It’s 2054. I’d been out with our lady’s group on a pseudo off road ride on a trail up a 3400 meter mountain when we encountered an old slide area that seemed smooth enough but strewn with potato sized rocks on a rideable incline. My front wheel power was on my right hand and my rear wheel power on my left. I had not fallen yet, and my riding suit would protect me from injury if I did. My helmet still had enough power to keep my blood Ox levels up, so I felt confident that I could stay with the group.

I’m not Scrooge, and I don’t get bent out of shape with other people enjoying it, but it doesn’t do anything for me, not any more. Many years ago, when my son was little, we used to do all those Christmassy things, trees and fairy lights and decorations. Presents under the tree on Christmas morning and a visit from Santa during the night. You do those things when you have a little kid.

Freddie is sick of being seen as weak and feminine, so he has decided that beginning in the New Year, he will completely change himself and become a true man! But when he runs into a pretty, air headed girl, she ends up dragging him into working (crossdressed) at her maid cafe!

There once was a man named Elysium who had a death wish some might say. He was always getting himself into dangerous situations, and only barely just getting away. His time was spent most days plotting a revenge fantasy for someone who had wronged him in his past. And he made plans to carry out his deed before New years of 2024. This would be his last chance. He lived in a dingy vague apartment in Oregon state, cold, and dark, brown, fuzzy feeling, and damp.

The flight was not my greatest delight.

Silly words, but I was decanted from the 777 into Perth airport feeling like absolute shit. Sod all the advice about jet lag, I NEEDED sleep. The baggage trolley was awful, only the back wheels steering.

“What is the purpose of your visit, Mister Ellison?”

Lanterns on Lake Pontchartrain
An Acadiana Transgender Story

-7-
The Road to Baton Rouge

Annie reconnects with her family and gets her true life.

“.”

“?”

“!”

“What am I?”

“You are a full stop I have just typed on this piece of paper.”

“Is that all I am?”

“For the moment, until I decide what you will be.”

“I think you will be an eighteen year old girl.”

“I still feel like a dot on your piece of paper although my experience is limited to being a dot, I suppose.”

“Yes, you are, but you are so much more in my head.”

“So am I also in your head?”

“Yes. How am I speaking to you?”

It was a shop day, so I had to bring my smiles, despite everything that had happened. My Dahon folder had caused a few comments when I had boarded the train at Croydon, and once again at Clapham Junction, but that was par for the course. It was still far more convenient than the bus ride into Barnes. Asa I was also covering duty manager that day, I had had to brave the full-on commuter rush into London, and once again I was grateful that the second trip was against the flow and the train a lot emptier.

Charlie

Late last year I was asked to interview a resident of a care home. I was told that he was over ninety but still very lucid. It was in the build-up to Christmas and I couldn’t see the point for a fashion magazine, but his daughters were insistent that he had a story to tell our readers. I had my misgivings, but went along anyway with only my phone to record the interview.

Charlie walked with a frame and guided me back to his room with the help of his daughter Claire. Once seated, he began his tale.

Jane, recently divorced, looks for a reconciliation with her daughter, Sarah.

This is a story I had given up on. It just seemed trite. Then I realized I was telling it from the wrong viewpoint. Mathew's viewpoint may may offend or trigger some people, but here it is.

It was the worst holiday I can remember. No, it was the worst day I can remember, period.

I was in the kitchen helping Mary cut up a pork loin for our traditional New Years day family dinner of shrimp cocktails followed by chop suey when Jeremy came down the stairs. I couldn’t take it all in at once. It was all just total perversion.

All the warnings! I always wanted to write a horror story. This is the one and I don't want it to be tame. It certainly isn't for everyone. There will be fucked up scenes. Check the warning tags, if there are any you'd rather avoid, please go read one of my other stories instead.

Lost and Found

“At your age how do you avoid the social services and the schools people?”

“Mostly by hanging with adults, like you. If they see me with a grown up they go to bother someone else. That woman over there is one of them. That’s why I decided to talk to you.”

“How did you know I was safe? I could have been a child molester or anything.”

“Naw. I’m good at weighing people up. You’re a veteran with PTSD. I’ve met hundreds like you on the streets. Nice men who gave everything they had to the government and then got threwn away on the garbage heap.”

Photo by Mikhail Nilov: https://www.pexels.

Remember back in middle school, when you had to take English? Maybe you don't, having mercifully forgotten the torture of middle school. Even though middle school was not something I really wanted to enshrine in my book of memories, I do remember Mrs Gore's English Class. A very appropriate name, Gore, as most of us felt we had been slashed to bloody ribbons by the end of the class.

The holidays are stressful for any family, but it’s more so when family has become strangers. An emergency takes the Roberts clan home for the holidays, where long held secrets will change their relationship forever.

The new year comes with new resolutions. For Kenny, he wants to confess to his longtime crush, Jason. Of course, that's easier said than done. Kenny decides to clear his head with a night on the town crossdressing, but when he does, he meets an interesting girl who is more than meets the eyes.

Right, this story carries all kinds of warning flags. I’m not joking. If you have even the faintest trace of triggers don’t read this story. Otherwise it's rather sweet.
*************************************************************************
The town where I grew up was not exactly a multicultural metropolis like New York. On the other hand, it was not a redneck backwater either. While most of us were white we had our share of other ethnicities as well. Mostly native Americans and blacks. Still, none of those blacks were as black as the new student in my high school class. She was really ebony black, not the various hues of brownish black of the “native” blacks. Native in the sense that they, and their forefathers had been in this country for at least fourscore and seven years. Rasa on the other hand was pure African. Pitch black, tall, muscular and moved like a large feline. No wonder she soon was tagged with the name “The Black Panther”.

View from a Bridge

The old tune was on constant repeat in my head as I walked, slowly, across the bridge, carrying a heavy knapsack. The view was particularly stunning this bright early summer day. Following the lines of the song, though, I couldn’t take any more.