Iressistible, Kissable

In the Australian outback a solitary traveller stops at strange roadside store. They leave with more questions than answers and a CD labelled "A TG Mixed Tape". Hit play on this collection of short, short tales if you dare and let 11 different voices in TG-Fiction take you to worlds both far flung and almost but not quite like our own; introduce you to Rock Star Vampires, Shape-shifters and the even the Devil herself; and spin stories of remembrance, sex and second chances.

My headlights drained the colour out of everything they lit. The darkness recoiled from them and grew deeper around. The broken white lines in the middle of the road gleamed blinding and flickered hypnotically as the bitumen tread-milled beneath my Volks. The speedo read 100 kilometres an hour but at that moment I didn’t feel I was moving at all.

I couldn’t see the horizon but I imagined the small speck of light far ahead and to my left marked it. I imagined it was a fallen star. And as I drove on I imagined that it was searching for a break in the unseen doona of clouds above for its brothers and sisters.

I pressed down on the accelerator and my car beeped a Going Too Fast warning at me. I ignored it. I was moving again. Termite mounds, gravestone shaped when glimpsed out of the corners of my eyes, rose from the roadsides before me, then fell behind. A rabbit loped out my way. I only just missed it. Take your time Fiver. A wallaby glowered at me from beside a rusty fuel drum letterbox.

I drove on. The radio started to crackle up. A pity since I liked the song. I began to belt out the lyrics when the static drowned them out.

The light ahead was closer now and the road was curving towards it. It wasn’t long before I could make out the shape of a building. I past a sign that had seen better days. Spell-R-Us, it read. Transformative Wonders and Delights! Open 24 hours! Turn off 500 meters.

On a whim I decided to stop at this bargain basement new age joint in the middle of nowhere.

The car park was dirt, smattered with gravel. I pulled up right in front and got out. Dream-catchers and unoccupied birdhouses and wind chimes hung from the veranda roof. The flyscreen door was locked and someone had post-ited a “back in five” note on it. A small wicker basket hung from the handle filled with CD’s and cassettes. I examined the card stuck to it. It was black specked; there had been ants on the paper when it had been laminated. Mixed Tapes. Complimentary. Take One, it read.

I looked through a dusty and limescaled window, past a display of gothic looking dribbly candles at the benches and shelves stocked with jewels and jewellery, snow-globes, aerosols, age-yellowed Playboys, cacti in cracked, dirt-leaking pots, and creatures squished into jars so tight that in several instances their skins had split and the clear preserving liquid was stained rosy. A stuffed alligator hung from the ceiling. A gimp suited mannequin rested against a drinks cabinet filled with Crystal Pepsi.

I hung around for half an hour but no one showed up. I took some photographs and a CD and hit the road.

I arrived, the next morning, at my destination, changed.

After doing my daily ten-mile run, I returned to the base, exhausted. With sweat dripping down my face, my clothes soaked, I crashed down at the feet of my master. “It’s done sir.” I said still breathing heavily. “Permission to take a break?”

“Permission denied. Today we have something different scheduled. I need you to take a shower, and report back here in ten human minutes. Understood?”

I put my hand to my forehead, “Yes sir!” I said and began the long run back to my quarters. That bug didn’t even give me time to rest. I know I owe him for saving my life two years ago, but come on! I don’t know what their kids do at this age, but they certainly don’t train their asses off to become soldiers.

I reported back exactly ten minutes later. With a new set of clothes, ill-fitting, since they don’t have any clothing for my kind. There were three other bugs there. They don’t look quite as strong as my master, I wonder…

“There you are! Come, we don’t have your time.” My master said turning around. Moments later, we arrived at what seemed to be a research center.

We moved into a separate chamber, with a massive operating slab in its center. “Is everything ready?” My master said to one of the scientists.

“Affirmative.”

“Great, human remove your clothes and lie down. We have things we need to talk about.”

“I want you to relax young human.” My master said to me after they energy cuffed me to the slab. “All that you have done in the past years have come to this. This is the most important step to remove the human weakness out of you. Chief! Explain what will happen.”

“Yes, commander.” Answered a voice from a speaker as the slab moved to a vertical position. In front of me a cluster of needles appeared. “Human, we are going to make some modifications to your DNA in order to make your bones nearly unbreakable, to make you stronger, faster, to change your appearance..." He sighed. "Commander, should I tell him the possible consequences?"

"Yes, I think we should let him know what might happen to him. But be quick, the prophets want results."

“Yes commander." He said. "Kid, we've tried this serum before, and there's a chance that it will turn you into a female…"

"You mean it’ll turn me into a girl!"

"Human! We don't have time for your nonsense!" My master shouts at me. "If that comes to that, then you'll have to bear with it! Understand!" He grabbed my face. "We've already done too much for you, and we aren't stopping the experiment if you throw a tantrum. Now, I want you to use those little balls of yours, and suck it up! If not, whenever you wake up your training will be ten times more intense, and you'll beg that I didn't save you that day." He stepped back. "Chief! Continue the procedure!"

Ever since she was little Susy has been interested in these types of stories. Other stories by her include: "Sympathy for the Girl" and "Black Bloodstains". She is the co-author of the story "K177Y Serum". You can find all of her stories at TG Storytime.

I was just laying down for the night when my bed erupted into flames and I screamed backing away from them as the voluptuous form of a dark-haired beauty appeared out of thin air. She was the epitome of the perfect woman, a real bombshell, who was a flawless stand-in for my wife.

“Hello honey, I’m home. Did you miss me?” She winked then smiled coyly.

“You’re not Jenny!” I screamed staring at her with wide eyes.

“On the contrary.” She smirked leaning over, giving me an amazing view of her cleavage. “I’ve been Jenny since the first moment we met.”

Twenty years ago to the day I sold my soul for a life of money and fame. I met Jenny just a few weeks afterward, but she was just a kid then. It wasn’t until she matured into a woman that our relationship took a romantic turn. After a whirlwind courtship we got married, but if what she said was true, it was a sham and had been all along. I couldn’t help but feel manipulated and betrayed.

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? So that I could watch over you and guide you, but really that’s beside the point. Let’s not delay this any longer.”

“Just make it fast, please.” I pleaded, tears stinging my cheeks as I fought down my fear and panic. What would happen to me? Would she drain my soul away and leave me an empty husk or would I be doomed to spend eternity in hell? It had never been clear and somehow I’d never thought to ask. Until that moment it hadn’t mattered. How could I have been so stupid?

Lucifer cackled as the flames blazed across the mattress quickly climbing up my frame and started to consume me. I thought I was going to burn to death, but then the pain settled on my chest and different parts of my body, until it eventually faded away. I gasped running my hand over my torso, discovering as I did so that it had been transformed. Two luscious breasts had swelled on my chest but that was only one of many changes.

“I-I’m a woman,” I said with a loud gasp. “But why?”

“Your soul is mine. That means you are bound to serve me for all of eternity. I don’t waste resources, but sometimes they need a prettier wrapper to really bring out their true potential. I happen to think you’ll make a lovely succubus, don’t you?”

“I refuse!”

“What makes you think you have a choice? The night is still young. There are plenty of souls roving about for you to lead into temptation.”

She snapped her fingers and my clothes shifted becoming a form fitting outfit that left little to the imagination. I bit my lip, looked down at my breasts, which looked like they were about ready to pop out of the dress and felt a smile stretch across my face.

“As you wish, Lady Satan.”

Daniela A. Wolfe is a fan of science-fiction and fantasy who brings her love of the genres to TG fiction. She is the author of "Facades" and the "Ragnarok Rising Trilogy" (“Incompatible: Birth of a Spellbinder”, “Transfigured: Ascension of a Spellbinder” and “Destiny: Legacy of a Spellbinder”). She has contributed to several shared universes including Enemyoffun's DarkRealms Universe (“Hunger Pangs”) and Morpheus' Twisted Universe (“Virtually Twisted”).

I stand at the old gate, and, not for the first time on this trip, I wonder what I am doing here.

But the memories behind the gate call to me...

In a way, I had grown up behind this gate.

My grandparents owned this place, it was sort of a hobby farm, and just about the best place a kid could go. I mean, it had horses you could ride, and a dog you could play with, and a little mini forest you could have adventures in.

I wonder what my grandparents would have thought if they had known that most of my “adventures” involved me becoming a girl...

I open the gate, and return to my car to drive inside.

The place has changed as much as I have...

Only in the opposite direction.

While the place is like a ghost town, slowly returning to the grass it sits on, I went from being a wounded child struggling with their gender to a woman who is whole, and healed, and mostly healthy.

I drive up to the remains of the old house, and I smile at the good memories - my grandfather teaching me how to ride a horse, my grandmother making amazing meals, the wonderfully warm sense of being loved I had always gotten when I came here.

Both my grandparents are gone, but neither has a grave, so this place is probably as close to one as I can get. I know that if they can hear me at all, they could hear me in the city just as well, but some instinct brought me out here so I could say to them what I always wanted to say.

“Thank you, I love you both. I hope you’re looking down from heaven, and I hope you’re proud of the woman I became, even if I was a boy when I was here.”

“I wouldn’t be here without you, which you must know. You gave me a safe place to be while I tried to figure out who I was, and what I needed to do.”

“Goodbye.”

I get back in my car, drive to the gate, and let myself out.

I close the gate behind me, knowing I will never open it again, and I climb back in my car, but pause for one last look at my past.

“See you when my time comes...”

On the wind, I could almost hear a whispered reply.

“See you ...”

“Granddaughter...”

Dorothy is the author of over 150 stories, poems and autobiographical works including "Rock Star Makeover" which can be found at Fictionmania and Big Closet, "Fearfully and Wonderfully Made: A Memoir" which can be found at Big Closet and the novel "Quest for the Silver Cleric" which can be brought on Amazon.

T-minus 00:00:15. The roads are nearly empty. The car idles.

Rachel drums her fingers on the wheel.

Casey fiddles a switch. The automatic windows rise and fall. Glass and rubber seals kiss and part. Casey prattles.

“And just… Garhhh. Your Dad is such a pig, Rache.”

Rachel ah-hums agreement.

“I swear, next time when he calls you Butch. I’m going to…”

The light greens. Acceleration. A sigh. “He’s getting better Cass. Baby steps.”

“I hope so. Otherwise, some fucking change of perspective. You never should’ve gotten back in touch.”

“It’s good to see Mum again though. The Changing has done her good.”

“She’s very quiet.”

“She’s a different person during her month but. More assertive. Confident. It bleeds over a bit.” Rachel checks the car clock. T-minus 00:00:10. “Don’t you think?”

“Baby steps?”

“I guess. Yeah.”

At T-minus 00:00:07 the car lurches to a stop in their garage. Doors are thrown open.

Lips lock in the corridor. Onto neck. Onto lips. Fabric slides on skin. Is left discarded and crumpled on cool tiles.

The mattress molds itself to their bodies.

Casey’s tongue finds the pink press stud of Rachel’s left nipple. The plain of Rachel’s right breast brushes against the curve of Casey’s cheek. Casey’s finger enters Rachel’s sex. Rachel reciprocates.

T-minus 00:00:02.

A sensation anticipated begins to build. Prickling and tickling from the inside out. Goosepimpling smooth skin.

Rachel kisses her way down from Casey’s mouth. Nibbles chin. Raspberries breasts. Whistles into belly button.

Her finger withdraws. Runs wet down Casey’s leg.

T-minus 00:00:01.

A pause. To taste. To savor.

Ten seconds.

Five seconds.

Four.

Three.

Two.

Casey moans and as she moans her voice deepens and her skin stretches and ripples in ways that hide, reveal, then hide again the changing shape of the body beneath and, as her labia parts and Rachel licks the base of the ripening testes pushing through, Casey moans louder and runs her hand through Rachel’s hair as it darkens, writhes, grows longer and spills down over Rache’s neck and upper back, drawing Casey’s gaze to the hour-glassing waist and swelling arse, and moans even louder still as he feels his lovers tongue tickling the nub that will become his penis, and then Casey is breathless and gasping as Rachel kisses her way upwards and he grasps for her now full and heaving chest and then their lips meet and she straddles him and takes his ejaculating cock inside her.

T-minus 29:22:15.

TV humming from lounge. Words half heard over a bubbling kettle. No road closures or electricity outages. The Changeover is going smoothly. So far.

Rachel adjusts the cups of her bra. Scowls. The weight of her breasts is uncomfortable except in Casey’s hands. To think she used to envy her younger sisters. Her girlfriends.

Casey fondles his well filled tiny whities.

Lips lock in the kitchen. Rachel’s leading. Mind recalling the day they met. Placards. Raised voices met. Disapproving stares unheeded. Their first.

This feels better.

She gently pushes him away.

PersnicketyBitch is the creator of the Mixed Tape Anthologies. She is Australian, but don't hold that against her. If you do she will sic her pet Drop Bear on you.

The guy at table three had eyed me for over an hour. I couldn’t blame him. If I were still a guy, I’d be eyeing me too. At 5’2”, blonde hair, and a tight little body, I looked good.

I finished adjusting the mike stand, giving my ass a provocative wiggle before turning to check out my not-so-secret admirer. He looked back unabashed. His curly brown hair needed a trim and his lips were puffy but he was cute. We exchanged smiles.

I started to walk over to say hi, when someone grabbed my shoulder. I spun around. Mouth open, lips pulled back exposing the tips of my retracted fangs. I was ready to strike. A low hiss escaped my throat.

“Easy, Tiger,” said Lucas Pool snatching his hand back. “Nice girls don’t bite.” He scowled at the dude with whom I’d exchanged looks, and then shoved me to the side. “Forget lover boy, Faith. The only dick you taste is mine.”

I glared at my agent turned captor. He countered with a chuckle, knowing he had the upper hand. We faced off, his finger playing with the razor-thin scar that zigzagged from his right eye to his jaw. Whoever gave it to him had my heartfelt thanks. I wished it had been his throat.

“Eventually, she’ll get bored with the sun and want her body back,” I said. “When she does, she’s not going to like what’s going on.”

He shrugged. “I’ll deal with that when it happens. But for now, if you got to piss, do it. Your next set is in ten minutes.”

Vampires only pee if they drink something besides blood. From the time I awoke to find myself in her body, Lucas mixed things into the blood he fed me. It kept me weak and my fangs retracted. Unable to hunt, I was dependent on him for sustenance. He provided it for a price. Sex. Worse, Lucas liked it kinky. He dressed me in little girl clothes and made me beg, taking a perverse pleasure in my lost manhood.

As the bastard shuffled away, Gary Winters, my bassist, caught my eye. Tugging back his sleeve, he exposed the adhesive tape circling his wrist where I’d fed. He raised his eyebrows, questioning when.

“Tonight,” I said.

I was strong enough now to turn Gary. Together, we’d take care of Lucas, then separate. Gary had some scores he could settle only as a vampire. I wanted my body back and a chance at the bitch that stole it. I’d miss the band. “The Bloody Faithful” was growing in popularity not just here, in New Orleans, but across the U.S.

My drummer and guitarist finished their beers then made their way to the stage. The lights dimmed. A hush fell over the crowd as the band took its place. I snatched up my mike as the drummer counted off with his sticks. It was show time.

Jennifer Ravyn’s stories have appeared in both electronic and printed form under various pseudonyms. You can find her work–in-progress serialized novel How I became the Baddest girl in Clarksville, at Fictionmania and TG Storytime.

“Straighten your back, wench!”

You feel a hand pressed into the small of your back, and immediately straighten, pulling your shoulders back, your breasts thrust forward. You kneel back on your heels, with your arms resting on each thigh, and keep your knees spread wide apart, displaying the slit in your groin. That slit which for your first twenty five years you didn’t have.

You kneel and gaze forward, proud to be a slave owned by your glorious, your divine Master.

“Highly satisfactory. You’ve done an excellent job with her, Travis. She’s superb.”

“Thank you, sir. She’s a natural, just as you said.”

Travis is never brutal. He’s not unnecessarily harsh; unless he’s training you he can even be gentle. Unless he’s disciplining you.

You believe he’s an Alpha male exactly like Master, but he prefers to be employed by someone else. It’s his own choice that he’s the suave butler rather than the Master of the House.

About your Master there are no doubts. He’s like a Greek God, this man who has fixed a collar round your throat and a ring through your nose, like a young Apollo in splendour, and you adore him.

He comes and stands behind you, and cups your breasts in his strong hands, as if testing the weight of them. He raises his fingers to pinch your nipples, and you shudder slightly, leaning back into him.

“Very good.”

He releases you and goes round to the front as you straighten again. He places a finger under your chin, and raises it, so that you’re looking up at him. You can’t read the expression on his face.

“Do you know why I’ve done this? Think now!”

You are silent for several seconds, and then something occurs to you. Timidly you ask

“B-b-because you love me, Master?”

The back-hander across your face is swift and hard, so that you topple over and lie on your side whimpering. .Then you feel Travis’s hands on your arms, firm and gentle, raising you upright again.

“Never say anything like that again, slave wench! Love is a beautiful thing that can only happen between two equals. Travis will punish you for that tonight.”

Punish? Oh god!

“You were always too intellectual, so you don’t see yet, but you will. When you’ve learned how to think with your emotions and your body as well as your mind, then you’ll see. We were friends, and friendship is an eternal bond.”

And suddenly it all comes together. You do see, as you recall being at school when you were boys, and shared everything, and did everything together, except that you learned Greek as well as Latin, and he played Rugby.

And now you’re his slave wench.

He’s standing with his manhood out in front of your face. It’s longer and twice as thick as yours was when you had one. You gaze at him joyously, lean forward and take it in your mouth....

Kandijayne has been reading transgender fiction for many years, but only recently began to write it, and has this year published her first stories on Fictionmania. In the 'Real World' 'he' retired a few months ago, so should now have plenty of time to write more.

"Good morning." The words pushed themselves out of lips that were the only things moving on my stubbled face.

"It's an excellent morning!" Her face moved enough for both of us: eyebrows rising, cheeks filling, even her nose wrinkling to emphasize just how much she meant every word that launched past her cash register.

"I'll have a black strong coffee." I leaned on the counter, a green portrait of Abraham Lincoln positioned between my old fraternity ring and my wedding band.

"Don't you mean a Black Thong Coffee?" She pointed at a chalkboard drawing of an umbrella and a beach ball. I never understood the need for theme days in this cafe.

I looked at her for a moment, not saying anything. Her expression faltered, but then she perked back up, took the five from between my fingers, and came back with a coffee and my change. The former approached my lips and the latter made its way into the pocket of my tailored, if faded, suit.

I sat down and took a sip. My eyes, for the first time that morning, began to look in directions that were not straight ahead. I began to listen to things that didn't directly pertain to me.

"Jim, whitecap-puccino!" Why was everyone behind the bar so perky? They must drink too much coffee. "Whitecap-puccino for Jim!"

I turned to look at the pick-up counter just as some guy, Jim I assumed, grabbed the cup. He looked like just a normal guy. Probably the only other one in the cafe at the moment. People had sunglasses, straw hats, towels. "I'd like to order another iced tea-kini," I heard from a girl in a bikini. Who goes out for coffee like this?

I sighed and took another sip of my coffee. Jim sat down within my field of vision. Did he have a surfboard before? Maybe he wasn't as normal as I'd thought.

I brought the cup back to my lips and sucked the black liquid in, slow and long, savouring the warmth before I swallowed. Warm, like the sun at the beach.

I pulled at the heel of one of my flip-flops with my other toe. Something dawned on me and I smiled: black thong coffee and I was wearing black thong sandals.

I took another long sip, and my thumb grazed against my smooth chin on the way down. I looked at the cup in my hand, my smooth, toned arm extending out to meet it.

Theme days are dumb in general, but I suppose beach day is okay.

One last sip, and the cup was empty.

I looked over at Jim. He'd been wearing a shirt before, hadn't he? Well, I wasn't one to talk, sitting there in nothing but my black thong bikini. I left my paper cup behind and stood up from my table, stepping towards Jim, confident in the curves I was putting on display.

Someone was about to have a sex on the beach.

Lyodor Tolstoyevski is man of honor. Lyodor writes many short stories, and sometimes long stories too. Short pieces of Lyodor's include "Take Me Home," "Breadwinner," and "The Witch of Wallonia." Long pieces include "Allegra" and upcoming ebook for which all should keep eye out at Amazon Marketplace: "The Ukrainian Maid." Do not be hesitating to read all works of Lyodor Tolstoyevski!

I flip off the television as the clock strikes midnight. Sighing, I get up and walk to the bathroom.

I stand in front of the mirror, staring at the balding and overweight man looking back at me. I mindlessly pick up the toothbrush and put oddly pink looking toothpaste on it. I don't even remember the last time a woman was here. Must have been at least 2 years ago, maybe more.

As I look in the mirror and brush my teeth, my hand went on autopilot. I briefly wonder why, but I chalk it up to this being routine by now.

The brown hair on my head elongates as I get shorter. My face feels softer, looks daintier, and looks much, much younger. The walls around me change to a light pink hue. My eyes widen in response to the change, but my hand keeps on brushing.

My chest starts to itch. I want to scratch it- oh how I want to scratch it!- but my hand keeps brushing.

My rib cage gets smaller with a sickening crunch. My stomach recedes, leaving me hungry for a brief moment. My vision fuzzes.

My eyes, the ones I was staring at, my eyes of 48 faithful years, turn a brilliant blue. My face an image of femininity, I get lost in my own eyes.

I don’t even notice my hips get wider. I don't notice the slight pulling sensation from my groin and stronger one where my hips expanded. I don't notice the rest of my hair falling out. I don't notice my whole situation change. I don’t even notice the modest breasts making themselves known. I rinse the now-feminine toothbrush off before I try to take everything in. A new life is presenting itself to me! But what am I supposed to do? After all, I'm just a teenager, now.

How did I know that? Do I really care? I may be a child now, but another chance at life… this kind of thing only happens once every few lifetimes! I mean, I've heard rumors of this type of thing happening...

"School tomorrow! Go to bed!" A woman's voice calls. I instantly place it, though I don't know how.

"Okay, Mom!" I yell back. Smiling, I walk, instinctively, to a room that happens to be mine now.

A new life. The life a teenage girl. I’m an only child now. But who will miss me?

Nobody. That’s who. Because this who I have always been. And I’m going to make the best of it this time. From overweight to skinny. From unattractive to cute. From debt to boyfriends. My life sure has changed.

It’s not every day that you get a new shot at life. Even if it means being a girl. So I'm glad this happened to me! Even if I don't quite know how.

Person42 is an author who posts mainly on TG Storytime. The author is responsible for short works such as "Christmas Wish" and "The problems with gambling" posted on TG Storytime. Other things Person42 has posted include a number of longer stories such as "That stupid disease" and "The unusual story of Dave." Works written by Person42 are varied, as are the likes and dislikes of the author.

Everyone sat on folding chairs in a big circle with the probation department’s psychologist leading the session seated facing the door. “Okay, who wants to start?” A thin girl just to the psychologist’s right shifted nervously and got picked on. “Alright, Beth, how did your blind date go?"

Kim half-listened because she had to. When it was Kim’s turn, they might ask what he thought about what Beth said. Like he could care. The public defender had warned him this might happen but what choice did he have? He was drunk when the girl got raped at the party. He came to when the police arrested him. No one listened when he said he never touched that girl but the PD had cut a deal he couldn’t say no to. Probation. 36 months. And no jail time. The PD made clear what would happen to a guy as small and slim as he was in jail and Kim took the deal, even though he was innocent.

Dr. Jones, the psychologist, put all her “clients” in a special group – if they were male but not manly. According to her, everything was about gender and body dysphonia. Anti-social males were in rebellion against a gender and body role model that was contradicted by their true internalized identity. If you wanted to stay in her group and out of jail, you needed to play along. Kim was no exception; indeed, Dr. Jones had become fixated on him as if she was testing how far she could go with him.

He looked at the clock and they were 15 minutes into the session. Time to check hair and make-up. He slipped a mirror out of his purse for a quick look, pouffed his hair a little in back and freshened his lip gloss. Donna was droning on about whether she should go blond. Donna used to be Doug, a computer guy from the suburbs. Across the way, Kim could see his reflection in the big “Affirmations” mirror. Dr. Jones liked to ask her clients to stand in front of the mirror and say something affirming bout their transitions to sissy and girlhood. Didn’t have to be true. Just say something and get past it.

Kim was wearing a short pink jacket that showed off his too-tight and tiny tee shirt over black spandex capris. Cork-soled wedgies, 4” heels and black straps. Big black plastic hoops in his ears, a matching clunky necklace and lots of noisy black plastic bangles. He crossed his right leg over his left and his hands holding his knee just so Dr. Jones would see his new mani-pedi. He wasn’t a girl even if he was about that tall and just as slim. No boobs, no hips. And this was how it was going to be for 33 more months?

“And so, Kim, how much thought have you been giving to breast implants and hormones?”

Toxis writes stories about transformation, how events change people, make them something they weren't and leave them as something else. If you like this story, you might also like “Bianca Paragon” and “Spellbound” on Fictionmania, “Race Queen” at mcstories.com, and “Everything's Good” at Bdsmlibrary

"'Sup, bro," said Rob as he sat down beside Andrew, who was gazing towards the far off distance that was the other side of his small backyard pool, his legs in the water.

"Hey, man," Andrew said in a quiet, dull monotone, making no attempt at turning to greet his friend.

"You alright? I heard some shit about you shapeshifting into a mermaid or something,"

Andrew cringed. The subject was something that he wished everyone, himself included, would forget.

Rob punched his friend lightly on the shoulder. "You're one of the few people that can shapeshift into something and you're fuckin' whinging about it?"

"You wouldn't understand."

Rob wouldn't relent. He was constantly trying to motivate Andrew to be more active with his life, and he saw the current situation as Andrew once again settling for nothing.

"Ok, tell me what I'm missing. You can change back and forth between this shithead in front of me and a bangin' mermaid at will, you can outswim sharks now, let's not forget that you might be the first shapeshifter in this state."

"It isn't that simple," Andrew replied.

"Fuckin' hell. Bro. Pull your head out of your arse. It's not the end of the world." Sometimes Andrew really tested his patience.

"My dad said that."

Of course he did, thought Rob.

"Well good on him. He knows what he's talking about. You've got a great opportunity here and there's no reason to let it waste away," Rob said, exasperated with Andrew's lack of enthusiasm for what had to be the millionth time.

"He said that, too."

"And you should listen to him."

"It's not so black and white, man... Of all the... Shit... I'd rather not be able to shapeshift at all."

"I respect that, but there's no point moping if you're never gonna shapeshift, anyway. So since you want to keep moping, just this once, ok?"

Once again Andrew cringed.

"Look, bro. We've known each other since primary. I won't laugh at you, I won't see anything I'm not supposed to. Wear whatever makes you comfortable."

"Just this once," said Andrew, resigned to the fact that Rob would get him to do it eventually. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He didn't bother changing out of his board shorts nor did he make any effort to find something to cover his chest for when he transformed. Before Rob could say anything, Andrew jumped into the pool.

He then moved over towards the deep end until the water blurred Rob's vision and the shadow beneath the surface shifting shape was barely visible.

Rob picked himself up off of the edge of the pool in an attempt to get a better look, Andrew finally rose to the surface.

Oh...

He wasn't lying when he said he could transform into a mermaid.

Rob just didn't expect Andrew to have the upper body of a fish and the legs of a woman.

WhoIAm is a beginner writer who mainly reads sci-fi and fantasy fiction, TG or otherwise. WhoIAm is currently practising writing before attempting to post anything of length.

The wind and rain lashed down out of the dreary evening sky causing the young man to lean forward, stumbling slightly, as he headed toward the welcoming shelter of Shamus’s Pub. The pub was situated between the St. Louis Magic-User’s Guild Hall and the St. Louis Academy of Magic-Users, and was within walking distance of the former, which made it a popular stop for the Guild’s Special Agents and Inspectors after work.

The pub was famous for its microbrew, but Rob wasn’t here for the beer. Warm golden light spilled into the darkness as the front door of Shamus’s Pub banged open and a pair of rough looking men, with several days’ worth of scraggly beard, pitched forward drunkenly into the night. A third even scruffier guy flew out hitting his companions and knocking them into a large puddle.

“If I see any of you back here causing trouble I’ll dump you in a Guild cell for forty-eight hours on a public intoxication charge!” A short blonde woman in a wrinkled pants suit shouted.

Rob looked at the men, very conscious of the fact that he was a “mundane” and nearly everyone in this pub would be a Magic-User, while wondering how such a small woman had managed to toss three large men out of the bar. Pushing his way in Rob felt a slight tingle as he crossed the threshold. He paused to look around, and listened to the soft cacophony of conversation that filled the taproom, before making his way to the bar.

“Colby, can I get a beer?” Rob said, reading the bartender’s nametag.

“Sure, what kind?”

“What’s the house special?”

With a grunt Colby reached under the bar and brought up a bottle, and with a twist he popped the top and slid the beer to Rob. Rob moved to pick up the bottle and locked gazes with Colby, for a second Rob couldn’t move, it was like a spell had been cast on him, and then it was over. He picked up his beer and took a sip. The amber liquid was rich and refreshing, and for a second Rob wondered if it was the product of an Alchemist.

“Why are you here?”

The bluntness of Colby’s question caught Rob by surprise. “You’re a mundane, hanging out at a bar full of semi-drunk Magic-Users might not be the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

“I’m a reporter. I’m here to interview Inspector Alan Lee.”

Colby grinned, “Another story on the terrorist, Master Sorcerer Silas and his attack on the Guild?”

“Yes, and no. I’m covering the victims. I understand that Inspector Lee was in the Hall when Silas attacked. My editor spoke to Grand Master Donegal, who set up this interview with Inspector Lee. Do you know if he’s here?”

Colby grunted and nodded toward the end of the bar where the petite blonde in the wrinkled suit sat nursing a whisky. “A word of advice, friend, Al’s feeling a bit hormonal tonight.”

Zapper started writing in December 2011 and has contributed a number of short and long stories to various websites. A few of his TG stories include: The Security Consultant Trilogy (“The Security Consultant,” “The Consultant and the Mask,” and “The Consultant and the Hounds of Heaven”) the Bounty Hunters Trilogy (“Bounty Hunters,” Bounty Hunters II: “Family Reunion,” Bounty Hunters III: “Silas Revenge”) “Conan and the Blade of Costa” and his first story “A Favor for Anna.”

Afterword

I hope you enjoyed reading this collection as much as I and my fellow contributors enjoyed putting it together, and that you take the time leave a comment (I’m sure you don’t need to be told how much us authors benefit from feedback). Tell us, what was your favourite story and why?

I’d like to extend a big thankyou to all the authors who contributed; the newbies and the veterans of the first Mixed Tape (if you liked this collection look that one up – the name to search for is “Miniskirts”). I’m looking forward to working with some of you again on future collections.

Speaking of, I’ll be putting another collection together next month. If you want to be part of June’s Tape e-mail me at [email protected].

The guidelines are as before:

• Write a short piece no longer than 500 words. Apart from that limit, write whatever you want. However, I do want the Mixed Tapes to showcase a wide variety of the stories – from the serious, to the silly, to the erotic – and because of this, this time around, I’m especially interested in stories focusing on female to male transformations and realistic pieces dealing with gender dysphoria and the day to day lives of LGBT protagonists. I feel that there haven’t been enough of these types of stories in these collections so far.

• Write a short “Also by this author” blurb.

• The finished anthology will be published on Big Closet, TG Storytime and Fictionmania. Make sure you have accounts set up on all three sites (all are free to join). I want to get as many authors credited on each site as possible.

Submissions are due by Sunday the 15th of June 2014. All contributors will be sent a copy of the collection before it's published. If you read it and decide that you do not want your work to be represented in it then you may withdraw your contribution. Publication will occur sometime (hopefully early) during the last week of that month (between the 23rd and 30th).

Until then, or until I hear from you.

Cheers

PersnicketyBitch (editor)