Chapter 7

Cate was brought home an hour later, after I had put Jenny to bed. I had changed out of my dress and into a nightie and gown. When she walked in, I made sure to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She went off to change and we sat with our wine, talking about anything but what had happened that evening.

Title

The New Girl at Uskweirs Manor

a pastoral romance by Miriam Robern

Correspondence, Concoctions, and Coaching

Monmouthshire, May 1812

Dearest Mother—

I hope this letter finds both you and Father well and in good spirits.  I myself have been blessed with good health in the last few months.

Chapter 5

“Would you believe that I would never have been on that ferry unless an American colleague hadn’t suggested a walking holiday on Palma. I was planning a trip to the Black Forest, not the Black Sea!”

We both smiled and I reached out to hold her hand. For three days, we met in the mess and spent some time in the small gym, getting our strength back. Around us, life in the submarine carried on, with drills breaking the monotony. On the fourth day, everything changed.

Title

The New Girl at Uskweirs Manor

a pastoral romance

by Miriam Robern

A Fateful House Party

Monmouthshire, May 1812

Miss Amelia Wright gained access to Uskweirs Manor by supplying a false name.  The attendant at the door dipped his head, murmured, “Of course, sir,” and gestured her within.

“You’ve led kind of a sheltered existence,” she said, “being Jennifer only in relatively safe places at safe times. Most girls are in danger of that kind of thing at least a few times a year, if not every day — it depends on their circumstances. But it’s still worth it, being a girl.”

“I don’t remember us ordering the calamari appetizer,” I said aloud to myself.

Chapter 1

What am I doing?
By Daring Diane

“Billy, I let you move in, because I needed someone to cover half the rent and utilities. It’s been months and I’m running out of savings.”

“I spent everything completing my degree.”

“Great. You have a college degree. It’s time to get a job.”

“I apply every day. No one is hiring.”

“You need a job. Work at Starbucks or some restaurant.”

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.

Mistress Athena swooped in and put a stop to my misery at work, sparing me from the constant harassment and bullying that had become all too familiar. She forbade me from going back to that toxic environment, and I couldn't be more grateful. Her online business was thriving, and she deemed it sufficient to support us both for the time being. She also had a plan to put me through a rigorous training program at home, designed to help me overcome the trauma I'd endured.

Carrie begins to take over Cory's life, and big decisionshave to be made.

Tradeswoman
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

I was a tradesman when I was a man. I was a roofing contractor. I knew that when I became a woman I would have to give up that job. That is not because women can’t be tradespeople - and we all know that transwomen can do anything women can – it was because I wanted to do something feminine. I thought that it was important to me to leave that rugged part of my life behind me.

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 read somewhere that the ancient Goths used to debate any important question twice, once drunk, and once sober. I had gotten into the habit of doing something like that with jekyllase; I would think something over once as myself and once as Jennifer before coming to a decision.

When my youngest, Lawrence (or more usually Larry), began high school I was not surprised that he had problems. Not scholastically. Larry is a bright boy. No, the thing about Larry is that he is “odd”. I can’t describe it better than that since I haven’t been able to pin it down better myself. There is nothing tangible. He doesn’t look funny in any way. No big nose or limp or anything like that. He’s not a macho boy but in no way girly (even if some would characterize his love for ballet as girly, which anybody that had seen him on stage would know is a mistake). He’s just “odd”.