“Yes, Andre, I loved your violin recital. Yes, since I’ve been back,
neither I nor Leo have thrown any chairs out the windows, yet. I have
fully recovered from being overly exposed to the sun from my business
trip in Albania. My sunburn is now a nice tan. How many assurances
do you need? I swear to you I am quite well. I’ll see you tonight?”
Louis waited out a long and terrible silence.


A Boy Among Men

It pretty much started when I was 12 years old. We lived in a small
town and I was walking in the woods with an older boy shooting our BB
I had been having a funny feeling in my groin for awhile. Sort of
naughty and unsatisfied. I can’t remember why but as we were walking I let
my prick out of my bib overalls. My friend saw my stiff prick and asked if
I wanted to jack off. I didn’t know what that meant but I said sure.


Halloween Party

I grew up on the outskirts of a relatively small town during the
nineteen sixties. The Halloween night that is the topic of this story took
place in 1966 when I was thirteen. I was about five foot five inches tall
and thin. My face had not lost the look of innocent youth, my voice had not
begun to change in pitch and the need for shaving my face was to be a
couple of years away. I had dark hair, blue eyes and was considered to be
very cute by most people. In fact, an aunt said, on several occasions, that
I was too pretty to be a boy and that I should have been a girl.


Chris becomes Chrissy

I am Chris, not Christopher, not Christine, just Chris. Dad died when I
was 5 and I have very few memories of him other than the family pictures,
and as time goes on, there are less of those. Mom is a great lady she
works hard and provides a great home for me. I like reading and music. I
enjoy playing the piano and spend hours on science fiction books. Because
of my mom working cook and clean the house which does not bother me at all.


The Proposal

I’d met him at the station, as I’d been hurrying from the mainline platform
to the underground.

“Can you spare change for a cup of tea?” The youth sitting with his back to
the tiled wall had begged.

I’d stopped and stared.

Amongst that milling crowd, those eyes had held me: those wide, innocent
looking eyes.

“You’re staring mister!” He had snapped.

“Can you spare any change, or are you just taking the piss?”


Time and Time Again

I am into my mid-fifties now. I am older, slower physically, and still
unhappy with whom I am, but overall, my mind is as keen and nimble as ever.
I remember the names and faces of most to those I have encountered over the
past 54 years, and what it was like being a child growing up in the late
fifties and sixties: they years of childhood, puberty, and adolescence. The
pains of not being able to be myself and to be fulfilled, and the futility
and emptiness that I now feel. It was real, maybe too real, but all I have
left are regrets and memories. I never became the person that I was born to



It was curiosity that brought me to Gingerfredonia. Not need. But need kept
me there.

I certainly didn’t need money. I was a world-famous novelist with eight
bestsellers in ten years, all of which had been made or would be made into
box-office-smash movies. Even you’ve heard of Nick Watson, right?

I laughed out loud when I saw the letter from Fred Gingerman, my former,
“author colleague,” offering me a teaching position at some “finishing
school” in that Mediterranean island country he had bought a few years
earlier. Gingerman was the absolute ruler of that place and had ludicrously
styled himself as King Fred.


Lifeclass – In Full

His hands on his well-defined hips, Dominic had leant backwards, so as to
ease his aching muscles.

As he did so, he took the opportunity to quickly glance over his left
shoulder, at the semi-circle of people who were sitting behind him, `Yes,’
he thought to himself, ` he’s at it again.’

It was Dominic’s second time sitting for the class and he was becoming more
aware of each of the group members and the materials that they chose to
use: there was Mrs Peake, over sixty, blue-rinse and a gossip, she worked
in water colour; then there was `young’ Mrs Jones, horn-rim glasses and
twin-set who looked like she should be a librarian, yet worked in a
children’s nursery, she worked in charcoal; Mrs Grey and Mrs Wright could
both paint well and knew it; then there was Jean, the art classes
secretary, who worked both in pastels and water colour, who fussed over the
models, ensuring they were as comfortable as possible.



When I was thirteen, I never thought that I would become a simpering,
man-pleasing sissy, sucking men’s big cocks and swallowing gallons of their
cum. Taking their huge tools into my tiny bottomhole and milking their
balls with my soft hands.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I know it was mostly Mama’s fault. But I don’t blame her. If I didn’t want
to tease and please men, I could have resisted. I hardly resisted at all.

It was really competition that made it all happen.


Step daughter

I get so tired of so-called “experts” postulating that transgendered
behavior is sexually motived. Tell me that a four year old
understands sexual motivation. Then let me talk to you about
your upcoming investment in some prime Florida real estate, semi-
developed: water all ready on the property, complete with hot
and cold running ‘gators.