Homemaker
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I never thought that there was anything odd about Matt. I would not say that we were friends, but we worked alongside one another for three years and we always talked. I knew that he was married, and I had even met his wife, once, when we met on the street after work. She was plain as I recall.

Decisions
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

He wanted to be angry, but whatever she had done to him seemed to make that impossible. He felt not only weak, but devoid of energy, and placid too. He knew that he should not be, but he seemed in a word: Incapable.

Compared to her, he was. She was a brilliant surgeon. He had been nothing; a sales representative for a medical supply company. A charmer. A rake. But that seemed so long ago.

Jealous
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

She used to be Pete. We were friends then. We practically grew up together. My brother was older than me, so he ignored me, and Pete had older sisters. We hung out together. We played ball – shot some hoops and I pitched him some balls. He didn’t have a strong throw. We climbed trees and played in the creek on hot days. He was always around at my place playing e-sports games.

Pete was as normal as any other guy. At least he seemed that way. That was before he started calling himself Petra.

The Scam
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“My guess is that you have done this before,” said Hayden Staples. “It all seems very rehearsed.”

“That shouldn’t concern you,” said the girl he knew as Roxanne, but now speaking with a voice that betrayed the harsh reality. “We only have to agree on a price to keep our little sexual encounter a secret.”

Stowaway
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Part 1

“I’ll tell you what we are going to do,” said Dr Felton. Gina had referred the problem to her superior knowing that she would have a solution. “This boy cannot be concealed here, so he will need to hide in plain sight as one of our spa team.”

“But we have no men on our team,” said Gina. It was she who had found Miguel and promised to hide him. She was the source of the problem. Everybody stared her down.

The Object of Sex
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

When Culley’s wife died I was there for him. I can’t say that I was there for all of my friends, but I was there for him when it mattered. I don’t like sadness. I will do almost anything to avoid it. But I suppose he was my best friend. I am not completely selfish.

Repayment in Kind
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I might have been called a sex addict, at that time. I simply could not get enough. And worse still, I was fussy. They had to be beautiful.

Replacing Chloe
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

There was no doubt about what he was looking at. Live on Wade Ransby’s phone, a video call from Rachel, a video showing Chloe’s dead body, naked and only wrapped in a bathrobe, lying in a shallow grave. Rachel was holding a shovel, her face wild with fury.

“The bitch is dead, and everybody is going to think that you did it,” she shouted. “Because no crime is perfect you will be caught. I will make sure of it.”

Office Story
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

As a successful transwoman, I find the whole idea of forced feminization – shall I say – distasteful. For me the idea of being forced to appear as the opposite sex is a reality, or it was. For the first 22 years of my life I was forced to live as a man, when to my very core I knew that I was a woman.

AGD
The After-effects of Chemically Induced Acute Gonadal Dysfunction
A Scientific Paper (of a sort)
By Maryanne Peters NSD MN (Hons)

The above is an extract from a story that appeared in the Des Moines Register on April 1st 2018. The publication date made many readers consider the story a prank, but among medical researchers the presence of Acute Gonadal Dysfunction is well known, although research is limited by its rarity.

For Daddy
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

He called me “Daddy” in the emails and text messages I received from him. I guess I thought that it had been so long since we had been together as father and son that he would still think of me like that. But really, that made no sense. My son was over 18 at the time. He would have only been 11 or 12 when I left his mother.

Chauffeuse
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“Actually, I thought you were a woman when you first applied,” said Elspeth Mabey, as she sat in her drawing room sipping her tea. “You put your surname first, you see: Bonnie Keith. And here you are, Keith Bonnie.”

“I have been in Europe, Ma’am, where they write their names that way,” the newly recruited driver replied. “Were you looking for a woman?”

Twister
A Short Story inspired by a Captioned Image
By Maryanne Peters

I put it down to good policework. My policework. Checking the scenes thoroughly. Interviewing the witnesses. Understanding the clues. Good policework. Dedication.

My father was a policeman. I respected him and I respected the work that he did, but he did not achieve great heights. He said that it was about the satisfaction of doing good. That is the measure of achievement that a policeman should be aware of, not their rank or salary bracket.

Domination
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

The slap bought me back to consciousness with a stinging pain on my cheek.

“Wake up, Doctor Daly.”

My eyes had real trouble focusing as my surroundings seemed so unreal. In front of me was a attractive middle aged woman dressed in traditional dominatrix style, a sort of vinyl outfit with fishnet stockings and heels, her dark hair pulled back from her snarling face.

“What is this? What is going on? Who are you?” I gasped in disbelief.

Tit Man
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I have always loved breasts.

My girlfriend had big breasts. I could not keep my hands off them. Sometimes she would get shitty with me for always wanting to play with them.

Bordello Boys
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

My mother said that she prayed that her children would not be male. A brothel is no place for boys.

But I was a boy, and so was my real cousin Dee, and my pretend cousin Jay.

Dee was older than me by three years, but Jay was only a few months younger than me, so we played together. Dee looked after us a bit, I guess. Both of us looked up to Dee.

Mother Love
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I could never hate my son. How could a mother hate her own child? I remember the first moment that he was laid upon my chest – purple pink and wet from my womb – so small and fragile. How could he grow up to be just like his father?

The Pageant Trap
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

You can probably guess how it began. It’s in the title. It was a beauty pageant, more than one in fact, but the first one had to be a “Womanless” Beauty Pageant.

My mother had been a beauty queen. She married my father who was an athlete and a pro ballplayer when they met. To his great satisfaction he had three sons. I was the youngest. We were all brought up to play sport as our father had. None of us had the slightest interest in domestic things. We wanted nothing more than to be like our dad.

Miracles
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

My uncle was a religious man. When I say religious, I mean that he claimed to be a Christian. He claimed to live his life by the principles preached by Christ and his church. He claimed to be good.

When I say my uncle, I mean that he was the husband of my aunt – my mother’s much younger sister. That meant that he was not my uncle by blood nor was he more than about 10 years older than me.

Cuckoo
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I should explain right at the beginning why Daddy did the things that he did to me. You see, Daddy is not my real father. That is the whole problem, and the reason why things fell apart. He told me that he did not want to believe that I was not his, so he ignored the fact that I did not look anything like my two older brothers. He loved me, and now he loves me more.

Mother Daughter Bonding
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

"I don't know about this," I said. “It’s like Stan and Kevin might have the wrong idea about us. Just because we like dressing up as women now and again does not mean we are gay, or anything like that. I'm straight, just like you Dad.”

"Sure," my dad replied, but did I sense a little uncertainty? "It’s just a fantasy thing. We have to explain that to them. It’s a release mechanism. I used to do it before I was married, and well, since your mother died, I just slipped back into old habits.”