Amy Lives
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

It was a Sunday night - October 31, 2010 when my life changed, or maybe it began then. I had been married for less than a year to Romana, the woman I had always thought of as my best friend. We were ready to start talking about having children. I had always wanted to have children – it was a strong drive in me that I never really understood. I know now that there was a lot about myself that I did not understand, but that was going to change too.

I am in the kitchen of Tony's cottage. The sound of my heels clicking on the stone floor is a constant reminder of their presence. Why do I have to wear high heels all the time? Although, with Tony, 6ft 3 inches, it helps me not have to look up quite so far when he holds me

Chapter Seven

‘Write me a love note, and take a picture of it while showing off your panties. By the end of class, babe. Oh, and no leaving your desk!’

When Madame von Blendenmeyer discovers Blake's love for crossdressing, she uses her wealth and power, and a dose of blackmail, to turn him into her paramour. 

The Mine Shaft:
Jessie shakes her ass while dancing around on stage in her leather corset, garter belt, leather panties, stockings, and thigh-high laced-up leather boots with four-inch heels. The song she was belting out was written by another member of the band. Her long, neon-purple straight hair swirled around her head each time she twirled.

The Rave Girls’ circle is never broken. It has claimed dancers for centuries—and will for centuries more.

Prologue: Long Before the Neon
Many centuries before the vibrant glow of glow sticks lit up the night, before the pulsing rhythms of bass music filled the air, and long before the vast warehouses became settings for unforgettable gatherings—there existed the timeless circle.

Author's note: Life has been hectic lately. I had a business trip that turned into a family emergency, which was followed by computer issues. I had to take some time off to deal with everything. With my kids in school, I am at home on vacation, getting back into something I love. Kisses everyone.
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Chapter 1: Counseling

Port in a Storm
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Fate had a peculiar way of playing with young Alex's life, a 15-year-old boy whose curiosity often led him to the edge of societal norms. Growing up with an older sister, Emily, had its perks. He had always felt a strange fascination with her clothes, especially her school uniform. It was a peculiar attraction that he could never quite put into words, but it was a part of him that he couldn't ignore.

One fateful evening, after his sister had left for college and his parents had gone out to dinner, he found himself alone in the house. He tiptoed into Emily's room, the scent of her lingering in the air. He reached for the hangers, his heart racing, and pulled out her skirt and blazer. He had snuck into her room countless times before to try on her clothes, but tonight was different. He had decided to take it a step further.

With trembling hands, Alex donned the uniform, feeling the fabric caress his skin as he transformed. He applied a bit of her makeup, just enough to accentuate his features, and styled his hair to mimic hers. Looking in the mirror, he saw a reflection that was both thrilling and terrifying. He had become a vision of his sister, yet not quite. It was an image of femininity that he hadn't dared to explore before.

The door slammed open, and Alex's heart stopped as his parents stormed in. Their eyes widened in horror and disbelief, and the silence was shattered by his mother's scream. His father's face was red with rage as he bellowed, "What is the meaning of this?"

Alex stuttered an apology, but the damage was done. His parents couldn't comprehend his actions, and they were ashamed. In their eyes, he had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. Without another word, his father dragged him out of the house, throwing him onto the cold pavement with nothing but the clothes on his back.

The night was unforgiving, and Alex was lost in a world that had just turned its back on him. He wandered the streets, his mind racing with thoughts of what his future might hold. As dawn began to break, he found refuge in a deserted alley, the harsh reality of his situation setting in. He was cold, hungry, and utterly alone.

Chapter Thee – History Repeats Itself

Sarah's defilement at the hands of the four lechers continues as she recalls the traumatic incident in her youth that led her being who she is today and explains how she came to be in the predicament she is currently in.

Chapter One – The Cabin

Sarah is a mature crossdresser with a dark past. Searching to relive something that happened to her when she was a teenager, she agrees to meet a man in a no-tell motel but is totally unprepared for what is about to happen to her. Please heed the cautions.

Orla inserted her scuffed bronze-colored key into the lock, turned it, and opened the door. With its peeling light blue paint, it fortunately did nothing to betray the apartment's relative opulence.
It hadn't been like this when her and her grandmother, Kahri, first moved in. No, at that time, the place had been the dictionary definition of what the locals might call a "shithole," a term as unfamiliar to them as it was second nature to their new neighbors.

 
XXX: Penthouse Pet

Author's Note: This story is a work of fiction. Any similarities between any persons, living or dead, and any places, actions, dialogue, things, etc., is purely coincidental. This story is being written to show kindness, love, acceptance, understanding and family values for transsexuals and their families. This story involves a young male-to-female (M2F) transsexual. The medical procedures in this story are what all M2F transsexuals go through, either at the time of the complete operation, or even before. There is no actual violence, or sex involved, drug abuse, or child abuse either. My hope in writing this story is that people will see that we are only trying to live a peaceful life, as normal as we can. There is a footnote at the end of this story. Thank you all for reading. ~Barbara Lynn Terry.

 
 
XII. The Feast of Fractured Mirrors

The farmhouse table groaned beneath casseroles that reeked of clove and false piety. John’s mother—a woman who starched her hymns—leaned in, her gaze lingering on Lanie’s sun-kissed cheeks and the demure lace dress that was Georgia. “What a vision,” she sighed as if this moment could be preserved like a jar of pickled beets.