I had worked from home all day in case I’d have to go to my children’s school urgently so when the school bus stopped on the street I could see my son running to our house, sweep up the door and dash up the stairs with his modest skirt flapping and tears ruining his makeup. Then I heard his bedroom door bang shut.

I turned to my daughter who had traversed the distance to the house in a more leisurely pace.

”The experiment was not a success?”
”You could say that.”

I was really looking forward to starting high school. For one thing my parents had assured me that this time we would live in the same place for at least five years. This meant that I wouldn’t have to change schools before I graduated. Just imagine, going to the same school for my entire high school experience! So far the only constant factor in my life had been the inconsistency. Ever since we moved from my ”native” Finland when I was two we never had lived in the same place for more than two years. This had really not been good for my social life.

I really should have known what a mistake it was to try to drown my sorrows after being dumped (again). And this time I had made such efforts to make it work.

I really shouldn’t have let Rolf take me to a bar to seek oblivion in the bottom of a glass, or more precisely lots of glasses.

We really shouldn’t have tried to chat up those two freshman girls from The Other University and thus by definition losers.

The only good thing was that Rolf had chosen a bar where we were unknown and unlikely to meet anyone we knew nor ever to return.

To be honest I was worried about starting high school. All right, I was terrified. Middle school had been bad enough for my friend Phil and me. And that school was a good and smallish school. The high school we were going to was huge.

Fortunately I had a big sister that not only could coach us but, amazingly, was willing to. Though she did warn us that in school she would not recognize us or in any way admit she was related to me. After all she was the new head cheerleader.

My freshman year in high school was quite remarkable. I managed to go through an entire year without making anything at all out of it. Well, scholastically I did reasonably well. Socially? I might just as well not have existed. I failed to get into any sports team. I failed to excel in any other way. I failed to get even ONE date, and that was definitely not for want of trying. I had no real friends. I had a few acquaintances that socially were as remarkable as I but that was all.

At the end of that year the school had come to the realization that the cheerleader team couldn’t possibly be at all events where they were wanted. The decision was taken to create a JV cheerleading team. Cheerleading was an exclusively female thing in our school. However, there was nothing in the rules that stopped a boy being a cheerleader provided he followed the rules. The rules would be the same as for the senior team. Same conduct rules. Same dress code, including wearing the skirted cheerleading uniform on match days and a nice dress at required obligatory social events.

I may have been a bit deranged but I decided that this was my opportunity to stand out, and get close to cute and popular girls. Best case, even share a locker room with them! I mentioned it to Carl, the nearest thing I had to a friend, and he just looked at me and shook his head. Well, I wasn’t to be discouraged by that.

This is the conclusion to the interconnected Amy Amstel stories started in “My Date as a Teenage Girl Model”. If you haven’t read the earlier stories I suggest you start there (330+ Kudos clickers can be wrong but the odds are in your favor). The stories about Amy Amstel are mostly self-contained though.

Transatlantic flights seldom are fun. If you start from Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport terminal 2 you don’t exactly get off on a good start either. If you really are a bit too tired to work it’s even less fun. Flying west I try not to sleep on the flight since that really messes up my sleep-cycles. I was a bit surprised to find a scraggy teenager in the seat next to me. Not the usual passenger in first class. I decided that a long chat with the boy would be preferable to pretending to work. It didn’t start too well. When I introduced myself, Harry Howard, and told him that I was editor–in-chief of the most important fashion magazine for men the boy looked horrified. Apparently not a fashion aficionado. Well, I could have told that from his clothes. Jeans and white T-shirt as well as disheveled hair. Despite that he had a “groomed” look if you looked closer. Actually if you looked very closely he was kind of “pretty”. Shaped eye-brows, holes in his ears, just a hint of mascara remaining on those very impressive eye-lashes. Intriguing.

My recent story "Girlyfriend" got a comment from BarbieLee that it was a reverse story. Since Barb is a selfproclaimed Oklahoma cowgirl I responded by threating to write a "Reverse Cowgirl" story in her honour. Here it is.

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

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

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

In the High School corridor walking between classes:

I dearly love my twin. I may complain about the consequences but I really do love Alexis. Fraternal twins, of course. We couldn’t be more different. Alexis is the younger one, by 28 minutes. Already as a baby Alexis was small and prone to get sick. I on the other hand have always been “robust”. I’ve always felt very protective about Alexis. That’s how I got dragged into the “Girly-girly swamp”.

Document dated August 15:
Request for Andie (a neat line crossing out the name which has been replaced by hand with "Andrew") McPherson to attend her ("her" crossed out. By hand: “his”) sophomore year as a girl. Various attachments including psychological evaluation.
Note by Principal Smith: Rejected! Unnatural!

Some time ago Barbie Lee sort of challenged me in one of her blogs (https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/blog-entry/78714/illegal-make...).
At the time I was not really in a shape to do anything about it and didn’t get a silly enough idea. Let’s see if this is silly enough. As for those who think I write too short stories: This is the longest I have posted here. It's also more narrative than most of them.

12 years from now.

My fiancée Mary and I were spending a quiet day in my flat when the door-bell rang. When I opened the door I found Tom, well really Thomasine, my fiancées tomboy younger sister there in tears and carrying among other things the ruins of her prom dress. As it turned out not only her dress had been destroyed. Andrea, their bratty freshman brother, had totally flipped out and hadn’t stopped at the dress but also destroyed Tom’s jewelry and even got in a cut or two with a pair of scissors in Tom’s hair. She looked a mess. All she had left were her shoes and panties and the prom was only a few hours away. Disaster!

There was only one thing to do. I went into my bedroom and got out MY old prom dress.

Mary (rather upset): Peter, why do you have that dress?

I was rather surprised. I thought she knew. This could be awkward. Well, we’ll take care of that problem later. Now we had more important things to take care of. As I started to check if my dress could fit Tom I absentmindedly answered:

- It’s my old prom dress. I graduated from West Peak.

Mary (with a gasp): The infamous West Peak Academy for Young Ladies?

Well, some may call it infamous. I prefer famous. A fame that I’m proud to be partially responsible for. You see, I’m the only boy ever to graduate from that high school/boarding school.

10 P.M: a Friday night. A black van drives through the streets of Washington D.C.
The streets are filled with upset people.
In the van 15-year old Taylor Peters makes a call home.

During lunch break high school freshman Tom was sitting on a bench outside, reading a sports magazine (but with the edge of a Penthouse sticking up), alone as usual. Well, as usual as it could be the fifth day of term. Tom was not a popular boy. Small, ”dainty” and with golden locks that was rather longish. There really was nothing wrong with Tom except that he was terribly shy and new in town. He had lost his parents and the only relative was a cousin of his mother's. Matthew and Martha were considerably older than Tom’s parents but they considered taking care of Tom as their duty. Tom had all the material support he could wish for. However, they didn’t really care for him and since they never had had any children of their own they didn’t understand him at all. So the less he bothered them the happier they were.

Anyway Tom was sitting there ostentatiously reading a sports magazine featuring baseball. Tom was quite a good baseball player and had great hopes to get onto one of the junior teams. However, if you looked closer you could see the edge of a Penthouse sticking up behind the magazine. Not that Tom was interested in the pictures. Actually he found the sports magazine much more interesting and if he wanted to look at naked girls internet had an abundant supply and Matthew and Martha had no clue how to restrict his access. No, Tom had arranged the Penthouse very carefully to throw off any suspicions about what he had hidden behind the Penthouse. His real secret was much worse, something that absolutely NO ONE must know. Tom was totally absorbed by the latest “Thumping ❤❤, Broken ❤❤, ❤❤United” book, according to some the soppiest, most braindead romantic drivel ever written. Tom just couldn’t get enough of it.

Lindsay sits on the bleachers watching the football team training. Even though Lindsay might be a bit prejudiced, Andrew, Lindsay’s brother, is undoubtedly the best player.

FYI: This is NOT a sequel to the story I posted earlier today.

In the dress shop two weeks before Prom.

Mother: It’s a lovely dress and you just look fabulous in it but it’s really expensive, James.

James: Mom! It’s not MY fault we’re here!

Having your best friend die is rather unsettling, especially if it quite literally is in your arms.

Mary and I had been talking in the office when she suddenly had a massive heart attack, uttered a few confused words about me and heart and then collapsed. I caught her but before I, or anyone else, could do anything it was too late.

She was a great loss not only to me personally and for her family, her husband Pablo, sixteen year old José Maria and fourteen year old Cory. The publishing company we worked for, “Descartes Publications”, was just as badly hit. Mary had been the “handler” for one of our most profitable authors and she had kept the contacts with the anonymous author very close to her chest. As it turned out she was the only one in the company that knew the true identity of “Corazón Tenderheart” (or as on the books Corazón Tender❤), bestselling author of “Thumping ❤❤, Broken ❤❤, ❤❤United” series of books. In my opinion the soppiest, most braindead romantic drivel ever written, or at least published.

Usually I write, to quote a Guest Reader, ”short, light and witty tales”. However, every now and then I post a dark story. This is a rather dark story. Actually I think it’s quite dark which is why I have flagged CAUTION above. Please note that there is a reason why.

I never liked driving into town. People acted strangely around me so I usually stayed on my property and put off going as long as I could. Now I really needed the petrol so this morning I went into town. ”Old” Tom at the petrol station wondered why I filled up three jerry cans of petrol. I told him that I was getting old and the new ride-on mower was a gas guzzler. The lawn between the Old House and the lake is huge. So is the Old House. My family built it some 200 years ago. Then we had already owned the land for over a century. Quite a lot of land. Most of it still untouched forests, lakes and mountains. Most people never realized where the border between the National Park and the Delaforge land was. We have always had a very strong bond - the Delaforges and the land.

My name is Gwall Gramadegol. I’m a fairy. I’m proud to be a fairy!

I come from an ancient and proud family of faeries. No, no, not the degenerate Tinkerbell variety. Think Oberon and Morgan le Fay (yes, she was one of us). Powerful, proud and mean. Even evil if you prefer. As a matter of fact I’m the grandson of Oberon. Junior branch though.

A little bit of fluff inspired by a recent story by one of my favorite authors on this site – me ;)

Walking about at the pool party with all the company top management and VIPs from our most important customers I remembered how hard I had worked to become a ”Suit”. My goal was Customer Relations. My great talent is that I speak several languages. I had not been very successful until my cousin James got promoted, basically for going to work dressed as a woman, and not very convincingly at that! Well, he complains, especially about the high heels. I don’t believe him for a minute. He must be thrilled by his promotion. If he could, so could I!