Ryan/Kaylee is now safe in the home of Eve and Greg, however, old wounds surface, creating friction between Eve and Ryan. While clearly still in need of help, especially in keeping his secret, other help, however, may prove lethal to Ryan’s battered adult mind. Meanwhile, Ryan’s male self is challenged as Kaylee, who had previously simply been a little girl in the mirror, develops a sense of self and establishes a meagre but still present identity.

Excerpt: I added, “Without Tracy, I’m trapped like this. And every single fucking day, I feel like I’m fighting against myself. You know yesterday I saw these girls just skipping rope? And it looked like so much fun, as fun as sex with Monique and Jessica. At the same time. Fuck, I’m going crazy.”

Greg said, “That’s why you need to get out of here. Come on, man. It’s your favourite restaurant.”

I shook my head, “No way. All the waitresses will make these stupid goo-goo eyes at me. You know the look, it’s how Eve looks when she sees a baby with a puppy or a kitten. I’m safe in here from cheek pinching, gushing bullshit and constant reminders of how I look.”

Greg smirked, “You’re not that cute.”

I retorted, “Fuck, you man. That’s not what I meant.”

The Camp Of The Willows - Chapter 5
By barbara Lynn Terry

Cammie Davies went in to Rachel’s room to wake her up. It appeared that sometime during the night, Rachel had gotten in to her own bed. But, when Cammie Davies went in Rachel’s room, she found Rachel wide awake. She was just finishing getting dressed, when her mom walked in.

“Well, I was going to wake you up, but it looks like you beat me to it. Is everything ready for camp?”

“Yes, mom, I heard Sharon just a bit ago, I think she is ready, too.”

Author's note:
This story is a work in progress, I intend there to be several parts, I hope you enjoy!

___________
For A Season

http://youtu.be/nUachCwtZCY

Onboard SS ERIN 0730 08NOV17:

This is an extended version of the one I posted last month. Thanks to Robyn Hood and Cressar for the support and proof reading!

Part 2

The examination with Doctor Fields couldn’t be more embarrassing. He’s come up to Manchester especially and has been given an office at the Manchester Royal Infirmary just for this purpose. I suppose I should feel special, but all I do feel is the cold plastic of a chair against my bare bum as I sit here in the inadequate gown they gave me.

Author's note: If you are a comic-book fan, you might recognize who is who in this little story

Daughter of the Knight

I am the child of two dangerous people.

My mother was trained by my grandfather in the arts of intimidation, control ... and death.

My father, on the other hand, uses darkness and fear as weapons, but what most people don’t understand is that his goal always has been to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

To be a modern-day knight.

The Fancy Dress Party

If the bloody corset wasn't so damned tight, and if my feet weren't already aching from the ridiculously towering heels, and if the mass of tape criss-crossing my chest wasn't so damned itchy, and if the damned 'foundation garment' that was keeping my willy folded backwards between my legs wasn't so tightly uncomfortable, I might have laughed.

In a funny gaspy sort of voice, mostly because I couldn't take deep breaths, I did however manage to call out: “Shin, O. B. Shin – not chin.”

James Winrox had a secret. Yes, he preached against men turning themselves into women, but secretly he wanted just that. You might have called him a hypocrite, but he felt it was part of his dual nature as a Christian. Now, he shivered in his slinky pink jumpsuit that really were just pink pajamas. He wasn't even angry at his government as he took in his surroundings. He was afraid that he was going to enjoy this, even now he was getting hard in the regulation pink panties they had put him in.

I woke to a bitter taste and aching in my shoulders. Shaking my head was like moving through pea soup while pinballs rattled in my skull.

My hands were strapped behind me, as were my ankles to the feet of a chair.

“Hello?”

No answer.

The fog lifted and I found myself in a room with grey, cinder block walls, a concrete ceiling dripping with condensation, florescent lights blinking in and out, and a dirty mirror to veil my reflection with handprints and dust. Knowing my luck there were agents on the other side waiting to begin an interrogation.