And now for something completely different. Actually, it was my latest story, Death in Venice Beach, that was something completely different. This is more the normal me; short, cute and twisted (I’m only 1.64 m tall).

Jack was only 171cm tall and his body was slim and hairless. He had delicate facial features. Long, wavy auburn hair reached his shoulders.

He wore women's jeans, sweatshirts, jackets and t-shirts. And a lot of jewelry. He hardly wore skirts and dresses like most of his friends.
When hanging out with them, he was often mistaken for a girl.....one of them....
Jack dreamed that his story would begin... like many such stories on Bigclosetr.us. The perfect body to go through, to make it easy...

Prince Taylor is home, the institute is closed, what does this mean for Taylor?

Jack O' Lanterns, Moonlight, and Magic
By
Rebecca Anna Coleman
Chapter Four: The First Steps into Girlhood

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 58 The Heller of All Hellers

Daphne said, “Most women I know, including me, have an awful lot of clothes. Not Stephen, but that skirt suit is genuine Harris tweed and cost a small fortune. All his clothes are the same, he doesn’t have wardrobes and wardrobes of them but what he does have is all the ultimate in quality. He should have been a woman because his dress sense is far better than mine. However, he’s a hundred percent man. He just likes dressing up in what other people call women’s clothes, but he doesn’t see it that way. He says, ‘I’m a man. They’re my clothes, so by definition they’re a man’s clothes.’ I suppose he does have a point.”

This is a story about a boy and his mother who discover the missing love in their lives by his transformation into her daughter.

Photo by Ron Lach

The Flood

I learned early that the view from inside a bra is far superior to the view without one.

Seriously.

Putting up my Hair
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

When I was a young boy, I wore my hair long. My mother did not discourage me because she said that my hair looked lovely, which is what I thought too. But my father hated it. He was always telling me to get it cut and I always resisted. I suppose that says something about my relationship with my father – I felt that he was proud of my older brother, but not me. As far as I was concerned, that made his opinion questionable, so I always questioned him.

This is a bit of a re-released. I missed the end off of the story

Me, My Brother, and the Last Night of Summer
Copyright 2024 by Heather Rose Brown

This is a short story about a preteen nonbinary kid trying to deal with gender issues, and what happens when a sibling with similar but different issues reaches out to them.

Orphan Petal

November 2023 - Part 3

Shirley knows who he is

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 57 A Baby Spoon and Pusher

Here come comes the nurse with a red hot poultice, Slaps it on and takes no notice, ‘Oh,’ said the patient, ‘that’s too hot,’ ‘No,’ said the nurse, ‘I’m sure it’s not.’

Orphan Petal

November 2023 - Part 1

Shirley is back at the child's home. He hoped things can be the way the once were

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 56 What You See is Never What You Get

How calt will it get? Who knows. I can’t even hazard a guess because I’ve got nowt to base one on. We’ve never hit minus thirty [-22℉] before anywhere in Britain in recorded history, though it’s said that during the winter of sixteen eighty-three going into eighty-four the ice on the Thames was a foot thick [305mm]. I’ve never manage to find even an estimate of how calt it was, but it’s reputed to be the most severe frost recorded in England. It always seemed daft to me to use the expression worst recorded when there’s not even an indication of how calt it was, how is that recorded? Come to that what was it they were recording? Maybe we’ll hit minus forty [-40℉] this time. I wouldn’t rule it out, but like I said I’ve never bin here afore. Think on, it’s not that long since for the first time recorded the temperature in the UK went over forty Celsius. Forty point three [104·54℉] it was at Coningsby in Lincolnshire on the nineteenth of July twenty twenty-two. So owt’s possible.

Photo by Shin Shimami on Unsplash

It was the summer of my eighth year, the forth of July, in fact, that the difference between girls and boys acquired more significance than girls have cooties and boys don’t.

I sat in silence during dinner, not wanting to bring up anything up to my parents, since the other parents had not told them anything about the past few days. I imagined a small mob of pitchforks and torches slowly advancing upon our house and I would have to talk about everything. We were just about to have dessert when there was a loud knock on the front door.

My eyes can't tear themselves away from the image I see in the mirror, and I'm about to cry.

My name is Daniel, I'm 12 years old and I didn't go to school today because I felt bad. Mom works as a nurse and my sister Katherine (Katty) is in High School, so I have the house to myself.

I've always been attracted to my sister's pretty clothes (especially her cheerleading uniform), so as soon as Katty left, I ran to her room and took off these annoying, boring boy clothes and grabbed my sister's cheerleading uniform. sister, so I put it on.

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 54 Tekin Receipt of a New Un

If we can find any folk who fit here I’ll be as glad to accept them and take the money off the government thieves in Whitehall and the local authority bandits in Barrow, Kendal and Penrith too as the next person, but if they don’t fit here the government can keep the bloody money and the refugees and the victims of violence even though they be women and their kids. Being abused does not give any the right to abuse any of our folk.