"Write Fifty Times"
by Ellie Dauber (2024)

The old academic punishment of writing something fifty times doesn't always work. Just look at Bart Simpson. But when Sandy Bradwyn uses it, it can be VERY effective.

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Flowers
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

A florist is not a job for a young man, or so my father told me. It was just that I was always a delicate person. I still am.

There is something about flowers that touched me deep in my soul. This is something that is made by nature to look pretty, smell enchanting and taste sweet. What is there in all creation that exists purely for joy? Well, perhaps there is another thing – certain nerve endings. Did you know that flowers are the sex organ of a plant? It is all about sex in the end.

I could hardly wait to call my sister Jennie and tell her all my news.

“Hi Jennie, it’s only me, have you got a few minutes to spare? I’ve had an amazing day, and I must tell you all about it.

Speak Now
A Short Story from "Romance and Other Crimes Vol. 3"
By Maryanne Peters

It was hard not to like L’Roy with his easy strength, his ready grin and his smooth butternut complexion. L’Roy Shipney and I were on the same road gang in New Mexico, working out of the county jail with sixteen other inmates repairing a culvert that had been damaged in a flash flood when the whole business began.

How could this be? She had been holding the lifeless bird statue when I petrified her and some of her life force was now in the bird. How much had been drained from her? The bird had had no life force for over a week.

I looked at the place where she and the bird were in contact and I could see some of the red inside her moving into the bird. I grasped the bird and was able to remove it from her hand. The bird's life lines were still very faint. At least now the essence was no longer flowing from Marie to the bird.

Jack was only 171cm tall and his body was slim and hairless. He had delicate facial features. Long, wavy auburn hair reached his shoulders.

He wore women's jeans, sweatshirts, jackets and t-shirts. And a lot of jewelry. He hardly wore skirts and dresses like most of his friends.
When hanging out with them, he was often mistaken for a girl.....one of them....
Jack dreamed that his story would begin... like many such stories on Bigclosetr.us. The perfect body to go through, to make it easy...

My hair was quite long now, guess those university years fly by very quickly. Mum noticed it as well and recommended a place where I can get a haircut for a really low price. However, she liked the longer hair on me, so there was a sense of disappointment displayed in her face when leaving for the cut. Additionally, the stylist was a close friend of mum, therefore, the reason it being so cheap. I headed over to the place and the lady greeted me.

Dresses, domination and dollars, oh my! An entrepreneurial wife profits from the discovery of her husband’s stash of adult baby porn.

That didn’t cause me any panic. I was expecting a few deliveries and I was hoping this was the one I was really waiting for. When I opened the front door a delivery-man was standing there, brown uniform, a cardboard box in his arms and one of those sign-in document thingies for me to register that I had received the delivery.

Fairy Tale
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

We both got jobs at “Storyland” the big amusement park themed around classic fairy tales, but I always ended up in some of those bulky hot outfits that were like hell, especially in the summer months.

It was her idea that I try out for Snow White. They needed a larger girl because the dwarves needed to look smaller. She said that with a bit of work I could pass for a girl.

Who do I want to be today? Should I be demure? Laid back? Casual, but fun? Pretty? Alluring? How should I do my hair? My makeup? How tall should I be?

We'd Like to Help You Learn to Help Yourself
By Angela Rasch
(inspired by the Aria Nova image)

“Plastic. . .,” My sister said in an accusatory tone.

We sat in the living room of the Hinsdale, Illinois house we had inherited from our parents -- enjoying Sunday morning mimosas. Citrus and champagne tainted the air.

“Plastic?” I teased. “Is that a reference to that sixties’ movie with Dustin Hoffman, Katherine Ross, and Anne Bancroft?”

“The Graduate?” She shook her head.

This is a short story written for the Halloween competition for the Big Closet web site. There is nothing funny or entertaining about the dead rising from their tombs, even for one night. This is my first attempt at writing a transgender horror story. It is deliberately short and much of the content is left to the imagination of the reader. It could have been much longer.This is offered as a warning to those who might be sensitive to such things. It is submitted early as I have no wish to enter the competition formally. I hope my idea will be a stimulus for others.

After a feat of valor, one lowly soldier is given the promotion of a lifetime.

Girls’ Vacation
By Maryanne Peters

I just thought that pushing him all the way would finally put an end to this whole crossdressing thing. I had tolerated his crossdressing for our entire marriage but with the kids having left the family home it was as if he had a license to wear women’s underwear constantly, and to act like a woman in the kitchen. It seemed that he had only been constrained by the thought of our children learning of his perversion. My opinion did not matter.

I was relieved when Larry and the head cheerleader drifted apart. I should have been concerned when Bob asked Larry for a date. The truth was that I was just too curious to see what would happen I just aided and abetted instead. Larry was even lovelier that night. They left and about a minute to midnight I heard Bob’s car drive up again. Of course I had prepared an unobtrusive view of the porch. Yes, there was a good-night kiss. Not a bad one. Really not a bad one.

What it is to be a Queen

I am Banrigh, the most sucessful hive queen in our history on the planet, at least so far I am. My gratitude that our memories and awareness are passed on when we pass is beyond the comprehension of those of other species. Members of other species die and their descendants are left with what they remember of what they have seen and have been told. We remember as if we were the one experiencing what our entire line of direct ancestors remembered of their lives and experiences. For those of us with ancestors of influence, or ancestors who subsequently became to be recognised as major contributors to our current thinking, that puts us in a powerful position in society today.

By spring semester Bob’s paper was written and had got an A++. However, many boys still wore the lilac skirt to school. That had taken on a life of its own. Bob could easily have quashed it but saw no point in doing it (and it was his mother's shop that sold them). Besides a couple of his teammates had decided that they liked wearing the skirt. And it WAS the school colors, if they wore it with a black shirt.

What idiot did come up with that title? I’m NOT a sissy. I’m NOT a girl. I’m a BOY, sort of. More specifically I’m a femboy. A proud, strong, self-confident femboy. I’m NOT a sissy. The word sissy has too many connotations of wimpishness. I’m NOT a wimp.

Still, many people call me a sissy. And – it’s true I’m changing with the football team. So there is some truth to the title even if I resent the wording - profoundly.

Pulled Over
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

It was not as if I was dressed as a woman – I wasn’t because I never did that. I had been supporting my sister’s basketball team and I was in sweats in her colors, including face paint and eyeliner, for some reason. Her team had played well, and I had shouted myself hoarse. That was why I could barely talk when I was pulled over.

I has only planning on doing one story but I kind of got the writing bug so decided to write more. It is still a what if series so none of these events actually happened just what I predict would happen next. The story carries on the morning after the last story

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.