Me and My Mus

The other day I was loafing in front of the TV when Andrea, my muse visited me. It had been some time since last. We had spent our vacations at different locations. Don’t get me wrong, I like Andrea but we have no need to crowd each other. However, I like chatting with Andrea even when I’m not going to write a story. That is what happened the other day. I like female companionship. As everyone knows all muses are female.

As we were talking Andrea happened to mention “when I was a little boy …”. Ooops!

Andrea coloured up. The cutest pink imaginable.

Tom and Taylor had been best friends ever since kindergarten. They weren’t exactly inseparable any longer but every minute they could you would find them together. It really was quite fun to see them. Tom was BIG. A star athlete. Discus, shot put and things like that. Taylor was tiny and cute. He excelled in softer areas. Home Ec wizard, dancing, fashion … You couldn’t imagine two boys that were more different. It was really quite fun to watch them. No denying that there was a very close bond between them though. Perhaps it was because both of them were such firm conservatives.

This is a sequel to “Leading Lady”.

I’m quite happy to be back in the safety of my room in the all-girl boarding school I attend.

I have to admit that all the glitz of an Oscar gala can be intoxicating. It’s not everyone that has a mother that gets nominated for an Oscar but now I really need to rest and wind down.

The last year and a half have been crazy, absolutely crazy.

I woke up to a bright winter morning in the room where I had woken up most my eighteen years. I just had had one of my one in every six weeks off. I lazed around and the had lunch with my parents. After that I got myself ready for my night job and headed out to the metro. In the metro people stared at me as usual. Since this was the age of Aquarius military uniforms were few and far between on the streets of the capital, especially on January 1. I grumbled over the fact the voyage took all of 15-20 minutes from door to door. I especially didn’t like the 200 m between the metro station and Defence HQ. That winter was COLD.

”My New Year Resolution is to the win the school beauty pageant this year!”

That came at the end of several days of not so subtle pressure on me. Not to participate in the pageant but to “man up” and be more assertive and competitive. My family is very competitive. No matter what, they always competed. Sports, academics, work … you name it. My big brother was the school quarterback, my big sister was the girls’ athletics team leader. Since they were twins and seniors they also competed to be the valedictorian. That fight was vicious.

As soon as I woke up I knew that this would be another scorching hot June day. It also meant that the boys’ decision to stage a skirt-protest against the dress code not allowing shorts would be implemented that day. I smiled. I had the most dashing skirt I was planning to wear. I decided to really girly up. Instead of having my long blonde hair in a low ponytail I decided to let it flow down to my shoulders over my ears. I picked my favourite white blouse and some thin tights. The tights somewhat negated the purpose of the protest but I couldn’t resist.

The London drag club was not in the least CD, sorry seedy. The audience was quite sophisticated and the ambiance friendly and gay (in the original sense of the word). The artists were top of the range. They were not only beautiful but very talented as well. If some of them wore skimpy costumes that was not the only thing they had to offer. However, the star of the evening could not be accused of wearing skimpy attire, nor was “she” young and beautiful. The only way to describe the “Baroness” was outrageous.

Twelve nights, they said. Only twelve nights for me to stand in for my sister. I only really had to worry about the nights they said. I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so much in my shot wound and I don’t want to upset the police officer outside my hospital room. Only twelve nights, HA!

I got off the bus swearing at myself in a village in the middle of nowhere where only a few poor sods could understand English. It was in December 1947 and the quicksilver would have shown minus 40 if it had been able to. It had been a very long journey and the worst part had been the last. 4 hours on a rickety bus that didn’t even pretend to be a coach! I had to remind myself why the hell I was there. Sure, the case interested me but the real reason was that Boston wasn’t big enough for both me and the men in black.

Since you are reading this on this site you probably are pretty familiar with the basic situation I found myself in that summer.

It was only for pure alphabetical chance that I met Albert. We shared a college dorm room since Idlewild and Ien were next to each other on the list.

I gritted my teeth but kept a smile on my lips. While I knew this would come up in my job interview, I had hoped it wouldn’t. Even six years later I got sick thinking about it. Hope hadn’t conquered reality.

Yes, I’m the one Secret Service agent that survived that debacle. And no, I wasn’t fired. I resigned. And the reason I resigned wasn’t the death of the President and her husband. It was all the fault of the First Brat,

There has been some comments about that someone should write a story featuring vibrating bras. Well, here is a short, not very serious, one.

You might think that no boy would be interested in buying a vibrating bra for himself.

You’d be wrong.

I groan as I reluctantly wake up. My mother has just given me a good shake before leaving my room. Monday mornings aren’t exactly my favorite. Then I see the outfit my mother had picked out for me today. A nice black A-line skirt and a very frilly blouse. Add to that black pantyhose and shoes with a distinct heel and frilly underwear. I groan yet another time. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean that I’m a girly girl.

New school year, new school!

To be honest it was quite daunting to come to the huge High School from our smallish Middle School. Fortunately there were two of us. Me and my fraternal twin sister. Why do people talk about “fraternal twin” when it’s about a girl? Anyway, there we were. Cary and Katherine against the world. Well, not really. Even if the big school scared us, which we’d NEVER admit to anyone else, we didn’t really have anything to fear. We usually found it easy to find new friends or at least gET along with people. We had very good grades without being pegged as nerds since we were good at sports as well. Both Sis and I had selected courses geared towards science and technology with future engineering degrees in mind.

As expected, there was a huge crowd milling around. Sis and I got lost at first and then we ran into an Audrey Hepburn look-alike. She really owned the style. Short hairstyle, black turtleneck, slim black trousers, and ballet flats. Body language was similar as well as far as I could see. Sis could hardly keep herself from laughing. As it happens, I’m a great fan of Audrey Hepburn. As it turned out “Audrey” both was heading to the same homeroom as Sis and I AND she’d been smart enough to print out a map before coming. We happily followed her lead. In my case very happily as I walked behind her and Sis.

Black Cat Investigations – that’s what it says on the door to my downtown office.,

I’m Black by the way. No, I don’t mean that I’m black. Do I confuse you? What I mean is that my name is Black but I don’t have any African roots (that I know about). Actually, I’m white, almost albino white, blonde (nice wavy hair), 6’4”, 200 lbs almost purely muscles apart from the skeleton, firm chin, chiseled features, snappy dresser and so on.

I hadn’t been home for a very long time. Actually, I hadn’t been home since I went away to college more than ten years ago. My parents and siblings preferred to come to the big city, New York, instead to see me. Much more exciting than our little town. The town could have been the model for a Hallmark movie. Everyone knows everybody and all that. The church socials, the Christmas market. Well, you get the picture(s).

Since I was going to move to Paris (France, not Texas) I finally decided to go back once before I moved. Of course, my family would love to visit Paris with the excuse of visiting me, so we’d still see each other but it was Christmas and all that… Also, I have to admit that part of the reason I went back was so that I could brag about my new position as the manager of our Paris office. Quite a career move for a young woman, especially one born as a boy.

I had not expected to be almost killed during the first lecture when I went to university. At least not by the professor.

Recently I mentioned in a comment that I wrote a blog many years ago where the fictional characters from my stories had a get-together. Someone suggested that I write another one. Given that the number of characters has increased significantly since, I thought it would be impractical (and inadvisable during the pandemic).

However, I just noted that there were 99 Bru stories up on BCTS. This story will make it an even 100, or as the Romans wrote: C. Then I thought about the get together again but modified it. We meet most of my characters in high school (or equivalent). It’s reasonable to assume that many of them will continue to college/university. What if some of them, by no means all of them, happened to wind up at the same university?

It all started with Cory’s Grand-aunt. As it turned out she really was Cory’s Grand-uncle if you had a strict legal view of things. Unfortunately she was extremely rich and equally extremely convinced that Cory really was a girl inside. Admittedly Cory wasn’t exactly the alpha-male type and some of his interests, such as ballet, were considered by many as a bit girlish but being a girl? No way!

For years Cory had been able to duck most of her attempts while at the same time avoiding insulting the old lady. That was Cory, ever polite and NICE but always managing to glide around obstacles, like water, and finally get his own way. Then the old lady passed away and Cory found himself the heir of a substantial fortune. Provided he spent one complete year as a girl of course.