Trixed
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Todd

Todd was a sexual predator but probably would have considered himself the complete opposite of that. He might well have styled himself as prey – bait to tempt the cougars. He cultivated that image. He was not aggressive in picking up women. He was not physically imposing so he had found a style which he prided himself made him irresistible to women. He was charming and polite and almost innocent – the kind of young man a woman would like to take home.

The Next Day, Early Morning:
Falcon activated the tracker Scout managed to put on Buck’s vehicle. She followed Buck from the club to his house. She noticed Buck had taken one of the dancers with him, leading her by a gold leash attached to a gold collar around her neck. She hung back enough not to let him know she was following him.

She had taken Scout’s souped-up motorcycle. The thing used an electric motor and was extremely quiet. It also had several gadgets built into it. Where she was a huge A-Team fan. Scout was a huge Street Hawk fan from the 80s.

I remembered the night she threw me out. I had worn her sexiest underwear. She hadn’t worn it for years, so one of us may as well use it. I was half way through clipping my stockings to my suspenders when she came in. I thought she would be out seeing her friend until 10.30 at least.

“I bloody knew it, you little queer. You couldn’t leave it alone could you? Well, you can bugger off. I want a real man.”

The Pinky Confessions 7

There is a debate about transgender children. Should a Child be allowed to change gender? Some parents even allow their children to be drag kids! Should we allow this so the child is happy? Or is this just a form of child abuse?
You may know me as Pinky and read a lot about me. This is my story in my words.
A story of who I was, who I wanted to be, who others wanted me to be and who people thought I was

Joe’s Woman
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Joe surveyed his claim with some pride in the early evening light, the red earth of Western Australia made even more red by the final rays of the sun. The portable building they had lived in was still flattened on the slight rise facing Treasure Hill, but the screening plant and loader were now back to full operation after the dust storm of the previous month.

I accidentally wrote this continuation of “It Started With an Opera,” through no fault of my own. Read that first, for context.

I awoke to the smell of eggs and bacon, my dad's favorite way to start the day. I'd intended to stay up and wait for him to come home but I was too exhausted after the day I'd had.

I dreaded going downstairs to meet him. I didn't know how he'd react. We hadn't spent much time together since I came back home insisting I was now his daughter.

I knew I'd always been a bit of a disappointment. I never really enjoyed the same things he did. He'd tried to get me interested in football, he'd wanted to teach me how to properly handle and shoot a gun.

The Colonel’s Assistant
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

When he looked at the calendar on his desk, he noted that it was 300 days until he could elect full retirements benefits. He had been counting the days until May 14, 1972. He wrote “300” on the bottom of his new blotter, on his pristine new desk.

Suspicions
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I am a possessive person. I admit it. I thought that Lauren loved me, and I thought that I loved her. I just felt that we were meant to be together. I thought that our arguments and lack of sex were issues that we could address, but that our relationship would be lasting.

I have to admit that sex was an issue for me, and I never really understood why at the time. Now I realize what the problem was. It seems so stupid that I did not recognize my own nature. I must be the biggest self-deceiver on the planet.

This part has a forced sexual encounter. I know this type of story is not too popular here, but part 1 and 2 have had 3000 hits between them. So it is being read.

Bob came back an hour later reeking of beer. Carol fussed over him while I finished the steak dinner we were making for him. The smell made my mouth water. Carol and I were to just have a salad. Bob says we must keep our slim figures, she told me.

The Apron
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

I don’t believe in magic, but it is hard to think of another explanation. I may not have been the manliest of males, but I was male. Now I am not so sure.

I was helping out in the kitchen as a guy should do, and as I was stirring the meat sauce, and as wearing a while shirt, somebody suggested that I put on an apron. That stuff stains.

Seeking Redemption
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

People do not understand rape. Nobody wants to talk to a rapist about why they do it, unless it is to judge them. A rapist cannot even go to a shrink. They say: “If this is in the past then we may be able to discuss it while respecting confidentiality, but if you are contemplating future offending, then I must report any impending crime.” Contemplating? It those days it was all I could think about. But what do you do?

It Takes a Village
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

My grandfather fought in the Great Patriotic War – what is referred to in the West as World War 2. He was a hero, although he said that they all were. The Soviet Union lost 8,668,400 soldiers in that war, which was 10 times more than all the Western allies combined. But when you add civilian casualties the total people from our nation who died was over 27 million – 12% of the population.

As soon as I woke up I knew something had happened. I felt the warm embrace of sleep slowly slip away. My mind tried to make sense of where I was. A hotel? I didn't remember getting there.

My head felt so heavy. I had almost no strength, this wasn't right. I tried to recall last night. I had been driving through the corn belt region of the midwestern United States. It had long been an ambition of mine to drive from Canada to Mexico.

Retransitioned
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I saw him across the room, and my blood ran cold. I knew when we split up that I would have to avoid all the places that we loved to go to together, and to avoid mixing with people that we knew as a couple, but it seemed to me this was not one of those places. He was not interested in art before he met me, so why would he be at the opening of that exhibition?

The President grinned impishly. “Life in the fishbowl. Just smile and wave, Jessica. Smile and wave!”