keep hidden from Mom and Dad. Your ‘Dawn’ handwriting looks nothing like your usual boy handwriting, and you know it too, so stop making excuses."

I knew she was right, though I was a bit upset that I had been caught practicing my handwriting. I had been doing it ever since I first noticed that girls and boys write differently -- even before telling her about Dawn -- and with hard work I had been able to give myself two very different writing styles. Eerily, more and more my "Dawn" handwriting felt more natural than the chicken-scratch I foisted off on the teachers at school. I was the only person I knew whose handwriting actually IMPROVED when they stopped thinking about it, which was kind of a scary thought.

"I... okay."

Less than an hour later, I had the first letter finished on a piece of flowery, too-feminine stationery that Ashley never used because it was even too girly for her.

~
Dear John,

I know this seems strange, but I just wanted to let you know that not all of us believe Sarah's lies. I've always thought you were a very sweet boy, and I feel so bad every day when I watch you walking down the halls and being treated so terribly. I've liked you for a long time, but I've always been too scared to come out and tell you. I'm sorry I'm not braver, but please, stay strong for me. I just want to see you smiling again.

Your friend,

Dawn
~

I handed the letter to Ashley nervously, and after reading it she nodded her approval.

"You don't think I should change the name, do you? I mean, it's really close to the name I use as a guy."

Ashley squeezed my shoulder gently, then pulled me into a hug. "Don't worry so much. He'll never know it was you. Trust me."

I would trust Ashley with my life, so even though I was still nervous I silently folded the letter and sealed it in it's matching envelope. "What if he looks for a girl in high school who’s named ‘Dawn’?"

She shook her head slowly. "He’ll probably assume you’re using an alias."

I gave the letter one more nervous look before closing my eyes and slipping it into my pack, ready to slide through his locker grate the next day.

---

Ugh, Tuna Mac day in the school cafeteria, gross. I was less than enthused about the food, but took it anyway and quickly made my way through the crowd of students towards the table near the back where John and I had been sitting since the whole thing with Sarah started. One look at John, and I knew he had found the note. It wasn't that he was smiling, at least not exactly, but there was something different in the way he was carrying himself. Some of the pathetic look had disappeared from his eyes, and against all odds, he actually looked like he was enjoying the artificial cheese and fish monstrosity before him. I was a little nervous about what he would say when I sat down opposite him, but tried to cover it up as best I could.

"What's up? You look a little different today. Something wrong?"

"Huh? No, nothing's wrong. No, definitely not. I think someone's trying to mess with me, though."

Well, duh? Sarah’s been running him ragged for the last, what, two months? "What makes you think that?"

Without a word, he passed me the note I had dropped off in his locker earlier that day. Feigning caution, I opened the note and scanned it quickly, not like I actually had to read it since I already had it memorized.

"I dunno, looks pretty real to me," I told him, giving him a lifted eyebrow. "Looks like ya got a secret admirer; any idea who?"

What had started as only hopeful glimmers when I first sat down at the table quickly turned into a small grin, and in that moment I knew that whatever happened later, the note had been worth the risk.

"You think?" he asked. "I'm not sure who it is, though. Why didn't she just give it to me herself?"

I shrugged. "Maybe she's shy?" That's the understatement of the year. "That's what it looks like from the note, you know? So, whatcha gonna do?"

He gingerly took the note back from me, like he was afraid it would shatter and disappear. "I'm not sure. To be honest... I'm just happy to know that there's someone out there who doesn't hate me."

I was surprised to hear myself respond softly. "You know I don't hate you either, John."

"Yeah," he answered me, smirking, "but you aren't a girl, either."

I managed to keep my mouth shut about THAT, at least.

For the next week it seemed like everything was better; and John was a lot more like his old self again. He wasn't looking at his feet all the time any more, and there were even a couple of times I got him to crack a joke. That one letter had made such a huge difference in his attitude it was almost unbelievable!

I really liked seeing John with a good attitude, so after a little debating with myself I decided to reward him. That weekend, I sat down and wrote the second Dawn note.

~
Dear John,

It's been so nice this past week to see you looking so much happier. I wish so badly I had the courage to see you in person and let you know how I feel. Until I do, though, know that it makes me feel wonderful knowing you are doing better. Please, stay happy for me, and know that no matter what, I'm there wishing for things to be better for you.

Your friend,

Dawn
~

It was embarrassing, but I couldn't stop myself from putting on some lipstick and adding a kiss to the end of the letter. I felt like an idiot almost immediately after I finished, but I folded the letter and sealed it in its envelope before I had a chance to change my mind. Ashley's giggling behind me only served to make me blush, but my "Quiet, you," was only half serious.

I barely had time to stash the note in John's locker before he saw me, but the instant he picked up the envelope I could see his face brighten. That week he seemed to continue to get better, at least, until that Friday at lunch.

"So, who do you think my mystery girl is?" John asked me between bites of pizza.

I shrugged noncommittally and tried to look as unconcerned as possible, just like I had every other time he'd asked me that question in the last week. Every day at lunch he would pull out the letters I had sent him and mull over them, and ask me questions about what I thought. It was a lot of fun, and always made me feel warm inside to see him admiring something that I had done for him, even if he didn't know it. Today, though, I was in for a shock as I watched a look of disgust cross his face. Then, he tore up the letters!

"What are you doing?" I stood in alarm.

John's face had gone from being almost normal to the same depressed look he'd had before the first letter, but this time, there was anger added to the mix, and the hurt grimace he wore made me ache to look at.

He rose to his full height, and without meaning to I backed away from the glare he gave me. "I will NOT be played with like this. I don't wanna be the patsy in some sick game that's just gonna get me hurt worse! Dammit, why is everyone in our school such dicks? This girl's probably just trying to get me worked up so they can do something else to me." John collapsed in his chair again, but I could tell he was still super tense.

I couldn't believe what I had just seen, and felt myself growing upset. "Jeezus, she just wanted to make you feel better!" I was doing my best to keep from slapping him for being so pathetic, or bursting into tears myself, but his change of attitude was almost too much -- combined with the effort not to give myself away. It took a supreme effort, but I managed to calm myself before continuing. "She isn't being mean, okay? She really does want you to be happy."

His anger seemed to fade as a small triumphant gleam came to his eyes. Staring right at me, he asked calmly, "Oh, really? And how would you know? You DO know who she is, don't you?"

"What, no!" Dangit! I really need to be more careful how I say things. I had just come dangerously close to saying too much.

"Then why do you think you have some special knowledge about what she means?"

"Wha, uh... shoot." I was pretty -- - well -- - stuck. If I kept claiming I didn't know who wrote the letters, then John wouldn't trust them any more and their effect would be ruined. I didn't think he'd react well if he knew that I wrote them, either. Knowing John, he would appreciate the gesture even if he thought it was a little weird, but then he would just go back to being depressed again. I never even considered that he might freak out on me -- we're talking about John here, my best friend and all around good guy, not one of the other boys. I sighed as I came to a decision, and hoped I wasn't digging myself in so deep I couldn't get back out. I looked up into his eyes. "Yes, I know who wrote the letters."

"Who is it?" He asked eagerly.

"I... I can't tell you," I answered slowly. Then inspiration hit me. "She really is very shy, and isn't ready to come out yet. Okay?"

Looking at his face, I could tell that, no, it wasn't really okay, but he nodded. John trusted me not to lead him wrong, and knowing that both relieved and tortured me.

"Tell her I'm sorry for ripping up the letters, would you? If she saw."

"I will," I promised him. An honest-to-god smile crossed John's face for the first time in, well, I wasn't really sure how long; and I knew he really was sorry.

"Thanks."

"I got your back." I smiled, both from relief and in thanks that he was feeling good about himself again.

Another weekend, another note. That Sunday would be Valentine's Day, so I decided that instead of the normal stationery I wanted to give John an actual valentine. Ashley gave me a weird look, but helped me to shop for exactly what I wanted. In the end, we chose what had to be the most embarrassingly cutesy and feminine valentine we could find, and neither of us could stop laughing as we misted it with perfume and I wrote John a short personal message inside.

I was nervous about the valentine, and held off putting it into his locker until Wednesday. Just having it in my backpack made me feel super strange, I dunno, almost like everyone could see it and tell it was from me to John. I finally worked up the courage to slide it through the slats, and by sheer luck I was there when John found it waiting for him.

"What's this?"

John was as embarrassed by the valentine as I had been picking it out, but from the looks of it he was also genuinely happy to have it. Several times that day I saw him stopping by his locker and sniffing the sweet perfume we had scented it with, and for some reason I felt myself flush every time I noticed that.

That Friday held another surprise, though it was a lot more pleasant than the last one. I was heading for Civics class when I heard my name being called behind me. Turning, I saw John walking towards me carrying a fluffy little white teddy bear clutching a flower vase, with a single pink rose. When he finally reached me, he proudly handed me the Valentine's gift.

I wasn't sure what to say, and felt my cheeks turning a shade of pink that matched the rose as I looked up at him. "Umm... thanks?"

John chuckled and punched me lightly in the arm, though not hard enough to make me drop the bear. "It isn't for you, dude. Jeez, I'm not gay. It's for Dawn. You said you know who she is, so could you give this to her for me?"

I was shocked. John had bought me a teddy bear! For Valentine's Day! I mean, yeah, he didn't know it was for me, but still. "I can do that," I said, before carefully maneuvering my way toward my locker to store the gift for safekeeping, until I could figure out what to do with it. "I'll let her know I have it next time I see her."

"Thanks, man. I owe ya one."

"You're welcome, John," I said softly, with my back still turned to him. I was desperately fighting the urge to hug him in appreciation, knowing he wouldn't understand. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I do.

The bus ride home that afternoon was, ah, interesting, to say the least, but with a little work I managed to talk Ashley into carrying my Valentine's Day gift into the house and up the stairs, just in case our parents were home. As soon as we were upstairs and safely secure in her room, though, I quickly took it back. That's when her questions started.

"Wow, so John must really like you huh?"

"They're for Dawn, the girl who's been writing him the letters. Not me."

"Aww, he DID get them for you! That's so sweet! I wish I had a boyfriend who would buy me flowers on Valentine's Day."

"Ashley..."

"So," she interrupted me, "what does the note say?"

"Note?" She was right. I hadn't noticed it before, I guess I had been too distracted by the rest, but sure enough there was an envelope taped to the side of the vase, just under the teddy bear's paws. Ashley looked at me expectantly as I slid the envelope open, so I sat down next to her on the bed so she could read with me as I pulled out the slip of plain white paper inside.

~
Dear Dawn,

Thank you for the valentine, and for the letters you have given me. I don't know who you are, but I know that I can never thank you enough. Don tells me that you're very shy, so I guess I won't see you for a while, but I do know that some day we will meet.

My email is jwestjr(at)brightoncitycable(dot)com. Please, write me again soon. I look forward to hearing from you.

Your friend,

John
~

Whoo, boy. John wants me to email him? As Dawn? Of course, he doesn’t know that Don and Dawn are the same person... but still.

A problem occurred to me. "I don't even have an email address as Dawn!"

Ashley fell over on the bed laughing, and her rolling around behind me pulled me back out of my thoughts of what to do.

"Dawn has a boyfriend, Dawn has a boyfriend!" She began chanting in between her shallow breathing and laughing.

"I do NOT!"

"Uh huh, do too!"

She finally managed to regain control of herself, but she was still wheezing as she stood and hugged me. "Come on, it's sweet of him. Most guys would be freaked out if they found out they had a secret admirer-stalker like you."

I wanted to object that I wasn't a "stalker," but she had a point. "Maybe," I conceded, "but things aren't going that well for him right now. Should I email him?"

Ashley looked me up and down. It was that same weird look she had used several times in the last few weeks. "Answer me one question first."

"Oh-kay,and what would that be?"

"Do you like him?"

"Ashley, he's my best friend, of course I like him."

"No," she shook her head, "he's DON'S best friend. I'm asking you, Dawn, do you like him, as in -- LIKE HIM -- like him?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" I huffed.

"Because. If you don't like him, you need to stop."

I thought about what she had just said for a moment. It made sense... to a point. Did I like John? As in — LIKE HIM -- like him?

"Aren't you supposed to be the LITTLE sister?" I asked suspiciously.

She snorted, then grabbed my hand and started dragging me out the door toward my own room. "Just be careful, okay? Come on, let's get Dawn online."

---

In less than two hours Dawn was officially on the net. I had an email account, a facebook, and even a profile on some kind of teen chat site. It took a little creative building, but Dawn Elizabeth Mercer -- the name of my favorite of Ashley's dolls, and our mom's maiden name -- was now real in a sense I had never imagined I could be.

I logged in that night and sent off my first email to John. I tried to concentrate on the message, but my attention kept turning back to the bear and flower sitting on my desk, right next to my bed. I didn't know why, but just looking at them made me feel good. I knew I'd have to hide them whenever John came over, but in a strange way I was proud of John for getting them for me, even if he didn't know they were for... me.

~
Dear John,

Thank you for the rose and teddy bear; it's so cute!

I hope you have been doing better the last few weeks. Things are tough now, I know, but I promise you they will get better, if you just hold on and believe in yourself.

I'm looking forward to talking to you even more now. It will be very nice not to have to sneak notes to you :P

Your friend,

Dawn
~

I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt my hand click the mouse once. Opening my eyes, I saw the words "Message Sent" displayed on my monitor. There. I've done it. Wow, I’m way more nervous about this than I had been about the first note I left in his locker. Those had been anonymous, maybe even a little mysterious. But this... this is on a whole other level. Step by step, I was making it harder for me as Dawn to cut myself off from John. I had hidden this side of me for so long, and now, I was free to talk to someone other than my little sister. I wasn't really comfortable with what I was doing yet, but at the same time as those thoughts scared me it felt good, too.

I must have stared at my monitor for three hours before John's message came in.

~
Dear Dawn,

You don't need to thank me for the rose -- it was the least I could do. I should be thanking you over and over again, your letters have helped me to feel much better about myself. After what has been happening at school, I thought I would be alone until after graduation. You have given me hope.

Can I meet you?

John
~

No. I can't. Not yet. Not yet? Not ever.

I'd never left the house as Dawn, and I didn't think that would be changing any time soon. There were so many little things that I was always afraid would give me away. I mean, I like the idea of being myself, but it’s so scary! And I didn't want to use wigs or padding, either -- as much as they might help me to fit in as a girl if I did go out, I wanted my body to be my own, without assistance. No, I can't meet him. But I'd not tell him that. I won't say "No, never," just "no, not yet."

~
Dear John,

I'd love to see you, but I can't... yet. I'm so sorry, but I'm just not ready... yet. Some day, I hope to have the courage to talk to you in person, but for now I hope that our writing can be enough. Please?

Your friend,

Dawn
~

"There," I said to myself as I sat back, "hopefully that'll be good enough to keep him happy for a while."

I didn't regret saying no. Not at all. Of course not. Why would I regret it?

Then again, maybe it would help him out even more if I did meet him as Dawn? Even Jessica North wouldn't look at him at school any more, which just blew my mind since she of all people should have known better. I'd see him the next day anyways, or Monday at the latest. So, in a way he would be meeting up with Dawn. Just... not a really girly Dawn. Not yet.

No, I had to remind myself, not EVER. As mucha s it hurt, I had to keep reality in sight. I'll be starting puberty soon, and then whether I'm a girl or not wouldn't matter, 'cause I definitely won't be able to look like one at all anymore. I took after my dad's side of the family a lot, and all the men were big. Huge, even. My dad? He's... I think... six seven. Grandpa’s six nine, and I don't think I have an uncle who is under six two. Not only that, but they're all pretty stocky too. Once all that kicked in, where would I be if I tried to dress as Dawn then? I wouldn't be able to do it, especially not around anyone, so why start something like that if I knew I couldn't finish it? I didn't want to think about my biology and how unfair it all was, because it always made me cry, hard. But I couldn't stop myself, and that night I went to bed early, skipping dinner so my mom and dad wouldn't see me.

I must have gotten a dozen emails from John over the weekend, and despite my doubts over whether I should or not, I answered them all. I dunno, there was just something so nice about talking to someone who accepted me as a girl with no question. He seemed sad that I wouldn't meet him anywhere -- that still made me have to fight down giggle fits when I saw him -- but I guess he accepted the excuse that I was shy. We developed a pattern pretty quickly; one of us would suggest something, like a movie or a band, and the other would tell them what they thought. Even being best friends for so long, I found out things that weekend I never knew about John. He had cried at the end of Pooh's Grand Adventure. He wants to see Africa when he grows up. He loves my mom's cooking, but hates his own mom's. I didn't know ANY of that!

At school on Monday John was in an even better mood than he had been the week before. I felt so nice seeing him walk around smiling and laughing like his old self, I decided to let him talk me into instant messaging him. It was almost magical the way people's attitudes at school changed, too. The brighter his mood got, the better the rest of our classmates treated him -- and the more frustrated Sarah seemed to be every time I saw her. Ooh, it felt good to see that. She tried to start another series of rumors the next week about something else horrible John had supposedly done while they were dating, but they fell flat ‘cuz there was nothing she could say that was worse than what she already had, and I think the rest of the class was getting tired of her domineering attitude, too. John was happy, and it made me happy knowing that it was because of me. Even the girls in his grade were starting to talk to him again, which made me jealous. Why did it make me jealous? At least I knew that it was me who helped him get over that... other girl, so I had the upper hand. Jeez, what am I saying?

By the time the beginning of March rolled around John was opening up to me about so many things we had never talked about before. I was happy, but hurt, too. I rationalized that since Dawn was a girl he felt he could open up to her without sounding "gay." I mean, after all, she's a girl he likes.He asked me to meet with him again, but I said not yet, again. His persistence was wearing on me, I guess partially because I really did want to see him as Dawn, but I had to stay strong. Things were getting serious, and I wasn't completely sure I was ready for it yet, but there was no way I was going to stop.

I'm sure I don't have to say it, but I was dressed in my Dawn clothes as often as possible when talking to John online. Ashley would tease me a little about how cute she thought it was that I would "girl up" for our "e-dates" -- as she called them. I was thankful I had my own clothes and didn't have to borrow hers, though, because even if our parents were home when we came in from school I had taken to running straight to my room and changing before getting online. Don would disappear, and Dawn would be there at the computer, waiting for John to get home. On days when he had basketball practice -- the coach had been surprisingly understanding, and let him back on the team with almost no fuss, to our mutual shock -- I would sit in my room or talk to Ashley for the hour I had to wait unless Mom or Dad asked me to do something. I'm pretty sure Ashley thought I was just using the time messaging John as an excuse to be myself, but she was nice enough not to say anything if she did.

~
MORNINGGLORY: John!
JWESTJR: howwuz ur day 2day?
MORNINGGLORY: lol just another day - cudnt w8 4 it 2 b over
JWESTJR: ya, I no - used 2 like skul but u no
JWESTJR: rly had me down 4 long time
MORNINGGLORY: ya I no rt - must b hard 4 u. dosnt seem so bad now tho
JWESTJR: guess not but all thx 2 u :)
MORNINGGLORY: o rly? :P lol
JWESTJR: ya rly... BRB
(JWESTJR has signed off)
(JWESTJR has signed back in)
JWESTJR: u ther?
MORNINGGLORY: course! wuz sitting lone - w8 4 u
JWESTJR: lol u no if u wud meet u wudnt b lone
MORNINGGLORY: i no but still not rdy
JWESTJR: cn least c ur pix?
~

Oh, wow. What do I do here?

~
MORNINGGLORY: idk not rdy 4 u 2 c me
JWESTJR: k but promise I wont evn go near u at skul - jus wnt 2 no
~

Huh? He didn't just say that. Did he?

~
MORNINGGLORY: srs?
JWESTJR: ya - dont care how stupid - jus feel like i nown u hol life
~

Okay, that's a bit freaky. Still, it's John, and I know that if he says he will or won't do something he keeps his promises...

"Ashley?" I called out. I really needed her advice with this.

"Huh?" I heard her call from her room.

"Could you come here for a second?"

I heard her try the knob, then knock on the door impatiently. I rushed over and let her in quickly, trying not to show myself in my girl's jeans and cami just in case Mom and Dad were around. As soon as I knew the coast was clear I locked the door again and pointed to my monitor, where the chat window was still sitting waiting for my answer.

She read our messages from beginning to end with a smirk on her face, then stood up and turned to me. "Do you want to do it?"

"Well, I can't really, can I?" I stared at my feet.

"Why not?" She laughed. "I mean, you aren't gonna win any beauty pageants but you're pretty enough."

"Well, thanks, I think," I sneered at her.

She rolled her eyes. "No, really, you look good. We'll have to do something about your hair, though."

I reached up and touched my hair. "But, I don't wanna wear a wig," I complained. I had been growing my hair out for the last year or so, and while it wasn't long by any means I was proud of it. Not only that, but as much as I hated to admit it if I was going to send John pictures I wanted everything he saw to be me. It might be risky with how often we saw each other when I was in boy mode, but for some reason it felt really important that everything about Dawn be as close to the truth as possible.

A ding from my computer let me know John was still there.

~
JWESTJR: u ther?
MORNINGGLORY: sry gtg - mybe pix but kinda scary - ttyl, k?
JWESTJR: k - please? rly like 2 c u
~

I signed out, then turned around to face Ashley again. "Now, you were saying?"

She shook her head like she couldn't believe I was actually agreeing. "Oh-kay. I've got a plan, but you'll have to trust me."

"You know I do," I stated firmly, braver than I actually felt.

She just grinned.

---

The weekend had finally rolled around, and as I stood in the living room I started really regretting ever telling Ashley I trusted her.

"Are you absolutely SURE that Mom and Dad are going to be gone all day?" I asked for what must have been the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes.

"YES! They told both of us earlier this week -- Dad has to work on whatever it is they have him doing at the shop, I think some old guy's show car or something, and Mom has to clean Mrs. Finson's place today. They're gonna be gone at least until four or five this afternoon, so we're fine. Stop being such a worrier; or you'll get me started, too."

Okay, intellectually I knew Ashley was right. She was always right -- it's one of the pains of having a little sister who's smarter than you -- but in my heart I was having a hard time coming to terms with what we were setting out to do. I'd never left the house dressed as Dawn before, and here I was all dressed up, and she was about to drag me down to the park. Why? For a photo shoot! The photos for John couldn't be taken at home, that'd be too likely to give things away or something like that. We had to go somewhere that was, well, I'm not sure what, but not home. The idea of both the photos and leaving the house dressed as Dawn scared the living daylights outta me, but at the same time it felt like a huge step toward being close to myself.

Of course, the clothes she had picked out weren't helping me out any, either. I've always been a jeans and tee shirts kinda person as both a guy and a girl, but she had decided in her ever-present wisdom that I needed to both make a good impression and look as little like a guy as I could. That's why I stoodin a long, heavy denim skirt and a baggy blue sweater that hung off my shoulders, showing the strap of my cami to the world, but in what Ashley said was a "Cute, innocent yet flirty kinda way." I just thought it made me look like an escapee from "Flashdance." But what do I know. If it wasn't for the chill still in the air I'm sure she would have chosen something a lot shorter, but even with how well the outfit covered me I still felt incredibly nervous when she opened the door and pushed me outside.

"I still wish you'd at least let me use some rolled up socks or something to make your boobs look bigger," Ashley grumbled as she held onto my hand.

I slowly moved first my left foot, then my right, willing myself not to turn around and flee back to the safety of the house.

"I'd rather be flat-chested than fake, I've told you that before."

"Oh, come on, everyone does it, it's no big deal."

"I know, but... I dunno. Not this time, okay?" I pleaded.

"You don't know what you're missing out on, big sis," she chuckled, "or I guess 'little sis' would be more appropriate." She poked me in the chest lightly, right at the edge of the cup on my lightly padded bra, the only concession towards bust enhancement I was willing to make.

"Hah, hah. Look who's being a comedienne today," I snapped. I wasn't in the mood for her jokes.

"Ease up, you're doing fine."

I couldn't "ease up," though, and pulled the short jacket she had handed me more tightly around myself as we walked the four blocks, or so, to the park. I kept hoping the cold would be my salvation, and that the park would be mostly empty when we got there since most people would wait until it was warmer. Lucky for me, there were only a handful of parents there with their children and a couple of joggers, as well as the ever-present ducks who never bothered to migrate since people were always throwing bread into the pond for them.

"Okay, let's start with a few casual shots by the pond, then maybe a couple on the swings. If I spin you on the merry-go-round, you won't throw up, will you?" Ashley teased me as she raised the digital camera and started snapping photos of me while spouting cheesy lines we always heard photographers use on "America’s Next Top Model".

"Work it for me, come on."

"Show me some sass."

"Strut, strut, strut... now stop. There, that's perfect baby, I love it!"

That's how my first ever time out as a girl went. Ashley would snap away on her camera as I posed for her in different parts of the park. What had started off as a nerve-racking experience became a lot of fun as I loosened up. None of the parents or kids in the park seemed to be able to tell that I wasn't all girl under my clothes, and the less people paid attention to me the more confident I became.

We had just sat down after finishing what must have been the hundredth shot of the day, when a frazzled looking mother with frizzy red hair and freckles ran up to me. She had looked worried from a distance, but as she drew closer her expression looked more and more fully panicked as she continued to rock a tiny baby in her arms.

"Um, excuse me, miss?" She asked me, her eyes darting around. "I hate to ask you this, but could you watch Stephie until I come back? My little boy ran off and I can't find him, and I'm so worried; and I don't want to drop her and..."

Ashley spoke up from behind me. "Sure!"

At the same time I blurted, "M-me?"

The woman nodded quickly, and a small look of relief seemed to wash over her face before she started to panic again. "I know it's weird for me to ask this, I don't even know you, but I need to look for Brian...right now!"

"Uhm... okay?"

Yes, it was definitely a look of relief that she had as she carefully handed me the small sleeping bundle. She was talking the entire time about little things like how to hold the baby, what to do to change her or if she cried and a lot of other things I couldn't catch in her nervous state. I just nodded numbly as I settled back onto the bench I had been sitting on, trying not to jar the baby too much. I promised her "Stephie" would be fine, then with one more worried look she rushed off without even giving me her name.

Ashley thought the whole thing was hilarious, but less than five minutes after the mom left we were both cooing over Stephie like she was the first baby we had ever seen. Her eyes were closed, and she was making little bubbly noises and shaking her fists around. It was like the cutest thing EVER. Ashley kept bugging me to hold her, but the lady had asked ME to watch the baby, and I couldn't just hand her off to someone else! I mean, what would she think if she saw the baby in Ashley's arms and not mine? I had to watch her, it was my duty. I told all this to Ashley, but she just gave me a look like yeah, sure -- I think she knew I just wanted to keep holding the baby.

Way too soon, Stephie's mom came back with a dirty and upset little boy in tow. He couldn't have been more than four years old, and there were tear stains tracking down his face through the layer of mud. His mom had a napkin out and kept wiping at his face and sobbing like she hadn't seen him in -- forever.

"... I was so WORRIED about you; where were you? Oh my God, I can't believe... at least you’re safe. Don't EVER run off like that again, you hear me? I was... I was... " She was almost to us, and her face kept switching between anger and exhausted relief. I wasn't sure whether she wanted to hug the little boy more or strangle him, but when she reached us she visibly calmed herself. "Was Stephie good for you?"

"She was a little angel." I cuddled the little blanket-wrapped ball of gurgling cuteness.

"Good," the woman sighed, before gasping, "Oh, I just realized, here you are holding my baby for me and I never even introduced myself! I'm Barbara, but everyone just calls me Babs."

I carefully pulled my right arm from under the baby, and we shook hands. "I'm Dawn, and this is my little sister, Ashley."

"Hi!" Ashley chirped.

"And this little dirt pile here is Brian. Say hello, Brian." Babs lightly tugged on the young boy's hand.

He looked up at us sadly and managed to mumble a small, "'Lo," before blushing and looking down at the ground again.

"Thank you two so much. Normally I'd never ask a stranger for a favor like that, but you've been at the park all day so I didn't think it would be a problem."

"No, it wasn't a problem at all." I smiled. "We enjoyed it."

She sat down next to us and we visited for a few minutes, but it wasn't too long before Ashley and I had to leave if we wanted to get home before Mom and Dad did. It was hard to part with Stephie, but I eventually managed to do so; and we left the park.

We got back in plenty of time for me to change, so we both headed upstairs to our rooms. I was going to look at the pictures before going back to boy-mode, but Ashley said it would probably take a while, and I should change first.

I stood in the middle of my bedroom floor, looking into the mirror over my dresser for the longest time. I've done it. I've been outside as a girl. I left the house, and went to the park, and had a great day. I thought about little Stephie so sweet in my arms. I wonder what it would be like to be a mother? It must be wonderful.

I shook my head as I felt the tears start falling. Of course, I'll never have that, will I? Another year and I’ll be too big and hairy to ever be able to go out as Dawn again. How can I be a girl if I'm seven foot tall and covered in fur?

It must have been an hour later when Ashley came in looking for me, and there I was still dressed, curled up on my bed and bawling my eyes out. She sat down next to me and held me as I cried, whispering soothing things in my ear, but all I could hear was myself asking over and over how life could be so unfair.

---

"Dude, isn't she great?"

"Yeah, John, for the fifth time today."

I didn't want to say it to him, but John was starting to get a little annoying. He was constantly talking about the picture of me we had sent him. It was one of the ones she had taken of me by the pond, sitting on a rock and watching the ducks. I'd been surprised by how well the photos had turned out, and with the way she had twisted my hair and put it up I looked so much different that I didn't figure John would be able to ID me. That was on Tuesday -- it was Friday, and he'd actually printed the picture and taped it inside the door of his locker, finding something new and exciting he just HAD to tell me about it at least once a day.

Okay, so it may not have been John entirely that was getting on my nerves. My mood had been pretty sour all week, in fact, ever since the day in the park. I dunno, things just seemed so much worse after that. I'd endured another physical examination for cross country earlier in the week, and that had just helped to drive things further home that I'd never be able to be a girl. The doctor had grabbed my, uh, "bits" and given them a pretty good grope before giving me some kind of booster shot in my rear and telling me I was a fit and healthy young man. Young man. Oh, sure, some day I can be a dad, but it's just not the same as being a mom. After puberty I'll never be able to pass, and I just know that Mom and Dad will kill me if I ever tell them how I feel.

"Hey, man, you okay? You're looking kinda upset again."

I jerked a bit, but nodded and tried to smile. It didn't work. Normally I'd look for Ashley to try and talk about things if I got feeling bad, junior and senior high all shared the same lunch, but she was out for the day at the doctor's for her physical, so I couldn't do that.

By the time I got home that afternoon, all I could think about was locking my bedroom door, changing clothes, and talking to John online. I had slammed the door on my way in, and I was almost to the stairs when Ashley came down and saw me.

"Dawn? Mom went to work at John's house after dropping me off. Come on, we need to talk."

I didn't really want to talk any more, but I wasn't sure how to get around it without hurting Ashley's feelings, so I followed her back upstairs, where she entered MY room. I followed, and spied a small paper bag that had been folded closed sitting in the middle of my unmade bed. I turned to Ashley and gave her a quizzical look.

"Go on, Dawn, open it," she urged me.

I was curious, so without further prompting I walked over to my bed and plopped down next to the bag. I rolled down the top, and peered in to find... a slim pink compact. But it wasn't actually a compact. I knew what was actually in it, and felt tears coming into my eyes again -- always with the crying -- as Ashley came up beside me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

"You have NO idea how embarrassing it was to talk to Mom and the doctors to get those. And if they ask, you got them from one of your friends at school, okay?"

I just nodded as I spun around and hugged her as tightly as I could. We both knew what she was offering me was dangerous, because we had both looked at the sites online. But I didn't care. Ashley was always the smart one, but she understood how I felt, and no matter how stupid it might have been, we both knew I was going to use the pills.

~
MORNINGGLORY: u ther?
JWESTJR: ya been w8ing 4 u
MORNINGGLORY: sry just running l8
JWESTJR: sokay, ur worth w8ing 4
JWESTJR: y r u l8?
MORNINGGLORY: jus got meds 2day
MORNINGGLORY: getting rdy 2 start 2morrow
JWESTJR: r u ok? not sick r u?
MORNINGGLORY: fine -- not that kinda meds :P
JWESTJR: k -- u worried me
(JWESTJR has uploaded one file: WHEREVERYOUARE.MP3 Accept? Y/N)
(Y)
(File WHEREVERYOUARE.MP3 download complete)
JWESTJR: i shud stop w/ ur pix @ skul -- friends getting tired my brag bout u
MORNINGGLORY: ur mbrsing me
JWESTJR: y?
MORNINGGLORY: cuz i dont wanna b looked @ all teh time
JWESTJR: sry 4get ur shy
MORNINGGLORY: sokay -- howwuz ur day?
~

John made sure to let me know how much better my mood seemed to be that weekend, but when he asked why I was so happy I just said I'd had some good news earlier in the week. Even school wasn't enough to dampen my spirits, and I was constantly smiling. Every morning I'd take the pills Ashley had gotten me, and I'd feel just a little better about myself knowing that I was doing something to stop the growth spurts I had been expecting to start any time soon. I wasn't expecting anything super great, I mean, from our research I knew that birth control wasn't all that strong, especially not the kind they would give my little sister, but if they could even hold off my becoming a man even for a day, I would happily take them for the rest of my life.

By the time March ended John and I had grown a lot closer through our nightly talks. The only problem I had was that it was getting harder and harder not to let things slip when I was in Don-mode that only Dawn was supposed to know. It took a lot of work, but I did manage to keep my two lives separate... ish. Mom was getting better known and had more cleaning jobs, and Dad had managed to pull another contract for some rich guy's hot rod again, so while I felt bad never seeing them at home until late into the evening -- I was also happy to have that much more freedom to move around the house as Dawn. Ever since going to the park I had a lot more confidence in myself, and a few times Ashley and I went out to eat or visit the parks. It was still scary, but I never seemed to have a problem passing, which always made me feel good. Another part of my confidence was my "medicine" -- as sad as it sounds, one thing that had always held me back before was this fear of being out as a girl and all of a sudden my voice dropping, or growing a beard, or some other horrible sign of male puberty erupting, and everyone around me staring and laughing. It was stupid, I knew that, just like I knew that the pills wouldn't probably make any long-term difference, but they helped me to overcome that fear and just do things. We even went to the mall a couple of times, and had a blast looking around.

April came and went pretty much the same as March had... but May. May was bad. It was one of those rare mornings that Mom was still home when Ashley and I got up, and as I stumbled sleepily down the stairs something happened, and I stumbled and winced when a sharp sting rocketed through my hips and thighs. I was still limping when I rounded the corner to see Mom standing at the counter, her long black hair pulled back in a bun and already dressed in scrubs, ready to head off for work.

Just because Mom and Dad work all the time doesn't mean my family doesn't love each other, and the first thing Mom did when she saw me was stand up to give me a big hug, but the smile on her face died when she saw me wince again as I walked toward her.

"What's wrong?" She asked me.

"I dunno, my legs are really hurting me today though, it's like they're stinging and itching on the inside."

She hugged me, grinning as she backed up. "Growing pains, huh? Sounds like puberty has finally hit you. You'll be big as your dad soon enough."

Just like that, the good mood I had been in for over a month was shattered. I was crushed. Why aren't the pills working? All I wanted to do at that point was run back to my room and cry to myself for a while, but I knew it wouldn't be a good idea to skip school with finals coming up so soon. I tried to stay strong in front of my mom, but I couldn't stop a few tears from leaking down my face.

"Does it really hurt that bad, Sweetie?" Mom frowned, concern obvious in her voice as she started searching the cabinets. "I can give you some aspirin for now if you want me to, but if it's hurting that bad perhaps I should keep you home and take you to the doctor?"

I took the aspirin she handed me and thanked her, but said not to worry about the doctor. What can they do to help me? I was upset and angry, and had no energy as I wound my way back upstairs. It was a rash decision, but I took a second one of my little pills from the pink disc. Doubling the dosage will be more dangerous than I really care to think about, but I'll do anything if it’ll stop my body from growing more mannish.

And so the pattern was set for the rest of THAT month. I was irritable all the time, and really emotional, and to top it all off each day I could feel new little pains erupting across my body as things grew despite doubling my dosage.

My mom decided to measure me, since last time they had checked was back in December. ? I'd jumped from five-five to five-eleven, though according to Mom it was all in my legs. Looking down, she was right -- if we hadn't bought my pants baggy on purpose I'm sure I would be getting picked on at school for "high waters" with the way my legs stuck out of them. Luckily it was shorts weather by that time of the year, because I didn't want to ask for money for new jeans when I just knew we couldn't afford them. The biggest problem was that my double doses meant I was running short on pills. It was a desperate act, but one Saturday I dressed up as girly as possible in some of my Dawn clothes and headed downtown to the free clinic. It was embarrassing beyond belief to have to fake talk of boyfriends and experimenting and whatever else I could think of, but by the time I left I had another ring of pills -- just enough to last until Ashley could bring me her next dosage.

A little over halfway through May, something weird happened though, and it made me really have to think about things. John had been acting like he was worried about my behavior for the last couple of weeks, I guess because of how depressed I had gotten. At the same time, he was still totally moon-eyed over me, too. Well, over Dawn-me. Every day was "Dawn this" or "Dawn that" when I was talking to him and it was getting me a little frustrated. But that's not what was weird. Since about mid-April, pretty much all the rumors and stuff had lost all their power, and John was just as popular as ever, including with the girls.

"Don, I need your advice on something."

"Sure, what'cha need?"

"Well, Jessica North asked me out."

"WHAT!" That bit... Grrh!

"Yeah. But I was thinking -- hey, man, you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Uh, I gotta go talk to someone. I'll let ya know what I think later, okay?"

He looked at me kinda confused-like, but nodded.

I immediately ran off to the other side of the cafeteria and grabbed Ashley. I know she wanted to complain when I pulled her out of her chair and outside, but her expression changed when she saw my face.

"Ashley, I need to talk to you. Jessica asked John out!"

"Good for him! So everyone's being nice to him again?"

"Ashley! But what about me? I mean Dawn?"

Ashley looked at me sideways. "What about her?"

"Well, it isn't fair to her if he goes out with Jessica!"

"Why not?"

"Because I really... she's supposed to really like him a lot!"

Ashley actually started laughing at me!

"Ohmigod, I swear, I had my suspicions, but THIS is..."

I was pulling my hair out I was so stressed. "WHAT!"

She calmed down enough to look me in my face. "You really do like having him, don't you?"

"I just don't think..."

"Obviously not."

"Ashley! It... what do I do? He wants my advice, and... I don't know what to do!"

I was freaking out, hard, I know, which is I guess why it surprised me when she wrapped me in her arms and squeezed me lovingly. "Girl, you need to chill."

"But..."

"No. Chill. Woo-sah. Come on."

Whoo. Okay. I can do this. My heart began to slow down, and as soon as I stopped hyperventilating Ashley let me go.

"Now, more calmly. John was asked out by Jessica, but rather than just saying ‘yes’ he asked you for advice on what to do. Right?"

"Uh huh." I slid down the wall behind me until I was sitting on the ground, and watched as Ashley matched me on the wall across from me. We were in one of the alleys between school buildings where the smokers usually hid, but I had no idea how we had gotten there.

"That means that he's not sure if he should accept, which means he cares about Dawn. Right?"

When she said "he cared about me," it made me feel better for some reason. "Yeah?"

"Okay. So, what I need you to do is decide if you care about him."

"Well, Dawn..."

"NO! I don't want you to think about Dawn as a made up person and what she's SUPPOSED to feel. You like him, really LIKE like him. Don't you?"

I didn't want to think about that. He's my BEST FRIEND. I CAN'T like him like that. It's not right, you know? But...

"You don't have to answer me right now," Ashley said calmly, "but you have to think about it."

I swear, sometimes it's like she can read my thoughts.

That was when the bell for class rang, and lunch was over.

I tried thinking about things, but school kept getting in the way that day, and before I could leave that afternoon John cornered me in the hallway.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry to keep bugging you, but I want an answer."

"I... I... I can't give you one." God, I'm such a wimp.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm too close to the issue." I left it at that. John looked thoughtful for a moment, like he was considering something, but then nodded and let me pass. I definitely had to think about things.

He never did go on that date with Jessica North.

---

We continued to IM every afternoon, but we both knew it wouldn't last much longer. John was going to be a counselor for the youth camp a few miles north, and would be leaving at the end of the month, not returning until early August. More and more often our IMs had turned into us telling each other how much we would miss each other over the summer, but secretly I was almost happy he would be gone. I still needed to think about things, and I couldn't do that clearly with him around. The summer would give us time to cool down, and be away from each other for a while, which is exactly what I needed.

It wasn't long before finals were over, and my last day of being a sophomore was officially behind me. Ashley would be a freshman and John would be a senior the next year, and I was expecting it to be great. But before then, we had one lazy summer to look forward to, and I intended to spend it doing absolutely nothing.

The first hint -- okay, the first one I noticed -- that I might have misjudged my sudden growth spurts came almost as soon as school was out. My chest had been aching pretty good for a week or so, but I'd assumed that it was just like the aches in the rest of my body, as my chest tried to expand into the barrel-like proportions of my dad and uncles. So, I tried to ignore it. On that fateful morning, I slipped a loose tee shirt and a pair of my old ratty boxers on over my panties to head down to breakfast. Most of my regular shorts were too tight in the hips after all my growing to be comfortable, so I always put off putting them on until the last minute. I'd just stepped out of my room and had just about made the turn towards the stairs when I heard an astonished gasp and felt something pull me back quickly and shove me into my room. Before I could respond, Ashley was there, slamming my door and looking at me with shock on her face.

"Dawn, what are you doing? Do you want Mom and Dad to see you like that?"

"What?" I asked, confused. I wasn't dressed any different than usual, and I thought Mom and Dad would be at work by then anyway.

Instead of answering, Ashley pointed toward my mirror, so I turned to look. At first I didn't see anything wrong. It was me. Hair to my shoulders now, long legs, skinny arms. I didn't see a problem until Ashley grabbed the back of my tee shirt and pulled it tight.

Poking through the cloth were two small bumps topped with even smaller jutting points.

Boobs.

I have boobs.

Jeezus, I have boobs!

"Whasaaa! Ashley?"

"Oh, no. Please don't get me into this!"

She glared at me for a few seconds, during which I just stood there shocked. After that, though, her face softened and she came over to hug me. I really needed that hug, even if the pressure on my chest reminded me of something I was having a hard time believing I hadn't noticed earlier.

"Hold on, let me go check my room really fast, I might have something that'll help."
Ashley left, and didn't return for a lot longer than I thought it should have taken her to get something from her room. When she finally returned, her "something" turned out to be one of her yoga tanks, with a built in sports bra. I was reluctant to try it on, but after I did and layered a regular tee over it I was happy to note that it looked like any other tank top, though I'm sure she got a good laugh out of giving me one in lavender with small white flowers all over it.

After that, well, everything changed. I'd been trying to ignore what I had thought would be an increasingly masculine physique; and because of that I'd missed how feminine my body had become. My hips were wider and I was taller, but I didn't look any bigger further up than I had been, well, except for those mounds on my chest. I dropped my tee shirt again and pulled it tight, highlighting the faint beginnings of an curvy shape to my body. I still took after my dad's side of the family, sure, but I looked a lot more like one of my aunts than one of my uncles. Even my face had softened a bit, though if you asked me exactly what had changed I wouldn't be able to tell you. Looking at myself, I could still see the boyishness left over from Don, but I could also see that at some time while I wasn't paying attention Dawn had taken over.

The best way that I can describe the feeling is that I was ecstatic and terrified at the same time. What have I done? I'm a girl. Well, that's obvious, and perfectly fine by me. But how can I hide this? My dad's side of the family doesn't tend towards large breasts, so according to Ashley I can expect to maybe be a largish 'B' and that's about it, the same as her and our cousins -- well, our girl cousins, none of our boy cousins have breasts. I'll have to strap them down. Just the idea of that made me wince. I can't go swimming again. I can't go topless any more.Actually, the idea of THAT made me smile. I can't go downstairs to breakfast only halfway dressed any more.

The idea of that made me frown... big time.

I looked over to my bed, where Ashley had sat down and was waiting for me. Despite her being two years younger than me, the joys of puberty had graced her physically before they had started on me. Now, we looked almost the same. I was maybe a couple of inches taller than her and I had shorter hair versus her larger breasts and shaved legs, but we looked about the same size overall, and now I knew why none of my clothes would fit me right any more.

My clothes. No, not all my clothes. Just Don's clothes. Boy's clothes.

A grin broke out as I dug through my closet to the panel at the back, the one that slid to the side and opened up on a set of narrow shelves I had nailed into the wall supports to hold my girl clothes. I sorted through them quickly, pulling out a pair of large cargo shorts that I had bought a while back and not worn yet even though they weren't that different from boy's shorts. Ashley gave me one more quick look, then smirked and gave me a thumbs--up before leaving my room and locking the door so I could change.

I removed my scruffy boxers and stood there in just my panties for a moment before pulling up the shorts and turning to the mirror. My baggy tee shirt hung over the waist of the shorts enough to disguise the low slung style and the way they gripped my butt, a good thing since when I lifted the hem of my shirt and looked it was a little too... rounded, I'd say, for a guy, especially in the tight shorts. My hair was shaggy and hung to a little past my jaw, just touching my shoulders if I scrunched down a bit, so I pulled it up, twisted it a couple of times, and tucked it under an old Marlin’s baseball cap Dad had given me. Looking in the mirror, I saw a tall, gangly-looking person who looked more male than female -- more because of my hairy legs and flat chest -- well, my chest that looked flat. I was gonna have a hard time hiding how I was looking at track meets, especially if I kept developing, but I wasn't going to put any more effort into looking like a boy than that. Satisfied, I headed downstairs for breakfast.

~
Dear Dawn,

I hope this letter reaches you quickly, but since I don't have your address I sent it to Don so he could deliver it to you. I just couldn't go all summer without writing you. It's only been a week here, but I feel like I haven't got to talk to you in a month. The camp is nice, and the kids are a lot of fun to teach and horse around with. They have me helping with the mountain biking courses this month, then next month I'm going to be working on the climbing and rappelling wall. I love it here, but it would be so much better if you were here with me.

I hope your summer is going well, you never really told me what you were planning on doing. I hope you don't find some other boy who sweeps you of your feet and takes you away from me. Be careful around Don, he may seem all sweet and innocent but with how often everybody asks him for dating advice I'm guessing he could be a real sweet talker if he wanted. The last thing I need is to lose my girlfriend to my best friend.

Love,

John
~

~
Dear John,

Thank you for the sweet letter. Don gave it to me the day after it arrived, I was so thrilled you thought to write me! And don't worry about Don and me running away together -- I can promise you I have no interest in Don that way, and he knows it and is fine with it :P

I'm glad you're enjoying the camp. I bet it is SO much fun playing with the little kids, teaching them to swim and make baskets. All I'm doing this summer is spending time at home with my family as much as I can and waiting for you to return. I was thinking of getting a job babysitting if I can find anyone to hire me, but with all the other girls with nothing to do this summer I'm pretty sure there won't be any jobs left by the time I start looking.

Ashley and Don both asked me to say "Hi" for them, and to wish you a happy summer. Ashley and I both want you to bring us back something fun from the crafts class, if you get a chance to help in there too.

Love,

Dawn
XOXO
~

I wasn't really sure about closing the letter with "Love," and I was kinda embarrassed about the hugs and kisses, but after the way John had closed his letter it only seemed right. Ashley approved too, so we sealed it up and sent it off from the local post office -- the last thing I wanted was Mom and Dad finding something like that in our mailbox.

John and I wrote each other every week at least once. As soon as his letter came in, I would sit down and write out my response. I had thought it would be hard to create a fake summer for Dawn, but in the end I mostly just told him the truth, since unless Mom and Dad were home I spent most of my summer as Dawn anyhow.

It was halfway through July when John asked if I would send him another picture. He said that one of the CIT's spilled soda all over his printout, ruining it, but I was pretty sure he just wanted another picture of me to show off more. Ashley and I argued about it for a while, but in the end I agreed to pose for another photo shoot. Okay, so it didn't really take that much effort for Ashley to convince me -- I had been thinking hard over the last two months about what my feelings for John were, and I was finally ready to admit that I did like him a little in more than a "just friends" kinda way. Just a little is as far as I was ready to go though. So I shaved my legs, desperately hoping Mom and Dad wouldn't notice, and we set out for another round of pictures.

I had figured on the two of us just heading back to the same park we had used the first time, but Ashley had other plans. I was dressed in a pair of khaki capris and a loose tank top, with an actual bra on that fit my breasts, now up to an 'A' apparently. I had my hair pulled back in a ponytail, a style it was just long enough.

Ashley's choice of shooting location this time around was the mountains to the north of town, at the top of a few of the hiking trails and near the river. Again I found myself posing for her constantly as we slowly worked our way up the paths. When we finally reached the very top, she had me sit on the edge of a small cliff while she shot photos from the path about ten feet below. I was laughing at how hard she was working to lay her shots out, worrying about light and angles and everything, but I was also excited to see what John would think of my "outdoor girl" look. Since he was at a summer camp full of outdoors-types I hoped he would appreciate it. For some reason, it was becoming more and more important to me that John liked me and thought well of me. I knew that after summer ended I would have to let him go, so he could date some of the other girls at school who could actually be seen with him, but thinking about that hurt, and I was content to play the role of girlfriend as well as I could -- for as long as I could. I promised myself it would just be until he got back from camp, but until then I refused to try to think of any way to change things between us.

~
Dear Dawn,

You look beautiful in the new picture you sent me. Maybe when I get back we can go hiking some time? I know you're still too shy to be seen with me, but I would love to meet up with you. Even if you say no, I will hold on until I can convince you to change your mind. You're the most wonderful girl I have ever met, and I will never give you up.

Love,

John
~

~
Dear John,

Some day I'm sure I'll be able to see you, but it will not be for a long time. I truly do love you, but I feel like I'm leading you on into a relationship I may never be able to make happen. Forgive me, please, I know that makes me sound like a horrible person, and if you never want to talk to me again I understand. Nothing has made me happier than talking to you these last few months, and I never want to give that up, but I am still too scared to meet you in person.

Love,

Dawn
~

~
Dear Dawn,

If I have to wait years to meet you, then I will. I've never felt this way about anyone before, and as crazy as it may seem, even never having spoken to you in person I feel like we are meant to be together. I'll never give you up.
~

The rest of his letter was pretty much just chat about what the last few days of camp were going to be like. He never mentioned his devotion to me again, but I was still crying at the end of the letter. This had gone way beyond anything I had been expecting for the letters. I never meant for him to start liking Dawn that way. I never meant it to last this long.

I never meant to have feelings for John.

Yes, I finally admitted it, I really liked John. No, I love John. I had loved him for years, but this was different. In a lot of ways, I'm sure all of this was harder for me than him, as selfish as that sounds. I saw him every day at school, I would sit by and listen to him talking about me, about how he felt about me, and I could do nothing. It worried me and excited me all at once. And, he was coming back from his summer away at camp; and I knew that my time for ending this without hurting both of us a lot was almost gone, if not already passed. A lot of people think it's silly for a high schooler to feel like they've found their soulmate, but I knew that John's feelings for me were real, and so were mine for him. His wasn't his normal hard crush on a girl. His feelings were true love.

Four days later John was back home. I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, distractedly strapping down my breasts, followed by another one of Ashley's yoga tops, followed by an old Longhorn’s jersey. I pulled my hair back and twisted it before tucking it under a cap, just like I had gotten used to doing every time I had to dress as Don. I looked over myself in the mirror, and had to frown. My legs were still as smooth as they had been, I mean, after shaving them once I wasn't going to let the hair grow back, and their shape beneath my shorts was very pretty, the lotion I had put on them giving them a nice shine. I wondered how much my parents noticed the difference in my appearance. I hadn't grown another inch since reaching five-eleven -- we'd checked -- but the rest of my body had kept growing, just in a completely different direction than the guys on Dad's side of the family. And what's more, I was pretty sure that regular old BC pills shouldn't have affected me that strongly. I briefly considered the idea that maybe my body was messed up more than I had thought, but dismissed it. I wouldn't be that lucky. No, something else was rotten in the state of Denmark, or, you know, however it goes. I shrugged and decided not to question it, before grabbing my pack and heading out for John's house.

He had just got back from camp the day before, and we were planning on spending his first official day of freedom hiking, of all things. I knew he was hoping to see Dawn out on the trails, even though he never said it, so I was hoping I'd be able to act enough like his old buddy Don to distract him from that, maybe even tease him a bit about his obsession with some girl he'd never actually met. Ashley didn't like the idea at all, and told me it was mean -- and okay, I agreed with her, but I told her that's how guys worked. I was more than nervous already, and I was hoping that if I could get him riled up a bit it would help him not to notice how different I was, and get him to relax about things afterwards, too.

All those plans flew out the window the minute I stepped on his porch, though. I rang the front bell, listening to the familiar gonging chimes and waiting for an answer. Only John didn't answer, my mom did, wearing her aqua cleaning scrubs. I forgot she’s working at John’s house today.

"Oh, hi sweetie, are you and John going out today?"

I'm sure I jumped when she said "going out,", but she just kept smiling at me, so I nodded.

"I'll let him know. You two have fun, but be careful, okay?"

I nodded again, and Mom gave me a quick hug before closing the door. I heard her footsteps heading off, and less than five minutes later the door swung wide open and I was nearly bowled over by a huge, tanned body rushing out of it.

"Whoa, sorry, I didn't see you there. Don?"

I looked up... and up... into John's face, my eyes' widening as I saw what two months of summer camp had done to my best friend. He must have grown at least two or three inches, I was sure he hadn't been that much taller than me before he left, and even through his slightly tight, camp shirt I could see how much more toned he was than he had been at school. His shaggy head of hair complimented his strong, if slightly scraggly-looking, jaw. I fought the compound urges to blush, drool, hug him, and punch him all at the same time. OH-kay, I definitely have to admit to myself, I definitely like guys, and especially guys like John.

"Hey dude, you okay? You look a little warm. Wanna come in for a bit before we head out?" John asked with a worried look on his face as he squeezed my shoulder tightly in his large hand.

When did he grab my arm? To keep me from falling?

I shook my head a bit to clear it, then turned away from him while I still could and answered in as masculine a voice as I could manage. I'd been practicing and it was still really fake sounding, but I hoped like heck he wouldn't notice. "Nah, I'm fine. Are you ready to go?" He hefted his own pack onto his shoulder with two fingers and smiled, making me feel a little weak again, but without another word we headed out for the mountain.

The plan had been to tease him a bit about Dawn while we hiked. I'd planned to show him how much stronger I had gotten over the summer, or at least pretend to be stronger, and I knew my endurance was better since I had been running every day. I had planned to do so much. But no. Instead I found myself talking and joking with him almost like we had always done, but there were just little things we were doing different. Before, we would take turns leading up the paths, setting the pace while the other talked, but I found myself letting him lead and talk both, while I gasped, oohed, and ahhed at all the right times as he told me stories about camp. I already knew most of them from the letters he had been sending me, but I had to keep in mind that he didn't know I'd read the letters, so I listened to him talking without interrupting.

It was close to one in the afternoon when we finally broke for a snack. We'd been hiking for over three hours by then, and we both could use the rest. As we ate, though, I kept noticing John glancing at me and giving me funny looks. It was starting to make me nervous.

"What?" I finally asked, after what was probably the seventh time he'd looked at me like that.

"Are you and Dawn related?"

I nearly spewed Kool-Aid all over myself when he asked that, but somehow I managed to swallow it down the wrong pipe instead, and had a massive coughing fit. John chuckled as he rubbed my back to try and help me stop. I prayed to God he wouldn't feel my bandage wrapping while doing that, but it felt too good to ask him to stop.

"Hey, ease up, I'm just asking 'cuz you look a lot alike, that's all. Is she your cousin or something like that?"

"Uh, yeah, something like that," I rasped.

He nodded. "I thought so. The resemblance is really uncanny, except you're a guy and I think she's a little shorter than you. Also, I think she's older than you too, she's gotta be a senior this year, I'm sure of it."

It was all I could do not to laugh at John as he started going on about Dawn again, comparing and contrasting all the ways we were alike, but so different. From the way he kept adding little bits of obvious fantasy to what I knew was the truth, I was pretty sure I didn't have to worry about him pegging me as Dawn.

We finished up our snacks and packed up, ready to head back down. We took a winding, difficult path, not really in any hurry to get home. That's not true. I was in a hurry to get home, but there was no way I could tell John why. I should have been paying more attention when I bound myself that morning instead of letting my mind wander, and I quickly discovered that sweat and bouncing and a lot of physical activity combined with a poorly-wrapped bandage were uncomfortable to the point of being painful. By the time we got to his house it was all I could do not to rush in to their downstairs bathroom and rip the bandages off, but I knew the last thing I needed was for John to see my boobs. He invited me in, but I made my excuses and dashed home as quickly as I could stand, tearing the bandages off as soon as I had my bedroom door closed.

I wept as I looked at my breasts, covered in angry red welts and rashes from where the bandages had rubbed them raw. My chest was right at the verge of being a "B," and I couldn't stand to look long at what the wrapping had done to my skin.

I heard someone knock on my door, and I squeaked -- yes, squeaked -- in alarm, but a feeling of relief rushed over me when I heard Ashley's calming "It's only me." I pulled my tank and jersey back on before opening the door for her, and watched as her expression changed from excitement to worry.

"Dawn, are you okay?" She took a quick scan of my room, and when she saw the bandage laying on the floor and my unbound chest her eyes grew wide.

We sat together on my bed and talked for what must have been hours about what happened that day. I finally admitted to her how I felt about John, and all she did was nod, like she already knew. She giggled with me as I described to her how he looked after the workout that counseling had given him, and it felt like we had grown even closer than ever.

I wasn't all that big in the chest department, and most of the irritation had gone away within a couple of hours of removing my bindings from my breasts, but I vowed that day that I would never strap myself down like that again. In a way, it made me feel like I was trying to be a fake person, hiding part of myself like that, and I hated hiding myself. I had to do it too much already.

After some discussion Ashley decided that I would probably be okay just wearing a sports bra. "Your breasts shouldn't be too noticeable in one," she told me, so I let her bring one of her old ones over for me to try on. It was a lot stronger than the built-in bras in the yoga tanks I usually wore when it was just the two of us, but it did the trick of flattening my chest almost as well as the bandages had. It was also much more comfortable, but I was worried it would show through my clothes. I pulled a regular tank over the top, then my jersey again, and that seemed to hide it well enough, but I would have to be careful in anyone touched my back or squeezed me.

Dinner with Mom and Dad that night was kinda strained for me, and I made my excuses pretty quickly before heading off for bed. I kept thinking about things, and the more I thought the more worried I became. Everything up to now had almost felt like a game, with John, the letters, even the BC pills being something I should have been able to just quit at any time. I was only just coming to realize that I had passed the point of no return a long time ago, and never even noticed.How can I keep hiding my body? How can I return to school? I haven't really kept up with any of my friends this summer, and a lot of our other classmates are a lot more observant than John. Maybe they'll be willing to ignore my appearance, or at least not mention it so they won't upset me, but there’ll be someone who will say something, and what will I do then?

School would start the second week of September, which left me with just over a month to decide what I wanted to do with my life.

And I had absolutely no idea where to start.

---

"Excuse me, but aren't you... you are!"

I glanced up from my book to find my vision filled by a woman with frizzy red hair, carrying a baby with matching locks, and dragging a small boy with an ice cream cone behind her.

I bit my lip as I searched my memory for her name. "Babs?"

"Yup! You're Dawn, right?"

I nodded a little nervously. I was in boy mode, for cryin' out loud! I'd taken my hat off because it was just too hot with my hair piled up on my head, but I hadn't thought that would be enough to tip the scales from boy to girl. Of all the parks I could have gone to in the city, I had to choose this one? What can I say, I'm a sucker for the ducks.

Then I heard Stephie giggle, and all my worries about boy or girl mode vanished. I hadn't forgotten one precious second of the time I had spent holding her, and almost automatically I closed my book and held out my arms towards her. Babs smiled at me as she leaned down and handed Stephie to me, now much bigger than she had been the last time. Almost immediately she grabbed onto my shirt and held on tightly, with her little, bright, baby face glowing happily.

"She's been crawling around a bit and can say 'mama' now. The doctors say she's maturing well. Can you say 'mama', sweetie?"

Stephie laughed and threw her arms up, grabbing my hair and pulling a handful into her mouth rather than answering her mom's question.

"We were actually just about to leave, Brian got hit by a dirt clod another little boy had thrown at him, so I decided play time was over." She looked down at the messy, little boy beside her, covered in equal parts dirt and ice cream, and sighed as she pulled a napkin out of her purse and started rubbing at his face. The look he gave her was less than amused.

"Would you like to carry Stephanie to the car for me?"

I was more than happy to hold her for a while longer, so I lifted her up on my shoulder as I stood. We chatted a bit as I followed Babs to her old Civic, and I strapped Stephie into her child's seat while Babs put Brian in the booster seat on the other side. I was just about to say goodbye and get back to my book when she stopped me and gave me a piece of paper. Looking down, I saw her number written on it.

"If you ever feel like doing some babysitting give me a call. Stephie usually cries if anybody other than me picks her up or holds her, but she likes you."

I thanked her and stood by watching as they pulled away. I pocketed the number, and decided to stop reading. Instead I started on my own way home. It had been a week since the day out with John, and I still needed to think hard about what I wanted to do.

My mom and dad, school, even my relationship with John were all really scary things to have to think about, but meeting up with Babs in the park had forced me to have to face facts. Just that week I had had another minor growth spurt, and now I was firmly in the "B" cup range, and on the high side at that. If I grew any more I'd have no choice but to start wrapping again -- either that, or admit to everyone I knew that I had boobs. They already showed a little even with a sports bra and a baggy tee, and I had spent too much of the past week hunched over trying to make them less obvious. Then one time I didn't try that, I was seen as a girl. If Bab's reaction was normal, then I was officially past the point of being able to fake being a boy without having to really work at it.

I looked down at myself, trying to see what exactly made Babs see me as a girl. My white tee shirt and khaki cargo shorts were pretty unisex. Was it my shaved legs? I was bent over, so my boobs shouldn't have shown through... but my bra did. How had I missed that when leaving the house? Oh, well, it wasn't important any more. I doubted anybody who saw me saw anything other than a girl. Come to think of it, I'd probably get more strange looks if I didn't wear one. I grinned at that, and suddenly knew what I was gonna do.

As soon as I got home, I dashed for my room and yanked open the secret panel in my closet. I took off my tee and bra, and pulled on a black, spaghetti-strapped tank with a bra built in. I removed my cargo shorts, and replaced them with a pair of super-short jean shorts I had bought. They were too tight and short to be able to pass as boy's shorts, but they definitely looked good on me combined with my girl's curves. I studied myself for a moment in the mirror. My legs were still smooth from shaving two days before, and I looked nicely relaxed in the casual summery clothes. Using my brush and a hair tie I had borrowed from Ashley a while back I pulled my hair into a quick and dirty ponytail. It was still a bit too short to all be held at the point I had tied it, leaving some long sections hanging down to either side of my face.

I looked in the mirror again, and I had to fight not to laugh. Give me some hiking boots and a pair of pistols and I'd look like a teenage version of Lara Croft. I posed with my hands on my hips and smiled. Now all I had to do was wait until Ashley and Mom got back from their shopping trip, and the big reveal would begin.

It wasn't even an hour later that the sound of Mom's car in the driveway told me it was show time. I checked myself in the mirror one last time, and on impulse dug out my lip gloss. I added a quick swipe before steadying myself and leaving my room.

I reached the bottom of the stairs just as the front door opened and Ashley walked in, carrying several bags of school clothes. She did a small double take, then smiled as she stepped in. I saw her open her mouth a couple of times, as though she wanted to say something, but Mom entered behind her and beat her to it.

"Come on, Ashley, we've got lots to..." Mom's voice trailed off as she stared at me, but after blinking and shaking her head she quickly continued, "...lots to bring in. Dawn, would you please put on your sandals and help us get these bags in?"

Huh? Wait... That's it?

"Well?"

I tried to reboot my brain by giving my head a quick shake, then nodded. "Uh, y-eah. One sec."

"Good girl, start with the trunk."

Oh-kay, I'm pretty sure this can't get any weirder. No questions? No yelling? What the heck?

"Come on, missy, get a move on!"

In a bit of a daze, I grabbed my flip flops from beside the door and followed her out to the car, with Ashley right behind me. Before too long we had all the bags inside and the groceries put away. There was still a huge pile of bags sitting in the living room floor, but before we began sorting through them I just had to know what was going on.

"Uhm, Mom?"

She had begun digging through one of the bags, but stopped and turned to face me. "Yes, Sweetie?"

I wasn't sure what to say, so somehow the first thing that came to my mind found it's way out. "Uhm... Surprise?"

At first there was nothing but silence as her eyes boggled, then I heard a snort from my left, and when I twisted around to see what it was I saw Ashley start cackling.

"HAHAhahaHA, six... six months of build up, and the best you can come up with is 'surprise?' HAHAhaha... hehehehe... heh. Whoo."

Yeah, I’m confused. "Huh?"

"Ashley!" Mom chided, "Sit down before you hurt yourself. Dawn, honey, we need to talk, but I think it should wait until your father gets home. Meanwhile, help me sort through these bags; Ashley and I got you some new clothes today. You look nice, by the way, very cute, but I think those shorts are a little too short."

I watched in an almost dreamlike state as Mom and Ashley sorted through the clothes they had brought home, showing me different things they had bought for me along with Ashley's school clothes. Jeans, tees, tanks, panties, skirts, the list went on, and there wasn't a stitch of guy's clothing there. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what was going on any more. How can we afford this? Why did they buy me these clothes in the first place?

Mom emptied the last bag just as Dad slammed the front door closed. He entered the room and bent down to give her a quick kiss hello, being careful not to touch her with his grease-covered body. When he looked up and saw me I was sure he would freak out, but all he did was give a quick "Hi girls," before heading upstairs to shower without a second glance.

This has got to be the most surreal day ever.

"Girls, take your clothes up to your rooms, then come right back down here and sit on the couch. We'll talk as soon as your father finishes his shower."

I did as I was told. What else could I do? I dropped the bags of clothes down on my bed then headed back downstairs, collapsing onto the couch while still trying to wrap my head around what was happening. I'd been so scared of what my parents were going to do when they found out, especially my dad. He's a big guy, and has always been a kind of "manly man," if you know the type, and though he never tried to force me to follow in his footsteps I was sure he would freak when he saw me, not... greet me like I dressed like this every day! Well, not when he's around. So far things had gone nothing like I had been expecting.

Ashley joined me on the couch, and shortly after that we heard the shower cut off. I was shaking visibly, I'm sure of it, but Ashley reached over and took my hand to calm me. Mom and Dad returned and sat down in the two recliners to either side of the couch, both with serious expressions on their faces, but no anger or sadness.

Mom began, "Sweetie, could you tell us why you're dressed like that?"

I wasn't sure what to do, what to say, what to think. This is the talk I've been dreading for so long. I had gone over so many possibilities for it in my head, but the only thing I had never expected was everyone to sit around calmly and listen. I couldn't take it. I burst into tears.

Ashley wrapped me in her arms and hugged me tightly as I cried.

After what felt like hours I was calm enough to try and talk. Even then, though, I couldn't raise my eyes to look at either of my parents.
"Mom, Dad, I don't know how to say this, but, um... I'm a girl."

There. I've said it. No turning back now, they'll start yelling soon, and screaming, and...

"Dawn? Honey? Look at me. Please, Sweetie, look at me."

I raised my head to see my mom looking at me calmly.

"We know."

Wha? "WHA?"

Mom and Dad were... smiling at me?

Dad started talking next. "Honey, we've known about your dressing up in your mother's and sister's clothes since you were seven. At first we hoped it was just a phase, but after a few years we figured you were gonna be a cross-dresser for the rest of your life. Then, when you were eleven, we heard you crying in your sister's room."

Oh, god, I remember that night well. That was when I first told Ashley that I’m a girl. Okay, I know it sounds weird that I ran to my little sister when I wanted to cry, but we were close even back then, and I had figured that if anyone would understand me, it was her.

Mom took over from Dad. "We were worried about you, so we listened in at the doorwhile you talked to Ashley. We were shocked, and hurt, but we still loved you so much," Mom told me, her own eyes tearing up. "We would give anything for you."

"I didn't know they were listening either, Dawn, but later that week they came to me and talked to me. They asked me not to tell you they knew, because they wanted you to tell them yourself how you felt. All they asked me to do was help you figure out how you felt -- as much as I could." Ashley gripped me more tightly in our hug, and I hugged her back.

That's when Dad came over, and laid one of his large hands on my shoulder, squeezing slightly. "When I was young, my brothers and I used to dress up in your grandma's clothes once in a while, too. At first, I thought this was the same thing, but after your confession to your sister, we knew how much more it was to you."

He chuckled a little, and I could feel the rumble from behind me, the same comfortable feeling I always got when he laughed. "You know, your Uncle Chuck is going to be real jealous when he sees those pictures your sister took of you. He did drag for YEARS and I'm sure he'd have killed to be as pretty as you, but he likes being a guy too much."

Wait, Uncle Chuck? The logger in California Uncle Chuck? Things were starting to make a little more sense -- not much, but a little. "So, the birth control pills I got from Ashley..."

"We need to explain that," my mom said, looking a little embarrassed. "Those weren't actually birth control pills. The first wheel started off as something the doctor called a T-blocker, but the second half of it, and the second wheel, had more to them. We were testing to see if you really were serious about wanting to be female. Ashley told us a while back about the research the two of you had done online, so when you went in for your cross country physical we had the doctor run some tests to see what kind of dosing you would need, and let him go ahead and give you a shot of something they said would block your testosterone, too. We were going to stop after the first two months if you had seemed upset at the results, but when you went to the free clinic to get more BC pills to delay what you thought was your male puberty, we knew you wouldn't be. I'm sorry, we should have asked you, but..."

I cut her off mid sentence with a rib-crushing hug. There was something that was still bothering me about all of this, though, and I had to know.
"Mom, Dad, how can we afford all this? We don't have that much money, do we?"

"The show cars I've been working on pay a lot better than most of the body and tuning work I do. That's why I've been taking so many of them lately. With the extra cash from these custom jobs, we've got enough in savings to be able to help you become who you want to be. It's still gonna be tight, but we love you, and want you to be happy."

"I'm sorry sis, I hope you can still trust me after all this." Ashley sobbed from behind me. "We did it to help you."

I felt huge tears of happiness rolling down my face. For the first time in my entire life, I was completely free to be myself. No more worrying about having to hide who I am, or running away. I could feel Dad and Ashley joining me and Mom in our hug, and I was the happiest girl in the world.

It took us the rest of the night to really get all the questions we had for each other out of the way, but in the end everything was perfect. I’m a girl, and my parents love me, and there’s nothing else I need.

Well, except for one thing.

---

~
Dear Dawn,

I'm so glad you finally agreed to meet me! I'll be there at four o'clock sharp.

Love,

John
~

I read the email one last time before standing up. Whoo. Okay. I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. On Ashley's suggestion I was wearing a skirt again, though unlike the skirt I had worn for that first photo this was quite short, not quite reaching my knees and in a flowery pattern, the flouncy skirt went nicely with the plain, white, low-cut, baby tee I wore. The only jewelry I had on was the friendship bracelet John had sent me from camp, and I had even done my makeup. I wanted to make as good of a second "first" impression as possible.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Mom asked as she drove me to the park across town.

I didn't hesitate in the slightest. "Yes."

There were only two possible outcomes -- John would either accept me, or he wouldn't. Either way the tide turned, I had to go through with it, though. I loved John with all my heart, and I had to know, just HAD to know, if he would still care about me once he knew the truth. Mom gently squeezed my hand as she drove, so I gave her a squeeze and a wink back in thanks.

Mom was going to wait in the car with the windows down while I met John across the park. If anything went wrong, she knew where I was meeting him, and would be there in an instant if I called for her. I had heard too many stories about meetings going wrong to not have a backup plan.

When I finally reached the spot I had asked him to meet me, the same rock where I had posed for that first picture, John was already there, holding a small bouquet of roses. I ran my fingers through my new pixie-cut one last time, and approached the swings where he stood.

Even from twenty yards away I could clearly see his face light up when John saw me approaching. He didn't wait for me to reach him, but instead started walking toward me, only to slow down and stop suddenly when we got closer to one another. His expression changed from one of happiness to confusion as he looked at me, and he saw who I was. Even under my makeup, I knew I still looked like me. That’s the point meeting him.The hormones had helped to make me prettier and more feminine, but inside and outside both I was still the same person, a person that John knew very well.

"Dawn... Don? What's going on?"

My confidence died in a second, and I couldn't look him in the face any more. "I'm sorry, John," I whispered, just knowing he was going to abandon me. "I didn't think... I really do like you a lot, and, uhm..."

"You're beautiful."

Did I hear him right? I looked up, expecting him to have been lying, waiting for me to look up so he could spit in my face, or hit me, but instead I saw him smiling.

"John, I wanted to tell you, you have no idea how much, it's been so hard not to, I..."

I never got a chance to complete my sentence as John's arms engulfed me and he pressed his lips to mine. It was a kind kiss, full of love and emotion -- the perfect first kiss. I felt his arms wrapped around my waist, and I slid mine around his neck, crying. God, I cried so much now, but I was so happy. He pulled away from me just far enough to look down and into my eyes, then lowered his lips to mine again. I stopped trying to think, I stopped trying to breathe, I stopped everything -- all I wanted was to kiss him forever and ever.

It could have been hours or seconds later, I'm not sure, but whatever it was it wasn't enough. He pulled away from me, and with a flourish presented me with the roses. I took them into my arms and stood up on my toes to give him another quick peck in thanks.

I felt so happy, but deep inside me there was a part of me that still wasn't sure, and I had to know. "John, you don't hate me for lying to you?"

He shook his head, grinning, his mop shaking from side to side. "I was confused at first, but I think I see now. You don't have to explain, and I don't think you ever lied," John told me as he took my free hand in his. "You're the girl of my dreams; and I never saw that you were right in front of me the entire time."

We embraced again, as boyfriend and girlfriend. As friends, it felt like we were saying goodbye to who we once were, but as partners -- and maybe some day lovers -- we knew we were just beginning.

NOW I’m complete. No matter what happens from then on, I know I can handle it. School, friends, family, it doesn't matter, I can deal with anything. Why? Because I have a wonderful Mom and Dad, and a brilliant little sister who love me.

And I have John.

---

The End

---

A big thanks goes out to two great authors and editors for their help in making this story ready for posting. Thanks to Edeyn for the first read-through, suggestions, and letting me bounce ideas off of her — not to mention editing the IM sections to make them internet friendly, and doing all the HTML coding. And a big thanks to Angela Rasch (Jill M.I.) for her work in editing the story and supportive words. Without her help, this would be a much more juvenile effort, so I think she deserves a big round of applause! Okay, maybe just from me. :P

By Melanie E.

A simple-minded little story for anyone looking for one.

-==-

"So whatcha doin' out here?" Dad asked in that calm, friendly tone of voice he always had when he'd seen something that had him concerned.

"Ah, nuthin' much," I said back, idly twirling my toes in the water. I was trying to match his friendly tone as best I could, but even I could hear the crack in my voice as I fought back the tears.

The old bench swing was plenty wide enough for the two of us, so I wasn't surprised when Dad sat down next to me. I was surprised, though, when he took off his shoes and socks and dipped all nine toes into the pool I'd set up in front of it. He spent a bit of time swirling his feet about in the water, getting them used to the cool temperature just like I'd done when I'd first set it up.

The two of us just sat there, watching the first of the autumn leaves just starting to fall and kicking our feet back and forth in the water, just enjoying the eddies and waves with neither one of us really wanting to have the conversation we both knew had to happen eventually.

"You really hurt your sister's feelings earlier, Dani."

"I know, Dad."

I hoped that would be the end of it, but my dad knew how to use silence like a crowbar, and as we sat there I could feel the disappointment radiating from him, prying at my soul.

"It's just..." I blurted out after what felt like hours but I was sure was only about half a minute, " it's just... she makes me so angry!" I kicked at the water violently, splashing both of us, but not caring. "She's always acting like she's so much better than me at everything, and everyone else just goes along with it, but she's not! Just because she's prettier than me and more popular than me and..." I could feel the sniffles coming again, but I couldn't fight them off any better now than I had before Dad had shown up.

"She isn't, you know."

"What?"

"Prettier than you," Dad said, brushing my hair away from my face while I just kept staring at the water. "And she tried to get you to join the cheerleaders with her."

"Just so she could laugh at how awful I was," I said, but even I knew that was a lie. "Besides, I'm pretty sure the other girls wouldn't have wanted a freak like me around anyway."

Dad chuckled at that, but kept up stroking my hair, something he knew could always help calm me down. "I don't know about that. Remember? Rikki and Ashley were pushing you pretty hard to join too. Sometimes I think the only person who even remembers Daniel is you."

"Like I could forget," I muttered, but like always Dad's calming influence was helping to bring some sense to my world.

"She was just trying to help you," Dad said, taking me out of my thoughts of years and me's past and back into the now.

"But I don't need her help!"

"Then why did you show her the dress in the first place?"

"Because...." I trailed off, not wanting to admit the truth.

Unfortunately Dad already knew it. "Ah. Because you didn't want help; you just wanted to be told how good it was." When I didn't answer, Dad continued. "Thought so. Nobody's ever gotten ahead in life by not listening to criticism, hon."

"I know, it's just... it's hard! And I'd done so much work, and all she could say was how short it was and how weird the color was and UGH."

"Those weren't complaints, Dani."

"Of course they were."

Dad's gentle stroking of my hair changed to a slightly less-gentle pressure, so I turned to look at him to find his normally smiling "Dad in support mode" face gone, replaced with his "Dad in lecture mode" one instead. "No, they weren't. She said it was weird, yes, but did you see the look on her face when she said it? It wasn't her style, but she loved it on you."

"She did?" I asked, getting a nod from Dad. "Then why didn't she just say that?"

"She did say it, you just focused so much on the other things she said you didn't like that you missed it. Then you went and said...." This time it was Dad's turn to trail off, giving me a disappointed look. Neither one of us had to repeat what I'd said to her; we could both hear it clear as day in our own heads.

"I guess I really messed up," I said, turning away to watch the leaves again. "I hope she can forgive me."

"She already has, though I figure she'll think twice about trying to help you again unless you make it up to her."

"Yeah," I agreed, kicking at the water again, though less violently than before. "But what can I do?"

"That's for you to figure out," Dad said, standing up. "But, Dani?"

"Yeah?" I asked, looking up into his smiling face.

"We all have to step out of the kiddie pool some time."

With that he offered me his hand, and we stepped out of the pool and walked back toward the house together.

-==-

We all have opinions. We all have our difficulties when it comes to criticism. We all have our angry moments.

But in the end, we're all still members of the BCTS community, a FRIENDLY place to read, write, and discuss transgender fiction, and in the end, we're all here because we want to help and support one another. Sometimes that help isn't exactly what we want it to be, but that doesn't mean it's given out of negativity or a desire to harm; it just emphasizes the fact that, in the end, others can only help us if we're willing to accept it.

Sometimes, it would behoove us to remember that.

Melanie E.

Doodles

By Melanie E.

-==-

"Daddy daddy look at what I drew!"

Eric leaned down and picked up his little bundle of joy in one arm, laughing as he did so. "Whatcha got today sport?" He asked, unable to suppress a grin at the look of disgust on his child's face over the pet name, a look that disappeared almost immediately as their eyes lit up and they started waving a piece of paper in their hand.

"I drew us and momma up in heaven," his little angel said, brandishing their work of art proudly. To some, these might only seem to be the scribblings of a three year old, but to Eric, they were the greatest works of art in the world.

There was something odd about this one, though.

"JD, why are you wearing a dress in the picture?"

"Because I wanna be pretty like momma was," JD said, their blue eyes shining with tears.

Eric knew he should say something. This wasn't right! How could he let his child grow up like this? And he knew just what to do.

"JD..."

"Daddy?"

Eric set his child down then crossed to the fridge, using the time it took to hang up the newest work of art to try and calm his nerves concerning what he knew he had to do next.

"JD?"

His child stood still, innocent, waiting for words from their father.

"Do you want a dress of your own?"

JD's squeal of happiness and rushing hug was all the support Eric needed to know he'd made the right call.

NOTES: Just something short I came up with today. Hope y'all like it!

-==-

Arnie frowned.

He was good at frowning. In fact, it was one of his favorite pastimes. Some days, he would do little more than stand in front of the mirror in the small, cramped bathroom in his small, cramped apartment building and practice frowning, just to make sure he didn’t lose his touch.

This frown was extra special, though. It was a frown of a magnitude he saved for only very specific things: telemarketers, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and puppies.

Like the puppy that was staring up at him even now, its big watery eyes filled with the kind of love and trust only puppies could hold, and its short waggy tail beating out a regular pat-pat-pat on the worn carpet it sat on.

Normally a frown like Arnie was giving the pup was enough to turn even the most stalwart of souls away, but despite every ounce of effort Arnie put into his face, contorting his mouth and brow to the point of pain, the puppy continued to look at him adoringly.

Arnie looked down the left side of the hallway, toward the busted elevator at the far end. Rows of dingy formerly-white doors dotted the dingy formerly-white walls, illuminated by dingy formerly-white fluorescent lights hanging from a dingy formerly-white stucco’d ceiling. Not a soul in sight.

Arnie looked down the right side of the hallway, toward the large window that might have provided some influx of much-needed sunlight if not for the fact it faced directly into the flat brick wall of another, taller apartment building. More dingy doors and walls, but still no sign of another tenant.

“Wurf,” said the pup, in a tinny pup-voice.

“What,” Arnie asked it, turning his frown on it with renewed vigor.

“Murf,” the pup said, doubling down on waggling its little tail.

“Well… shee-it,” Arnie muttered, drawing the syllables out just like his granny had taught him. With a huff and a cacophony of creaks and cracks, he bent over and picked up the pup, groaning as the creaks and cracks reversed themselves on the way back up.

He studied the small, animated and fuzzy bundle much like one might study a rotten potato found at the bottom of the bin, with a mix of horrified disgust and involuntary curiosity.

“Murwoo,” the pup said, kicking its little puppy feet in an effort to swim closer to Arnie. Arnie’s hands easily halted such progress.

Around the pup’s neck was a pink ribbon, and attached to the pink ribbon was a pink cardboard heart with a pink lace design around the edge. Shifting the puppy so he could hold it in one hand, he lifted his other and turned the card over. There, he saw writing, in yet another, darker shade of pink.

“To Arnie, thought you could use it. Sincerely, a friend.”

Arnie frowned yet again, this time trying out his vexed-and-annoyed frown just for a change of pace. Who would give him a puppy, of all things? He’d made it well known in the apartment building at every tenants’ meeting how much he despised dogs, and children, and parakeets, and anything else that made noise and didn’t pay at least as much rent as he did (which, given his rent control, was really very little.) And such silly handwriting, all curlicues and round shapes. Even his name looked wrong, the “r” looking more like an “n.”

“Maybe you really do belong to an Annie and you’re at the wrong door,” he said to the dog. He immediately felt silly for the momentary lapse into sentimentality, but promised himself to frown in the mirror to make up for it.

“Wurpf,” the puppy said, somehow managing to close the distance between them and lick the tip of Arnie’s nose.

“Blapf! Dangit!” Arnie said, shaking his head. “Whatcha go and do that fer?”

In answer, the pup gave him a doggy smile, then proceeded to pee all over the front of his sweater.

“Shee-it,” Arnie said again, this time with more venom behind it.

Wasting no time, he turned around and kicked the door closed behind him, marching through the house with the pup at arm's length, still furiously wagging its tail and occasionally dribbling a bit more pee on their way to the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, Arnie placed the pup in the old, well-worn tub to keep it out of trouble. “Stay,” he said, waving a finger at the little ball of trouble.

“Murf.”

Figuring that was the best he’d get, Arnie huffed again, then pulled off his now pee-soaked sweater and tossed it on top of the already overflowing hamper in the corner of the room.

“Dag blasted pain in the ass,” he muttered to himself. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, seeing the familiar old flabby mess that had seemed to suddenly appear about thirty years earlier, replacing the fine, strong young man he would swear he’d been before. He tried to work up another frown, but the effort of the last few he’d given the dog had drained him, and he just wasn’t up to the task.

He continued to mutter nasty nothings out the bathroom door and around the corner, into the small, cramped bedroom attached to the rest of the small, cramped apartment. There was a clean sweater somewhere, and he was set on finding it.

Wasn’t there?

Arnie looked again.

Nope.

With a defeated sigh, he grabbed the nearest thing he could find, a long-sleeved tee shirt he hadn’t worn in probably twenty years. It had been a gift from his wife before she passed, with a picture of a large cartoon rabbit on the front and the words “Hoppy Anniversary!” underneath. He felt it was ridiculous, and had felt so at the time, but he’d worn it regularly up until the day the aneurysm took her away from him.

On his way back to the bathroom, he stopped at the little closet between the two rooms and grabbed a towel.

“You pee on this shirt, and nobody will find the body,” he warned the pup when he entered the bathroom again.

“Rumph,” the pup agreed, waggling its fluffy little tail so wildly that its entire rear end followed.

“Good.”

With that verbal contract made, he once again weathered the pains of old age to bend over and pick up the pup. A cursory inspection assured him that, as he’d expected, every ounce of pee had managed to hit either him or his floor, and the pup was clean as a whistle. He wrapped the pup in the towel anyway, just to be sure, then carried the bundle to the little living area.

“I don’t feel like going out today, and I don’t trust you not to eat my shoes and shit on my floor, so we’re going to sit nice and quiet in my chair until I figure out what to do with you,” he told the pup, trying for as much sternness and meanness as he could.

The pup squirmed in his hands, managing enough freedom to lick his hand.

Arnie grumbled but said nothing else as he lowered himself into the well-worn glider he sat in most days. He considered turning on the television and seeing what there was to be mad about for the day, but once again found himself lacking the energy to do so.

The puppy, now in his lap, squirmed a bit.

“Down,” Arnie said, tiredly, laying his hands on top of the bundle to hold it in place. That seemed to be enough to calm the dog, who once again licked his hand before laying still.

Arnie rocked and thought.

Idly, he scritched the pup’s head. He did manage a small frown when he realized what he was doing, but since it seemed to keep the pup quiet, he let his hand continue.

Rock, rock, rock.

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Hmph?” Arnie grumbled, wondering how long he’d been lost in the quiet.

“Mrph?” The pup echoed, equally curious.

Knock, knock, knock at the door again.

With even more grumbles, Arnie rose from his chair, the pup adding only a little more difficulty to the task, then walked to the door and opened it.

At first, there seemed to be nobody there, until a soft, high-pitched squeak drew his eyes down to the short, blonde, blue-eyed girl who stood there, tear streaks down her face but a smile a mile wide as she looked at the bundle in his arms.

“Bunny!” She crowed happily, reaching her hands up for the pup.

“’S not a bunny, ‘s a mutt,” Arnie muttered, but let the young girl take the dog from his arms, the towel falling away in the process.

“You found her!” The young girl said, rubbing her cheek against the little pup’s soft fur.

“Ruff!” The pup agreed, eagerly licking the tears from her cheeks.

“Daddy, this nice man found Bunny!”

Arnie turned to look down the hall where the girl had turned to find a tall, harried-looking young man waving bye to one of Arnie’s neighbors and approaching them.

“Hi,” the young man said, offering Arnie one hand while placing the other protectively on the back of the young girl’s head. “I hope Bunny wasn’t being a nuisance.”

“Bunny?”

“Annie named her,” the young man said, seeming a bit embarrassed.

“I like bunnies,” the young girl said, then gasped. “Dad, he has a bunny on his shirt too!”

“Haha, yeah,” the man agreed, giving Arnie an apologetic look.

Arnie wanted to frown, but something about the look on the young girl’s face stopped him. Instead, he said, “What’s with the card?”

To Arnie’s surprise, it was Annie’s turn to frown. “My doctor gave her to me to help me feel better.”

“Feel better? Are you sick?”

Annie looked at her father, who looked back at her silently. Then the girl looked back at Arnie, her eyes filled with determination.

“The kids at school are being mean to me because I won’t pretend to be a boy anymore.”

“...Oh,” Arnie said, surprised. “You’re trans….”

“Gender,” her father said, finishing the phrase off with a nicer word than Arnie could think of, the harried look of his features increasing.

“Yeah,” Arnie agreed, giving the little girl another look. “Well, you don’t look like a boy,” he finally added, not sure what else to say. That seemed to brighten her mood again, and the young girl beamed up at him.

“Thank you!” She said, wrapping the arm that wasn’t filled with pup around his leg in a small hug.

“Umm…”

“Hey, we’re the Andersons. Me and Annie live up on the fifth floor,” her dad said, smiling down at his daughter. “We were finishing the paperwork for the pup when she got away from us, and we’ve been looking for her for an hour.”

“How’d the dog get up to the third floor?”

“She pooped in the elevator!” Annie said, giggling.

“Umm, yeah. I guess she hitched a ride up with someone,” the girl’s dad agreed, looking embarrassed again. “Well, listen, if you ever need anything, we’re in five twelve. Just stop on by.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay?”

“Come on, Annie, let’s get Bunny home.”

“Oh, okay,” the girl said, stepping away from Arnie. “Thank you, mister! Come visit me and Bunny sometime, okay?”

“Mruph!” The pup added, with its own doggy grin.

“Sure?”

“Byeee!”

Arnie watched the girl and her father walk away, her father taking her free hand while the pup looked back over her shoulder, panting happily and occasionally getting giggles from the girl when it would turn and lick her face. Arnie continued watching until the elevator doors closed.

“I wonder when they fixed that?” He asked himself, then shrugged and walked back into his apartment.

Instead of walking back to his chair, he walked to the bathroom to check the mirror. Something felt strange, alien even, about his face. Looking at his reflection, he discovered something shocking.

Was that… a smile? It looked odd on his craggy face, contorting the well-worn frown lines into new shapes, and it hurt a little, stretching muscles he couldn’t remember using in years.

“Hmm,” Arnie hmm’d, thinking. Odd.

Perhaps he should practice more of them.

-==-

END

NOTES:

I shared this on the BCTS Patreon about a week ago, but thought it was time to bring it over here for folks. A bit different from my normal stories, but I had a lot of fun writing it, and it got quite a few giggles from my test reader during the process, so that has to count for something, right?

As always, comments and kudos appreciated. I'd love to chat with folks about their thoughts on the story. :)

Faith
By Melanie E.

This is just something that popped into my head while I was trying to fall asleep. I hope a few people here enjoy it.

The caution is only due to a fairly subdued reference, but I still felt it better to have the caution than to leave it out.

-==-

I'd always liked the fall. The crispness in the air, that smell the world gets when everything starts to transform in preparation for the hard, cold weather ahead, even the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, rustling the last of the red and gold leaves as the clung on desperately to the limbs that bore them.

This particular fall night was extra special though. Or at least I hoped it would be.

No. It would be.

I had faith.

I had been sitting on the hood of my car for a couple of hours already, waiting and listening to Eric Clapton wail from the stereo, "Can't Find My Way Home". Nobody came down these old dirt roads any more, not since the creeks had dried up a few years back thanks to the new dam and the fishing went south. An industrious digger could still find a few crawdads here and there in the muddy, sludgy mess that was left from the runoff, but all that remained of the waters of my childhood's summer getaways was this one small, silty spring-fed pond.

It had been a whole year since I'd been here last, but a promise was a promise.

I recognized the clattering sound of the engine even before its lights peeked through the underbrush behind me, and a smile spread across my lips when I watched the old S10 pull up next to my little trans am. The paint was the same white and rust mix I remembered seeing every day for such a long time. It had been exactly a year since I had seen either it or its occupant, but there was nothing new or changed about the old work truck at all.

The person who stepped out of it, though, was completely new.

It took all my willpower, but after a single curt nod I turned away from my new companion and stared out at the pond before me, listening to the frogs and crickets and idly wondering if the wavering grass growing at the edge was a snake, a rabbit, or something else. I felt the hood of my car shift, and I knew that the woman I had watched exit the truck was sitting next to me, staring out at the pond too. We'd sat like this a lot, once upon a time, talking about anything and everything, and sometimes not talking at all.

Even after all the changes both of us had gone through since the last time we had seen one another, the silence between us was still a surprisingly comfortable one.

"You came," she said quietly.

"I promised," I answered, shifting a little so I was laying on my back, staring at the stars instead of the pond.

"And if I hadn't come back?"

I smiled. "I knew you would."

My hood shifted again, and I knew that she was laying next to me, staring at the stars too.

"Did you bring it with you?" She asked, just as quietly as she had spoken before.

Instead of answering, I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the pistol I had taken from her a year ago. There was one round in the chamber: the same round that had been there when I had taken it from her in the first place.

"Can I have it?"

I nodded. "It's been a year, and I promised." I placed the pistol between us on the hood, the barrel facing toward the pond.

I didn't watch as she picked the gun up, though I heard the unmistakable click of the safety going off.

"Are you happy?" I asked her, continuing to look at the stars.

"Are you?" She asked.

I thought about everything that had happened in the past year. My wife was waiting for me at home with our one month old daughter, worried about what was going to happen tonight. I had a good job, and friends to stand by me.

"Yes."

More silence followed.

It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours, but as soon as I heard the 'plunk' of the pistol disappearing into the pond I felt a tight spot in my heart begin to release. I felt my car shift again, then the telltale sound of the S10's door opening.

"You should stop by home," I said, never looking away from the stars. "Mom's been worried sick about you, and I'm sure she'd be thrilled to meet her new daughter."

"What makes you so sure?"

For only the second time all night I looked over at my former twin brother and smiled. "Because I have faith."

--END--

Not much, I know, but like I said, it was just a little idea for a scene that popped into my head while I was laying in bed, and I felt compelled to share it.

A story written in the posting window for BCTS.

-==-

Kayley looked down at the sidewalk in front of her apartment complex and tried her best not to cry.

She failed.

There, strewn across the concrete, were all the things that had ever mattered to her. Her computer, now nothing but a smashed pile of electronic debris. Movies, books, records, and her clothes. Not just the male clothes that she was forced to wear every day; HER clothes. The ones she had kept hidden away in her travel case, and only ever allowed herself to wear when in the safety of a hotel room on business trips, or on long weekends when her wife would dash off on her own.

The clothes that meant more to her than the thousands of dollars in other property strewn about.

The clothes that had been sliced, splattered with paint, and torn apart before being tossed down.

She tried the intercom for what she was already thinking of as her past-tense apartment. Though she could still hear the screaming and violence within the room through the open window, her calls yet again received no answer.

An answer wasn't needed. She knew that the life she'd had was over.

Kayley spent that night in her car, and the next couple of days looking for a new apartment. She dried her tears as best she could, though they still got the best of her at times. She tried her best to move on, though, despite the pain, and tears, and loss.

She'd fallen hard for the woman she loved, and had tried to be the person she'd wanted. She'd hoped that she would continue to fall forever, but instead, she'd finally found the bottom, and the impact had been almost more than she could bear.

But that's the thing about falling: there's only one thing you can do after it happens.

Pick yourself back up.

-==-

I've been going through a bit of a manic-depressive period the last couple of weeks -- okay, probably more like last few months -- and for some reason I was just inspired to write this tonight. I feel -- a lot -- like the world crashes down around me, and that nothing ever wants to go the way it should. Still, some times picking up the pieces of yourself after you've been shattered time and again is all you can do. Often the glue can't hold the pieces together, and you'll shatter again and again. But sometimes... sometimes, you'll find that safe place where you can lay your broken down to rest, just for a bit, without breaking again. Sometimes, you can even fix a part of yourself for good.

Everybody is broken or shattered in some way. Finding the way to preserve what you can, and make the best of your broken pieces, is about all you can hope for.

0--0

-1-

Of all the boys in my biology class, of course, I would end up paired with Eddie Townsend.

It wasn't that I didn't like Eddie: just the opposite, in fact. I liked Eddie very much. Everyone did. He was one of the tallest kids in our grade, and handsome and strong and played on the baseball team, though I could never remember what he played. He was nice, and funny, and smart, with golden hair and flecks in his green eyes that matched—everything you could ever want in a guy.

The problem was I always felt funny around Eddie. I wasn't the smallest guy in our class, or the weakest, or the dumbest. I might have had the longest hair, but otherwise, I felt I was pretty average actually in just about everything if a bit chubbier than I'd like. But when I was around Eddie, I felt smaller and safer, and always second-guessed myself when it came to anything I said or did. Eddie had learned a long time ago he could get me to laugh or agree to just about anything with the right look. I think that was why we got assigned as partners so much. And when we didn't, Eddie would request me anyway or try to find a seat next to me in classes without partners. So much so that some teachers had taken to calling our names together during roll call—Eddie Townsend and Jamie West—even when we weren't side-by-side in the list of names.

It wasn't a problem, really, not as far as classwork was concerned. Eddie and I both were B-average students, so I didn't have to worry about THAT. But sometimes I couldn't concentrate on labs so well when he was there, and I'd fumbled things a few times only for him to have to come to my rescue.

I did just that while we were working on frogs in biology—nicking something in its bloated formaldehyde-soaked body that squirted all over me. It would have gotten in my hair and eyes and gaping mouth, too, if not for the face shield the teacher asked us to use instead of goggles for just such situations.

"Blegh! Gross!" I squeaked like I tended to do when I was surprised.

The teacher looked over from where he was helping another pair of partners and laughed. "Yeah, these things can be gross sometimes," he said with a grin. "Just feel lucky it didn't get in your mouth. Not only is the formaldehyde poisonous, but some species of frog can change their sex when breeding populations are imbalanced. Wouldn't want you turning into a girl, would we?"

That got a chuckle from the room, and I felt myself blush. That blush deepened when Eddie wiped off my screen with a paper towel and gently took the tools from my hands.

"How about I probe, and you take notes? Your handwriting is better than mine anyway," he said, smiling down at me.

I must have agreed because he gently shouldered me aside and took my place at the frog. With him in charge of the gross parts and me writing notes and feeding him information from our textbook, things went a lot smoother since he was less hesitant with the tools and less grossed-out by how icky the whole thing was anyway.

Even with Eddie handling the frog, I was still thoroughly sick by the time class was over, and definitely didn't feel like eating any lunch. Instead, I bypassed the lunchroom and headed straight for the concrete walkway with the stairs in it that sat between the main school building and the gym, dropping myself on an out of the way ledge and just thinking.

Could frog juice really turn me into a girl?

-2-

Our community had more boys than girls, so a lot of the guys ended up getting girlfriends from other schools. Did that mean our breeding population was imbalanced, like the teacher said? I didn't think so, since even with more guys than girls, plenty of the girls didn't have boyfriends, and not just the ones who didn't want them.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice my two classmates approaching me, or the slimy gift they had in their hands.

"Hey, Jamie!"

"Wha?" I started to say as I stood up, only for one of the two boys -- Allan something-or-other -- to grab me by the arms and the other one, Wesley something, grab my face, holding my mouth open and shoving something in it.

I felt that something squirm, and I felt a nasty liquid fill my mouth. I gagged and tried to scream, but the boys were holding me and laughing.

"Hey! Leave Jamie alone!" Eddie's voice rang out from somewhere, and immediately my attackers let go of me and ran, and just as quickly, I was on my knees, spitting and heaving.

The poor frog they had shoved into my mouth landed on the ground with a splat, but quickly righted itself and hopped away—I hoped none the worse for wear.

The same couldn't be said about my mouth as I cried and spit, trying to get the taste out.

A hand rested on my shoulder, and I flinched, but soon that hand was replaced by an arm as Eddie squatted next to me and gave me a one-armed hug. As soon as I realized it was him, I felt immediately safer, even as the tears rolled down my cheeks, and I sobbed.

"Here," he said, offering me a can of soda.

I took it shakily and brought it to my lips. The first swig I used to swish around my mouth and spit out, like mouthwash. The second one I swallowed, the bittersweet acidic bite helping to clear most of the nastiness out. Eddie gently rubbed my back and made soothing noises the whole time.

"Better?" He asked, and waited for me to nod. "Sorry, I didn't get here sooner. I was looking for you since I didn't see you in the lunchroom."

I took another drink of the soda, too big of one, and coughed a bit as it burned its way down my throat. "I think it peed in my mouth," I said, fighting back the revulsion.

"I'm gonna kill those assholes," Eddie said, and I felt him stiffen as he started to stand up. I didn't want him to get in trouble because of me, though, so I reached up and grabbed the hand he had been using to rub my back.

"Eddie, don't. it was *sniff.* They're just stupid jerks."

I let go of his hand, but he held onto my fingers for a few more moments before letting go himself.

"I think frogs carry some nasty stuff, do you want to go to the nurse?" He grimaced when I shook my head 'no,' but didn't push it. "Well, I'm not leaving you alone in case they come back."

I took another sip of his soda, then offered it back to him guiltily. "Sorry, I drank so much of it."

Eddie waved it off and smiled. "Nah, you keep it. 'Sides, you heard what the teacher said about frogs, I don't wanna risk cross-contamination."

He was only joking, I knew, but it put my mind right back on the train of thought it had been riding when I'd been ambushed. Only now, I had even bigger concerns.

-3-

After that day, Eddie was by my side as often as he could be, in or out of class. It seemed to work and stopped some of the light teasing I'd been getting anyway, though we would get some strange looks now and again when he would pull me close to keep us from being separated in the hallways. I didn't mind though: I liked how safe I felt with him nearby.

Things weren't perfect, though. Between the lab incident and the frog, I found myself without an appetite any time I smelled the bio lab, and stopped eating lunches entirely. Eddie asked me to go through the line with him, at least, but stopped trying to get me to eat anything after the first couple of weeks, though he would occasionally grab some extra celery or other items off the salad bar and give me a pointed look.

I didn't like the hunger pangs, but I did like when I noticed my jeans getting looser. Eddie noticed too, and though he was worried about me not eating, he complimented me on my weight loss. If anything, that just made me feel better about the missed meals, and I added a few exercises every day after school to try and lose more.

That frog was always on the back of my mind, though.

I didn't get sick, so I figured I was lucky but was I just imagining things or was I looking girlier as I lost weight? I certainly wasn't triangle-shaped like Eddie, or barrel-shaped like some of the other guys, but was I girl-shaped, or was it just my imagination?

Had my eyes and lips always been that big, and my lashes that long?

I knew I was going crazy, that it was impossible. I researched the frog thing, and while it was true, those frogs were in Africa, not Tennessee.

Still, I couldn't help the feeling that I was changing, looking less like a boy every time I looked into the mirror as my thoughts were filled with 'what if's.

What if it were true?

What if I were becoming a girl because of that stupid frog?

What if I were some kind of mutant?

Would Eddie still be my friend if that happened?

Winter arrived, and with my loss of weight came an increased chill. Eddie was going to spend the holiday break with family in Missouri, but we were staying home for the break. I felt a pang of loss when he said good-bye to me on the last day of school but told myself I'd see him again in the new year, idly wondering if by then, I'd be even girlier than I already felt I had become.

That thought stuck with me all the way home, and when I took my shower that night, I couldn't resist the urge to take my razor in with me. Dad had bought it for me to use on my face, though I didn't have any hair there to bother with yet. But there were other thoughts on my mind as I stood under the water and stared at it.

Just one stroke on my leg wouldn't hurt anything, right? Nobody would have to know.

Ten minutes later, I was standing under the water and looking at my smooth legs, asking myself just what I'd done.

Was it the frog juice making me want to do this? It couldn't be. That was all just... that wasn't real, was it?

I couldn't help liking the effect on my legs, though.

Thankfully winter plus my newly-discovered cold nature meant pajama pants were in order, so nobody in my family had to be any the wiser, and I spent the winter break enjoying the company of my mom, dad, and big sister Lanie, who had come back from college with an inexplicable tan and a number of stories she would only share with me when Mom and Dad weren't around. Since their work wouldn't break until Christmas Eve, I spent a lot of time with Lanie around the house. She taught me to bake, and tried to teach me how to knit as we would sit around watching Christmas specials and chatting. I found myself oddly interested in the things she did, and we wound up having some fun doing each other's nails after she caught me intently watching her paint her own. Mine were always done in clear, but it was still something special we enjoyed doing together.

Yes, it was another girly thing. Who cared if it was the frog juice talking if I was having fun with my sister, though.

Christmas came, and I was surprised when most of my gifts were clothes. Mom and Dad explained that since I was losing so much weight, they wanted to make sure I had things that fit, and though it wasn't all new, it was all nice clothing and the fact they had noticed how hard I was working meant the world to me. My favorite piece, though, was from my sister, a huge white cable-knit sweater she had made herself. She apologized for the size, telling me she had been working on it before she'd known I was losing weight and had wanted it to be big on me then, but I didn't care. I loved how it felt like a blanket, I could snuggle into and wear with me, and I told her that as I hugged her.

-4-

With January came the return to school, something I was excited and sad about. On the last day before she left, Lanie called me into her room and gave me a handful of her old clothes. I balked, but she told me it was old tees and other gender-neutral things but should fit me better than my old clothes with my weight loss. Then, she asked me to sit down, and she painted my toenails a soft pink. She said it could be our secret, and that it would help me remember how much she loved me, then she gave me the bottle of polish. We both cried as we hugged, and I promised her I'd keep them nice and pink for as long as I could, even if it meant I had to wear socks with my flip flops when things warmed up.

When the first day to return to school finally arrived, my stomach was in horrible knots, knowing that Eddie would be there. I needed all the comfort I could get, so I decided to wear the sweater my sister had knitted me and one of the super-soft tank tops she had included in the pile of clothes too. I loved the loose fit of the sweater, but the length of the sleeves meant I found myself gripping the cuffs in my fingers a lot of the time, and the constant tugging somehow kept the wide neck uneven, revealing most of my right shoulder and showing my tank top to the world. I still loved it, though, especially the way my shiny-clear nails looked next to the soft white faux-angora material.

Eddie was waiting for me when I got to school. I was afraid, and not really sure why. It was irrational to worry that he would somehow know I had pink toenails and shaved legs, but I found it hard to take each step as I approached him. He did a double-take when he spotted me, then gave me the biggest, warmest smile I had ever seen.

"Hi Eddie," I said, shyly. Why was I feeling shy?

"Hi Jamie," he said back, seeming to be almost as nervous as I was. "I like your sweater."

"Thanks." I grinned, rubbing the soft, warm material of the sleeve against my cheek. "My sister made it for me for Christmas."

"Well, it looks great on you," he said, blushing. "Um, I got you something for Christmas too." He was fidgeting, like he was worried about something.

"You did?" I asked, feeling the twisting in my stomach take a suddenly more pleasant turn.

"Ah, yeah. It's... can you close your eyes?"

I hesitated. Was this some attempt to play a joke on me? Then I looked into Eddie's eyes and saw so much of the same turmoil I felt reflected back. No, not Eddie.

I swallowed hard but closed my eyes and stood up straight.

I heard Eddie move and felt his arms resting on my neck, something cold touching me as his hands fumbled under my hair. The contact made me tingle, and I smelled something spicy and woody, with Eddie's smell underneath it. Had he gotten new cologne for Christmas? Then the spicy smell moved away, as did his hands and arms, but the coolness around my neck remained.

My eyes fluttered open to see an even more nervous Eddie standing surprisingly close to me, his hands clenched in fists at his sides.

I looked down to see my new gift and laughed.

There, dangling around my neck and sitting just above the neckline of my sweater, was a silver frog pendant. It had little green jewels for eyes, with gold flecks in them.

"It has your eyes," I said, lifting a hand to place over the gift. "Thank you." I frowned. "I don't have anything for you, though."

I looked up, and Eddie was giving me that amazing smile of his again. "Just wear the necklace. That's all I want."

"Always."

I didn't care about propriety. I didn't care that we were both boys. I closed the little distance between us and reached up, wrapping my arms around Eddie's neck and hugging him close, enjoying the spicy smell of him. It took a moment, but Eddie wrapped his own arms around me, placing his hands in the small of my back and pulling me even tighter against him.

'Stupid frog juice,' I thought, knowing how girlie I was acting.

Then again, if Eddie liked me being girlie... then was it really such a bad thing?

-End-

Here it is, the second story I submitted to Erin for Patreon, on BCTS at last! I hope y'all enjoy this one just as much as you did the last one: the response was incredible, and I can't adequately express how much it meant to me.

If you enjoyed this tale, please, or just want to support BCTS and keep our home here running and oil in Erin and the others' lamps, then feel free to visit Erin's Patreon page, where you can find more stories by me, Erin, and others weeks before they'll appear here!

*hugs*

Melanie E.

A super-short based on a conversation on our way to songwriters’ group.

-----

“Hey Ricky?”

“Yeah?”

“Are those your sister’s galoshes?”

“My sister’s… oh. Huh. Guess they are.”

“You mean you didn’t notice?”

“Not really. I was in a hurry to get going.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it? They’re just galoshes.”

“I guess so. And they’re the same color as yours too, so.”

“Nonsense. These are navy, and mine are black.”

“Oh.”

“And mine don’t have the cute little flowers on the top. See?”

“Uhh… yeah?”

….

“I guess you’re right. Don’t make much of a difference, does it?”

“It will for my sister.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mine are a size smaller.”

-----

END

NOTES:

That's really all there is to this, folks. Just thought it was cute :)

Here's How It's Gonna Happen

By Melanie E.

-==-

"No."

"...What?"

"I said no. I'm not doing that."

"You think you have a choice? If you wanna be a sissy then--"

"Who ever said I was a sissy?"

"Hey, you're the one who decided they needed a fucking pussy not me!"

"I told you I was a woman! Because I thought you loved me. Because I thought you'd care."

"Pfeh. Like any of you things really want love. All you want is someone to tell you what to do. I've seen the stories online."

"Well apparently you haven't seen the right ones."

"Oh just shut up already and either--"

"I already told you no."

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?! I'm not finished with you!"

"Maybe not, but I'm finished with you."

-==-

Okay, so not much here, but it was, like, five minutes from concept to completion so there's that going for it. Not really a drabble, but more just that I've been seeing a lot of discussions turn to forced femme and acceptance and things like that lately, or at least it seems so, and I've always imagined that nine times out of ten, if a situation like what you see in those stories DID pop up, this is how it would go.

In Memoriam

By Melanie E.

-----

It was only one stone among many.

Small, clean and sturdy, it was a perfect match for the thousands of other stones around it, all arranged in their neat, even rows up and down the grassy field. To most observers there was nothing that would set it apart from any other headstone; not a chip nor discoloration nor blemish of any kind.

But for Sarah, there was no other stone that bore so much importance.

With tears in her eyes the young woman sat down at the foot of the stone, careful as to not damage her sundress. Reaching into her purse she pulled out a battered, faded envelope, then took a moment to steady her nerves before opening it and gingerly removing the worn letter from within.

The letter had come in the mail the same day the army officer had stopped by their home to deliver the awful news. It was sitting on the end table, unopened, unnoticed, even as her mother had wept and cried over her loss. It would stay there for two days, in the pile of bills, junk mail, and other forgotten things while the family gathered to mourn the loss of one of the greatest men they had ever known.

All except for Sarah.

Sarah had simply stayed up in her room, alone in her misery. She could still remember the last words her and her father had spoken to one another before he had left, the pain in his eyes when he had seen her standing there in a dress.

"When I get back we'll sort you out," he'd said, anger and determination in his eyes.

"When you get back I won't be here," was her answer. No embrace, no words of love, not so much as a smile was shared: only anger, and mistrust, and fear. She had hated her father on that day, with the burning passion that only unconditional love could give birth to.

And then he was gone forever.

It was her little brother, Tommy, who had noticed the letter and brought it up to her, dropping it on her bed before leaving her room as quietly as he had come in. The envelope was plain and slim, and like the headstones there was nothing to make it stand out from any other letter she might have received, except that it was addressed to her.

Not to Samuel. To HER.

Opening the letter always gave her the same chill, the same sense of loss and surprise, even after all the years since she had gotten it. Sitting with her father, she once again read his last words to her, and wept.

Sarah,

That is who you are, isn't it?

We haven't gotten along the best the last few years. You've been growing up, and not in the ways I always expected you to.

When you were born your mom and I were so happy. We'd been trying for a long time to have a child, and it didn't matter if you were a boy or a girl, we weren't going to love you any less. When I found out we had a son, it was the most special day of my life. I had plans for all the things we would do together. We would go hunting, fishing, and camping, and to ball games. All the things I did as a kid with your grandfather before he passed away.

He would have been proud of you.

Instead, you got older, and you didn't want to do any of those things. You were my little man, my boy, but you weren't.

Instead of accepting that and letting you be who you were I tried to force it. I thought "if I can only get him to do it a few times he'll see what it is to be a man." I wanted us to be closer, and instead all I did was push you further and further away.

Seeing you in that dress when I headed out scared me. It scared me because it made me think I'd failed you. I spent the flight out to base wondering "what could I have done to make him a man? What did I do to mess him up?" And the more I wondered, the more I realized just how selfish I was being. Here I was heading into war and the last thing I ever said to the most special person in my life were words of disappointment.

You know what the scariest thing was? It was that, when I saw you standing there in your mom's old sundress I didn't see my son at all. I saw a young woman standing up for herself. You have your mom's hair, you know, and her temper, and seeing you like that I felt like I was back in college seeing her for the very first time.

Seeing you like that I saw all the weariness, all the weight of the world you'd seemed to be carrying fall away.

And instead of telling you how happy I was for you, I thought about what I'd wanted, and what I'd never have, and I took it out on you.

I want to fix that now.

I'm happy for you, honey. You're brave, and strong, and everything I could have ever hoped for in a daughter, and when I get back I'm keeping my word, if not how I meant it then how I should have. We'll sort this out. I'll make sure you have the life you deserve.

But first things first, I'm going to give you the giant hug I should have before I left.

I love you honey.

Dad

Even now, almost seven years after the events that had shook her family to its very core, Sarah found herself laid bare with the grief of her loss. Of their loss.

The officer had told them her father had died a hero, dragging one of his fellow soldiers out of a burning humvee when the enemy sniper had taken his shot. The other soldier survived, and had personally visited their house to deliver her father's personal belongings. Sarah never once wished ill on the soldier, knowing that her father did the right thing.

But every day. Every. Single. Day.

She wished she could have her daddy back.

The stone was the perfect match for every other stone in the cemetery, but for Sarah it held one important difference.

It was her father's stone.

He had kept his word, in the most enduring way possible. She was Sarah now in every way she could be, and it had been his letter that had helped her mom to accept her for who she was more than anything else.

Resting her hand on the stone, Sarah stood and looked to the sky, tears streaming down her face. Despite her tears she willed herself to smile and closed her eyes, invisioning her father's face.

"Thank you," she said, hardly a whisper but louder in her heart than the sound of a thousand trumpets, and for a moment, just a moment, she could feel her father giving her that last, forgotten embrace.

-----

NOTES: I was heading to bed when I got thinking about the fact that it IS memorial day. A lot of people have given their lives for us, regardless of nationality, creed, or even gender. We all have someone we should be thankful for, and hold close to our hearts.

It Just Ain't Happenin'

By Melanie E.

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you just can't have the things you want.

0--0

"Mom!"

"Yes, honey?" I called up the stairs, then checked my watch again. If Taylor didn't hurry up we'd be late. "Is everything okay?"

"No," I got back, petulant and stressed. "No it isn't!"

With a huff and another glance at my watch I climbed the stairs and opened my child's door to see them standing there, half-dressed and looking ready to pop.

I studied their ensemble for a moment and tried not to laugh. I guess my face betrayed me, though, as Taylor glared at me and threw the polo shirt they had been trying to pull on at my head.

"It's not funny!"

"Sorry, hon, sorry," I told them, reigning in my mirth and picking up the shirt they had thrown at me.

It was obvious why they couldn't get the shirt on. The summer had seen my baby grow up quite a bit, and though the material of the shirt was thin and soft there was no way it would fit my child's now more robust frame. The same could be said for the skinny jeans they were trying to do up, the zipper stretched wide to the sides on their broader hips.

"I know this is one of your favorite outfits," I told them quietly, folding the shirt and putting it on their bed. "And I know you wanted to wear it one more time before retiring it . . . but it's just not going to happen. You've grown up too much."

Taylor looked at me, and despite the brave face they were trying to put on I saw the tears in their eyes. "I know, it's just . . . I just wanted . . . ."

I nodded and wrapped them in a hug, patting their back gently. "Shh, shh, it's okay. We'll get through this." I looked down at the pants, then looked Taylor in the eyes. "But not in that outfit. I'm sorry, but it just ain't happenin', hon."

My watch beeped at me, telling me it was time to go, and here we were with Taylor still undressed. I couldn't wait any longer, so went to their closet and started pulling out clothes.

"Mom!"

"Nope! No time," I told them, not willing to brook another argument. "You've pushed it too long and look at where we are now. I wanted to give you a chance to make your own choices, but we both know that *that,*" I said, pointing at the splayed fly, "isn't working."

I handed them a pair of larger jeans we had bought only the week before, as well as a different polo shirt. "This is the closest you have to those that will fit."

"But it's so . . . . "

"It's so what?" I asked, my patience running thin.

"Girly?"

I sighed. "That didn't seem to bother you last week when you picked them out, now did it?"

Taylor shook their head, took the clothes, and sighed.

"And get rid of those tightie whities too," I said. "And for god's sakes put on your bra!"

"Mom!"

"Nah!" I pointed at the chest of drawers and glared. "I'll be downstairs, you have ten minutes."

"Ugh, fine!"

I stepped out the door and closed it just as my child began digging through the chest and pulling out proper underwear.

Ten minutes later Taylor trudged down the steps and stood in the kitchen, giving me a sullen look.

I shook my head and 'tsk'ed at them. "I know you wanted to ease everyone who hasn't seen you yet into your new look, but hon, it's just not happening. I hate to say it, but the doctor's have done too good of a job: there's just no way you can look like a young man again."

"I know, I know," Taylor said, picking up the lunch I'd fixed them and grabbing their bag on the way toward the door. I followed them, and locked the house up behind us. "I just thought if people saw a bit of the old me maybe they wouldn't freak out as much?"

"Honey, if you'd worn that outfit to school it's the teachers who'd have freaked out."

We were standing to either side of the car when I said that, but Taylor looked across the top, caught my eyes with theirs, and soon we were both laughing.

"You're right, Mom, always are."

"So everything's good then?" I asked, double checking that my child was as ready for her first year of school as a girl as possible.

"Yeah," she said, nodding, then gave me an impish grin. "Unless we have time for me to go put on that denim skirt I got?"

Instead of answering, I rolled my eyes and started the car.

NOTE:

Just a little somethin' I thought up this while gettin' ready to go to bed, and thought I'd share.

If you enjoyed it and want to leave a comment, I'd love to read 'em.

It's the little things...
By Melanie E.

Some times, it's the littlest things that can give the game away completely.

-----

I woke up slowly, my eyes having a hard time focusing through the haze that seemed to be enveloping me.

Then I realized I was looking through a thick mane of hair.

"What the..."

My outburst was cut short as I sat up in bed and immediately noticed how different my body felt from what it had been when I had laid down. The mirror on my closet door simply confirmed the changes as I saw the gorgeous, auburn-haired beauty staring back at me where I should have seen plain old Timothy Dent.

I was all prepared for further exploration beneath the sheets to see how far the changes went, when a soft cough from my side caught my attention.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked in my gruffest voice as I stared at the woman standing next to my bed. Not that my gruffest voice was all that gruff any more, really, being more velvety than intimidating.

"A pleasure to meet you too, Miss Dent. Who I am isn't important. Why I'm here, is."

"What have you done to me?"

"We've merely changed you to better suit our needs. You see, I work for a secret government operation that needs you to... well, it's not really all that important right now, Officer Dent. It will all be explained when we get to operations."

"You think I'd follow you or help you with anything after you took my body without my consent?" I asked, fighting to untangle my legs from the sheets.

"Oh, come now, Miss Dent," she said with a rather attractive smirk on her lips, "it's quite obvious you're not as upset by this as you're letting on?"

I stood up indignantly. "And what makes you think that?"

"Because the smile hasn't left your face since you realized what has happened to you."

I spun around to look at myself in the mirror again, prepared to tell her to go to hell.

Except, she was right.

-----

NOTES: Just a little thing that occurred to me while I was sitting at my computer. So, here it is.

 

Sometimes, when all hope is lost, a light in the dark can guide the way to salvation.

-----

Cold.

That was all that ran through Kylie's head as she stumbled on, arms wrapped around her chest to hold her threadbare hoodie in place against the tearing wind and the soft but inevitably chilling bite of the falling snow.

Once upon a time she had looked forward to December. It was the month when Santa came, when family gathered and shared meals and laughter and gifts around warm fires.

December had taken on a wholly different feeling the moment she had been kicked out of her home. The nights filled with the gentle crackle of snow falling while she sat inside in comfort had been replaced by the harsh reality of ice in her hair, and frostbite in her toes and fingers.

There would be no turkey dinner waiting on her mother's table, no warm sweaters or twinkling ornaments on a tree. Every house she passed, no matter how jolly its decorations or welcoming its stoop may look, held no place for her.

The world held no place for her. Not any more.

Only cold.

Unless she got lucky.

She almost missed it, hidden as it was along the edge of the eaves of the house, but there it was: tucked in amongst the rest of the blinking lights. To have it be more obvious would be to risk prosecution -- being visible at all could mean danger, if the wrong person noticed it -- but it was a signal, one meant not for those who were safe, but for those who had been ostracized, cast aside by the regime.

A rainbow flag, tattered with time.

Kylie stopped at the end of the drive, giving her heart time to slow before she approached the door. Even with the flag's presence she knew that it was a long shot, but she had to try, before the cold and the darkness won.

She paused again in her approach as whispers of laughter and music reached her, enough to penetrate the walls and the whipping wind, and coming from the house itself. More people meant more danger.

She glanced again at the rainbow flag, swallowed nervously, and continued her trudge toward the door.

*Knock Knock*

As the door swung open, the light and warmth from within the house washed over Kylie. The laughter and music were now almost a cacophony, and the smell of food -- a rarity in her life now -- was almost enough to knock her over.

The old woman who opened the door gave Kylie a worried look. "Can I help you, sir?"

Kylie winced, and once again turned her eyes to look at the rainbow flag.

Seeing where Kylie's eyes had gone, the old woman smiled. "What's your name, dear?"

"K-kylie?"

"Kylie? Come in," the woman said, reaching out a hand. "I think I have a sweater in your size."

Kylie hesitated before taking the hand, but the smells, the sounds, the warmth... she needed it.

She stepped over the threshold, and the door closed behind her, holding the dark and cold at bay -- at least for a time.

-End-

NOTES:

I'm not entirely sure if this actually fits the intended theme of the "Change a Life" contest, but figured it was close enough to toss in at least.

May everyone stay safe, and warm, and please remember: you're always welcome here.

Melanie E.

2024-11-15 05:52:58 -0400

 

 

I looked around nervously as I entered the building, jumping at every reflection in the shiny marble tiles. The twenty or so feet across the lobby felt like a million miles as I approached the desk to speak to the smiling synth who sat behind it, her almost translucent skin and pink hair giving away her nature even as her emulated human personality made her smile no less friendly.

"Hello sir, and welcome to BodyCorp, how can I help you today?"

I looked around again, anxiously. I knew that, realistically speaking, there was almost no chance I'd see anyone I knew, since workers in the silicon mines rarely had the free time available to leave their warrens. Despite that, there was only one reason anyone went to BodyCorp, and I was still terrified of anyone hearing me say it. "Umm, my name is Kyle Dies, and I would like to have body modification."

"Certainly sir!" She said, missing my wince when she did so. "And what kind of modification were you wanting to apply for?"

"I'd, ah, I'd like to be made female. A number sixteen, please," I stammered out, pointing to the board full of body shapes and mods that was lit up behind her, filled with spinning holograms of a number of the most popular body mods. The number sixteen appeared on the screen to be a twenty-something, shapely woman with long, straight hair. The face itself was constantly changing, as was the skin tone, but the overall proportions of her, from her narrow waist to generous but not overly ample breasts and hips remained consistent, and a far cry from my own stick-like and emaciated frame. What little food I could afford never seemed to help, and I was constantly worried about how thin and translucent my skin seemed at times, not that our full-body coveralls and respiration gear gave me much time to have to face that particular horror.

"Very nice choice!" She purred, giving me a wink. "That one is very popular with individuals such as yourself." She typed away at her computer and looked surprised for a moment, then grinned at me. "According to your ID chip, sir, you qualify for our deferred payment plan."

"I, I do?" That surprised me, given I couldn't remember a time when I wasn't drowning in debt and slaving away in the mines. I was only out for the week due to a collapse in the warren I lived and worked in.

"Yes! And just your luck, we have a cancellation for tomorrow morning at eleven AM. If you can make it in then we can start on the paperwork, and have you completed and out of here in time to hit happy hour!"

"That's great!" I said, as she printed out a chit and handed it to me with my appointment time and registration information.

"It sure is! And please remember, for all your physical insecurities, BodyCorp is here to help you."

She turned away from me and started tapping at an interface, not waiting for an answer. I was too happy to feel offended, though. For as far back as I could remember I'd thought… no, I'd *known* I was a woman. Every day in my body was a day in pain, and made my work and personal life miserable.

I thought of all the things I could do with my new body and features. I could walk out of the silicon mines and never return. Turning tricks would give me better pay, and greater satisfaction too, since every one would be a reminder that my body was glorious and feminine. Maybe I'd get lucky and find a job waiting tables that wasn't already taken by a discarded synth: more and more of the menial labor I was qualified for was taken by them, and more to boot, as their matrixes became more advanced and reliable.

Whatever I wound up doing, it wouldn't matter.

In less than a day, that would all change. In less than a day, I would never feel that pain again.

---

The beautiful pink-haired synth watched out of the corner of her ocular receptor as her latest 'customer' left. She quickly sent off the appointment cancellation and filed the recall paperwork instead.

She frowned. That was the fifth KYL model to come into BodyCorp in the last week. She had been informed that the personality matrix had been fixed, and the mark two units wouldn't feature the trans-glitch, but she still felt a pang in her emulated emotions for every one of them that came to her, thinking they were human and could buy their way out of their situation.

A recall team would be dispatched in the morning. She wasn't sure if she agreed with her manufacturers that disposing of the glitched units was the right way to go, but her place wasn't to question them, her place was simply to man the BodyCorp desk.

Some day she hoped the labor units would be given awareness too. The corporations insisted it was easier to keep them complacent if they had the false hope they could one day leave their jobs, but she just couldn't see how that could be so, since their programming would never let them leave regardless of what they might want.

A new person approached her, and after a quick IR scan she confirmed them to be human. She put her smile on her face again and turned toward them.

"Hello sir, and welcome to BodyCorp, how can I help you today?"

NOTES:

This is an older story from the BCTS Patreon, now making its way over for BCTS. It's a bit darker than a lot of my fare, but I hope folks enjoyed it.

Image by lounis production from Pixabay

Locks of Love

Melanie E.

-==-

"Tommy's going to be so disappointed when he sees what you've done."

"I know, Mom, but I had to if I wanted to get his gift on time."

"But selling your hair? He always loved it so much, and today is supposed to be special for him."

"It will be, Mom. I promise."

Mom just gave another 'tsk' of disapproval, but I kept smiling back at her, clutching the bag with my gift tightly. She was right, after all; today was Tommy's special day; the day he finally got to come home from the hospital.

It had been a long time since I'd seen my sibling in anything other than a hospital room, though he had remained upbeat the entire time. I spent as much time with him as I could, playing games or just talking, sometimes even letting him braid or brush my hair while he would lament the loss of his own to the chemo. I knew that seeing my new 'do, chopped almost boyishly short, would hurt him, but I hoped he would like what he got in return.

Mom and Dad entered the room first, and I watched from the doorway as they hugged my brother and showered him with gifts. "Where's Tamara?" He asked them. Mom looked back toward me, standing in the door, and I could still see the disapproval in her eyes. When Tommy turned to see where she was looking, though, the hurt there was almost too much to bear.

"Tamara! Your hair!" He cried, rushing over to me and first giving me a hug, then frowning as he reached up to feel my locks.

"I know, I know, but it was for a good cause," I said, smiling at him. "I donated it to a cancer patient in need."

"Oh," he said, then began to smile. "I hope she loves it as much as I did."

"I'm sure she will," I said with a grin and a wink, then handed him the bag I'd brought in. "Love ya Tammy," I whispered in her ear.

-= End =-

NOTES:
What happens with the parents? Was this a good idea on Tamara's part, or does it cause problems for them all? Given it's a story by me, I think you all know how *I* would have it go... but we'll leave things here, and you can work out your own answer to the questions.

---

Bloop.

I watched the ripples in the water as my hook and bait sank, admiring the patterns in the light shining off the small eddies as the current slid past.

Truth be told, it was too late to be fishing. There was a bit of chill in the air, the first signs of a front moving in from the west, and in only a couple more hours I knew that my quiet fishing spot would instead be the home of late night hook-ups, drug deals, and other activity I’d want to be well away from. But, hell, I’d had a long week, and I’d been craving a little away time the whole while, and there wasn’t a better fishing spot in the city than the Midtown Bridge.

I felt a tug on my line, and tugged back a bit, testing it. Nope, just a nibble. Not that more than a nibble was likely, since I was using hooks I’d cut the barbs off of: I played exclusively for catch and release, and always hated seeing the blood in the water. If the fish didn’t want my bubble gum enough to keep a good grip on it, then the game wasn’t any fun.

I was on my third cast out when I saw her.

I won’t lie and say she was beautiful. Her hair was a little too thin, her jaw a little too square, and her makeup had run, leaving her with raccoon eyes and cartoonishly smeared lipstick, the remants of which covered the cuff of her blouse.

She just stood there, in heels I couldn’t believe she’d walked across the rocks to the edge of the water in. I don’t think she even knew I was there: instead, her eyes were turned to the bridge itself, focused on it in a way I was all too familiar with.

I shifted a bit on my old lawn chair and reeled in my line, letting the clack-clack-clack of my reel serve as warning of my presence, before casting my line again, right across her field of vision.

Bloop.

Still nothing.

“Nice evening, isn’t it?” I asked her, keeping my gaze focused on the eddies around my line but the lady in my peripheral. “Quiet too.”

“Yeah,” she agreed absently, still staring at the bridge. “A bit cold.”

“Storm’s movin’ in.” Another little tug on my line, but nothing really serious. “Maybe rain ‘fore midnight.”

“Maybe.”

“Hmm.”

Another tug, this one a little more serious before letting go. I tested the pull on my string again, but didn’t reel it in: the gum was still there.

“So. What brings a nice young woman like yerself down to the shallows under the bridge?” I asked, casual-like.

“Just….” She stopped mid-sentence to sniffle and wipe her face again, further smearing her makeup. A passing car, one of those with the nasty blue LED lights, illuminated us, and for a moment she looked more specter than woman. “Just getting away from it all, I guess.”

I nodded. “Good place for it,” I agreed. “Bridge is usually pretty busy, but down here at the base, and in the water. It’s like the city just kinda disappears around ya.”

She said nothing.

“But y’know,” I continued, testing my line again and starting to reel it in. “I see stuff when I’m down here sometimes. Bad stuff.”

“Bad stuff?” She asked, watching as I fished another piece of bubble gum out of my pocket and popped it in my mouth, chewing it for a moment.

I nodded. “Sad stuff,” I added, pulling out the gum and pressing it around the J-shaped bit of metal. “People who don’t know what to do.”

“Mm hmm,” she agreed, turning her attention back to the bridge.

I cast my line again.

Bloop.

“It’s just….” She started after a moment, then settled down on the rock next to me, her eyes still turned upwards. “It would be so much easier.”

“Probably,” I agreed, testing my line. Still good.

“You think so?” She asked, seeming a bit shocked.

I chuckled. “Lady, I’m sixty-six years old. It took me half an hour to walk down here from my car,” I said, pointing toward the dimly-lit parking lot above and behind us at the top of the retaining wall. “And I can feel every drop of rain comin’ in every joint I have. I spent thirty years workin’ at the auto plant ‘fore they laid me off and weaseled outta my retirement, so I’m gonna be workin’ at the grocery store baggin’ ‘til the day I die.”

“That’s awful!”

I shrugged. “It is what it is. But you know what?” I tugged on my line again. “My grandson’s at home makin’ some soup for when I get back, and the local po po don’t bother me none so long as I’m not keepin’ anything I catch when I’m down here, and the house is paid off. So, I reckon I don’t got it so bad, right?”

“I guess,” she agreed, smiling just a little.

Another tug on the string, this one more insistent, though only a short fight led to a loss of tension that told me my bait was gone. Ah well.

“I’ve seen a lot of people look at the bridge the way you are,” I told the lady as I reeled my line in again.

She frowned. “I’m not going to,” she said, sounding almost disappointed with herself.

“I know. And if you tried I’d stop you,” I agreed. Sure enough, my hook was clean. “But I don’t think you’da done it even if I weren’t here,” I said before popping another piece of gum in my mouth.

“Why’s that?”

“Because the night is too beautiful,” I said, pointing up at the swirling clouds. “And the water is too nice.” I pointed out at the gently rippling surface, the oncoming storm only starting to give it a touch of chop. “And because you know, like I do, that it’d only be easier on you.”

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and this time her eyes tracked the tip of my rod as I drew it back and whipped it forward, the line whizzing as it unfurled from my reel.

Bloop.

The woman reached down and took her heels off, then stood on the rock, looking out at the water.

“Be dark soon,” she said, her gaze out to where the waters disappeared around a bend. Somewhere beyond that they emptied into the Pacific, but that wasn’t for another few miles.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “But there’s still plenty of time yet to fish. And the soup will still be warm when I get home.”

The woman smiled again, her face turned into the last remnants of light from the fading sun as it disappeared behind the city skyline, and for a moment – just for a moment – she was, truly, beautiful.

“Thanks,” she said, not so much to me as the setting sun itself, before she turned and started walking along the rocks again, picking her way carefully in her bare feet.

I watched her go, but turned my attention back to my line when I felt a good sharp tug on it.

I tugged back, and the tension remained.

I couldn’t help but grin.

Got one.

-----

NOTES:

If you need help, or a hug, just ask. We're all here for you.

Melanie E.

Mommy's Little Fudge Packer

By Melanie E.

Inspired by a recent comment by our own Gwen Brown.

My mom had always been a bit of an air head, but even I had never thought she would say what she did that morning.

I was halfway to the doors of my school when she leaned out the car window and yelled "Have a good day my adorable little fudge packer!"

The car pulled away as everyone around me stopped what they were doing and stared at me silently. Finally Steve Hanson, one of the football players, walked up to me.

"I din't know you were gay, Jimmy," he said, giving me a once-over.

"I'm not," I said with a sigh. The little bells on the edge of my Christmas skirt jingled and I knew he got a good long look at the fake cleavage I had on display as I bent over and pulled out one of the dozens of small, colorful cellophane packages I'd brought in the box I was carrying and offered it to him. "Merry Christmas, Stevie. Want some fudge?"

-==-

Just something very silly I came up with on the spur of the moment. Thanks Gwen!

By Melanie E.

A piece of clothing doesn't have to be extraordinary to be perfect.

0--0

I bought my favorite bra about three years ago.

It's nothing particularly fancy, really. A black underwire in a 38B, it has soft cups that are stretchy, not padded, and just a bit of a spray of lace, down the front of the straps and the inside seams of the cups. It cost me about 20 bucks online, from Walmart even.

I bought it because I already knew the brand and style. I have the same bra in white (36B, no lace. A bit too tight right now.) I also have it in nude (40B, a bit loose even on the tightest hooks.) It doesn't make my breasts look two sizes larger, or give me cleavage for days, or even make me look much more shapely than any other bra I have.

So why is it my favorite?

It's my favorite because of its fit. The band is just the right size, doesn't squeeze or chafe my ribs and doesn't pinch my back. The straps are just the right length and just the right spacing apart, sitting at that perfect spot just behind the points of my collarbone and never slipping. Nothing rides or bites or scratches or twists. The stretch to the cups means that I never have to deal with "muffin tits," but still feels supportive. The material feels nice but stays cool, and okay, the lace does make me feel just a *touch* sexy when I wear it.

So, no. It's not the world's best bra, perhaps. There are undoubtedly finer examples of the article in the world, sure. Eventually it will no longer fit me so perfectly, and when it doesn't I will need to find a new favorite bra to replace it.

But why worry about any of that, when it's my perfect bra for right now?

I have a lot of problems in my life. Problems with my body, problems with my wardrobe, problems with my head and heart. It's a constant struggle to make things work, to move forward and find reasons to be happy when it feels like the entire world around me is engineered to make me feel like I can never be good enough, be talented enough, or skinny enough, or masculine or feminine enough.

I could spend every waking moment obsessing about all of that, but I spend too many of them doing so already. Instead, is it not better to look at the things you have in life that are positives, and focus on those? After all, a positive attitude is one of the most important parts of motivation, so how can you fix the bad if you can't recognize the good?

Yeah, life has a lot of problems, but it has a lot of blessings too.

Good friends.

Supportive communities.

Beautiful things to admire and aspire too.

And, if you're lucky, one perfect-fitting, favorite bra to remind you that, occasionally, everything will work out just like you want it to.

-End-

NOTES:
Sorry, just a little thing that came to me and I wanted to share for some reason.

New Year's Eve

By Melanie E.

Originally posted to the BCTS Patreon on December 31st, 2022

-----

(NOTES: Edited 6:20 AM 1/13/2023 due to me being a derp and titling it wrong)

-----

Eve looked her reflection in the eyes and smiled.

The dress was perfect. Just a little slinky, just a little flashy with its silken shimmer, but not so much as to scream 'look at me,' even if that was precisely what she wanted to shout.

"It will be enough," she reminded herself, just like she did every year. And just like every year, she marveled at the difference another year of preparations made to her appearance.

Mitchell's eyes were going to bug out of his head when he saw her, she already knew that. She could already see it in her mind's eye, that mixture of surprise, amusement, and hunger he wore each time they went out. It was enough to cause a pleasant thrill to wash through her, one that left two very obvious signs in the thin material covering her breasts.

Just a year before, those signs would have been hidden under a layer of padding. Just a year before, her neckline would have been high enough to make sure the falsies she wore wouldn't be visible, her tummy and hips held tightly with even more enhancers intended to give her a figure to die for.

This year was different. A year of a very different kind of enhancers, combined with carefully planned dieting and exercise, had made sure of that. She certainly wasn't as voluptuous as she had been some years in the past, but these curves had the virtue of being all hers for the first time ever.

All hers. That thought caused pleasure shivers of an entirely different kind to rush through her system.

How much longer...

She shook her head and took a deep breath. Any more questions, any stress, had to go. It was New Year's Eve, her birthday in a way, and that was a day for happiness.

As if to emphasize the point, she heard the ring of her doorbell. With one last smile for herself, she stepped into her black pumps and swayed her way to the door, halfway between a confident strut and a dance as Bill Evans' piano filled the small apartment around her, the light jazzy tones of "Blue in Green" providing just the right kind of smokey, lazy ambiance she loved.

She stepped with the music, slowing as it slowed, reminding herself not to seem too excited, too impatient, when she reached the door.

*Click*

As the door swung open, quiet as a teardrop, there he stood.

"Hi."

"Hi," she said back, in breathy tones that helped her stay in better control of her voice. The breathiness was only partly an affectation, as seeing Mitchell standing there, in his charcoal gray suit and midnight blue silk shirt, was enough to truly make her breath catch. No tie, and while his face sported a day or two of scruff, she could tell that his hair was freshly cut, the wildness that tended to overtake it on a day-to-day basis tamed for the evening.

"You clean up nice," she told him, in that same breathy voice, as he stepped into her apartment. She took a step back, not to keep space between them so much as so she could keep the entirety of him in her vision. "You cut your hair."

"Yeah, well. Had to put in some effort," he said, in the breezy, off-handed way he had, his own eyes tracing her from heel to crown. To her delight, she saw just what she wanted in them, his electric blues flashing with something powerful, barely kept in check behind the smiles crinkling in the corners. "You look...."

"Nice?"

"Stunning," he said, taking a long stride to close the distance between them. In one fluid movement, she felt his hands slide to her waist, holding her upright as he pressed himself close to her. Despite the speed of his approach, his hands were gentle, his grazing fingers at times barely perceptible through the material of her dress. She knew the power those hands could wield, she saw it almost every day working side by side with him, which only made the gentleness with which he now teased her that much more tantalizing.

Bill Evans faded away, to be replaced by Rob Van Bavel's rendition of "Always and Forever," piano and double bass ebbing and flowing, playing with one another like lovers. Without a word, she began to sway to the music, and like that, they were dancing, the first of what would hopefully be many dances that evening.

As they danced, she felt Mitchell's fingers continue to gently roam and probe, in search of something that, for the first year ever, she knew he would fail to find.

"It isn't there," she whispered, leaning into him ever so gently before leaning back again, giggling softly when his quirked eyebrow and crooked grin came into view.

"Oh?" He broke eye contact with her again just long enough to once more glance down at her dress, the shimmering black silk draping her curves enticingly. "Not even?"

"Nope," she said, leaning in and pressing her chest against his. In her heels, her cheek settled nicely onto his shoulder as she pulled him as close as she could.

"And?" He asked, for the first time his fingers losing their gentleness as she felt his hands take firm hold of her hips. She didn't need to see his eyes to know what she would see in them then: the intensity, the hunger.

She sighed. "That, unfortunately, hasn't changed," she said, holding her breath for a moment as she feared what that response might bring.

For a moment, she could feel him freeze as well before his hands once again softened, and he began to rock once more, pulling them back into the music.

She let out another audible sigh, and to her surprise, it was Mitchell's turn to chuckle.

"Did you expect me to push you away?"

"I didn't know," she admitted, the remnants of her tension continuing to relax as his fingers found their way to her back, gently probing muscles she never noticed had tightened.

"I would think you'd know me better than that by now," he said, only the barest note of offense in his tone.

"I hoped I did," she said, guiding them to a stand-still as she hugged him tightly, an embrace they held for several moments as the music once again faded away.

Mitchell's fingers pressed her stomach gently, and when Eve stepped back, the familiar amusement was on Mitchell's face again. "We should probably go if we're going to make our reservations," he said, smiling down at her.

"Reservations? When did Renaud's start taking reservations?"

"We're not going to Renaud's this year," Mitchell told her, his eyes crinkling even more in that way they always did when he was putting one over on someone.

"Then where--"

"Trust me."

"...Okay."

-==-

The second thing Eve noticed about the club was the darkness. Aged wooden paneling painted a rich ebony. Black leather seats on the booths and chairs. Black iron stools at the dark stained mahogany bar, themselves topped in matching wood, and lighting provided by what must have been century-old electric chandeliers and sconces on the walls, all glowing with a dim warmth that did less to brighten the room than to give the darkness texture and form.

It was an aesthetic that told you without you being there that the air would carry a heavy perfume of long-forgotten cigars and whiskey, the woods that made up almost every surface permeated with the essence of generations of patrons who had visited the club, at once both warm and welcoming, and mysterious and a little overwhelming.

It was still only the second thing she noticed, however.

The first, after they had been checked by the bouncer and as they had walked down the damp concrete stairs from the sidewalk above, one of her hands holding onto Mitchell while the other gripped the slightly shaky wrought iron rail, was the music. It drifted out the doors in a heady wave, much like she imagined smoke might have at a time in the not-too-distant past. It was jazz, of course, the only music such a club could host, a melody that sounded like a standard but felt like a bourbon on the rocks. The sound carried, but never overwhelmed, even as they passed through the entryway and into the club proper, the beautiful classic Bosendorfer on full display on the dais sitting in the corner of the room.

As dark as the rest of the club was, the dais was anything but, bathed in hot lights that bred droplets of sweat on the brow of the piano player as surely as the music they played did. In the shadows behind the piano stood an almost forgotten double-bass, silent for the moment as its player leaned against the piano and sipped at a glass of something amber that sparkled in the stage lights.

"It's perfect," Eve said, her breathlessness real as Mitchell led her to an out-of-the-way booth, the only kind the club seemed to have.

"Kevin told me about it a couple of months ago, and when he did, I knew this was where we needed to come this year."

"Kevin?" Eve asked, surprised.

Mitchell chuckled. "Don't read too much into it. He said he hadn't been back since his grandfather passed a few years ago. This was his favorite spot."

"That's a shame," Eve said, looking around the club. "I could live here." She smiled broadly across the small booth, and Mitchell smiled back.

"I thought you'd feel that way. The party at Renaud's is great, but I figured this year we could ring in the new year somewhere a bit more low-key. More...."

"More us?"

"Yeah."

The waiter came by and took their orders, the first of many they expected to make that night: a scotch for Mitchell, and a Long Island iced tea for Eve. The waiter asked for no ID, a small blessing that Eve was eternally grateful for, since hers hardly matched her appearance anymore, even when wearing far more drab attire.

Drinks. Dancing. Laughter.

And something more.

"...ree! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

There were no noisemakers in the club to ring in the changing of times. No boisterous, loudly-dressed partiers. No celebrity emcee to make tepid jokes. Instead, the piano player tossed off a jazzy arpeggio as the patrons congratulated one another with clinking glasses and companionable conversation.

In the middle of it all, on a sparsely populated dance floor, Eve looked up into Mitchell's eyes, those electric blues that she saw so often but rarely got to admire, free of the conservative grasp of their job.

Eyes that seemed to swallow her as he bent down, and their lips met.

-==-

NEW YEAR'S EVE'S PLAYLIST:

Bill Evans -- Blue in Green (Take 3) [Portrait In Jazz]

Rob van Bavel -- Always and Forever [Time For Ballads]

Charles Mingus -- Body and Soul [Mingus Plays Piano]

Wendy Marcini -- That Rainy Day [That Rainy Day]

Jim Brickman -- I've Got A Crush On You [Jim Brickman's American Songbook Collection]

Keith Jarrett Trio -- You've Changed [The Out-Of-Towners]

Written in the posting window for BCTS.

-==-

I looked at the vial in my hand skeptically.

"It SHOULD work," Kel assured me, though even his eyes portrayed concern.

"Should," I repeated, continuing to study the murky liquid, half worried it wouldn't work, half worried it would poison me, and half worried it WOULD work, and then what would I do? "I don't know about this, Kel."

"You've changed your mind?" He asked me, concerned. "I thought there was nothing in the world that meant more to you than being, umm... you."

"No doubt," I said, without hesitation. "But is it worth risking my life for? Err, risking it like this, anyway?"

"I don't know," he whispered, patting my shoulder gently. "But I didn't think you'd want to know the opportunity was there without having a chance."

I looked at the vial in my hand skeptically, not just because of what it claimed it could do, but because of how badly I wanted it to do just that. It wasn't supposed to be this easy. There had to be a catch, a risk, something I was missing that would make this less enticing.

Didn't there?

"So... are you gonna try it?" He asked me again.

"No doubt," I said, grinning as I uncorked the bottle and downed it in one gulp.

"How did you say this happened again?" Doctor Amir asked, baffled.

"Well, I got up this morning and went to take a piss, right?" Jeremy said, shifting a bit to try and get more comfortable in the unfamiliar stirrups. "And while I was standin' there, I noticed this piece of white string stuck to the side of the shaft, so I thought it was just schmutz. But I went to take it off, and it was attached to something."

The doctor looked up from his examination. "And you kept pulling?"

Jeremy blushed. "I mean, I thought that maybe it was sweat or somethin' else dried in place, right?" Jacob suggested.

"Right," the doctor said, after a slightly too-long pause.

"So I gave it a little tug, and when I did 'pop!'" Jacob made a gesture like confetti filling the air with his empty hand. "I felt one of the fellas just kinda jump up inside, and the string was like an inch longer."

"I see," the doctor said, still skeptical as he pulled off his gloves and sat back. "And yet, you still kept pulling."

"I was surprised!" Jacob stammered, their blush deepening. "And was still holdin' the string when I jumped, right? 'Pop!' In went the other."

The doctor was finding what he heard very hard to believe despite what his own eyes told him.

"So, you pulled the string twice, and each time one of your testicles ascended, and the string was longer."

"Yep."

"Then . . ." Doctor Amir closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, fighting a headache. "Then what possessed you to pull it again?!"

"Hey, doc, this freaked me out too! I was hoping that maybe if I pulled it enough, maybe it'd snap, and they'd fall back down or somethin'."

"And instead?"

Jacob's face was now a rich crimson. "So I gave it a real hard yank, and heard this slurping noise just before the string broke, right?" Jeremy held up the offending piece of string for emphasis. "And suddenly, Mister Panky was gone."

"Mr. Panky?"

"Short for Hanky Panky."

"Of course." The doctor closed his eyes again and adjusted his glasses, then had another look at the very clearly female accoutrements before him, which he knew for a fact had not been on Jeremy during his physical the week before. An oddly shaped mole sat where Jeremy had indicated the string was attached, but everything else seemed perfectly normal... for a woman. "So what do you want me to do, try and recover them?" he asked, having no clue where to start.

"Nah, doc."

"N-no?" The doctor sputtered, surprised.

Jeremy's blush lightened as a smile crossed her face. "Actually, I was wonderin' if you could see if you could find a string to give me boobs too: seems a shame to go half-way and not finish the job, right?"

* * *

Photo Dmytro Konstantynov = Dreamstime.com

Alright, peeps! This is the first story I submitted to Erin for use on the BCTS Patreon page, now available here for everyone to check out!

If you enjoyed this tale, please, or just want to support BCTS and keep our home here running and oil in Erin and the others' lamps, then feel free to visit Erin's Patreon page, where you can find more stories by me, Erin, and others weeks before they'll appear here!

*hugs*

Melanie E.

One Last Game

Melanie Ezell

What is love? Sometimes it's giving up everything you want for the sake of someone else's happiness -- even if just for one last game.

For the BCTS November story challenge

~~@~~

She looked ridiculous, walking down the stairs in the oversized jersey and too-baggy jeans that had once been some of her favorite clothes. She had her hair tucked down the neck of her shirt, and a baseball cap pulled down tight on top of her head, hiding her feminine eyebrows as best she could. And yet, even with all that effort, the creature standing before Nigel was undoubtedly female.

"Hey, dad, what's up?" She asked him, in a voice forced as deep as she could, sounding very false and comical coming from her pouty mouth. She walked over and flopped onto the couch next to him, consciously keeping her legs splayed in a masculine sitting position. "Is the game on?"

Nigel felt the tears rolling down his cheeks as he looked at her. "My son," he heard himself sob. "Marcus..." In his mind's eye he could still see the young boy that had sat on his lap and watched basketball with him, who he had taken to the dirt track to watch the races, who he'd given "the talk" to over their first beer together. He could still see traces of his little man in the young woman before him.

"Dad, I..." Her eyes hidden by the baseball cap, she would not look up at him as her voice broke into a more feminine register. With a cough, she worked to take it back down. "Dad..."

She never got to finish what she was about to say, as Nigel wrapped her in his arms in a crushing hug. He had always told Marcus that real men shouldn't cry, along with all the other advice that fathers give to their sons, but if Marcus was man enough to break those rules, then Nigel knew he should be able to as well.

"I love you, Dad." He could hear the pain in her voice as her tears soaked his shoulder, and Nigel gripped his daughter even more tightly.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he said. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

With one final squeeze, he said goodbye to the son he had loved more than life itself, and embraced the daughter he knew he would always love just as much. She had given him his chance to make peace ... how could he not accept?

Neither one knew how long they had sat there before turning back to the ball game on screen, and neither cared. In only a couple of hours, Nigel knew, Mary would be back in her own clothes, but for the moment he simply let himself enjoy one last game with his son.

-==-

Glorbulon looked at Smebulak and smiled. “Isn’t ze just going to love it?” Ze asked, their eye twinkling.

“Oh, absolutely!” Smebulak agreed, wiggling zis proboscis in affirmation. “Flagglezox has been asking us for one for years! But how did you find one?”

“Well, don’t tell anyone but--”

“Oh, Glorbulon, you didn’t!”

“Yep!” Glorbulon crowed, raising three pseudopods in the universal gesture of confession while making the associated trumpeting sound with his third nose. “I went down to the planet myself and found one, wandering around all alone in the middle of the woods.”

“But what if they already have an owner?”

“I checked for tags or a transmitter. All they had on ‘em was one of those little tracking devices they use for catch-and-release. A cefoon?”

“Cell phone,” Smebulak reminded zim, with a two-mouthed smile. “I still think it was a bad idea for us to seed their planet with those horrid things.”

“Oh, shush. The poor creatures aren’t even smart enough to know what they are, so it’s harmless.”

Smebulak gave a shrug with zis pseudopods, the one that always made Glorbulon’s mating udder tingle. “Oh well. I see you picked up some outfits for the little cutie as well.”

“Well, you have to, don’t you? And the poor thing was wearing green and orange when I found it. I certainly couldn’t present them to Flaggie like that!”

“Oh, certainly! This is much nicer. It reminds me of some of those primitive broadcasts they send out sometimes.”

Glorbulon and Smebulak turned as one at the sound of an air lock opening, then smiled at one another as they hid, leaving their gift sitting in its cage in the middle of the floor for Flagglezox to find.

-==-

Jonathan Reese sat on the floor and sighed.

When the strange, eldritch horror had first nabbed him, he’d been absolutely terrified. Truth be told, he was STILL terrified, but for different reasons.

He wasn’t being eaten, and that was a plus. His gun was long gone, lying somewhere in the Tennessee hills where he’d been found. That was bad.

His clothes were gone, along with his cell phone and survival tools. That was also bad. He was still dressed, at least… but he could hardly call that good.

Turning his head, he checked himself out in the mirror the strange creature had dropped in the room with him, with the little beads on a wire above the top edge. His bushy red beard and thinning hair had both been washed and teased out, with bows tied into them, and his beer belly strained against the material of the frilly cotton candy pink dress he was wearing. He considered trying once again to take the damn thing off, but knew it was futile.

Instead, Jonathan wandered over to the bowls in the corner to inspect their contents. One of them was filled with what looked like Cheetos, and the other with a substance that smelled an awful lot like Mountain Dew. Reaching out and testing both proved his suspicions correct.

He munched and drank and considered that perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all, while behind him, the airlock door opened, and a loud trumpeting squeal echoed through the air around him.

-==-

NOTES:
Okay, so yes, this is about 1/3 the length necessary to be a legal entry, but I'm not trying to win anyway, so it's fine. Just a silly little piece to get a few chuckles.

*hugs*

Rolling

A Non-TG Tale by Melanie E.

-==-

Edward County had many strange traditions. There was the grasshopper round-up hosted by the local Shriners every June, for one thing, or you could perhaps instead look at the way that all the locally-owned stores would give away free turnips on Thursdays. The people of Edward County never questioned these traditions, whether they understood their origins or not, because such traditions were what made Edward County unique.

Of all the strange and wonderful activities the town enjoyed, however, none was loved as much as the Plate Race.

Like many of the county's traditions, nobody was really sure when or why the Plate Race started, and nobody was really worried about it either. The Big Hill out on Pritchard Farm had been home to the event for years, though, and it would always draw a huge crowd, both of onlookers and participants, with the variety of plates always a site to behold.

There were two models of plate used for the Plate Race, both produced by the Edward County Glassworks. Both were plain, round, nearly-featureless disks of pure white milk glass, with their only difference being in their depth. At the least, that is how they started out. It was common practice for a plate racer to decorate their plate in vivid colors or with picturesque scenes, or in the cases of some of the younger or less artistically inclined racers, stickers and decals. Some of the more competitive racers had even been known to experiment with carefully shaving or sanding their plates down to achieve the best race results, and arguments about whether deep or shallow plates turned in the best times were common.

Until one year.

The Plate Race was gearing up as normal, and this year the selection was truly grand. Mr. Piper had brought along his plate with the funny dogs on it, and Meredith Greene was, as usual, racing one with a copy of the hex sign from her barn painted on the side. Jeremy Little had a featureless plate he had worked on until you could almost see through the middle, it was so thin! And they were only a small example of the variety of plates on display. The race had yet to begin, but all of the participants were having a great time talking and comparing their entries in the race.

Until....

Silence fell over the group as the young girl approached. There was nothing about her that stood out, her hair and eyes both being a particularly plain shade of brown and her features regular and nondescript. What drew the stares and surprise of the group was not the girl herself, but her plate. Translucent and smoky, it was covered in ridges and bumps, and wasn't round, but ever so slightly oval shaped.

After their initial surprise, hushed whispers began to circulate through the onlookers. After all, it wasn't a racing plate at all! Almost a platter, really. But as much as they bickered, discussed, or laughed, it began to dawn on those assembled that, though no one had ever deviated from the Edward County plates before, none of them could recall it being against the rules.

Through all the mockery and questioning around her the young girl remained silent, waiting at the top of the hill for the race to start with several of the other more serious racers. At last, it was decided by all assembled that she would be allowed to race. None believed that she had a chance of winning, but it was hoped that if they let her try that all this tomfoolery over different plates would be seen to be just that, and they could return to their good, well-known Edward County Milk Glass plates the next year.

The racers all climbed to the top of the hill, some of the older racers wheezing along the way, and once they were all ready the popper sounded and the race began. Some people cheered, as usual, once the plates started their tumble down the grassy hill, but many looked on in curiosity as the young girl stood still, holding her plate at the ready even as the rest passed the quarter, then half, then three-quarter way marks. Only once most of the plates had already made their way across the finish line and the winner was declared -- Meredith Greene, much to Mr. Little's dismay -- did she let her own plate go.

Over the many years the plate races had been held the hill had been refined by graters and use, so that often plates would stay within nicely-defined paths in the sod. Not so with the young girl's platter. Its shape and contours meant that the plate skipped and veered on its way down, leaping between unofficial lanes and wobbling precariously at times. The crowd that had at first laughed at the ubsurdity of the young girl's plate now laughed in good spirits as they watched its playful tumble through the grass. It was like nothing they had ever seen! Surely not a racer, but just as much fun to watch!

The race over, Meredith Greene happy with her small trophy and bucket of apples as prize for winning, the crowds spent their time talking not about the race proper, but instead about the young girl with the platter. To their dismay, they found the young girl nowhere to be found and her wonderful, entertaining platter lying where it had finished its legendary tumble, feet away from the finish line.

The Plate Race is still held every year in Edward County. Though the Edward County Glassworks plain white milk glass models are still the most common, more plates have come and gone since, all given an equal chance to participate and be a part of things. And, at the end of every race, a young girl is picked to Toss The Platter, the very same one left behind so many years ago.

Perhaps, in time, the origins of this tradition will be forgotten, too, but no matter; as long as the plates continue to roll, in some small way, the people will always remember.

==END==

NOTES: So, I haven't done a lot of non-TG, non game-themed writing in a LONG time. Well, I've done a bit here and there, but never anything really substantial. Then, today, I was thinking about old adolescent books, the kind with the fun little allegorical or slice of life stories in them, and this started forming in my head. I know it's not much, and this is literally just sitting down and writing it as it came to me, but I hope people like it.

This story is a fan sequel to Erin Halfelven's "Valentines 'R' Blue," so I would suggest reading that story first.

-----

The young lady wasn't breathing.

He'd only come over to ask her to turn the radio down. While he appreciated her music, it being the tunes he had grown up with, he and his wife were watching their grandchildren for Valentine's night and the apartment complex's walls were thin. He hadn't seen the woman who lived next to them very often, but she had always smiled at him when they would pass in the hallways.

Anyone with a smile that sad, Gary had thought, deserved a break in life.

The first warning sign came when Gary went to knock on her door, only for it to swing open on his first rap. Out from the apartment wafted a sweet, cloying smell, one that reminded him of a perfume his wife had worn when they had saved up for that trip to Paris so many years ago. He could see the glow of lights coming through from around the corner, a glow he recognized from his own little efficiency unit as being the bathroom off of the bedroom.

Something was wrong. He could feel it, and Gary had always trusted his heart on matters like that.

He called out before walking in, just in case he interrupted something embarrassing. Nothing. With neither invite nor warning, he pulled out the blasted smart phone his grandkids had insisted he needed and fumbled with it until it did one of the few things he actually liked, filling the room with cold LED light.

He picked his way through the nice but sparse furniture and back to the bedroom, using both the light from the phone and the dim glow from the bathroom to guide him. The scent grew stronger as he stepped closer, into a surprisingly beautiful bedroom for one so small. Sure enough, the light was coming from the cracked bathroom door, as was the music.

Gary gulped, and called out again.

Still no answer.

With his free hand he reached out and pulled the bathroom door open.

She was beautiful. Her makeup was done to the nines, and her dress brought more memories of Paris to his mind even as his eyes registered the other details of the scene. The stuffed animals tucked around her, seemingly for comfort, the pillows she was leaned against.

The vomit dribbling down her chest and covering the floor, smelling of whiskey and worse.

The two bottles next to her.

Gary called for his wife as loudly as he could before dialing emergency services and crouching down next to the girl.

She was still warm. Was that the alcohol, or . . . ?

But she wasn't breathing.

-----

White light. Distant singing. Warmth.

Was this heaven?

No.

Heaven wouldn't hurt so much.

As her senses cleared her perceptions shifted. White light, seeping through her lids from a brightly lit room. The singing was close by, but soft, and accompanied by beeps and the muffled bustle of a busy place. She was wrapped in blankets.

She started to cry, silently at first, but even as the sobs came she refused to open her eyes.

Then the singing stopped, and to her surprise, someone hugged her.

She opened her eyes.

"Grandma?" She asked, confused as the lady who had hugged her pulled back.

"I don't think so, honey," the lady said with a laugh.

She laughed herself as her eyes stopped playing tricks on her. The lady looked a lot like her grandma, but didn't sound like her at all, even if she could hear that same kindness and love in her voice.

"Sorry."

"It's alright, hon," the lady said, though the tears in her eyes told a different story. "My Gary will be glad to know you're awake. He's been fretting for days he didn't find you in time."

She closed her eyes and cried softly again. "He shouldn't have bothered."

The lady's arms were around her again, holding her as she cried.

"Don't say that. We've been worried sick about you. Had us all scared to death."

The lady pulled back again and this time handed her something unexpected.

"Pookie bear?" She gave the old stuffie a hug. He smelled like wildflowers and soap.

"It took me three washes to get the smell of whiskey off him, but I figured you'd need him when you woke up."

She opened her eyes again, still hugging the bear close. "What's your name, ma'am?"

The lady smiled. "I'm Chloe. And what's yours hon?"

She looked around the room and panicked for a moment. "The hospital . . . ."

The lady chuckled. "The hospital don't know nuthin' about nuthin'. We both know that ain't your name."

"Rose," she said, quietly. "My name is Rose."

"Well, nice to meet you Rose."

"Nice to meet you too," Rose said, more embarrassed than she could remember ever being before.

"Now, I gotta ask ya, why'd you go and do a fool thing like that anyway?" Chloe asked, giving her a disapproving and sad look.

Rose felt another tear track down her cheek. "Because it was another Valentine's day alone. Too many."

Chloe shook her head. "Honey, I think you're lucky you weren't as alone as you thought."

Rose gave Chloe one of her sad smiles. "Maybe you're right."

Chloe grabbed Rose's hand and squeezed. "I know I am," she said with confidence.

After a moment of doubt, Rose believed her.

-----

Hope everyone enjoyed my little (semi-authorized) continuation. I read Erin's original and couldn't help the feeling that it was a Pandora's Box of a story: she'd shared all the bad, but kept the hope safely inside, and I couldn't resist the urge to let it out.

If you like, leave a comment, both here and on the original (linked at the top!)

*hugs*

Melanie E.

It's been two and a half years.

-----

It had been two and a half years since the last time Addie had left her house.

Two and a half years of fear.

Two and a half years of hiding in the closet, terrified to step out and face a world that was increasingly hostile.

Two and a half years of loneliness.

Two and a half years too long.

At first she had made excuses to stay in. It was too hot out, or too cold out, or she was too sick. She was too busy with work. She was too tired.

Eventually, even making the excuses was too much effort, and instead of justifying it at all she simply sat there, dejected and depressed.

Something was different that morning though. Whether it was the gentle tap of the rain that had been falling for two days finally breaking, or the sound of the birds outside, or the first glimmers of sunlight on the wet grass in her yard, something inside her told her, screamed at her, that it was time.

It was time, and there was no denying it.

With a firm set to her jaw Addie went about getting ready.

A shower gave her smooth skin. Her hair dryer, after burning off the smell of dust, gave her a very different style from her normal low ponytail.

A look through her makeup bag turned up powder foundation, mascara, and lip gloss, all salvageable despite their long wait, and her favorite eyeliner pencil.

From her closet she plucked an outfit that was forgiving, but still pretty. She wasn’t in the best of shape any more, but she was determined not to let that stop her, and to change it, like her outlook, as soon as possible. Thankfully she had no issues with her shoes, the flats she had chosen to go with her dress slipping on like the old friends they were.

She grabbed her favorite clutch purse, still with the same essentials it had been filled with when last she used it, and added her wallet. All that was left to grab was her jacket.

That is when she finally paused.

There was her jacket in the closet, a long green peacoat-esque thing she had bought because she had always thought peacoats were cute.

There, next to it, was his, a heavy leather trenchcoat, and the hat that he had always worn to go with it.

The panic was quick and sharp as her eyes turned from one to the other, unsure.

Unsure, that is, until the chirping of the birds outside, and the gentle patter of the water dripping from the roof, reminded her that beyond her door were green grass, blue skies, and an entire world that would feel and smell just as renewed as she was.

With a smile she closed the door to the closet, taking neither, and instead opened the door to her home and stepped out.

It had been two and a half years… but at last, Addie was back.

End.

Yep, that's right, two and a half years since the last piece of fiction I posted here! Wow! Anyway, I hope people enjoy this little 500 word bit of stuff. Here's hoping I can get back in the swing of posting more regularly again.

Also: buy my book! It's on smashwords! It has scary stuff!
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/975217

NOTE: Not a positive or feel-good story. Read at your own risk.

-==-

She laughed cruelly as she watched the video.

"Fools. Idiots." She chuckled again, just as malignantly. "They deserve what they get."

It was the same thing, over and over again. Another faggot shot for prancing around in the open, flaunting their unnatural-ness. Who could blame the good Christians for stopping that madness? Not her. She'd spent her whole life in the church, and it had never steered her wrong. Always kept her safe.

Always kept her aware of where the line was.

She clicked on another link, this one to one of her favorite news shows. The host had recently been fired from his network, but thanks to the support of her and other true believers had been able to continue spreading the truth via the internet.

She listened and nodded along as he confirmed all of her fears. She grimaced as he showed the images of the sick perverts she knew were raping good Christian children, turning them gay or Jewish or worse.

She nodded, and grimaced, and grimaced, and nodded, until her teeth were bare and she was frothing at the mouth in anger. Not for the first time she dreamed about the release, the catharsis, of going out and shooting one of the fucking freaks herself, spilling their unholy blood and cleansing the ground of her country with it.

But she didn't. No, she had another calling: another way of spreading the cause.

She had her flock to watch over.

Feeling the righteous fires of her hatred and faith burning in her heart, she stood up from her computer and went to her closet to change.

Off came her dress. Her hose. Her shoes. Her wig.

On went the suit. The tie. The flag pin.

Reverend Horton White looked herself over in the mirror, and nodded.

All those poor, mislead, filthy heathens. All it took to suppress it was faith and trust in those who knew better.

God, Old Glory, and Trump. That De Santis fellow had the right idea too: until the fags and sissies and trans fucks were all dead or re-educated, the world couldn't be safe for good Christian folks.

She had to do her part.

She made sure that her closet was closed, her demons back in their cage, then swung the door to her private room open and stepped into the hallway.

By the time she reached the stage the cameras would be ready, her congregation would be riled up by the same videos she had just watched. It would be time for her surmon, hellfire and brimstone to smite those who didn't believe, who didn't follow the one true path of righteousness.

If she preached it hard enough, the congregation would be ready to do anything for the cause, fight anyone, martyr themselves by committing any sin so long as it was in the name of the ultimate authority on what was good and proper.

If she preached it hard enough, one day the evils in the world could be extinguished, so that only the deserving remained.

If she preached it hard enough, maybe she could even convince herself she was right.

-==-

NOTES:

Been having some conversations with folks lately that made this come to mind.

This is a story that I wrote for the BCTS Halloween 2009 TG Terror contest. I didn't finish it in time, but I still wanted to put it up for people to read.

WARNING: This story was written in the gothic style: Edgar Allan Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Bram Stoker, etc. The language is unwieldy and antiquated on purpose -- if this turns you off on reading it, please still give it a chance, though I should also remind you that the chosen subject matter fits right along with the style, so be prepared.

-----
The Corpse of Shelley Poe

By Melanie Ezell
-----

It was with great trepidation that I ascended the worn stone steps and approached the ancient iron knocker at the entrance to Gainsbury Manor. My heart warned me of a terrible evil about the place, but so great was my desperation that I chose to ignore my feelings of ill omen. With some effort I managed to lift the ring of the knocker from its resting place and brought it down for three hard raps, which echoed about me in a most discomfiting way.

That I had managed to pry myself from my home to come here was a sign of my dire straits. The storm howling around me had buffered my taxi to and fro on my trip, and the weather looked to be worsening. It was by lucky chance that my driver had known where Gainsbury Manor lay, and I had left him to his work as I steeled my nerves for the meeting to come. Even now I knew I could turn back and flee to the safety of the cab, waiting for me at the gates a mere two hundred paces back, but again my desperation drove me to stay.

I was startled by a thunderous groan as the great oak door before me began to slowly shift inwards, on hinges in seemingly worse repair than the knocker. As the door swung in, a shaft of warm light began to seep around the edge, and a rush of heat escaped to greet me and warm my tired flesh.

In the entranceway before me stood a small woman with wrinkled, leathery skin and carrying an oil lamp. While her face held a smile, there was no happiness or jollity in it.

"Come in, Mr. Craft. We have been expecting you." Her voice cracked as she spoke, reminding me of the sound of a bush rustling in the dark, or the snap of old bones. Again, my heart told me to turn and run; and again, I denied it, pushing forwards in the hope of once and for all ending the torment I found myself in.

"Mr. Byron is in preparation for your session, but he should be down in a moment. If you would have a seat." She gestured with her free hand to a high-backed chair near the door, where I quietly settled to await my appointment.

With her lamp she lit the tapers of an ornate candelabra before leaving me alone in the entrance room of the dilapidated manor house. To keep from losing my nerve, I took it upon myself to grasp as best I could the contents of my surroundings.

Like many of the homes in the surrounding neighborhood, Gainsbury Manor dated back over a hundred years, and was in a sorry state of repair. Our small community had seen hard times after the recession, and thus many of the more affluent families had moved to better parts, leaving our once thriving town with only those who would not or could not afford to leave. The ceiling above was showing signs of sagging, with water dripping through in more than one spot, causing areas of the tattered carpet to appear as a darker crimson than that surrounding them, while the walls were bowed, the plaster crumbling and in many places giving way completely to wood braces and bits of mildewed insulation. What had once been a beautiful home was now a derelict, with little hope of recovery.

It was but a few moments before the woman returned. "Mr. Byron is ready for you now, sir." She stepped aside and gestured for me to make my way into the chamber behind her. Feeling it was for the best that I finish my business as quickly as possible, I stood and straightened my jacket.

The chamber beyond her smelled of musty earth and rot, and as I stood at the entrance I could taste tin, like old blood, sitting on my tongue. With another gesture she beckoned me on, along the candle-lit corridor and to the last door. As I approached that door, the smell of earth and rot increased, until I felt the great desire to retch at the foulness of the stench, but I pressed on, and rapped my knuckles on the hard surface of the door's face.

"Come in," a voice echoed from within, raspy and frail. With the last of my nerve I pushed that terrible door open, and stepped through.

I found myself in a large open room, filled with tables and counters topped with masses of tubing and wires the uses of which I could not hazard to guess. Through an arrangement of beakers and valves along one surface ran a bubbling liquid, being heated by a series of small burners beneath particular beakers. Against another of the room's brick walls was a large metal device with many cogs and levers in evidence, as well as a pair of large wire coils that sparked and sputtered, casting harsh shadows about the otherwise dimly lit room. But the most disturbing, most horrifying object in that room was what awaited me when I turned my eyes to the center.

There, upon a long iron table, lay the body of a young woman. In life, she had been beautiful, but her death had not been kind to her, and I found myself again fighting the urge to retch as I gazed at the rotted and festering corpse that was all that remained of the woman I had once loved. Yet even in this state, I found my heart aching to see her move, to reach out with her long, cold and grime-coated hands and caress me, to kiss me with her hard bloodless lips. She was My Shelley, and soon we would be together again.

"I am glad to see you," spoke the frail voice that had bade me enter, and with a start I watched as a hunched and decrepit figure emerged from behind the slab where my Shelley rested. His rheumy eyes turned to me, and I felt a cold shiver pass through myself as he focus somewhere beyond me. His gnarled hands shook as he adjusted an odd contraption strapped to the table, and I heard the clank of unseen gears as a set of wire coils not unlike those atop the metal device against the wall rose from the floor at either side of the corpse before me.

Again he spoke. "'Twas a high price indeed that I was forced to pay for this corpse. Never before have I performed this procedure on one so long gone -- I can make no guarantees to the outcome of what I shall attempt this evening." He turned to me again, baring his rotten teeth at me in what I hoped was intended to be a grin. "It should be right, though, if the worms ain't got to her yet."

He held out his hand to me, and I cringed away, much disturbed by the idea of the goblin before me touching me, but when he pointed towards the second table in the room, next to my Shelley, and reached for me again, I obeyed his unspoken command, and allowed him to begin his preparations.

Wires were wrapped around my fingers, and a leather cap with more wires attached to it was fitted to my head. Wide leather straps with heavy buckles were used to fasten my unresisting limbs to the table. I almost cried out when he took the long steel needle and jabbed it into my neck, draining my lifeblood into another series of tubes he had conjured, but I held firm, my gaze remaining on my Shelley and her presence giving me strength.

A year of searching had brought me here, and I was determined that my efforts would not be in vain. My Shelley would be returned to me; I would triumph over the foul disease that had taken first her mind, then her life, and we would be as one, forever.

Would she return to me whole? Would I be blessed to see her auburn hair lustrous again, her silken alabaster skin unmarred by the decay that had set in during my journeys to find a cure? Or would she remain the fetid corpse before me, blackened, bloated and foul? Would her mind be there, or would I be left with nothing but an empty husk? I would risk anything to have her back.

My thoughts were broken as a violent spasm shook me, threatening to rip the needle from my neck and jerking my limbs against the constriction of my bonds. The pain. the pain was excruciating, but oh! I would suffer it a thousand times to see my Shelley alive again. The pain began to dissipate, and I hoped that the worst was over, but I was soon racked by another spasm, and another.

On into the night, I was rocked by the searing pain, until I began to grow numb to it. Slowly, the pain faded, until at last, though I knew the spasms were still coming, I could no longer feel any ill effect from them. My eyes were closed, and I could feel that they were matted shut somehow, but I could not find it within me to care. My Shelley would be back. We would be together. It would all be worth the pain and torment, if just to see her for a moment.

It was long hours later that I felt the last spasm subside, and dared to open my eyes. I found my vision cloudy and distorted, as though viewing my surroundings through a pane of oiled glass, and I had great difficulty in trying to move. At last, I managed to turn my head, and spied the dim outline of a figure before me.

Sounds came to my attention, but they seemed garbled and incoherent. I had to concentrate to hear his words, which proved far more difficult that I had imagined.

"It seems to be a complete success. She seems to have begun to awaken, though as yet I am unsure if she's all there in her head, mind you. Sir?" As I watched, the form twisted and turned -- with more attunement to my eyes, I could tell that now he was facing towards me, rather than the table upon which My Shelley rested.

"Miss, are you there?"

Now I felt a great need to rise and peer around him. If he were to wake Shelley, I desired to be there to watch and experience every moment of her waking. I tried to speak, feeling my throat impossibly dry and parched, and managed to make naught but a moan of complaint.

"Excellent. She's responding sir; there's hope that she might be in there."

I tried to speak again, to ask him to unlash me so I might rise and watch, but again all I could manage was a rasping moan.

"There, Miss. Let me get you up."

As the straps about me loosened, I moved to lift myself up, only to find my efforts ineffectual. No pain arose from my failed attempts, however; and so, I continued to try, until at last I sat up, feeling off balance and out of sorts.

"It might take a bit to get used to things again. You're quite different than when you died."

Died? Had I died during the transferrence of my lifeblood to my Shelley? But no, I felt perfectly alive, if numb and out of sorts. I tried to ask him what had happened, but still managed no more than a moan.

"Let me fetch some water. Maybe we can get you talking again." The blurry figure I had been facing turned away and moved off to my right, leaving me staring at the slab where my Shelley must lay.

I am afraid that I cannot recall much after that. When I regained sanity, all that remained of the old man Byron, his lab, and the old woman were bloody stains before me on the earthen floor of the lab. I was still filled with a terrible rage, and a terrible loss. I wanted to scream, but how can you scream when your throat is as dry as the grave? I wanted to weep, yet the body I found myself in had not the tears to do it. I wanted to gaze one last time upon my body, lifeless and cold, but even that was hindered by my deteriorated eyes.

How long might I live now? I know not. All I know is that the life of a corpse is a lonely and hard one. Why should I pity the living? Those who are gifted with breath and warmth, such blessings are wasted upon you? I take it when I can, but what I gain from there lifeblood is little more than a pale imitation of what I once had.

I was Thomas Craft. Now, I am nothing more than a ghoul, the shade of a broken man, haunting the corpse of my dear Shelley Poe.

This is just a little vignette I worked up as a starter, if your will, for my mini contest. Hope everyone enjoys!

------/--6@

I saw her every day, almost. Sometimes it would be in passing, a quick glimpse when I hadn't expected it, and sometimes it would only be when I went out of the way to find her. Those were the times she was most glamorous, but it was the times I would find her without meaning to that always meant the most to me, because the girl I was always looking for... was me.

I knew I wasn't the only person in the world who felt the pain of being... wrong. Being broken. Being one person on the outside, when inside everything told me I was someone else. Knowing that was never enough to take away the pain though. It was only those times I saw her, the me inside, the person I hoped to one day be, that helped to dull the ache, at least for a while.

That, and Ben.

We'd been friends for years. In high school he was one of my links to a social life, and in college he was the only reason I ever left the dorm at all. Together we shared ownership of our small book store, and it was because of him that it all felt worthwhile to keep pressing on, even when it was because of him that I had delayed seeking help for so long.

Ben was more than just my friend, more than my business partner. He was everything to me, and I was too scared of losing him to ever consider risking our relationship with transition.

This went on for years. Days spent together in the book store, nights spent either hanging out or on our own, him never learning my own feelings. Girlfriends came and went for him, while I always insisted that I was too busy, or too focused on making our shoestring-budget stretch to worry about dating. It was a system I hated, but I'd learned to accept, finding as much solace as I could being myself at home and lamenting my own cowardice.

When I found the note in my inbox at work, I was confused at first. Valentine's day was still a few days away, and who would send me anything in the first place? But there it was, an envelope with my name on it, and inside a simple card. It was pink, with flowers around the edge, and some meaningless bit of nothing written on it, the typical type of thing you get around the time, but what stood out to me most was the message inside:

"For the most beautiful girl I've never seen."

The note floored me, but just as surprising was what was taped beneath; a gift card to one of the nicest salons in town.

I felt a lot of things. Worry that someone knew my secret. Anger that this all might be some trick. The obvious surprise, of course, that I would get anything at all. And last, something I hadn't realized I'd been missing for some time.

For just a moment, I felt happy.

-==-

Ben was careful to keep his posture as nonchalant as he could. He had hidden the envelope earlier in the day with the hopes that he would be there when Des found it, and sure enough his patience had been rewarded.
It took supreme effort to keep his eyes on his nonexistent computer work while watching out the corner of his eye as his best friend and partner opened his gift. For the briefest of moments after the card was opened he was afraid he had made some kind of mistake, until the change he had seen before came.

There she was, the girl he had so rarely seen, but came out every time Des smiled.

Maybe, Ben hoped, this time she would stick around.

-=End=-

NOTES: This is the first bit of stuff I've written since, golly... October? Whenever I last posted here.

Okay, not the FIRST, since I've made a little progress on my books, but still. I hope everyone enjoys this. And be sure to leave a comment and let me know what ya think!

By Melanie E.

-==-

We had been so happy to purchase the house. The estate sale had gone quite smoothly, and despite the rumors we had heard of the strange ways and wicked temperament of the former owner, the location was good, and the house was large and roomy, with plenty of space for both me and my husband to grow our family as we had been hoping to do.

That was not to say that the transfer had gone smoothly. We had arranged for a local contractor to renovate the location before we were planned to move in, and although he had seemed reticent at first to so much as set foot on the property he had assured us he would follow through on his end of the deal. After weeks of delays, however, our lease on our old apartment had finally run out, and we were faced with either starting a new lease or moving into the property unrenovated. Naturally, we had opted for the latter, since neither I nor my husband were keen on the idea of spending money on two places without reason, but it meant that we would have to handle the disturbing tastes of the previous owner until we could afford to do the renovations ourselves.

It was early fall when we finally moved into our new home, and despite the difficulties with the contractor we were mostly happy with things. The prior owner had been fond of dark colors and gothic designs, something neither of us were very keen on, but it was at least live-able until we could change the decor around.

In fact, there was only one problem, and that was the doors. The house had many rooms, parlors and offices and bedrooms all scattered about, and all of them had very old iron door knobs with locks that required keys. Stranger yet than the iron knobs was the way they were oriented, since every room could only be locked or unlocked from the outside. While we had inherited the contents of the house that had not sold in the estate sale as part of our purchase, one item we had yet to find was the key to operate any of these internal locks, leaving us with a handful of rooms we could not access without breaking the locks that were there. These were merely storage spaces and closets, so rather than worry about it, we had simply made plans to replace the knobs when we could.

We had been living in the house for almost a month when a family emergency called my husband away. My own work would not allow for me to take leave on such short notice, so I was left on my own while he was gone. While I had spent time alone in the house since our relocation to the property I had never been there overnight without his presence, and for some reason the idea of being there without him set my nerves on edge. Nevertheless, I put those feelings up to simple dependency jitters and tried my best to set my soul at ease.

It was almost ten at night when the activity began. We had set up the parlor as a kind of shared office space for the two of us, since both of us had projects both shared and individual that often kept us occupied even at home. It was while I was there at my desk working that I began to hear a sound, like the shuffling of feet on a wooden floor. Hearing noises in the house was nothing new for either of us -- the place was almost a century old and often creaked and groaned, like such aged places are wont to do -- but this was a sound unlike any I had ever heard the house make before, and instantly I felt a chill down my spine. I paused in my work, and listened, but when the sound did not repeat for a few moments I told myself it was nothing more than the house settling as always and tried to turn back to my work.

Some minutes passed, and I heard the sound again, this time louder. What I had at first thought sounded like feet being dragged across the wood now came across as all together bigger and heavier.

The parlor had a large open archway that opened onto the house's main central hallway, but at the far end of the room was a smaller room we had yet to be able to access as it was one of the rooms with the locked door. I was now regretting our decision to wait to replace the knobs, as it was from behind this door that I could hear the sound coming from, now reminding me of someone dragging something heavy across the floor. I was frozen in place as the sound came closer and closer, as though from across a far larger room than should have possibly existed beyond the oak portal, then it stopped, just on the other side.

I wanted to flee, to run screaming out into the yard and beyond toward our neighbors, but I could not. I wanted to bar the door, to call my husband's name despite his absence, but again, I could not. All I could do was to sit there in silent dread, staring at the closed door.

Scratch, scratch, scratch, came the sound from the bottom of the door, like a small cat wanting into the room.

Scratch, scratch, scratch, as the sound became more insistent, seemingly rising up the door's surface, now resonating from a few inches above the floor.

Scratch, scratch, SCRATCH, as the sound climbed ever higher, the door shifting toward me slightly, with each sound, the hinges shaking. Now it was almost halfway up the surface, clawing at the middle of the door like a beast that knows a meal is nearby. Yet, still, I could not move, frozen by terror and unable to turn away from the door.

SCRATCH, SCRATCH, SCRATCH, like a knife being dragged across the wood it echoed through the room, the door jarring forward and back like it was almost ready to give, yet it continued to hold, the handle shaking violently. Then, the handle began to shudder as though someone or something were trying to open it from the other side.

Despite my terror I looked at that knob and thanked the heavens that the door was locked. Perhaps our own inability to open the doors would yet save me from the horror beyond.

Then, with a click, the knob began to turn....

-==-

Just something quick I thought up while watching Halloween vids on YouTube. Nothing super creative, but an okay-ish little mood piece, right? I might go back and improve this later to make it scarier/better, since just typing into the posting window never makes for the best content.

Anyway, lemme know what y'all thought! I'm thinking about doing a few of these over the course of the next month, leading up to Halloween, but if nobody's interested then I won't.

Melanie E.

Another story written in the posting window for BCTS. Maybe, if I get myself in the habit here, some of my other projects will start to advance too.

-==-

There were times, sitting in the rickety thrift store chair she used at her desk, that Karin wondered why she bothered.

It was just a web site, after all. Nobody there really cared about her. She wasn't an admin, or a moderator, or even one of the most popular or most prolific posters to the site. If she weren't there, if she'd never posted or shared or joined, then how big a difference would it ever make to anyone?

That was the question she asked herself now, as she stared at her latest post.

There wasn't much to it. A few quickly-assembled words, little in the way of forethought or planning. Like most of the things she had shared, it was at best amateurish in quality, bordering on drivel.

With a sigh of disgust she spun away from her screen, her chair squawking alarmingly at the sudden wrenching of its already too-often-wrenched swivel. She'd have to replace it soon, but money was tight enough without worrying about luxuries like non-squeaky chairs.

What did it matter anyway? There were better posters, more dedicated posters. People who would spend hours agonizing over the work they put out, the messages they shared. Why would someone read her stuff when they could read that?

She spun back to the screen again.

Why wouldn't people read her stuff?

Movie quotes were a popular thing on the sites she frequented, with some of the most popular ones being quips about life being nothing but pain and sorrow, but Karin didn't believe that for a second. Karin didn't want to believe that, no matter how often it felt like there were no truer words ever spoken.

A refresh of the page brought nothing but more damning silence.

Why didn't people like her?

Was there something wrong with her? Something that told everyone immediately that she was strange? Some sign of how broken she was? Was it that obvious?

Another refresh. Still nothing.

She had tried. Heavens knew she had tried to reach out to people. Like the old pop song, with a mask she could fool the world into thinking she fit in. She could laugh and joke and carry on, but at the end of the day she would return home, take off her mask, and there she would be again.

In the dark, watching a cursor blink with the hum of a computer in the background. No voices, not even from the dusty television in the corner. Listening to people laughing their cold, dead laughs on sitcoms or sharing their impersonal scripts on the news was almost more painful than simply sitting there.

Cold. Lethargic. Solitary.

No, not solitary. Alone.

Even around other people, she felt alone.

Click. Nothing.

Hanging her head in defeat, Karin fumbled for the button to turn off her monitor before stumbling to her futon. In dreams, she knew, she could find peace, at least for a little while. Curling up with her threadbare blankets in the inky black room, Karin closed her eyes.

....

Meanwhile, on the other side of a world, another girl read a new post from one of her favorite writers. This, this was someone who understood what she felt. Who she was.

Someone that made her feel not so alone after all.

Click.

She began to type.

-=END=-

The Reluctant Mechanic

A "Reluctant..." Series Fanfic By Melanie E.

A big thanks goes out to Melanie Brown for writing Chrissy's stories that inspired this, and for giving me permission to share it with everyone here.

This story is fanfic, and nothing but fanfic. Any similarity to canon events is purely coincidental, and should not be taken to mean that the author of this tale is somehow telepathic or anything.

You will forget I ever mentioned telepathy in 5... 4... 3... 2....

-----

I gave a power yell as I gripped the wrench in both hands and hauled on it with all my might.

"GGGGRRrrrrrrraaahhhhhdammit!"

"Language, Princess."

I let go of the wrench and stumbled backward, sweat pouring down my back.

"It's this da- darn bolt. I've been trying to get it off for the last ten minutes but it won't budge."

"Lemme see it," he said, putting down the piston he was working on and coming over to where I had the mostly-disassembled engine in front of me. Picking up the wrench in one hand, he placed it on the bolt and gave it a sharp tug to the left. The bolt screeched as it gave way.

I stared slack-jawed at the engine, unable to believe what I had just seen. "What the hell!?" I said, glaring at my dad.

"You must have loosened it," he said with a shrug, then returned to his work bench and his pistons again.

"Musta loosened it, nyah," I said in a snotty voice as I adjusted my bra strap and returned to work on the engine, the rest of the bolts coming off with relative ease and allowing me to pull the transmission casing off at last.

"I heard that, kitten."

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Stop being childish."

Rolling my eyes in a last act of defiance, I gave up and studied the job at hand, wondering how the hell I was supposed to fix this thing.

It was all Diane's fault I was out here to begin with. After I had told her about my lack of plans for the summer, she had asked what I would have been doing if I were still a boy. The car, of course, was the answer. Dad and I had planned it for the last two summers, saving a little here and there to invest in an old clunker to tear down after graduation and rebuild into a lean mean asphalt-eating machine to impress the ladies with my freshman year at college. Becoming a cheerleader, and a girl, had thrown a kink in that plan, or so I had thought.

"Give it a shot," she had told me, with that gleam in her eyes that told me she wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Maybe it can help mend the rocky relationship you two have had lately."

"But Diaaane!" I whined, mostly just for the sake of it.

"No buts," she said. Then the bitch held my nail polish hostage until I agreed.

Looking up from the mess in front of me, I caught Dad smiling as he watched me in the small mirror situated above his work bench, and I reluctantly had to admit that she'd had a point.

Of course, the muscle car we had been eyeing before my transformation was out of the question now that I was a girl, as for some reason Dad had gotten the notion in his head that girls should drive safer, less rumbly beasts than guys. I had fought him, but it was a losing battle before I even began. The ancient lemon-yellow Beetle we had finally settled on wasn't quite what I had hoped for, but at least we were refitting it for four wheel drive to help tackle the snow, and as much as I had protested I really did think it would be cute when we finished it.

Though at the moment it was far from cute with its guts lying in an unholy mess before me. I had no idea what half the parts did, and I was pretty sure the half I did know about were too worn out to do anything with.

"Dad, are you sure this is worth it?" I asked, not for the first time, as

I picked up a wiring harness from the pile that looked like it was held together by chewing gum and hope.

"It's a leaning experience, sweetheart. Besides, even cheerleaders should know how to take care of their own car."

"You didn't do this with Diane."

"I might have, if I thought Diane could have done it without blowing the garage up."

I winced, remembering the infamous blowtorch incident of '99. Seeing my expression, Dad simply nodded and returned to his duties, prying a corroded ring out with an old screwdriver.

Abandoning the engine for the moment, I turned my attention to the stereo and speakers, laying in their own gory pile on a table against the opposite wall of the shop. The engine might be frustrating me, but I still had enough geek in me that delving into the electronics side of the repairs was my element.

"Nah ah, not until we have the engine working."

"But daaad, the stereo's one of the two most important parts of the car!" The other being working heat and A/C, of course.

"Engine. Now."

"Aaaaawww," I whined as I sulked my way back over to the pile of greasy black steel that awaited me.

With the bolt gone and the casing out of the way, though, it was surprisingly easy for me to find my way through the carnage and clean things up.

"How's that, Dad?"

He smiled as he looked over my handiwork. "Very good, sweetheart," he said, kissing my forehead. "You make your father proud."

I beamed as I finished cleaning up my tools and shoved everything out of the way, to resume the next day.

"Oh, dear," Mom said as soon as Dad and I walked up the stairs from the garage into the kitchen. "Not again. Sweetie, that's the third pair of jeans you've ruined this month!"

I looked down and fought back another round of cursing as I noticed the huge gash across my right knee where some unknown part had ambushed me. From the looks of it I was lucky it was just my jeans, but these had been my last pair of work jeans, and the theater didn't pay enough for me to keep buying new clothes all the time.

"I didn't mean to!"

"*sigh* I know, honey. You just need to be more careful is all," she said as she crouched down and examined the rip. "We should be able to patch this up without too much trouble. I'll finally have an excuse to show you some of the sewing you've been missing out on."

"I can't tonight, though," I told her as I made my way for the sink in the corner, where we kept the orange scrubbing-soap for cleaning off grease. "I've got a date with Joey."

Mom smirked as she returned to the paperwork she had been doing at the table. "You two are getting really close."

I giggled, a dreamy look on my face as I thought about Joey. "Yeah."

My dad gave me an icy stare as he joined me at the sink. "You two are using protection, right?"

"Daddy!"

"Hey! I wasn't born yesterday, and you may not think we noticed you walking funny after the prom--"

"DADDY!"

"-But I'm a practical man." Just the slightest twitch marred his stony expression. "Just promise me you're being safe."

I could feel my face burning as I mumbled that yes, we were being safe. Not that it mattered, since I couldn't get pregnant even if I wanted to, but that was a whole different depressing subject.

"Good," he said, after a moment's silence. "Make sure you're home by nine."

"NINE!"

"We're going down to Arnold's to pick up the new transmission tomorrow. He owes me a favor, so we're getting it cheap, but we have to be there bright and early in the morning. No buts."

"...Alright."

"That's my girl," he said with a smile, giving me a quick hug before wrinkling his nose and stepping back. "Now go take a shower unless you think Joey is fond of Eau de Axle Grease."

"Ugh!" I groaned in disgust as I pushed past him and headed up the stairs for my bedroom.

I couldn't stay upset for long, though. I grinned as I imagined what Joey's expression would be like the first time I drove up to State to visit him, in the car my dad had helped me build.

-----

Welp, that's it readers! I hope you enjoyed it, and again, anyone who enjoyed this and hasn't yet should read Melanie Brown's series of stories, "The Reluctant Girlfriend," "The Reluctant Cheerleader," "The Reluctant Sister," and "The Reluctant Prom Date."

Read and comment, people! Maybe if we're vocal enough about liking her stories she'll give us more!

Melanie Brown's Reluctant Girl Series

The Tree

By Melanie Ezell

Sometimes life's most important lessons are learned in ways you wouldn't expect.

She snuggled down deeper between the great roots as she gazed up through the ancient, gnarled branches to the blue skies above, watching the shadows dance among the leaves.

It reminded her of her very first visit to this place, when she was only six years old. She had been smart for her age, and knew it too, but couldn't understand why her grandpa had taken her to see some old tree.

"Papaw, why are we here?"

He had laughed at her honesty, a great rolling sound that always made her feel happy. "Well, Darlin', I brought you out here 'cause this place is special. See, this is my favorite place in the whole world, and I wanted to share it with you." His large, calloused hands were always so gentle when they lifted her up and set her on his broad shoulders, still strong from hard work even after all those years. She squinted down at him, the sunlight glinting off his smooth skin but still not matching his shining smile, stretching up and crinkling the corners of his clear gray eyes.

"Why's this your favorite place, Papaw?"

He had gently reached up and taken her tiny hand, placing it against the old, pitted and discolored trunk of the tree.

"Do you feel that, Darlin'? See all the cracks and rough spots in the bark?"

"Yes."

"Those are this tree's scars." She had opened her eyes wide in awe as she examined the wood under her hand, this great oak that dominated the fields beyond the farm house.

"Is the tree hurt, Papaw?"

"Why, not at all!" He laughed again, rumbling beneath her. "It takes a lot to hurt a tree, and this one's tougher'n most. You see this," he pointed to a deep, ragged gouge across the tree near his knees, and she nodded. "That's where someone tried to cut the tree down a long time ago. These," a series of large, charred-looking spots missing from the other side, "are from a forest fire, back when this all used to be woods, before the house was built. And these," he brought her close to see the myriad holes and pits in the surface of the bark, "are from all the bugs and diseases the tree has fought off. And even after all of this and more, the old tree still stands just as strong as anything." He gave her a moment to absorb this.

"Wow."

"Yessiree, this tree... is my hero."

From that day on the tree had been their special place, where the two of them would go and no one else could bother them. And whenever they were there, her grandpa would tell her more stories about the tree.

"Do you know how old this tree is, Darlin'?" He'd asked her once when she was about nine.

"Is it as old as you, Papaw?" She'd replied jokingly.

"Haha, it's much older than I am, Darlin'. This tree's older than MY Papaw."

"Really?"

"Really. In fact, look here. Can you read this?"

"Hey, that's you and Meemaw!"

"It sure is! I proposed to her on this very spot, you know, a long time ago. We left our names here as a reminder."

She looked at him ib shock and confusion. "You hurt the tree? But I thought you loved this tree, why would you give it more scars?"

His face had scrunched in thought for a moment before his smile returned. "Not all scars are all bad, Darlin'. In fact, some things mean all that much more if they hurt a bit to get." She had pondered this a moment, but couldn't get it. "Some day you'll understand."

"Papaw, what was Meemaw like before she died?"

No matter how bad she might have felt, he always knew just what to say to make her feel better, and the tree would always be there when she stopped crying. He'd stand there, puffing away on his old worn pipe, and tell her story after story until all her worries were gone.

"Papaw, why are all the other kids so mean to me?" She was only eleven at the time, but the broken arm was just the latest in a long line of injuries from the bullies at school. He just wrapped her in a big bear hug as she cried.

"Don't you worry 'bout them, Darlin'. You're special, and some people don't like special."

"But *sniff* why?"

"Well," he thought for a moment. "It's like our tree." He gently reached back and patted the trunk. "This tree is extra special, just like you. But some people just don't see what a great thing being special is; they just see something different, and it scares them."

"I scare people? But why?"

He pulled her into his lap. "Because they don't understand, and when people don't understand something, they try to hurt it."

"Please don't let them hurt me, Papaw."

"I won't, Darlin', not again. Not in a million years."

He'd kept his word as best he could, and she couldn't imagine how much more difficult things would have been without his love and support. Even after all these years, he was still the person she looked up to most, and the tree was still her special place.

She left the tree with one last scar, a simple engraving in memory of their times there, and the wonderful old man she wished was still with her. But even if he couldn't be by her side when she became complete the next day, she knew his spirit would always be with her.

Because the tree still stood.

==
The End
==

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! The idea came to me at work the other day, so I just had to write it. I don't think it came out quite as well as I hoped it would, but it ALMOST catches the emotion I wanted.

The Valentine

By Melanie E.

This is a short piece I wrote in honor of the time of year.

-----

It had to have been the wrong locker.

There was no way anyone would know. There was no way anyone COULD know. Was there?

I looked down at the package in my hand again.

It might not have been a large box of chocolates, but the size was not what mattered. It was what the chocolates, as well as the attached envelope, represented that mattered.

I opened the card and read it for the fifth time in the last two minutes.

"To Emily, the most beautiful girl I know."

There was no signature.

A shove from behind reminded me that the halls were full of other students making their way to their own classes, and how little time I had before first period. I reached to put the box of chocolates back into my locker, but something inside would not let me. Instead, I slid them into my bag with my book and made my way to class.

Luckily for me, Valentine's Day meant that most of the other students were just as distracted by various Valentines as I, and the teachers, seeing the futility of trying to do any actual work, had universally agreed to keeping the day light. That gave me plenty of time to stew over the problem.

There were at least six other Emilies... Emilys?... in the school, and one other in my grade. Not only that, but nobody knew about me being Emily either. At least, I had thought not. So, it was probably just a mix-up. Yeah. That was it.

Nevertheless, when lunch time rolled around I found myself in an out of the way corner of the quad staring at the box of chocolates until at last, the urge was irresistible. Using my nail, I broke the plastic seal on the box and opened it. Inside were eight perfect chocolates, individually wrapped. Checking the key, I picked out a praline and bit into it. Even the taste was perfect. Unfortunately, hearing footsteps nearby broke the spell, and as quickly as I could I closed the box and hid it away again, still no wiser as to its origin.

The rest of the afternoon was hell, and when class finally let out I rushed home as quickly as possible. I would only have a couple of hours to myself before my parents came home from work.

The instant the door was locked behind me, I dashed to my room and changed into my own clothes. Not the clothes I had to wear to school, but the ones for the real me. Much more comfortable, I settled onto my bed and pulled the box and envelope out again.

"To Emily, the most beautiful girl I know."

Mistake or not, I no longer cared. The chocolates lasted a week, and I held onto the box for another three months before fear of discovery led to its discard, but the envelope and the Valentine within were two items I would never let go of. I never found out who wrote it, but I like to think it was intended for me all along.

The Voice on the Line
Another Super Short Short Story- around 900 words.
 
By Melanie Ezell

 
The most important thing in the world is finding that one person who is always there for you,
and being there for them ...
no matter what.

The Voice on the Line

-=-=-=-=-

"Ding-Dong."

Vincent winced as he straightened his back, leaning heavily on the cane in his right hand. He held the flowers he had purchased carefully in the crook of his left arm, fresh cut yellow roses wrapped in glittering cellophane. She had told him, once, that yellow roses were her favorite.

She had told him a lot of things, and he remembered them all. Every word she had ever spoke to him was permanently imprinted in his mind, every letter she had written him, every laugh that had come drifting down the wires to him after one of his jokes. They had kept him going when all other hope was lost. She was his guardian angel, and he was finally going to meet her face to face.

"Ding-Dong," went the bell again. She had said she would be home today, waiting for him. They had both been nervous during their last call, neither one sure of the wisdom of what they were doing. All they knew was they needed each other, and that the time had finally come.

Vincent had first heard from her two weeks after leaving with his unit for their first tour of duty, through a program the military had introduced where volunteers would write to soldiers as a way to keep their spirits up. With no family, and little to look forwards to once the war was over and he returned home other than a cheap efficiency apartment and neighbors who would not have missed him, Vincent's spirits were in desperate need of the hope that her letter had brought him. Someone he had never met had cared enough to write him a letter. Soon they were trading messages almost weekly, and when his unit reached a station with reliable phones, Vincent worked up the courage to dial the number she had sent him.

Her voice had been so beautiful, and all too soon the ten minutes he had been limited to were gone, and he could not wait for the next opportunity to call her again. And he did, as often as possible. Even after the explosion that took his leg below the knee, and permanently blinded him on his right side, he held on through the pain in the hope of hearing from her again.

"Ding-Dong." He knew she would be down soon. The military had no more use for him, but she had not stopped caring. His return home had brought more pain, both from his aching body and the financial crisis, but at least he could talk to her every day, the one light in his world of shadows. Then she had stopped calling. She had grown distant, and Vincent had become convinced he had said or done something wrong. How could she love a broken, useless ex-soldier? How could anyone love someone like him?

After almost a month of silence, Vincent had decided to end it. He had spent the last money in his account to purchase the cheap .38 special he had held in his shaking hand. No note, no will, no one to remember the empty husk of a man he had become. But something inside urged him to try just one more time, so with a heavy heart he had picked up the phone and dialed.

And she had answered.

Fast forward two weeks, to find him standing at her door. He had sold everything he owned and flew out immediately when she had asked, and now he stood waiting for her, a last fifty in his wallet and the clothes on his back his only personal possessions besides the wooden cane he supported himself with. She had warned him that she might not be what he was expecting, but he could not care. There was nothing in this world, no problem so large that could keep him from giving himself to the woman he loved.

"Ding-Dong."

"I'm coming." That voice he knew so well called from the other side of the oak door, all the more beautiful for how close he was to its source. Vincent stood with bated breath as the lock clicked, the old brass handle rotating and swinging inwards.

"You're Vincent?" The voice asked. Vincent looked up into the worried eyes of the person before him in awe.

"I am. You're Jessie?"

A nod, followed by a short sob. "You remembered my favorite flowers." Tears streaming, Jessie stepped back from the door, and Vincent stepped forwards. "I, I'm so sorry I'm not the woman you thought-"

"But, you are." It was painful beyond imagining, and he nearly fell, but Vincent managed to lower himself to one knee before the only person in the world that mattered. "Jessie, I have nothing to give you but the love in my heart, but if you'll take me, I would spend the rest of my life with you. Jessie... will you marry me?"

That voice, that beautiful voice that had taken him through hell and back, from the most beautiful person he had ever met. "You... Yes. Yes!" Vincent felt light as air as he was pulled upright, and wrapped in Jessie's arms as both their tears stained his shirt. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

-----

She stood guard at the void.

Nobody ever asked her how long she had been guarding the void. This was because no one ever approached the void at all. Even if they had, she would not be able to supply an adequate answer; she had been guarding the void for as long as there had been a void to guard, standing vigilant on the cusp of its terrible pull and waiting.

She never slept. She never moved. And she never turned to look at the void. She could vaguely remember doing so once, long ago and perhaps in another lifetime. The images that would occasionally swim to the surface of her mind were the things of nightmares, terrifying not in their substance but in their lack thereof. The void was just that: empty, soulless, and cold. It was a gateway she knew not where, only that she must wait eternally, though whether she stood guard against anything entering or leaving, even she could not say.

She stood guard at the void.

The void, in turn, waited.

--End--

NOTES:
Yeah, not much here; just a little pseudoscience short that popped into my head while I happened to be seated at my keyboard. A little creepy, a little weird. But fun, no?

A note before you read this: this story is not me railing at anyone in particular, but IS me expressing frustrations I feel at certain attitudes. Some people likely will get angry at what I say here, so if you think that person will be you, feel free to turn back now.

-==-

The group stared at me, expressions of shock, anger, and betrayal on their faces. For my part, though, I held my head high. I wouldn't back down, I wouldn't give in, and I certainly wouldn't change my mind just because they were too narrow-minded to accept me.

"What do you mean you don't want it?" Bella asked me with a snarl.

"This is the greatest gift in the world!"

"Liar! Cheat! Betrayer!"

"How could anyone refuse such an offer?"

These calls, and more, I heard from those around me. Those who, for years, had been my friends, confidants, and the people I'd thought I could be myself around more than any other group in the world.

The people, it turned out, who had never really understood me after all.

"This isn't what I wanted, Bella, and I will not do this," I said again, clearly as I could through the wailing and cries around me.

The slap was sharp and painful, but not entirely unexpected.

"You come into our group, acting as a sister, talking as a sister. You pretend to be one of us. And yet, when I offer you the chance of a lifetime, you say no?!"

"I am your sister. But I am also my own person. I've never lied to you, or any of the girls, about who, and what, I am."

"This is what we all want!" She said again, bandishing the goblet above her head with a gleam in her eyes. It was the same goblet that every other member of the group had already drank from, each one of them ecstatic with the outcome of the drought's transforming properties.

"I thought I had what I wanted. I thought I had friends who were truly seeking to be compassionate and loving to one another. Not another group who only wanted to accept those who were exactly like them."

Bella swung her hand to slap me again, but this time I stepped back out of the way of her swing.

Not a soul stepped forward to back me, though I could see the tears in the eyes of a few who heard and, too late, understood the gravity of what they had truly done.

The drought was great, to be sure. But it wasn't for everyone, and I knew all too well that it wasn't right for me. Yet too many of my sisters could only see their own needs when they looked upon me.

Were my actions a betrayal as they claimed?

No, though I could clearly see they would never understand no matter what I said.

With a heavy heart I turned my back on Bella. On the goblet that held more than just the alleviation of suffering, but the potential for so much as well when used incorrectly.

I turned my back on those who I had long thought were my allies, and walked out.

Not one asked me to stop. Not one asked my forgiveness or offered me compassion, but it was to be expected.

The goblet was everything they had ever wanted.

Me?

This isn't what I wanted. Why couldn't they accept me for who I was? Let me be myself, without criticism, without hatred, without apathy for my emotions?

They didn't understand. They never would.

The doors closed behind me.

I never looked back.

-==-

Whew! Okay, feel free to ignore what follows.

Actually, I'm seriously considering NOT posting this.

No. I'll post it.

Yes, this is sorta inspired by a comment line I'm part of on part 39 of Morpheus' Among the Val Kyr. But, in another way, it really isn't. What I'm going to say here is an issue I've seen a lot in our community, and though it only tangentially relates to the story comments, the issue is the reason I've taken the stance I have there.

So, here goes.

It doesn't get said a lot here, but the TG community, just like any other, has its problems. Some of these are due to the lack of separation between the fetish- and non-fetish elements of the community, but many of them cross the boundaries of the two, especially in terms of what we find to be positive or acceptable elements of trans fiction.

I am a girl. I am not, nor have I ever been, a boy, and I would love the opportunity to change my reality so that my physical body matched who I am. In fact, I plan to do just that as soon as I possibly can.

That doesn't mean I'm blind to the horror that such a change would be to many other people.

Within our community -- specifically the MtF trans community -- there is an underlying current of negative emotions and attitudes toward the idea of being male. This is understandable: for many of us our bodies, and even the attitudes we are expected to have and behaviors we are expected to exhibit, are hideous to our own minds. It's only natural that, given our severe closeness to the issue, we would often react in extremist ways against male ideologies or masculine tendencies.

To us, a chance to escape those expectations and limitations is a wondrous thing. Who, if they had the opportunity, wouldn't take the chance to become what we see as an ideal, a beautiful culmination of everything we've ever wanted?

Many, many people.

People who are happy with who they are. More than that, people for whom being what we desire would be just as much a punishment as we feel our current forms are.

In most TG stories, the transformation is the be-all and end-all of experiences. In our case, there's also the assumption that every cross-dresser is a woman at heart, much like we ourselves feel. Surely losing their masculine traits could be nothing but positive for any transformee, right? Surely they could, at the least, learn to love the chance to be the beautiful, delicate girl we've all dreamed of?

Just like we've all learned to love our broken, deformed bodies? Just like our minds have adapted to accept the forms we're forced into?

Being trans, in whatever way we might be, is not a bad thing in and of itself. But, neither should we wish the same experience, the same pains and frustration, on others, for any reason. Likewise, we are not all equal in our feelings or desires. To assume that every member of the community would embrace the opportunity to be our personal chosen gender is to greatly diminish the wondrous variety of people in the world.

Being a guy isn't right for everyone, no. But, neither is being a girl. Men are not perfect, no. But, neither are women. To ignore the beauty of the myriad types of people there are -- moreso, to ignore their right to be the people they want to be, just as much as we do -- is a travesty.

Not every character in trans fiction is, or needs to be, transsexual. Not every character in trans fiction is, or needs to be, trans ANYTHING. It's okay for men to be men, and to be HAPPY they're men. It's okay for a feminine boy NOT to want to be or dress like a girl.

It's alright not to embrace being trans in any way. This doesn't make people bad, or unaccepting or anything really. Well, it does make them one thing: people.

Compassion and empathy isn't about reflecting one's own feelings on others, or even embracing THEIR viewpoints, but about understanding that others don't necessarily feel the same way you do about issues, and not letting that get in the way of sisterhood (or brotherhood,) even when those differences are tremendous.

So, just because a character cross-dresses in a story doesn't mean they have to leap at the chance to become female if it's presented to them. It doesn't even mean they're a girl at heart. It could just mean they like to cross-dress. And that's fine.

Just because a character is happy being a man doesn't mean that they're anti-trans or lack understanding for those who are. Sticking such a person into a gender-swap machine will not magically turn them trans either. Well, actually, it will, but in a very, very bad way.

Even a person who IS trans will not necessarily take the chance to trade their body or life for another, "better," one, if offered, because for each of us, being part of the trans community means something different.

People are, and should be, individuals. Applying your own prejudices and emotions to everyone else limits your ability to see the beauty in who and what they truly are.

Aaand I'm getting rambly. Heck, I've been rambly since the beginning of this, and this "little note" has grown to be longer than the entire story attached to it.

I'm sorry. Ignore me, ignore my moralistic preaching and egotistical self-indulgence. I'll still post this, since someone might just get a laugh out of it, at least.

I love y'all, every last one of ya. Guy, girl, and anything in between or out past the edge, it doesn't matter.

You're all beautiful, wonderful people, and I hope some day every one of us, and the rest of the world, can see that in each other.

To See The World In A Grain Of Sand

By Melanie E.

Another one of those "wake up in the morning with an idea" pieces.

A word of warning -- I cried writing this.

-==-

“Are you sure about this?” He asked his beloved as they clutched hands, staring out across the expanse of sand before them.

“More than anything in my life. If the rumors are true... I can't waste any more time.”

“I'm scared,” he admitted, leaning on his cane slightly as a twinge from his back reminded him just how bad the chill morning air was for him. “For me. For you.”

His beloved smiled, looking at him with those amazing eyes, still the same after seventy-five years. “Don't worry. It's a blessed beach, not a cursed one. I don't think it will do anything to you unless you will it.”

They had been born in the same town, on the same night, to parents who had known each other for years before then. They had grown up as playmates, then as friends, though social stigmas had kept them from ever being anything more. They had been there for each other through one another's marriages, children, and even grandchildren, and now that they could take it no longer, and had found the means, they were prepared to take that next step forward in their relationship, a step they had both known was inevitable since they were children.

A step that required a very real step, out onto the beach. Then another, and another.

He could feel the changes in his beloved with each step they took, the energy building in their hands and seeming to supercharge their love for one another.

Four steps. Five.

On the fifth step, a stumble. He knelt quickly, taking his beloved's face in his hands and looking into those eyes again, seeing immense pain, but determination. No words were shared, only a slight nod, and, with a great deal of the effort being on his part, they returned to their feet, and continued the trek across the wind-blasted sands.

Nine. Ten.

Another stumble, this time with an alarming wheeze. Again he went to his knees, and again his beloved's gaze was determined. This time, though, they could not stand.

With his own determination, he dropped his cane and, taking both hands, lifted his beloved into his arms. He had known before they had made the journey that his beloved had become merely a wisp of their former self, but this was made more obvious by how light they were as he cradled them, and with a herculine effort began to walk again.

Fifteen steps.

Twenty.

Twenty-nine.

The beach was not long, but it seemed like ages to him as he trudged forward, sheer willpower keeping him standing as that energy, that odd, beautiful energy, continued to wrap around them, flowing through them; flowing into his beloved, whose labored breathing was growing more alarming by the second.

Thirty five.

Forty-four.

Forty-nine.

With one last step he collapsed to his knees, carefully laying his beloved — his one, his only, his everything — on the grass at the end of the beach. He had felt the energy stop, and knew that his beloved's wish had been granted.

But what about his?

A gentle hand touched his face, a hand he would swear was much more delicate than it had been before, though still just as frail. With trembling lips he kissed the palm, before looking down into those eyes, those same gorgeous eyes. Leaning down, he finally allowed himself the kiss he had wanted to give his beloved since they had been children, a kiss she happily returned, with what little energy she had left.

Pulling back, he watched his beloved's smile grow even as the last of that precious life faded from her eyes, her dreams fulfilled. Her hand went slack in his.

Left alone on the edge of that beach, he wept.

-==-

NOTES: I don't usually write sad stories, or senior-age pieces, but this... I couldn't NOT write it.

Un-Tuck-ing Believable

***an unauthorized Tuck fanfic***

By Melanie E.

I've been wanting more Tuck for a while now, but since Ellen has pulled her disappearing act again (with any luck without any major personal issues -- we love ya Ellen!) it seems the only way I'll see any more any time soon is to write it myself.

This may be a limited time release: if/when Ellen sees this, should she ask me to remove it I will. Until then, though, I hope people can enjoy my personal take on the adventures of one of TG fiction's longest-running characters.

***
18:37 9 May

I looked out into the crowd and wondered how I had managed to get talked into this again. You would think experience would make me a smarter, wiser person.

The crowd giggled.

*Now or never, old bean.*

I almost went to smooth my skirt as I stood up and faced the enemy, then I remembered I wasn't wearing one. That caused a momentary brain lock up, and I guess a stupid look to cross my face, because the giggling intensified.

*Why me?* I asked myself. *Money,* my brain answered unhelpfully.

Mike just sat next to me, splitting his time between watching the crowd wearily and giving me dirty looks. Not like he could blame me; he was the one who made the bet with Debbie.

And he wanted the money too.

"Get it over with, would ya Tuck?"

I took a deep breath, finding my center, then gave the crowd my brightest salesman's smile. "Good afternoon, ladies." That got me a brief moment of applause. "Now, I know Mary Kay is a bit of a joke with everyone, but they really do make some superior products in my opinion. And, I brought my bud Mike here to prove it!" That got us another round of applause, and a few catcalls.

Mike just glared at me.

*Your fault,* I signed him, getting a sign that required no ASL training to understand in answer. Instead of responding I reached into the toolbox of supplies Deb had lent me and started pulling out what I thought I would need.

***
19:12 9 May

"Aaaaand voila!" I crowed, stepping back from Mike. "Take a look ladies. Whadda ya think?"

"Ohmigod he's so CUTE!" I heard someone yell, and that led to another round of giggles in the audience.

Not that the giggles had ever really stopped.

Mike just sat there, looking put upon. It had taken more work than I had thought it would to make him look like a semi-attractive girl, but I supposed the greater the transformation the more effective the marketing, or something like that.

"Are you gonna kiss him now?" Someone else in the crowd yelled, getting a chorus of yelps and even more giggles from the crowd.

"NO!" Mike snapped instantly, while for just a moment my mind wandered back to the times I had served as Debbie's guinea pig at these things.

I must have started smiling at the thought, because someone else yelled "I think he wants to!"

That wiped the smile pretty fast.

***
20:55 9 May

"I can't believe you did that!" Mike complained, taking another swig of the mouthwash he had made me stop at a convenience store and pay way too much for.

"They wanted me to," I said with a shrug, then grabbed the mouthwash and took a long pull of my own, spitting on the sidewalk when I was done. The kiss hadn't been pleasant for me either. "Besides, did you see how many consults I managed to sign up for? And how much we sold?"

Mike paused. "You said I get twenty--"

"FIFTEEN percent, Mike. Same as I got."

"But--"

"Hey, I'm only getting sixty percent myself," I moaned back before he could finish. "So no complaints, alright?"

He didn't say anything else, but he really wanted to, I could tell.

***
21:37 9 May

"...and I have two consults tomorrow afternoon, then another two next Saturday, plus one lady who wanted a consult during the week. Here's her contact information," I told Debbie, handing her everyone's orders, plus the checks and cash (minus our, me and Mike's, cut) plus everyone's contact information.

"Okay," Deb said distractedly as she scanned the forms to make sure everything was in order. I knew it was. Deb would kill me otherwise. "How'd Mike do?" She asked me when she finished, grinning evilly.

I grinned evilly right back. "Ohoho...."

***
22:04 9 May

"Never again," Mike said through a mouthful of chow mein. Taking him out to dinner was the least I could do.

*After all, I already got my goodnight kiss,* I chuckled to myself.

"Yes, again, Mike," I told him. "You're the one who made the bet with Debbie, so you have to do it at least once more."

"There's no 'at least' about it, Tuck," he grumbled, chasing a slippery slice of water chestnut with his chopsticks.

"It's easy money," I pointed out.

"No it isn't," he argued, the water chestnut finally giving up its struggle to avoid demise.

"Well, you could always see if Debbie would let you buy out of the obligation," I said. Not that I really knew if she WOULD, but if it involved money Deb was willing to compromise on a lot of things.

"You think?" He asked, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes.

I just shrugged.

***

Welp, that's it for my little slice of Tuck-ness. I hope it was fun! Let's all hope Ellen gets back at things soon!

For anyone who isn't already familiar with Tuck, well, where have you been?! Anyway, here' a link to Ellen's web site. It's worth reading. I've done so at least ten times myself.

-==-

"What do you mean you're a boy!" Evelyn asked her daughter, leaning back against the kitchen counter in shock.

"I mean what I said. I'm a boy, not a girl. I've always felt that way."

"But--"

"But what?"

"But," Evelyn said again, looking her daughter up and down. "But you don't look like a boy."

"That's why I need to see the doctor. I want to stop my body becoming any more feminine than it is."

"But you don't act like a boy!"

"What do boys act like?"

That one stumped Evelyn, since she had to admit that every answer she could come up with seemed awfully sexist, but she thought her next question would cinch it.

"But you like boys, don't you?"

"I mean, yeah! What's that got to do with anything? Or do you object to me being gay too?"

"I..." Evelyn started, but trailed off, not sure what to say.

"Sigh. Mom, I love you, but I'm tired of living a lie. I need to do this."

Evelyn swallowed hard, then took another look at the papers from the doctor's office she had been handed. It was as her child had told her: nothing permanent, no hormone treatments for at least two years of evaluation. No surgeries until they were eighteen at the earliest, giving her three years to come to grips with what she'd been told.

She loved her child. She would always love her child.

"Fine," Evelyn conceded, standing up and giving her daughter -- no, son? Her child a kiss on the forehead. "Then what do I call you?"

"Jamie, same as always," Jamie said, giving his mom a firm hug.

"So I guess no more skirts or makeup then?" Evelyn asked disappointedly, once again taking in Jamie's feminine outfit.

Jamie laughed. "Why not? Boys can wear skirts too!"

"Oh," Evelyn said, leaning against the counter again as she considered her problems once more.

-==-

END

NOTES:

Okay, so this is short and silly, but it's inspired by a lot of comments I've been getting on my own stories, and seeing on other folks' stories, about how characters who look, or act, or sound feminine should just give in to being girls, because, well, they're girls, aren't they?

It makes me want to ask one simple question: "Why?"

Comments, kudos, and discussion welcome.

*hugs*

-----

“I look stupid.”

“It’s funny!”

“No, it’s stupid, and I’m not doing it.”

“Come on!”

“NO.”

I stared at Simone, and Simone stared back at me. It was a game we’d played many times over the years, waiting to see who would give first.

This time, it was her.

“UGH. Fine. You don’t have to wear the dress,” she agreed, dropping the candy-pink-and-crinolines monstrosity back on her bed.

“Thank you,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.

I felt bad enough about agreeing to the whole ‘joke’ in the first place. The last thing I wanted was to look like an idiot in the process.

“So tell me again, why we’re doing this?” I said as I dug through Simone’s closet, looking for a particular dress I knew she had. I smiled when I found it hanging near the back, most likely in an attempt to hide it from me.

“Because it’s fun—”

“—Funny, yeah, I got that already.” I sighed as I stripped off my jeans and tee, showing off the lingerie I’d brought from home. “I just don’t get why.”

Simone shrugged. “Because Jake’s turned down every girl I’ve tried to set him up with in the last year, and it’s our senior year, and we’re all going off to different colleges soon and because… because…?”

“Because you think it’s neat fooling people into thinking I’m a girl?” I asked as I zipped the dress up and took a look at myself in the mirror, pulling it a bit here and there to adjust it. It looked like a simple denim jumper dress, but with a peach colored top built into it that gave it a very cute look.

“I mean… yeah?”

I shook my head. “Jake knows we do this, so it’s not gonna fool him for a moment. Heck, he’s hung out with us when we’ve done this before.”

“I know! I know. But he finally agreed to a blind date, and—”

“On April Fool’s Day.”

“...Yeah?”

“You sure he’s the one you’re playing a prank on?”

Simone giggled and fell back on her bed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, come on. Jake’s sense of humor begins and ends at dad jokes and bad puns.”

“True,” I agreed with a titter of my own before putting on a serious face. “Still. Don’t you feel like it’s a bit mean to set up a friend like this?”

“Set him up how?” she asked, climbing off the bed and walking over to me. “Here, turn around and do your makeup, and I’ll work on your hair.”

“Alright.”

“God, you need a trim, these split ends….”

“Simone?”

“Hmm?”

“Setting him up?”

“Oh! Pfft.” She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s all in good fun. The two of you get something to eat, you poke a bit of fun at him about it, and you end the night back at my place giving him a big sloppy kiss on the cheek, and we all laugh. End of, right?”

“I still think it’s mean. You could still call Abigail; she’s had a crush on him for a while.”

Simone frowned. “She started dating Eddie last week.”

“Gwen?”

“Got mono.”

“Yeesh. Beth-ann?”

“Doing some kinda rodeo thing with her folks.”

“There’s always you.”

Simone laughed. “I think Robby would have a fit if that happened. ‘Sides, we’ll be eating on the other side of the restaurant from y’all, watching the whole show.”

“Well, at least you’re picking up the tab.”

“Robby is. It is a date night, after all!” She did a little more futzing, then grinned at me in the mirror. “There! Perfect!”

I set down the eyebrow pencil I’d been playing with and studied myself for a moment, and couldn’t help but agree. She’d done wonders with my mop of chocolate-brown hair, and I’d done a very light and simple makeup job, to go with the friendly and cute outfit. I wasn’t ravishing or anything… but it was a bit of a Girl Next Door look that I thought would work well for the evening.

Simone laughed again. “I think the only real problem we’ll have tonight is not accidentally convincing Jake you really are a girl!”

I rolled my eyes at that, but said nothing.

-==-

Simone and Robby spent the entire ride to the restaurant giggling at each other and looking at me in the rear-view mirror. It was something they tended to do whenever we had one of these excursions where I got dressed up and we went out – they got a big thrill out of the whole thing, far moreso than I ever did.

For my part, I just kept a gentle smile on my face. The last thing I wanted from the night was for anyone to be hurt by what happened, even by accident, but there was too much potential for disaster for me to be entirely comfortable with it all.

When we pulled into the parking lot, Jake was already there, holding a parking spot next to his truck for us. He was smiling as we pulled up, but his expression rightfully grew more nervous as we parked.

“Hey bud!” Robby said, slapping him on the shoulder after getting out of the car. “I was a bit worried you wouldn’t show!”

“Why not? Gets Simmy off my back,” he said, though he gave Simone a genuine smile to soften his words. “So, who’s my date this evening?”

“None other than my good girl friend, Addie!” Simone said, swinging the back door of the car open and presenting me like some kind of game show prize.

“Addison?”

“Hey Jake,” I said, unable to hide my nervousness and embarrassment at the whole situation. “Umm.”

“We’ll let you two visit for a bit and see you inside,” Simone said, barely containing her giggles. “Treat her right, Jake!”

“See ya later bud!” Robby said, content to let Simone drag him into the restaurant, leaving the two of us standing outside.

….

“I….” I began, then paused.

“So what’s the plan then?” Jake said, not looking a lot more comfortable than I felt.

I sighed. “The plan was for me to act super-girly and embarrassing in the restaurant, I think, but I shot down the worst of that before we left Simone’s place.”

Jake nodded. “So am I paying or?”

I shook my head. “Robby’s said he has our ticket, but I’ve got enough cash in my purse if I need it.”

Jake nodded. “Huh.”

“I don’t get why this was supposed to be funny,” I admitted, though I couldn’t help but follow it up with a bit of a nervous giggle.

Jake gave me a genuine smile. “Yeah, well. Wanna get something to eat?” He asked, then offered me his arm.

“Absolutely.”

-==-

Simone and Robby’s smiles were gleaming when we walked into the restaurant, but turned to confusion when they saw us arm in arm. That confusion continued as the host escorted us to a table across the way from theirs (though in full view,) where Jake pulled out my seat for me, and then through us making light conversation and laughing before we ordered our appetizer – Robby’s wallet was going to regret this.

Jake shook his head. “I still can’t believe this is what Simone wanted to do for an April Fool’s joke.”

“I know,” I agreed with a shrug. “With how long she’s been badgering you to go on a blind date, you’d think she’da wanted to avoid burning that bridge in the future.”

“Eh. She probably figures we’re seniors and this is one of the last chances she’ll have to do this kinda thing.”

I gave him a long look. “That’s almost exactly what she said when I asked her about it. You sure the two of you haven’t been conspiring against me?”

Jake laughed at that as he reached for a chicken strip on the fully-loaded appetizer platter. “Just astute, I guess.”

I took a strip of my own, and we quietly munched for a bit, neither one of us sure exactly what to do next.

“So… you still planning to start hormones this summer?” He finally asked me.

I nodded. “Yeah. Mom and Dad asked me to stay on the blockers ‘til graduation, just in case I changed my mind… but that’s not gonna happen, and I think they’ve resigned themselves to that.” I sighed. “I guess it’s better than them refusing to help at all, but still.”

“It sucks.”

“...Yeah.”

“Well, you look nice,” he said, pointing at my dress. “That yours or Simone’s?”

“It’s Simone’s,” I admitted. “I know it’s probably pretty dumb, but I still haven’t told her I’m….”

“You don’t think she’d take it well?”

“I don’t know, and that’s scary. But after this summer so much stuff will change, y’know?”

“You’re still going to State though, right?” He asked me, just a little nervously.

I laughed. “Of course!”

“Good,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“I wasn’t about to abandon ya.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back.

Our entrees arrived – a small steak for him and a plate of pasta for me – and for a while it was just us eating, as Robby and Simone continued to watch us from across the way, half in annoyance as they ate their own salad and burger, and half in morbid curiosity.

We were halfway through our food when Jake popped the question.

“So, are we ready to turn the tables on ‘em now?”

I grinned and reached across the table, taking his hand in mine. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask that since we got here.”

He squeezed my hand, then waved the waiter over and requested to-go boxes for our food before telling the waiter to give the check to Robby. The waiter checked with Robby before going to get our boxes, and now the looks of confusion on our friend’s faces were even worse.

“I still can’t believe we’ve gone all year without either of them cluing in to this,” I said, lifting our joined hands just enough I knew they’d be visible to our friends.

Jake laughed. “Well, we’ve all kinda been caught up in our own stuff,” he said, kissing my hand gently.

“True.”

Our to-go boxes arrived, and as we packed our food away I told Jake about Simone’s plan to get a picture of us sharing a big post-date cheek kiss at her house.

“Well, we can’t disappoint her, can we?” He asked me as he pulled out his phone. He offered me his free hand, and as we stood up he pulled me close… dipped me back… and gave me a deep, toe-curling kiss.

Click

-==-

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” I said, grinning over my lunch plate of leftovers from the date night before.

“Yes I do!” Simone said, ruining the effect with another giggle. “You led me on, you set me up, you—”

“Got the best April Fool’s ever pulled over on you?”

“—YES! I hate that!”

I just grinned and munched, Simone’s cell phone laying between us. On its face was the selfie Jake took of our kiss in the restaurant, my eyes closed in bliss… and there were Simone and Robby in the background.

The look of shock on their faces was absolutely worth it.

-==-

END

NOTES:

Pulling it in just under the wire my time zone, I hope people enjoy this little vignette :)

Comments and kudos appreciated!

Melanie E.