The roar of the crowd still echoed in my ears, a phantom wave of sound that followed us from the Tower Ballroom. The heavy silver trophy, now cradled in my lap, gleamed under the streetlights, reflecting the joyous chaos of our celebration. Mum drove, her face radiant, humming off-key to a pop song on the radio. Marco sat beside me, his arm casually draped over my shoulder, a warmth seeping through the vibrant fabric of my costume. Every now and then, his fingers would brush my neck, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cool Blackpool air.

The motorway hummed beneath us, a rhythmic thrum against the tyres. Fields blurred into green streaks, then towns, then more fields. Melanie, propped in the passenger seat, her brace a stark white against her dark jeans, pointed out landmarks with a fervour usually reserved for ancient ruins.

“That’s where we stopped for ice cream, remember? Last time we came.” She twisted in her seat, her eyes bright with memories of happy times.

Mum, focused on the road, a slight smile playing on her lips.

I sat on my bed, knees drawn to my chest, the now familiar feeling of the silky nightgown a strange comfort. It was one of Melanie’s. A soft, pale blue, trimmed with delicate lace. I’d worn it to bed, and just hadn’t taken it off. In fact, I hadn't worn any of my usual 'male' clothes to bed for a number of days, possibly a week. The thought of pulling on my own clothes felt like a betrayal.

The morning sun, still low and hazy, streamed through the studio windows, painting golden stripes across the polished floor. My muscles, a symphony of aches from yesterday’s session, still protested with every movement, but a new lightness infused my steps. I felt it, a subtle shift in my centre of gravity, a growing familiarity with the silicone weight, the snug embrace of the shaper. Melanie's hand-me-down leggings, initially a foreign skin, now felt like a second one, moving with me, not against me.

The bathroom mirror, usually a fleeting acquaintance, now held a captive audience of three. My reflection, still unmistakably Michael, stared back, a canvas awaiting transformation. Melanie, perched on the counter, swung her legs, a glint of mischief in her eyes. Mum, armed with an arsenal of brushes and palettes, surveyed me like a sculptor eyeing unworked clay.

“Right, let’s get this show on the road,” Mum announced, her voice a blend of determination and theatrical flair.

She dabbed a cool, liquid primer across my forehead. Its scent, faintly floral, tickled my nose.

Mad scientist John Crevil and his wife swapped bodies with billionaire Jacob Astoria and his wife, but their plan to cause the Astorias to die in the Crevils’ bodies has gone awry, on top of an extra person getting involved. What else could go wrong?

Mad scientist John Crevil has figured out the perfect crime: Use gene-editing technology to swap places with billionaire Jacob Astoria and his wife, and set them up to die after putting the Astorias’ into their own guises. What could go wrong?

Dexter had always played second fiddle in his family.
While he is just as strong a witch as his sister, witch society still hedges its prejudice against male witches.
But all changes when an accident makes a make-up spell hit Dexter, instead of his sister.
He looks eerily similar to his cousin and therein lies an opportunity.
One his mother is eager to exploit, when their family and witch coven suffers a tragedy.

Now it is up to Dexter to step up and be the witch he was always meant to be.

James fidgeted in the examination room, the lace-edged bralette suddenly feeling far more noticeable under his t-shirt than it ever had at home. When Dr. Mercer knocked and entered, James instinctively crossed his arms over his chest, then immediately felt ridiculous.

The doctor, to his credit, didn’t bat an eye. "How’s the tenderness?" he asked, flipping open James’ chart.

"Better, honestly. The uh," James gestured vaguely at his chest, "support helps. A lot."

Dr. Mercer nodded approvingly. "Good. Let’s take a look."

James sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by open tabs on his laptop and a half-eaten granola bar that had somehow become part of his "research process." The screen glared back at him with a mix of medical jargon and forum posts from men who had actually tried induced lactation.

“Possible side effects: breast tenderness, hormonal imbalances, mood swings...”

He scratched his stubble. Okay, so he’d be emotional and a little sore. Big deal. He had survived that one time he had tried hot yoga. This couldn’t be worse.

I had expected Larry to get into trouble at the studio with his lilac tights. Just shows how clueless I am. The teacher loved that Larry wore lighter color tights. That allowed him to see better how Larry’s leg muscles worked. Black really isn’t a good color to wear in class but tell that to teen boys who already are body conscious. And, of course, the girls in his class loved it even more now that they got a better look at his quite nice legs. Good thing for Larry that he already had a girlfriend. Otherwise he’d have been under siege.

Diva in Disguise Chapter 10

The next day dawned bright and sunny once again. I rose to be reminded by the calendar that my modelling session had been arranged for that afternoon. I was hopeful that the real me had remained hidden when I’d met Tam and I dared to believe that it could remain so during the photoshoot itself. Contending with more than one identity was something I had become used to having to deal with. For years I’d had to manage both a male and a female persona as the occasion demanded, but now I would have to be even more wary.

Chapter Two – Sometimes It’s Good To Be a Girl

Bobbie completes her training and makes her debut in Seg with the Siceresso crime family. Robert's wife visits him in prison but he is in emotional turmoil about his secret life as a prison doll. Confessing to Mandy would be too dangerous so he resorts to deception

Sometimes you have no idea what's gonna happen when you're asked to do...

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Absolutely nothing could have prepared me for Isidora's Hunger Games Capitol-looking outfit. Her designer either really loved frills or really didn't like her.

There was also so much pink it was almost blinding and for some reason known only to her, she'd decided to pair it all with some shade of blue lipstick. She looked more like an art project than a person.

And this person was supposedly the stylist?