If You Were a Woman (And I was a Man): A TG Mixed Tape

If You Were a Woman (And I was a Man): A TG Mixed Tape


Edited by PersnicketyBitch

On thanksgiving a trans girl prepares to come out to her family. A mysterious entity wreaks havoc on a porn set. While experimenting with each other’s sexual fantasies, a man learns more about his partner than he bargained for. These are just some of the stories on offer in this collection of short, short fiction by twelve different voices in TG Fiction. [Includes an interview with Dorothy Colleen.]


I look at you, you look away

Why do you say we're night and day

I'd like to try another way

Oh baby, for just one day

Bonnie Tyler

The smoke looks like fire. The embers of the capital light the base of the cloud an orange-red that flickers and flings out tendrils which dance, spasm, collapse in on themselves, and seem to leave behind them a roiling black mass that rises higher and higher and is torn at by the wind and scudded across the sky.

Towns and villages, isolated cabins and crops, burn too. The silhouettes of the barbarians caper around them.

The women on the ridge watch them as they strip the corpses. They wear short servant’s shifts. Beneath the grime and the blood their skin is pale and smooth. Their earlobes are pricked. Their legs shaved.

The Merlin kneels beside a berserker. The dead man’s eyes have been punctured – maybe in the melee, or maybe by a crow after the skirmish had ended. Their insides streak his face; globby, black, caked on tears. He wears a bear skull headdress and is tattooed all over. An arrow protrudes from his beard. The shaft and the hair around it and the teeth in the man’s open mouth are crusted with dried blood.

With his knife The Merlin cuts a piece of blue whorled flesh from the warrior’s chest.

“Maia, to me.”

Nearby a young woman is scattering dirt over a fallen imperial guardsman. She drops the clod in her hand into the man’s red mash of a face. She looks to a woman who is raking her fingers through the fur of a coat. Dark flakes stick to her hands. The sweat on her palms is tinged pink. The woman nods at her daughter.

The Merlin proffers the meat to Maia as she approaches. She takes it.

“Into your mouth.”

Maia obeys. She feels maggots crawl from hunk and over her tongue and gums.

The Merlin does not need to tell her to strip. She hands over her shift. He bunches it up and throws it away.

From the folds of his cloak the old man produces a small rectangular box. On the side that Maia can see is a circular pattern of tiny holes positioned a little more than a fingernails width apart, and a small window. Through this Maia sees something with two gear like things set into it.

A thin cord runs from the artifact. It forks. The Merlin offers Maia the two budded ends.

She looks again to her mother. She is handing the cloak to Lady Rayelle, who takes it arms that are as thick as a great ape’s and crisscrossed with scars.

Beyond them Maia’s younger brother urinates high into the air with his man’s manhood.

Lady Cassadra practices with a heavy looking battleaxe. Triss, her lady in waiting pulls on a pair of hose.

In the mountains to the west the beacons have been lit. They are small and dim. Maia looks to the brightest, which marks the fort at Orem pass. It will, she thinks, be a difficult journey, even with a body capable of making it.


If you were a woman (and I was a man)



Liner Notes

Best Mom Ever

By Toxis

Beta Testing

By Zapper


By Ryker


By Lyodor Tolstoyevski


By Ragtime Rachel

Lights, Camera, Tentacles!

By A Kent

Nina’s Pooch

By PersnicketyBitch

Of Princes and Princesses

By D.A.W.

The Pact

By StephAD

Tower Child

By Dorothy Colleen

Small Print

By Imaj

We Can Change It

By Hikaro

The Mixed Tape Interview: Dorothy Colleen

Recommended Resources


Best Mom Ever

By Toxis

“We have to get off the road, Billy. There are bad men coming.” Mom took my hand and I helped her down the muddy hill into the storm drain. “It’s okay, Mom, they won’t see us here.”

We moved here a week ago and right away people were rotten to us. Especially to Mom. My Dad got into some fights over it and the police came to our door a couple of times to say watch out or they’re going to lock Dad up. But he was the one who got attacked. He didn’t start anything.

“Yes, this is better. We can wait here. I told your father to come this way and look for us once he gets his truck.” Mom smoothed my hair back. She’s always fussing, making sure I wear clean clothes, my homework’s done. I like to sit with her on the sofa in the big room and let her read grown-up books out loud. We were reading Lord of the Rings like that when Mom heard them coming. I brought the book when we ran. That way, we could read some more and not be afraid.

I snuck back up to take a look; no one was coming. When Mom first came to live with us, she was different than now. She was more muscle-y, and she didn’t have a lot of clothes. But after a while she started to look like she does now. Her boobs got bigger and she lost weight. When I got older, my Dad and Mom explained that Mom had been born in the wrong body but doctors fixed her and now she was in the right body. The one she’s supposed to be in. That’s when we started reading together, between the times she was in the hospital.

A truck rolled up overhead and Dad yelled to get in. I jumped in the backseat. Mom was in and shutting the door when there were shots, lots of them, from behind us. Before Dad could pull away, Mom got out and started to run. “Go. Take Billy and go!” She ran towards them, to stop them, make them stop shooting. Dad says that Mom saved us and that she’s in heaven. Shouldn’t God apologize for his mistakefor making her life so hard? She was the best Mom ever and I miss her.


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.

Beta Testing

By Zapper

Paul looked around the beach feeling a little disoriented from the transition. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and noticed Jill waking up on the beach towel next to him.

“Paul, is that you?”

“Yeah,” Paul looked down at the six pack abs that had replaced his beer belly and then at his bulging biceps bulged and flexed. “What do you think?”

Jill glanced at Paul and then down at her enhanced body. She ran her fingers through her hair, “You’re looking good, I always wanted to be a redhead.”

“This is the coolest thing ever!” Paul stood up and offered Jill a hand. “Should we find the others?”

“Do you think we’ll recognize them?”

“Good point. The Doctor said to change our avatars. Why don’t we just explore the resort? If we bump into anyone we recognize, great, if not . . . well . . . we’re supposed to be checking this place out looking for flaws?”

Jill slipped her arm around Paul’s waist, “There’s a bar up by the pool.”

Paul finished his third beer when a loud siren split the air and everything froze up.

“What’s going on?”

“I think it’s an emergency shutdown.” Paul said.

Then everything went bright white and they lost consciousness.


Paul blinked, his eyes felt heavy and his head hurt. He lifted a hand up to rub his eyes and felt the VR helmet.

“Here let me help you with that,” a woman said. A pair of hands push his away and removed the helmet. Paul blinked in the bright lab light.

“How are you feeling, honey?”

Paul tried to sit up but his body felt odd, off, like either his chest was heavier or his stomach wasn’t as strong.

“My head is killing me!”

Shocked at the sound of his voice Paul lifted a hand to his mouth and felt soft lips and a delicate chin that didn’t belong. This time when he tried to sit up his adrenalin fueled muscles made it easy, despite the shifting orbs on his chest. Then he spotted his body sitting up in the VR booth next to him.


“Paul? Why do you look like me?”

“It’ll be okay,” the man who’d been helping Jill said. “There was a problem with programing, something to do with identity tags, that’s why we ended the test. I’m sure we’ll get you sorted out once the program is fixed.”

“How long will that take,” Paul asked from Jill’s body.

“Normally, just a week or two, dear.” the woman responded.


The doctor looked over at the technician and then out at the eight VR booths and the unconscious volunteers. “How are they doing?”

“There was a spike in brain activity a couple of minutes ago, but things are settling down now.”

“Good, this was set up for twelve hours of real time, what’s the VR ratio?”

“Two hundred to one.”

“Excellent,” the doctor said, thinking about the paper he’d write.


Zapper started writing in December 2011 and has contributed a number of short and long stories to various websites, including Fictionmania and Big Closet Top Shelf. 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."


By Ryker

“That was fun, yesterday,” Gina said. “I never knew you had a doctor fantasy, and you looked really cute in those nursing scrubs, but today it’s my turn.”

If only you knew why I wanted to be the nurse, I thought as she left the room.

I waited on the edge of the bed, wondering what she had planned for me. She finally came back holding a really pretty dress, but it didn’t look like her size.

“I’ve never seen that before. Does it fit you?” I asked.

She smiled at me playfully. “No, silly, this is for you!”

“What!?” I exclaimed. My heart stopped. “No! I can’t, Gina!” But secretly I wanted it. I was fascinated by it. Still, I had to protect my dignity.

“There’s no backing out on Fantasy Weekend. Besides, I did yours.”

I knew she was going to get her way. She always did, and besides, I wanted it, too. I just couldn’t let her know, or I’d never hear the end of it.

My pretense didn’t last long, however, and she smiled knowingly when she looked between my legs. I could only blush.

She began by shaving and washing the hair from me and dyed my nails and feet. After she got the dress on me, she painted my face with her makeup. Then she put a blonde wig on me.

“How do I look?” I asked nervously. I didn’t think I could look pretty, but I was hoping she liked me anyway.

But when she just stared at me for several seconds, I began to worry. Did I look so horrible?

“Oh, my God,” she said at last. “You’re beautiful. You look just like her.”

She took me in a tight, tight hug, and sobbed onto my shoulder for a long time. I thought she might never let go. I didn’t know what to think, so I just sat there, lost. Finally, she pulled back and wiped her tears.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t quite expect this. I guess I have to explain.”

I nodded.

“Before I met you, I was in love with my soul mate, but a few years ago, she was taken from me by a drunk driver. I just knew I’d never love anyone like that again, but then I met you, and well… you reminded me of her in so many ways. And now...”

She broke down and hugged me again.

“I never knew. I’m sorry,” I told her, unsure what else to say.

“Will you keep doing this for me? Please?” she asked. “I really love you, but I miss her so much.”

“I love you, too,” I said for the first time, and I knew I meant it. I would do anything for her.

“Will you be my Christina for me?”

“Yes, I will.”


Kara Ryker is a science fiction and fantasy writer who began writing TG fiction in 2013. She attempts to combine strong character development with science fiction elements and sometimes controversial themes. Many of her stories lead to conclusions that are not apparent from their beginnings. The completed “CyberRealms: Into the Underworld” story is now available. Her other works include Cassia, short stories, and the ongoing epic series, the Archon Saga. All of her TG fiction can be found on TGStorytime and BigCloset.


By Lyodor Tolstoyevski

It spun in the air as it sped towards me, little green plastic disk that it was. The approach was faster and lower than I was expecting, but practice had born instinct and I snapped it out of the air between my ankles.

"A little low there, hey?" I waved the frisbee at Eric before swinging my hand back and launching it at his position at the foot of my hill. He jumped to grab it, but only managed to knock it with his fingers.

"Or maybe you're a little high," he stooped to pick the frisbee up from the grass. "Get back down here, that hill's too steep."

Reluctantly, I trudged forward as Eric stepped back, one heavy foot planting in front of the other, depressing dirt and grass with each step. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, jingle. I stopped about halfway down the hill. It had come early.

"What are you doing," Eric called at me, "get down here!"

"I... can't."

"What do you mean, you can't? I'm not throwing the frisbee until you're somewhere flat."

I took a breath, and then I took a step forward. Jangle. I looked down at my feet. Yep. Bells on my shoes. Both of them. I gingerly stepped the rest of the way down, hoping not to make any more noise or draw any attention to my feet, but every step produced a sound I wished it hadn't. I got to the base of the hill and made another assessment. Bright red slippers. Bright red slippers with bells.

"Finally!" I jerked my head up to see the frisbee sailing straight for my chest. That instinct took over again, and I grabbed it just at the last moment. Trinkiti-trinkiti. I had caught a tambourine. White lambskin stretched across a wooden frame with metal jingles in the sides. And my sleeves, I notied, were a flowing red velvet that came down to my wrists. It was spreading more quickly than usual. I resigned myself to being screwed as my arms moved of their own accord, shaking and hitting the tambourine in rhythm.

I already knew what was coming, but instinct still had me at least try to get out of the field. Instead of walking, however, my feet began tapping at the ground, knees gracefully kicking out the bright skirt I now wore, a bell ringing at every step.

"Max! Are you okay?" Eric's urgent whisper notified me that he had come over while I was distracted by my own dance.

Amber locks fell around my face, now the only thing out of place on a body that wanted nothing more than to sing and dance. I could feel the pressure building. Soon even my mind would be lost to it. Squeezing my eyes, pursing my lips, using the last bit of me left before I gave over full control of my body, I extruded my last words to Eric: "It's my minstrel cycle."


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: "Inside the Girls' Room." Do not be hesitating to read all works of Lyodor Tolstoyevski!


By Ragtime Rachel

Why do people use the holidays for every uber-emotional drama queen moment?

Who knows?

There's one thing I do know about holiday confessions. Your particular trauma better not be the last one on the list, because that's all people are gonna remember. Big bro could announce he’s joining a cult and changing his name to Baba Ganoosh, and it STILL wouldn't inspire the same reaction as the poor schmuck last in line.

Care to guess who that is this year?

And boy, have I got a doozy.

I'm a girl. Problem is, nobody else got the memo. Not the doctor who wrote "boy" on my birth certificate, not my school, and certainly not my family. They still think "big hair" is in style, so this is as far outside their orbit as the Hubble telescope.

Maybe they'll be too full of turkey to yell.

Score! Cousin Sam just dumped gravy in my sister Zoe's lap. The perfect distraction while I compose my speech.

"So, Taylor, what are you thankful for?" my mother asked.

Oh, that lame tradition. Thanks, Ma--just the opening I needed.


"PASS, you bastard!" yelled Pop in between bites of drumstick, neck craning toward the large-screen TV in the living room. "Goddamn offense fell asleep out there."

"Stanley, quit yelling at the television, you're going to choke to death!" yelled Ma, at a decibel level guaranteed to dissolve the wax in my ears. "Our son has something to say...."

Now? The Jets are in double overtime!”

“Stanley,” Ma said in her “I’ll rip out your nose hairs!” tone of voice.

“OK already,” Pop half-whined. “So talk.”

Relieved that I had at least two pairs of eyes looking in my direction, I began again. “I'm thankful…well, you always let me be me, y'know? And speaking of that….”

"Ewww, baby Max just crapped his pants! Gross!" Zoe had both hands clasped over her nose, should any stray diaper fumes reach her innocent nostrils.

"Don't say 'crap', and don't interrupt," said Ma, giving Zoe “the look.” “Go on, Taylor.”


“Greetings, parental units! Did I miss the pie?” said big brother Dave, late as usual. “Whoa, chocolate!” He scooped half of it, bare-handed.

Frustrated, I slammed my head down onto my plate, getting mashed potatoes up my nose.

That did it.

I sprang to my feet, waving a butter knife, daring anyone to interrupt.“I’m a GIRL, damn it!” I screamed, surprising even me. “You can’t stop me!”


“We know,” said Ma.

“Duh, you play with my Barbie more’n me!” Zoe added, earning her another look from Ma.

“This is news?” said Pop. “Hey Dave, what’s the score?”

“Your counselor spoke with us last week. Your new school uniform’s on your bed,” Ma said, stirring her coffee. “You start Monday.”

“What? No yelling, no argument?”

“Would you prefer I grounded you?” said Ma.

“Yes…no…oh, I give up!” I stomped from the room, slamming my bedroom door.

Leave it to my family to ruin my moment . They’re diabolical.


Rachel has been around longer than you might think, publishing her first story (the SRU tale “A Box Full of Dreams” as far back as 1999.

Rachel has this to say about her writing: "My TG fiction protagonists are young, usually child to early teen range, because they represent the child I wish I could have been--one who could freely live as her true gender at a very young age. Many are also disabled as well, a subject area not usually covered in TG fiction. I do this because I myself am disabled, having had cerebral palsy from birth, and I take the adage "Write what you know" to heart."

“Alright everyone, for this scene Michael is a pizza delivery man, and you Sahara don’t have any money. Make it look real. Make it look sexy. David I want to see tits, ass, pussy, and a big dick, don’t disappoint me,” Harry told the actors and cameraman. “Action!”

The actors were experienced if not well known. They were able to get through their few lines without any difficulty, then started to strip each other, moaning dramatically for the camera as they sucked, grabbed and licked each other. Harry muttered directions, telling Sahara to go down more, Michael to push her hair out of the way and grab her head, all fairly common stuff. David circled them getting the best shots, with only a nod or a gesture from Harry.

Sahara, completely naked except for her hoop earrings, got onto her back on the wide leather couch, spreading her legs and pussy wide. Michael took his time, building up for the big moment.

Then things got weird.

A woman, who didn’t look entirely human appeared. “Power has been granted to you both. But your forms are not correct. You shall be reborn today Dazzle and Squirm.” She touched the two actors and vanished in a flash of light.

Harry watched as Michael’s chest expanded forming the most perfect pair of breasts he’d ever seen. His body shrank, the hips widening, his dick disappeared, he developed a firm bubble butt you could bounce a quarter off of. Long rainbow hair covered his shoulders and back, his nails grew, shining like jewels in the light.

Sahara was changing as well. Growing larger, developing perfectly defined muscles even as her chest shrank down and her waist became larger. A dick slipped out of her pussy, her lips disappeared as two balls appeared. It was the longest dick Harry had ever seen. Stubble appeared on her crotch and her chin.

It was over in less than a minute, but he’d never forget it.

Michael began playing with her new tits in wonder. Sahara looked at his new penis waving in the breeze, he smiled and tentacles rose from his crotch, each one ending in a perfectly smooth and rounded head that leaked a white fluid. They circled Michael.

“Uh, Harry!” the Michael said in a squeaky voice. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with thi- oooohhhh!”

The tentacles massaged Michaels’ nipples and pussy, and she was loving it. The man who had been Sahara grinned like an idiot as he somehow made more tentacles, all of which headed for his partners mouth and ass. Michael began to glow like a psychedelic rainbow while she gasped and arched her back as she was penetrated.

David was staring at the scene in disbelief, his camera at his side. Harry hit him. “You idiot! Get this on tape. We’ll be millionaires as soon as the Japanese see this!”

Harry didn’t bother giving anymore instructions, his two newest stars were doing very well on their own.


A_Kent is a professional writer, who has recently begun writing TG stories. He has several stories posted on TG Storytime ranging from the horror story "Virtual Girl, Virtual Nightmare", the YA fantasy "The Kings Sword", to a slightly futuristic slice of life "Switched". As well as the Kindle short story "Dating Amanda" on Amazon.

Lights, Camera, Tentacles is set in the Brave New World superhero universe originally created by Hikaro, and later expanded upon by A_Kent and several other authors. You can find the original story at http://www.tgstorytime.com/viewstory.php?sid=1736, and the entire series here http://www.tgstorytime.com/viewseries.php?seriesid=124

A_Kent has written several other stories, including an original superhero story Far From Home: http://www.tgstorytime.com/viewstory.php?sid=2201

Nina’s Pooch

By PersnicketyBitch

Hugh tickled the dog’s stomach as he waited for Nino (Correction, Nina. It was Nina now). Cousin was Nina’s pooch. But Weston House, her digs, was No Pets. And the family home was, for the moment, a no go zone.

They (Hugh, Cousin) were on the floor, Hugh with his back to the couch. As a toddler he’d liked to press his face between the cushions. As a teen he and Nina’d slouched and gamed. And fumbled. Occasionally fucked. A pedestal fan also donated by his folks faced a wire clothes horse. Shorts and boxers swayed in its breeze, as did the Simon and Marcy graphic tee that he and Nina shared (he’d had it for the last two weeks). A canister of Estradiol that Nina had left behind last time she’d been around sat on top of the coffee table, to remind him, and to remind her that she had to take it with her along with the shirt.

A toilet flushed. A shower pitter-pattered on.

“You know piss is sterile, right?” Hugh called out.

“Ewww,” Nina called back, “Eww, Eww, Eww, Ick and gross.” She laughed.

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

“No. I’ll be quick.”

When she emerged from the bathroom her skin was flushed and her hair was sticking together and glossy. She was warm to touch. She wore black underpants and was topless. Her breasts were small, a little on the mooby side, but a little less than they had been.

Hugh stopped patting Cousin which caused the dog to get stroppy. As he and Nina cuddle-walked to the bedroom he head-butted their legs and weaved with intent to trip.

She kept her undies on. Hugh played with her genitals through them. Stroking, and with his fingertips. He traced the outline of her penis, the underbuldge of her balls. Her teeth let go of his lower lip. Her face withdrew. She took his hand and showed him what she wanted.

“Like this?”


He felt the tip of her nose against his skin, her tongue with his. A hand on his cheek, guiding his face away and to a nipple. A finger in his mouth, coaxing it open, slipping out, slipping something in. He felt another hand massaging his wrist, tightening when she began to grow hard (stop!), slackening when she did (keep going!), so that when she came, she came flaccid.

She was just starting his handjob when there was a series of hacking croak-coughs from the lounge. His limp dick flopped from her hand as he leapt out of bed. Her feet hit the floor seconds after his.

The pill canister was on the floor, lidless, lying in a puddle of vomit; all watery ooze and sogged kibble.

Nina drove them to the vet. Hugh sat in the passenger seat with Cousin on his lap, scratching the dog’s belly. As his fingers brushed over the emptiness where Cousin’s testicles used to be he began to laugh.


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.

I was a young scribe at the time in which the peace talks were being held. King Berdius, Ravan’s father, worn and tired from many years of war was eager to bring it to an end, but the righteous King Roland and son Magnus were angry over of the atrocities committed against their people and would make no concessions.

It was my opinion that the peace talks would break down as they always did and the long pointless feud between Gaman and Desperia would once again commence and lead us all to ruin, but then something remarkable happened. Prince Ravan collapsed to the ground, his body shifting and turning. As he slowly stripped the armor away from his body we watched his carefully sculpted biceps fade and wither away like leaves falling from a tree on an autumn afternoon.

It was not immediately apparent what was transpiring, but when the young prince ripped the shirt away from his chest to reveal the pair of budding breasts growing out from it, no one could have any doubt. To this day I have not seen a man show such terror as the Ravan did on his face nor have I entered a room that was so silent. We all watched the prince’s transformation in rapt fascination. In just a few moments, it was over, the young prince once all hard edges and angles became soft and voluptuous, the perfect image of feminine beauty.

No one could understand the cause, for none of us had ever witnessed the like before, but fortunately, or unfortunately, whatever the case may have been, it was the new Princess Ravan who provided the answer. She climbed to her feet, her breasts displayed proudly for all of us to see and began to speak in a melodic voice.

My mind has grown old and feeble in my advanced years and I cannot remember her exact choice of words, but she did explain to us that her transformation was, in fact, the work of the Goddess Tirsha. It was her will that Ravan and the illustrious Prince Magnus be married as equals in order to unite the two realms as one nation. It was the only way to end the war once and for all.

Naturally, this was debated to no end, but eventually it was agreed that Ravan’s change was an act of divinity and the new Princess Ravan and Magnus were married. After all who could argue with the will of a goddess? It was only years later that we understood the full truth of what had transpired that day, but by then it was too late and Ravan was already queen.

—An excerpt from the History of the Phinyl Realm by Evgard of the Silver Scroll


D.A.W. is a fan of science-fiction and fantasy who brings his love of the genres to TG fiction. He 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"). He has contributed to several shared universes including Enemyoffun's DarkRealms Universe ("Hunger Pangs") and Morpheus' Twisted Universe ("Virtually Twisted").

The Pact

by StephAD

“I call you forth! Lord Satan, lend me your power!”

The teen double checked his sigils, make sure that his circle of power was unbroken, and that the pentagram was complete. He then made a single cut on his arm, and bled into a chalice in the center of the pentagram. When the chalice was full, he wrapped his arm in the gauze he had set aside for just that purpose.

He tipped the chalice over and the blood immediately ignited, burning up in a plume of maroon flame. When the smoke cleared, there was a man in a tailored black suit with crimson trim. It had those tacky tails that you see every now and then. “Might I persuade you to re-evaluate your life choices? Making these deals takes a long time, and I have other duties to attend to.”

The young man was taken aback, “D-don't you want my soul? I thought that's what the ruler of hell wanted.”

“Not particularly, I'll get it anyway when you die. How about this, you specify the terms, I agree to them, and pick my price afterwards? I won't take your soul. On my, admittedly questionable, honor.” Satan made a claw over his heart with his right hand.

“Fine. I want the love of the girl of my dreams.” The boy truly had no idea what he was getting into. Of course, he had read the stories about making deals with the devil, but those were just stories. He didn’t need to worry about them. They didn’t apply, however great the similarities were.

The man pulled an iPad out of his jacket pocket and tapped the screen a few times. “It's done. You need to break the circle for the spell to take effect. I'll leave before you do it. I have other things to do, and you won't break it until I leave anyways.”

Satan snapped his fingers and disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, leaving a single red rose behind. Affixed to it was a note. The boy reached for the rose, breaking the circle in the process. As soon as his hand crossed the plane, the rose turned into black smoke and enveloped the boy, leaving the note behind.

When the smoke cleared, the boy was gone, and in his place was a teen girl in a cute dress. Satan had taken the boy's maleness, and as he couldn’t just leave behind nothing, he left femaleness. The former-boy screamed.

A girl ran into the room and froze. “Oh my god! Johnny what did you do!?”

The note read, in a flowing, feminine script: “Enjoy your new life. Best wishes, Satan”


StephAD writes primarily urban fantasy and sci-fi stories. She has two stories on TGStorytime: Swarm Rising: A Brave New World Spin Off, and Henrietta: Ruler of the Underworld. She has an urban fantasy story planned, and a few sci-fi ideas floating around, none of which are getting published anytime soon.

By Dorothy Colleen


I spent a couple of days phoning the families. Since the “kids” we had profiled ten years ago were now adults, in many cases I ended up having to call them separately.

Eventually I got four who were willing to consent to an interview.

And one Maybe. Rather than giving me the kid’s number, his parents said they would pass on my number to their child, and it would be up to them if they contacted me or not.

I shrugged, and co-ordinated with some of my co-workers for interviewing the four who had consented.

Then I got a phone call, and a woman on the phone asked me if I was still interested in hearing from James Parker, the number five kid on our list.

I said “sure”, and the person on the phone said they were willing to meet me at a restaurant here in town.


“You’re ... James Parker?”

“I go by Joanne these days.”

“I ... see.”


“But you’re out now.”

“Yes, but that’s not the same as having my picture in your magazine. Yes, my college administration knows, as do my family, but I am not sure about having it splashed everywhere and read by everybody.”

“How about I make you a deal. You tell me your story, and before I run it, I’ll let you edit it, and if you’re not comfortable with the result, it won’t run.”



I took notes as she talked. It was obviously very emotional for her, but she gave me everything I could need to share her story in the best light possible, which is what I tried to do.

I got my editor on-board, and Joanne approved the article when it was finished, and we waited to see what would happen to her once September’s issue hit the shelves.

I was blown away by the response.

A lot of people who took the time to say that they admired her, and there were even some other trans people sharing their own stories as well.

Sadly, there were some extremely negative responses as well, especially on the online version of the article.

There was everything from people trying to psychoanalyze her and saying it was the loss of her father that caused her to want to be a girl, to disgusting messages about having sex with her, to people saying she was going to Hell “for her sin”, to, oddly enough, messages from supposed feminists saying a trans girl “represents a larger threat of rape than even a regular man.”

I kept in contact with Joanne, and although it was clear that some of the stuff bothered her, I was impressed with her resolve.

Eventually, the firestorm died down, Joanne went back to a quiet life as a student, and I was left with a lot to think about.


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.

Small Print

By Imaj

Dawn Keeley toyed with the teaspoon in her coffee. She played with the diamond ring on her left hand, watching it sparkle. She adjusted the collar on her coat. It was too cold to be sitting outside here, in the chilly Parisian Autumn morning. The waitress had looked at Dawn as if she was crazy when she had sat outside the cafe. Maybe the waitress looked at all English people as if they were crazy though.

The Paris trip had been Dawn's idea - a romantic getaway to mark the first anniversary of their meeting. Dawn glanced at her watch again. Where was Richard?

A shadow fell across the table and Dawn looked up. "Oh, it's you."

"Yes, me I'm afraid," said the elderly gentleman. He perched on the chair opposite Dawn. "I do hope you didn't expect that this little trip would allow you to escape me. The.. ah... cross is a nice touch," he added, as he waved his hand at Dawn's neck. "Completely useless of course."

Mr Hooke - that was the name he gave Dawn a year ago - bared his teeth at Dawn. It wasn't a smile. "I don't want this anymore," said Dawn, her expression sour.

"Yes, quite," muttered Mr Hooke. "Well be that as it may, a deal was struck Miss Keeley, a compact reached. And now payment falls due."

"I didn't..." screeched Dawn. She stopped herself. Her nails bit into her palms as she continued quietly. "I didn't understand."

"Well the terms were all laid out quite clearly on the contract," frowned Mr Hooke. "If I may surmise: The first party - that is, to say, myself - shall supply to the second party." Hooke paused and raised one skeletal finger, pointing it at Dawn. "The identity of one Dawn Keeley, beautiful and high powered lawyer. An identity, I may add, perfectly crafted to capture the heart of one Richard Armitage, investment banker. Is this not what you wanted Miss Keeley." Mr Hooke's lips curled in amusement. "Is this not what happened? Perhaps you should have read the small print better?"

Dawn said nothing. It was all true.

"I do hate to use the term 'soul'," said Mr Hooke as he stood up. "But there is no more apt term for the payment that must now be extracted." Mr Hooke place the palm of his hand on Dawn's unresisting forehead.

One Dawn Keeley vanished.

Another Dawn Keeley sat down. If any of the passers-by had noticed Mr Hooke's sudden disappearance, or Dawn's equally sudden move from one chair to another, none of them acted upon it. "A most regrettable occurrence," she said to no one in particular before reprimanding herself for using the old man's speech patterns. She was Dawn now and Dawn talked differently.

A little while later Richard Armitage sat down opposite Dawn. Wealthy, influential, Richard. "Hiya Sweetie," Dawn said.

He had been Mr Hooke's real target all along.


Imaj mostly writes interactive fiction arcs for Seuzz's The Book of Masks universe on writing.com, of which this short story is a part of. You can read more about The Book of Masks here and here.

We Can Change It

By Hikaro

I was vaguely aware that I was naked. The creature looked at me with the most disturbing eyes I'd ever seen, then repeated, "Tell us what you don't like about yourself." I rubbed at my arm and felt my skin falling off, quickly replaced by fresh, more tan skin. I looked at the creature, who told me, "You have chosen your complexion. It shall be adjusted."

"But I didn't say anything!"

"You have also chosen your voice. It shall be adjusted."

"Stop this!" I clamped a hand over my mouth. What came out was not my voice.

"It cannot stop."

The flaking skin reached my crotch. I scratched at my balls. "I didn't want this!" I shouted back at the creature. It nodded.

"They shall be removed, then."

It took me a second to realize what it meant. My cock and balls dissolved. It took less than a second, and I barely felt it, but as soon as they were gone, their absence felt horrifying enough that I would rather have had pain. The slit that replaced them looked as sweet as any I'd seen on a real woman, only it was on me.

"Why'd you do that?" I asked.

"You asked for it to be removed."

"No I didn't!"

"The change cannot be undone. You shall be adjusted accordingly to your species."

My chest started pushing outward, centered beneath my nipples. The breasts grew, and once they were finished, I felt their weight for the first time. I cupped one in my hand and felt the soft, feminine flesh.

"You have chosen your chest. It shall be adjusted."

My eyes widened in horror. My feeling myself made that thing think I wanted bigger breasts!

Unfortunately, the other changes to my body to make it feminine hadn't stopped. I didn't know when my hips had widened, nor did I realize it when my ass had grown. My waist shrank. My hair lengthened. When my feminizing was done, the creature put a mirror in front of me and I saw my new female self. I hadn't been an unattractive man, but as a woman I'd send people walking into walls.

"Now, you shall be adjusted to fit your new role."


Almost like a DVD chapter menu, my life appeared in boxes. One by one, I saw things replaced. The doctor told my mother she'd had a girl, that summer I'd broken my arm now had me with pigtails, I wore a blue bikini to the family reunion we spent at the beach, instead of sharing my first kiss with Sally Rogers, it was now Derek King.

Worse yet was the fact that my own mental pictures of them changed accordingly. My own past was being erased and replaced, and I could just barely tell. By the end, the only thing I remembered of my male life was that it had existed, and even that was fading fast.

"Now, you shall be returned," the creature said. After that was a bright light...


Hikaro has been reading transgender stories for some years now, but only broke into the writing business in late 2011, when he posted his first story to TG Storytime. Since then, he's garnered critical acclaim (in his own mind) with stories like "A First-Person Account" and "Brave New World". An odd sort of man, he likes to claim he has drinks with Elvis on the Titanic during the weekends.

Subject: Dorothy Colleen

Duration: 00.25.59

Date: 20/11/2014

00.08.03 - 00.20.32

For anyone who hasn't read your work, can you talk a little bit about the type of stories your write?

I don't really write any one "type" of story. I've written sci-fi, fantasy, real life, and autobiographical stories. I just go wherever my muse takes me. Either that, or I might be crazy (giggles)

What's the most useful piece of writing advice you've ever received?

Someone told me that the key to writing was to just keep writing. Write every day, never quit. And read. The more stories you read, the more lessons you can learn about writing. I only wish I could remember who it was who said that. (giggles)

What books have influenced you the most as a writer?

I grew up on Issac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, C.S. Lewis, and J.R.R. Tolkien. Of those four, I think Bradbury have the most influence on my writing. A lot of my stories seem to take place in the kind of small towns Bradbury liked to write about.

As for books I've read recently, I really like "The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever" Its the story of a writer who contracts leprosy, loses his family, is rejected by his town, and then suddenly finds himself travelling to another universe called "the Land" where magic works, and he is the reincarnation of their greatest hero, arriving at their darkest hour. He doesnt accept it, and calls himself "the unbeliever" and fights against his supposed destiny until he finds himself caring about the Land and its people. I've read it before, and some of the ideas in the story found their way into my story "Quest for the Silver Cleric".

You've written over 200 stories, what are your favorites?

My favorite stories? Gee, that's a little like asking which kid you like best. (Giggles). But "The Lucky One" was fun to do, I tried to make it as silly as I possibly could. "Rock Star Makeover" is my most popular story, so I'm pretty happy about how that turned out. I probably worked hardest on the "Vision Spring" stories, even if the last one didn't turn out as well as I would have hoped. "6:45" is the most personal story I've written that's not strictly autobiographical. The story is about a student who after a day of bullying, wishes everyone would go away. He wakes up to discover his wish has come true, and then he has to figure out why, and what makes him act the way he does. It actually surprised me how much of me slipped into that one. I honestly didn't even realize it until I saw a comment on the first chapter that described the character as "consumed by stress". I re-read the chapter, and had to agree, and also saw that you could have used that description for me at that age. Between my gender issues and my PTSD, I guess I had reasons to be stressed. (Giggles)

You've transitioned since you've started posting stories. How do you think the experience has changed you as a writer, and more importantly, as a person?

I discovered I was Trans… well, I knew something was strange when in elementary I couldn't figure out why they made me go to the boy side of the schoolyard. I fought against it, especially after my rape, and I only got more desperate after I became a Christian. It took me trying every possible way I could think of to "man up" before I surrendered to the possibility that I might actually be a girl. I'm stubborn like that. (giggles)

I started transitioning about 2 1/2 years ago when I first went out in public in a skirt, and discovered to my surprise nobody noticed. Since then, I came out to my family, found a job, started on hormones, and tried to work on my other issues. I have a consult for getting SRS coming up in March of next year, and so if they say yes, I could be having the surgery by this time next year, although I consider my odds of being accepted to be less than 50-50. Regardless, within two years, I hope to be as done as its possible for me to be.

I sometimes worry I won’t be able to write as much now that I am in transition. A lot of my early stories came out of the pain and confusion I was dealing with. With me having at least made a beginning on dealing with both issues, I worry I'll lose my creativity. Art often comes out of pain, they say. But so far, I've continued to produce stories, and my latest works seem to be just as well liked as my early stuff ... As for me as a person, I find transitioning to be a mixed experience. I am much more relaxed, but in some ways I am more vulnerable - without the male mask, I am more exposed …

What was the most unexpected part of transitioning?

The most unexpected part of transitioning has been how ... easy it has been. I assumed I would never be able to pass, never be able to find a job, never be accepted by my family. As it turned out, I was wrong on all counts. People have been incredibly generous and patient with me, I am very grateful for it.

You're religious. Can you talk about what role faith plays in your work and your life?

In my stories a lot of my characters end up being at least nominally Christian, although I try and avoid "preaching' in my writing. That said, I've written stories that take place in Heaven or Hell, so I guess my faith does seep in there sometimes (giggles).

In my personal life, my church runs something called an Affirm Committee, and I’m really involved with that. It’s not so much a support group as an attempt to make sure groups who are often made to feel unwelcome at church feel welcome. They've done lectures of racism, on the horrible treatment of aboriginal Canadians, and one on the odd tolerance of lesbians in Germany between World War One and World War Two.

My faith kinda fills two holes for me. - One is a need to believe I matter, that I have value greater than the status of "toy" that my rapist placed on me. The other hole is a need for justice - that just because he never went to jail for what he did to me doesn't mean he got away with it.

Aside for my faith another thing that has helped me a lot was going to the rape crisis center and taking counseling. Over the course of 24 sessions, I managed to learn a lot about how to process what happened to me. Its not "done" yet, I still have bad times, but I feel like I am moving in a positive direction.

What would you say to someone who is where you were five years ago?

If I could say something to someone who was where I was, I'd tell them to get help. And if the first place you look doesn't work, find another. And give yourself a break. Nobody asks for this condition, so try to be kind to yourself. And you never know, if you try, you might succeed in ways you never even imagined you could. And if they were really like me, they'd probably not believe me. (giggles)

Trans Issues


The advocate is one of the big deal LGBT publications. You should be checking in on it from time to time, if you aren’t already. Here’s a list of Op-Ed’s about transgender issues that they’ve published this year.



You probably know about Grammar Girl since she’s always, always one of the top results when you Google anything related to the subject. The number of episodes is overwhelming and it’s hard to know where to start if you want to learn from the show in a structured and comprehensive way. This list of episodes won’t change that, but it’ll provide a good foundation for further excursions into the hyperlink labyrinth that is her site.



A fantastic edutaining erotic webcomic. Here’s an example of the sort of content you can find on the site:

Just for laughs



Doctor Who recently switched the gender of one of its iconic villains, PersnicketyBitch and DAW weigh in.

Q: First up, what do think of the new Doctor so far?

PersnicketyBitch: I really like him. Doctor Who works well when the Good Doctor is at odds with the universe (or multiverse, or whatever) he inhabits. I feel the production team forgot this during Matt Smith’s run where the supporting cast, and the settings, and the genre pastiche’s the Doctor’s Time and Relative Dimension in Storytelling dropped him into would frequently feel like extensions of Eleven’s quirks, manic personality, and wackier flights of fancy. It’s great to have a Doctor who doesn’t fit in with his surroundings again.

DAW: I’m not quite sold on the new doctor. Most of the episodes he’s done have been fairly enjoyable and I think Capaldi is a fine actor, but there just hasn’t been a defining moment that really resonated with me yet. I actually enjoyed Smith’s goofy sense of humor, but I think you’re right the doctor does need to be at odds with the universe. There were times where eleven really frustrated me. So far, Tennet has been my favorite he had the funny parts, but he could turn deadly serious in flash and there were a few places where he could be downright scary.

Q: And his nemesis, what’s your take on the new female version of the Master?

PersnicketyBitch: I’m disappointed that they’ve gone the flamboyant route again. The Master has gotten a lot of hype in the show over the years, but whenever he shows up he’s usually written as a bit of a pantomime villain. It’d be great to get a story featuring a “No Fucking Around, Stone Cold EVILMaster like the version that showed up for five minutes before regenerating into John Simm’s incarnation of the character. But if we have to have another flamboyant take on the character, I can’t think of anyone who’d be able to do it better than Michelle Gomez. The scene where she floats down from the sky holding an umbrella like a demented Mary Poppins was inspired stuff. As was her “Beep Boop, I am a robot” bit.

DAW: There is a time and place for flamboyancy, and really it does seem to be pretty rampant in the show as a whole, but it would be interesting to explore a stone cold killer type of Master. I’d would have liked to have seen a femme fatale who could pull all the doctor’s strings and make him think they were on the same side then stab him in the back when he least expected it. That being said Michele Gomez was fantastic, she was kooky, eccentric, creepy and in a few spots she got a good laugh out of me.

Q: It definitely throws the door right open for a female Doctor? Are you in favour?

PersnicketyBitch: It sure is, and yes I’m all for it as long as the Doctor isn’t written as a River Song alike. Just… no.

I think it’d be interesting to cast a Tilda Swinton type. Someone who does otherworldly and ethereal well. Go with a fairy queen version of the character.

DAW: You know I can’t decide what I think of a female doctor, but they certainly seem to be headed that way, don’t they? I keep racking my brain trying to think of some woman who might fill the role and honestly Tilda Swinton could certainly offer an interesting interpretation of the character, but I always end up coming to the same conclusion. If they cast a woman to fill those shoes I want someone who’s relatively unknown.

Q: What do you want to see from the show in the future?

PersnicketyBitch: I’d like to see celebrity guest writers become a fixture. It was something that almost started during the Smith era. Richard Curtis (Blackadder, Love Actually) did an episode. Neil Gaiman (Sandman, American Gods) did a couple. The show has been around for over 50 years. It has influenced generations of storytellers. There’d be plenty of major talents who’d jump at a chance to dabble in the whoniverse.

DAW: The one thing which I’ve really liked about Capaldi (especially in the final episode of this latest season erhm excuse me “series”) is that the doctor really seems to be towing the moral line. How far will he go to do the “right thing”, to keep the baddies from doing innocents harm or to protect his companion(s)? How far can he go before the things he’s done are no longer justifiable? I’d like to see that further explored.


This is the last Mixed Tape for 2014. I hope that you enjoyed reading these collections as much as I and my fellow contributors enjoyed putting them together. I hope that you found a story that turned you on. A story that made you laugh. A story that made you squirm. A story that made you think. I hope that they introduced you an author, or several authors who have since become favourites. I really, really hope you’ll take the time to leave a review (Hint!).

The Mixed Tapes will return in January 2015. Keep an eye out for a more detailed announcement closer to the date.

If there’s anything you’d like to see added to or changed about these collections, speak now.

Until next time.



And because it seems appropriate, given the conceit of these collections, here’s a playlist of all the songs that have been referenced in the Tapes so far: http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLfnx3RRZ6o_uqJVuOHNrq5_kwsojD24uk


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