Harold had exactly three hours to complete his initiation task, and he'd already wasted forty minutes of it standing outside Kappa Delta holding a box of Russell Stover chocolates like an idiot.

Lain wasn’t crazy about the idea of taking a shower in the gym’s locker room, but he didn’t have much of a choice. His job was stressful, the hours long, and the only time he had to work out was during his hour-long lunch break (he could eat at his desk while he poured over spreadsheets and returned emails). The alternative was not to work out at all, and that, he knew, based on the physical appearances of some of the higher-ups at his firm, was a one-way express ticket to fat ass town.

A clique of girls welcomes a new friend. If you enjoy this story, please check out Project: Little Sister!

John was not a girl. He didn’t even think he was in any way girly. What he did like, was to wear skirts. There is really nothing inherently girly in wearing skirts. Just look around the world, present and past, and you find many cultures where men and boys wear skirts (if often by another name).

A sister and a family support a curious twelve-year-old in a newfound exploration of gender.

Chapter 1
The front door clicked shut, the latch catching with a soft, final thud.
Jane stood by the kitchen island, her hand still resting on the counter where Robbie had left his damp gym towel. She let out a long, slow breath—not a sigh of annoyance, just the sound of a lungful of air giving up after holding steady all morning.

The River and the Stone
Chapter 1: Session One — The Gathering of Currents
The waiting room of Dr. Vance’s office was quiet, save for the low, continuous hum of a white-noise machine near the baseboards. On the deep leather couch, eighteen-year-old Leo sat with his ankles locked in a wide, rigid figure-four stance—his right ankle resting square over his left knee. His right thumb came up automatically, the edge of his thumbnail digging into the dry cuticle as his left heel tapped a rapid, impatient beat against the carpet.

This story is set in Ireland during the War of Independence, 1919-1921.

The Players.

An Cailleach, approximately Old Hag in English, is a term found in both Irish and and Scots Gaelic. It carries connotations of divinity or magic.

Volunteers, the name used by Irish national insurrectionists engaged in the War of Independence. After independence, these formed part of the basis for the new National Army which still has the letters IV (Irish Volunteers) on formal uniform buttons.

RIC, Royal Irish Constabulary, an armed police force responsible for crime and internal security. Recruited locally, it was heavily infiltrated by the Volunteers and many members left the organization during the war.

Black & Tans and Auxiliaries. These were paramilitary police recruited in England to support the RIC, notorious for indiscipline, terrorism and extra-judicial killings.

A summer spent with the girls at a fashion and sewing camp gives a boy a chance to discover his authentic self in a supportive environment.

I was sitting on a bench in the schoolyard with my friends Jenny and Patti watching a bunch of boys aggressively kicking a soccer ball into the wall.

“School will be out in two weeks and I am not looking forward to summer.”

Jenny touched my hand and looked concerned. “What’s the problem?”

People are Complicated
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I was an experienced transvestite. I had been closeted for years. I denied it to myself and did not tell my wife the full extent of my need to dress. She was open to “kinky sex”, but she drew the line at anything more than that. I decided that I would lie to her as well as myself.

Author’s Note

This story is part real life. It is partly based on an inspirational story from the British Press. The latter part of the story is entirely fiction. The names used are entirely fiction, including the scant details of the Weight Loss program used, although there are several programs available here in the UK that offer a similar service.

"Dancing bears, painted wings... things I almost remember

"Ha ha! You're always singing that song," she said, giggling.

Her brother looked up from the couch, still singing.

"It's my favorite song!"

"But you sing it every day... every... day!" she said, giggling.

"You know, you kinda look like her with your green eyes."

He blushed with a gentle smile and dreamy eyes.

Breaking out of his reverie, he threw a sock at her.

I was in my early twenties, a few weeks after I started my first semester in a visual arts college, burning the candle at both ends, working grueling night shifts while trying to keep up with my studies during the day. By the time morning arrived, my body was running on absolute fumes. Stepping onto the bus for my usual ride home felt like sinking into a heavy fog, and within minutes of finding a seat near the window, my eyes drifted shut and I fell fast asleep.