The story of a kid who just wants to be cool. Arguably the main character doesn't change at all, just people's perceptions of him.

Nat pulled the skirt up his legs and snug around his waist. It fell just above his knees and was decorated with the images of butterflies, a lot like the ones dancing about in Nat’s stomach. He hoped Gavin liked it as much as Nat himself did.

The sandals he chose because he liked how much they showed off his fresh toenails. Nat’s top was sleeveless, exposing his bare shoulders, and it was just long enough that that it reached down to Nat’s waist as long as he didn’t bend over. His father would have a field day if he saw this outfit; it was a small blessing that he was working through the weekend.

Amie went to sleep quickly. I could hear her breathing. Her lungs pulled air into her lungs and utilized the oxygen to feed all the parts of her beautiful mind and body. The bible says that God made man “a little lower than the angels”. In Amie’s case, it wasn’t much lower. Such a combination of beauty, brains and talent were rare.

“Happy birthday dear Priya,” everyone sings, at the prompting of the Indian girl’s middle-aged father. “Happy birthday to you!” Priya blushes as she holds her long black hair out of her face, before blowing out the fifteen candles on her rich chocolate cake.

“Fifteen years old,” Mr. Malik says with palpable pride. “I almost can’t believe that my little girl is really growing up.”

“Dad!” Suriya says, making everyone giggle.

“’Little’, not ‘littlest’!” Mr. Malik says, making both Priya and Suriya blush.

This story is being rewritten.
A new chapter will be published every 2 weeks starting on 19/07/2022.

When I finally reach this chapter again, I'll replace this message.

Back to school day is here. We decided to fly even though we had just barely escaped disaster. We didn’t figure lightning would take a second shot at us, and neither of us wanted to endure the long drive in the Corvette again. I was happy not to have the specter of surgery hanging over my head. My new parts were still tender, but could hardly wait to take them out into the world.

Typical me, always getting into arguments.

My name is Tim. I'm a senior in high school. This is the story about the time I took things too far.

I was on the basketball team at my high school. Recently, we had lost a game because of miscommunication. This was largely because of the cheerleaders. They were at fault because we couldn't hear over them. I chose to bring this up to Rachel, the head cheerleader.

"It wasn't our fault." She claimed.

"Yea it was. We couldn't hear each other over your stupid cheers," I rebutted.

Our flight continued. We were told to divert to New York for debriefing, but when the pilot made the plane’s billionaire owner aware of it, that order was quickly rescinded and we were able to go straight home. Score: one for the people, zero for the bureaucrats. I loved it. It helps when the people have lots of money and connections. What about my confrontation? Didn’t happen. I pictured myself sitting down for debriefing with an old man with a clipboard. It turned out to be an intelligent, attractive young woman named “Laura”.

The Development of the Male - and the learning of Female attributes. Mrs. Grant was an excellent teacher - and she had some new ideas on teaching the basic facts of life.

This is a story which indirectly mentions the SisterDom group which in previous stories encourages boys and men to learn the benefits of getting in touch with their feminine component.

Back to comedy.
I dedicate this story to Licorice who inspired it

It was Monday morning the second week of Fall term. We had almost finished changing for gym when a naked boy stumbled into the girls’ changing room. Well, actually he was pushed into it. In his hand he had a pink leotard and a towel. He immediately tried to exit but someone outside made sure he couldn’t open the door. Failing to open the door the poor naked boy turned around and gave us a frightened look.

"Project!" Miss Fullerton- my ballet teacher- shouts in a clipped voice as I balance en pointe, reaching forward with elegant, flowing arms. My face is a picture of perfection- immaculately made up, wide, expressive eyes that make it clear to everyone watching that I am not just a ballerina, I am- or at least aspire to be- a PRIMA ballerina, the ultimate expression of feminine beauty.

“Three cheers for the college girls!” Charlotte announces. “Hip hip-“

“Hooray!” The modest number of partygoers cheer.

“Hip hip-“ Charlotte repeats.

“Hooray!” The partygoers again reply.

“Hip hip-“ Charlotte yells at the top of her voice.

“Hooray!” The party goers again cheer as Sarah, Katie and Lauren stand at the front of the room, their cheeks burning with embarrassment.