Archive for the ‘Stories’ Category

Giselle, or The Wilis

October 29, 2011

A horrifying tale for Halloween!

Giselle is a happy dancing peasant girl. Nothing in the first half of her story will prepare you for what happens in the second half! Ballerinas consider the role of Giselle to be the most challenging of all the major ballets, because Giselle goes through such a dramatic change.

The first act of the ballet is pretty interesting. There is a love triangle, with a creepy peasant guy named Hilarion, who Giselle spurns because, well, he’s creepy and his name is Hilarion.

Anyway, Giselle falls deeply in love with a handsome mysterious stranger. And the two new lovers do much happy dancing together. Then a royal entourage passes through Giselle’s little village. Giselle and her mama offer them hospitality, and Giselle gets to meet the royal lady who is engaged to marry the Count.

Then, as so often happens in love triangles, the story starts to turn sinister. Creepy Hilarion discovers an unpleasant secret about the handsome stranger. Breaking into the stranger’s cabin, Hilarion finds a sword– a royal sword! The handsome stranger– he is actually the Count! This is a secret that’s too good to keep, so Hilarion makes sure that Giselle finds this sword as well.

And so Giselle discovers that the handsome stranger that she fell in love with is engaged to marry another woman. She goes mad, running through the village with her lover’s sword, in an erratic wild dance that is probably the most disturbing part of the entire ballet.

The happy peasant girl completely vanishes, what’s left is a raving madwoman. Her grief has robbed her of her senses. She waves the sword around wildly, and suddenly gripped in a fit of passion, stabs herself to death.

This was in 1841. 119 years later, Alfred Hitchcock would be called a genius for killing off Janet Leigh in the early scenes of his movie Psycho.

But never mind about that. It is time for the curtain to rise on act two.

Giselle stands in front of her grave.

She is a ghost. Sort of.

She meets a ghostly queen. The Queen of the Wilis. A Wili is an evil female spirit. In life, they were young women who died before their wedding night. They dress in full white gowns like brides, with tiny wings on their backs and a wreath of white flowers in their hair. They kill people, usually men, but it doesn’t really matter to them. They were betrayed in life and they take revenge in the afterlife.

It is a Wili’s job to linger at the shores of a lake, waiting for a weary traveler to pass by. They surround him and they dance him to death, leaving him to drown at the bottom of the lake.

Giselle is a ghost. But she’s not just any kind of ghost. She wears a full white gown like a bride, and tiny wings on her back, and a wreath of white flowers in her hair.

And she has a job, and she’s expected to do it, for the rest of eternity.

A weary traveler is walking down the road. A creepy peasant guy with a goofy name. Yes, it’s Hilarion. Giselle watches as a horde of the Wilis surround him and destroy him.

There is a kind of ghastly justice to this, and personally I can’t feel anything other than enjoyment to see creepy old Hilarion get what’s coming to him. But then, what’s this? Another traveler on the road appears.

The Count has come to lay flowers on Giselle’s grave.

There is a dawning realization here. Why would the Count think twice about a  peasant he had a little fling with? Why isn’t he back in his castle, or off chasing another girl?

There is only one answer of course, and it’s true love. It’s too bad his fate is sealed. And so of course, is Giselle’s. She has a job to do. She has been betrayed, and it is her job to take revenge. Now and forever.

The Wilis then swarm around the Count, ready for another kill. Giselle should be the one to deliver the killing blow.

But she refuses. Giselle defends the Count and forgives him.

Her love transcends all, and triumphs over fate. The Count escapes the Wilis with his life. Giselle escapes them too. She melts away, away to wherever it is the dead go off to.




October 23, 2011

The wise woman walks down the road to me. She is holding a fruit in her hand. “Most people are oranges,” she says. “Orange on the outside, orange on the inside. What you see is what you get. They are quite tasty and sweet of course, but God didn’t want a world of oranges.” She hands me a plum. “You, my precious one, are a plum. Dark purple on the outside like a king, and filled with blonde juiciness inside, like a fragile princess. Hold up your head and be proud. A plum that dreams of being an orange is not nearly as sweet.”

Swishy pantybutt

October 18, 2011

What we have here is a forced feminization audio I wrote several years back for a phone domme named Bree who worked at sissy school. (If you dislike forced femme, you don’t have to listen. This is only for fans of the “genre.”)

I lost track of Bree in recent years, but if I manage to locate her again, I will link this post to her blog or wherever she might be.

I wrote a bunch of these audios and some of them turned out pretty good. I think this is one of the best, because of Bree’s sweet voice and her obvious enthusiasm for teasing sissies.

Click the photo to listen:

He Floats

September 27, 2011

This is the beginning of a new story, tentatively titled He Floats.

copyright 2011 Giselle Little

Sandra Kay stood at the crest of Mount Carson, her boots deep in a snowdrift. The valley lay beneath a gorgeous autumn sky. She took deep lungfuls of the crisp, slightly thin air. She could smell a hint of snow arriving. It snowed here often, so often it seemed a bit odd that it wasn’t snowing right now. There was another element she could sense in the air…almost a perfume? A funny thing, so late in the season.
There would be something strange about the coming snow. Sandra wasn’t sure how she knew this, but she didn’t question it.
She stretched her lithe, 22 year old frame, feeling the weight of the pack on her back and shoulders. Behind her, she could hear her hiking partner, the snowdrift crunching and thumping at her arrival.
Sandra thought she had been hiking with a girl friend from high school, and was a bit surprised to see Mr. Petty arrive instead. He nodded as she handed him the water bottle. He drank deeply but quickly, and handed her the bottle back. He had no pack on his back, and no clothing on.
I wonder how he could possibly be comfortable like that, Sandra thought to herself. She wondered again if this was all a dream, but it all felt too vivid. She stared out at the vista of their small town below. Too much detail in those rooftops. She could almost count the shingles.
She turned back to Mr. Petty and admired his naked body. He was lean, not overly muscular, a very nice frame for a man his age. No point in hiding everything after all, Sandra thought to herself. If he wants to go hiking in the nude, it’s his right.
In a moment the snow arrived and when it touched her shoulders, Sandra realized she was naked as well. She expected the normal stinging freeze and cold roll of melted flakes, but this snow was softer than any substance she had ever felt against her skin. It piled on to her body and flowed around her backpack to form a shining hooded kimono of gentle lace. She tugged at the long sleeves and they widened into the full butterfly sleeve she preferred.
She turned to see the snow had gathered on Mr. Petty’s body in a different configuration. A lacy veil covered his head and his upper chest was covered in dotted swiss lace. His garment fell in large folds to the ground. Sandra quickly rushed behind him and fixed the sash behind him, tugging the lace so the bow would be fuller. Mr. Petty still hadn’t said a word, but he seemed as nervous as any of the young brides-to-be that Sandra served at work.
The snow smelled heavily of magnolias. Either that, or Mr. Petty did. He swayed nervously as Sandra pulled his skirts out from the sides.
“You look beautiful, don’t fret,” she whispered, as she often did at work. She took his face in her hands and watched as tiny tendril curls popped out from either side of the lace veil.
Then she turned and reached into her pack. “Lips?” she said authoritatively.
Mr. Petty leaned toward her, his back straight, bending from the hips, arms out, fingers spread apart. He pursed his lips and puckered as she withdrew a lipstick from her pack.
The lipstick exploded with a loud bang, leaving Sandra staring at her bedroom ceiling.


In the days that passed, Sandra found it difficult to stop herself imagining Mr. Petty in his full lace bridal gown. His house was only a short distance from hers, and Juliet Passion was on the corner across from the alley. When she dressed the mannequins in the window, she pretended they were Mr. Petty.
One day when she got home, she got out her colored pencils and drew the image that haunted her. Mr. Petty leaning toward her, pursing his lips, his full-skirted gown gathered around him.
And finally, she got to paint those offered lips.


If the dream came back, she would have welcomed it, but instead she got the usual waiting room dreams, the dreams with crickets, and one with a fantastical flying elephant that must have been the size of a blimp. But not a trace of Mount Carson, not a flake of magical snow.
Weeks passed, and she drew many sketches of Mr. Petty. And finally, her dreamself rewarded her patience.


Sandra sat in Juliet Passion, gowned in satin with exquisite beadwork, flipping through one of the large books of bridesmaid’s gowns. She could feel those same butterflies, the ones that every bride must feel. Behind her stood Mr. Petty.
“You look beautiful, don’t fret,” he whispered assuringly.
“But I need a bridesmaid! Would you help?” she fumbled with her hairpiece, a huge tiara with a blusher veil attached.
“You need a man.” Mr. Petty removed his suit jacket.
Sandra ignored him and turned back to the big book. “Something like this one,” she said, laying her finger on the picture of a very short peach dress with ruffled short sleeves. When she turned back to him, he was wearing it.
Mr. Petty was outraged. “I can’t do this! Look!” He hiked the dress up to his hips, displaying his genitals boldly.
A crystal box appeared in Sandra’s lap. Without thinking, she reached forward and grabbed him there, detaching his male parts and placing them in the box.
The lid snapped shut with a ring of finality. She looked down to see his longish prick squirm around in the box, whining like a newborn pup. His testicles scurried after it.
Mr. Petty pouted and smoothed his skirts down. She looked up at him and wrinkled her nose. “It’s all wrong. Your dress needs more oomph.”
“Oomph?” he sounded miffed.
“A lot more oomph!” she insisted, and was happy to see the dress shorten its hemline and open its neckline, exposing a sweet décolletage. He twirled in surprise, and his skirt lifted, lighter than air.
She smiled and approached him, popping a full straw sunhat on his head and tying the peach streamer sashes around his chin.
“And now,” she said, holding a lipstick like a maestro’s baton. “Lips?”
But just before her crowning success, Mr. Petty broke away and scurried over to the crystal box, clawing it open.
A gentle clockwork chime began to play and a tiny ballerina popped up in the box. She pirouetted and sang happily with the chiming tune. “See the pretty girl in the mirror there? Who can that attractive girl be? Such a pretty face such a pretty smile such a pretty–”
A pink pearl necklace floated out of the box and coiled around Mr. Petty’s throat. Two pink pearls shaped like hearts attached themselves to his earlobes.
The box was empty, except for the tiny spring-operated ballerina, who took a dainty curtsey, clutching a bouquet of roses. The box snapped shut as Mr. Petty dropped it on the ground.
He ran around the bridal shop, but was hemmed in by racks of dresses. He quickly found himself in a corner, and Sandra finally closed in on him, pointing her lipstick at him.
At last, she thought to herself. At last I will have some satisfaction.
“Not from a dream,” said Mr. Petty sadly. His sunhat bobbed as he shook his head. Then he vanished, leaving Sandra with the heady scent of magnolias.

Searching for Melody

September 26, 2011

Kudos to Good Reads for the oddest search results of the day:

That’s right, Goodreads, I always type Melody Blossoms when I mean to type holiday blessings!


And if you’re new to my blog, let me greet you with a friendly 9781465920355 — oops I meant, hello!

Melody’s on iTunes

August 26, 2011

Forgive the crowing, but I just gotta brag on this. Melody Blossoms is on the iTunes store! Buy it there if you want to read it on an iPhone, iPod Touch or iPad.

I don’t think I can express what a thrill this image gives me. I don’t even have any of those iThings and it’s questionable if I’d ever get to the economic bracket that can afford them, but it does feel like I might finally have a shot at the bigtime.

Finally in print

August 21, 2011

It took me forever to finish this, but my first novel is now available for purchase in a dizzying array of ebook formats including kindle .mobi, pdf, epub, rtf and etc.

The cover photo is by my lil sister, Kita Sparkles.

If this project is well-received I’ll probably write more in this style. I think it’s a really fun story and lots of my friends would really like it. Thing is, I’ve been working on it so long that I’m not in touch with any friends any more.

Anyway, the story is about a romance between a crossdressing boy and a really fun and smart girl (the kind of girl I always thought I’d eventally meet, but that’s another story, or actually it’s not). It’s mostly a comedy but there are some real problems and issues that Clarence needs to deal with in the course of his adventures with Melody. But mostly, it’s just every crazy off-the-wall situation I could dream up, some very funny and memorable characters and the kind of dialog that you’ve all come to expect from a nut like me.

A little free excerpt to whet your appetite:

“Now just a little cold cream,” Harriet approached him with the open jar.
“Nooo– nobody else had to wear that!”
Harriet shushed him and applied a layer of white cream to his face. “Don’t worry about everyone else. This is your night, Melody … I want it to be extra special. A girl’s first slumber party is a big milestone in her life.”
“I’m not really a girl,” pouted Clarence as she coated his face with the white cream.
“Yes you are. Don’t tell lies. You’re really a girl. Really really really really a girl,” she cooed.
“I’m not, I’m not!”
Harriet gave him a look. “Close your eyes,” she instructed.
He obeyed without thinking.
“Now think … you go to charm school. You work in a beauty salon. Miss Reese uses all kinds of cosmetics on you. You wear a bra and panties every day. You jumped rope in the playground. You shaved your legs and now you’re at your first slumber party. Does that sound like a macho man?”
“Umm …”
“It’s a rhetorical question, cutie. You don’t have to answer.”
Clarence kept his eyes shut and enjoyed the feel of her soft hands massaging the fragrant cream into his forehead, his cheeks, his neck. It almost felt like he was made of clay, soft clay that Harriet could mold into whatever shape she pleased.
An image formed in his mind’s eye. An neglected little girl, stained with cinders, hiding in the shadows, is suddenly discovered by her fairy godmother. The fairy smiles and waves her magic wand, and the girl is surrounded by a wave of sparkly magical energy. The sparkles blossom and the girl is transformed into a beautiful princess in a breathtaking satin ballgown.
Clarence shivered. If Harriet wanted him to be a girl, and treated him like a girl, and made him behave like a girl, was he still a boy? And if Miss Tara taught him to act like a girl, and Miss Reese made him pretty as a girl, and Fern and Betty and Ruby made him feel like a girl, how could he possibly be a boy?
And if he wasn’t a boy, what was he?
But there was no time to ponder such deep questions. The party had begun. With his eyes shut he could imagine the girl who was eagerly leading him by the hand was really a girl named Melody.

The Book

August 16, 2011

Artwork by Lovely Locks

“Let me fix you, Stephan. You will be the first story in the book.”

Binqq from Klontarf snapped on the arachnotube to report her latest findings. “I am approaching the unnamed star. Unfortunately the larger planets in this system are uninhabited and unsuitable for conquest. The only sign of life here is a very primitive organism on the third planet. My scans indicate they are barely worth the notice of our beloved Imperial Pomegranate (may her name be honored eternally). I recommend this region be officially classified as BKC … Beneath Klontarfian Contempt. Binqq out.”

The arachnotube crackled as Binqq’s communique was shuttled an inconceivable number of light-years to Central Command on the Klontarfian homeworld. It was several nanoseconds before Binqq got her reply — however, due to the complexity of their brains, this was enough time for a Klontarfian to write sixteen sonnets, bake a souffle and genetically engineer a new race of microorganisms that instinctively sing symphonies made famous by the great Klontarfian mezzo-impressario, Berkk Bakkarakk.

So Binqq had plenty of time to ponder what the klonk was taking so long, and if she was going to be stuck dealing with dumb old Krikkenhazzer again.

“Your request is denied, Binqq,” Krikkenhazzer’s nasal monotone blatted out of the arachnotube, parting Binqq’s hair with the force of Krikkenhazzer’s annoying aura. “Proceed to third planet immediately and commence conquest with extreme prejudice.”

“Extreme prejudice? Madame Krikkenhazzer, this klonking planet is mostly water, and its inhabitants have only two eyes in their heads!”

“How many heads?”

“Only one!”

“Binqq, your orders are to commence conquest,” droned Krikkenhazzer as Binqq struggled to keep her hair straight. “And if you say klonking to me one more time I’ll come down there and wash out your arachnotube with limefire, is that clear?”

“Crystalline, Madame,” sighed Binqq.

“You will test a new invention by my Aunt, the Duchess of Blarffingwaffle. It is called a book.”

“A book?” The name sounded utterly alien to poor Binqq.

“Yes, a book. You point it at someone and then use your imagination. It is awesome in its power. Well, actually we have no idea how it works but you’ll find it attached inside your ship’s escape pod. Your orders are to take that book and experiment on the one-headed denizens of that backward water-planet. Then report back with your results. How did it go?”

“I haven’t arrived there yet, Madame Krikkenhazzer.”

“How about now? Are you there yet?” Krikkenhazzer was demonstrating one of the drawbacks of multithreaded instantaneous intelligence — she, like all Klontarfians, was astonishingly impatient.

“I will report back with my results, as soon as I have any!” bleated Binqq, snapping off the arachnotube before Krikkenhazzer blew her hair off.

Binqq sat and sighed and arranged her heads carefully. Then she synthesized a new substitute for poured concrete and invented twenty forms of government, six religions and a computer virus that could turn every machine in the galaxy into Laughing Cow cheese. This took approximately one-tenth of a second, but she needed to unwind.

Then she stood up on her organic wheels and spun into her ship’s escape pod. She wanted to examine this klonking book contraption as soon as possible.

It was a rectangular object that opened at her touch. Thin sheets of some dried substance was sandwiched between the covers. The thing didn’t seem to be a weapon of any kind. Would these benighted oneheads even know what to do with it?

The last time the Duchess of Blarffingwaffle invented a secret weapon, half the population of Gondulsteen ended up with flippers growing out their unmentionable orifices. Binqq carefully placed the book into the ship’s launch chute and pressed the eject key. From her vantage point miles above the planet, she switched on the telephotocon and watched as the book descended into the atmosphere.

The best way to handle this hot klontato, Binqq decided, was to let the oneheads deal with it …


Eva saw something drop in the woods. She had nothing better to do, so she walked over to see what it was. It was either that or stay in her backyard, and Eva had seven brothers. Seven!

Orville was the eldest, then came Tony and Teddy, Forrest and Frank, and Seth and Stephan. Eva was the youngest.

It had been a long boring stupid summer for Eva. All her brothers wanted to do was play baseball and each of them was more awful at it than the next. Mom lost count of how many windows had been shattered that June, and somehow her brothers always blamed it on Eva.

It was enough to make a girl walk out into the woods, even if she hadn’t seen a tail of fire whooshing down near Pismo Lake.

But when Eva got there, all she could see was a book sitting by the shore. It wasn’t even hot when she picked it up. What kind of book was this? Who left it here?

When she opened it, it was blank.

Then a light shined out of the book and into Eva’s eyes.


It was as if the woods had vanished. Eva was inside something — not like inside a tent, but inside some kind of a thing that wasn’t a mind … but was built to work just like one.

“What do you want?” she asked the book.

Hummm, the book replied. What do you want?

“Well, I expected a nice story … maybe a whole bunch of stories. Stories for a girl like me. Even a goofy old boy’s story would have been okay, but you’re blank. You have nothing inside.”

I am blank, the book agreed. But one day someone will fill me up. All I need is a story teller. And …

“And what? What else do you need?”

That depends on my story teller. Will you be my story teller?

“I don’t know. What would I have to do? I liked the stories in my big old book, but Teddy threw it and broke the binding and all the pages fell out.”

You can tell me the stories from your big old book. You will be Story Teller Eva.

“You can put all those stories on your blank pages? Stories for a girl like me? That would totally rock!”

I do believe I can. But Story Teller Eva, you will have to feed me.

“Um … what?” Eva looked around and felt little goosebumps spring out.

I don’t know what ‘stories for a girl like me’ are. You will have to feed me.

“Feed you stories?”

Feed me girls. What are girls? I think they are organisms similar to you. I could try to use you, but you are my Story Teller. I need other girls too.

“Listen, I’m the only girl in this family … all I have is brothers and more brothers, and they’re only boys. And even if I was lucky enough to have other girls around, I wouldn’t let you eat them just for some stories.”

Hummm, the book carefully digested this information. I think I am explaining it wrong. I don’t actually eat anyone. It’s more like … like I take their picture.

“Well, you can’t take pictures of any girls if there are nothing but boys around!”

A leaf blew past them. The book trapped it in its beam of light.

What is this? This is not a girl. Is it an enemy?

“No, it’s a leaf. I don’t have any enemies.”

You must be a mighty warrior, to have destroyed all your enemies. I could have helped with that. I am equipped with many weapons.

Eva stared up at the leaf, still trapped in midair. “Don’t be creepy. I don’t want you to hurt anyone. Besides, you know what Abraham Lincoln said.”

What is an Abraham Lincoln? Feed me.

“The best way to destroy your enemy is to make him your friend.”

That is odd. Boys are not your enemies?  

“Gosh, well, sometimes they are, but not really really my enemies, you know?”

Story Teller Eva, please explain. After the brother boy Teddy threw your old story book and it broke and the pages fell out, and you wanted to read the stories for girls like you, and you couldn’t, after all that, why wasn’t he your enemy and why didn’t you destroy him?

“Well … because it’s just not polite to go around destroying other people.”

The book flipped the leaf over thoughfully. Where I come from, everyone destroys everyone. Even the coffeepots have fifteen different kinds of death rays.

Then the book analyed the leaf’s cellular structure and tried some mutations. It gave the leaf a pretty little face and a little body similar to Eva’s. The little green creature looked itself over, laughed in delight and flew off to admire itself in the lake’s shiny surface.

Was that polite? the book asked.

“Whoa,” was all Eva could say.

I will not require girls for your story book. Story Teller Eva?


Story Teller Eva, feed me your brothers.


“Where did she go?” asked Teddy, swatting a branch out of his way.

“Who cares? I wanna play baseball!” Stephan whined.

“No one cares what you want,” Orville answered smugly.

“This is stupid,” moaned Stephan. “Why are we following Eva?”

Orville grabbed him by the shoulders. His eyes narrowed. “We’re not following her. We’re hunting.”


Eva came around the bend to see Orville sitting on the big tree stump.

“Sit on my lap,” Orville said with a crooked grin.

“Not again!” she tossed her head angrily. From behind a bush she thought she heard someone laugh.

“Aww Eva, come on,” coaxed Orville in his creepy squeaky voice. “I promise I won’t tickle you this time.”

“You said that last time,” pouted Eva. “You are a stinkin’ liar, Orville.”

“What’s that you got?” Orville pointed at the book.

“Nothing,” she turned to go, and Orville grabbed her.

Her brothers emerged from behind the overgrowth, chuckling, as Orville pulled Eva onto his lap and began tickling. She howled and kicked but she couldn’t escape his big bony arms no matter how she squirmed.

“Stop!” she cried. “It’s not funny!” But they all kept laughing.

She tried to hit Orville with the book but it bounced out of her hands and fell on the ground. She couldn’t escape his tickling fingers, and eventually succumbed to fits of giggles.

“We all get to tickle Eva!” Stephan cackled with glee, dancing around the tree stump like a manic gnome. “We ALL do!”

“Shut up, doofus!” laughed Frank, booting him in the butt.

By then Eva was laughing and crying at the same time. Orville pushed her off his lap and into the bushes. He intended to reach over and pick up the book, but Stephan bumped into him, so he grabbed his little brother, pulled his shirt off and ran away with it. The other boys took off after Orville, laughing and hooting and totally forgetting Eva.


Stephan tried to follow after his brothers but he got turned around in the woods and began trailing off in a different direction. After what seemed like a long time, he realized he had been traveling in a huge circle … or had he? That tree stump sure looked familiar, but maybe it was a different one … he shivered without his shirt.

A tattered trash bag hung in a tree. Stephan pulled it down from the branches and wrapped it around himself for a tiny bit of warmth. It used to be white but it had some kind of stuff growing on it that made it a mottled pinkish-red.

As he crossed past the bushes, he saw his little sister in front of him.

She had that stupid book of hers open. A light seemed to be shining up from out of the book into her face.

“Why are you shivering, dear brother?” Eva asked in an unearthly voice. “Are you scared of the big bad wolf?”

Stephan’s jaw dropped. “I ain’t scared. Only stupid little girlies are scared!” he stuck out his tongue.

“Let me fix you, Stephan. You will be the first story in the book.” Eva turned the book toward her brother and a blinding light shined on him.

When the light faded, Stephan was gone. A frightened girl in a red cloak stood in his place. She looked around in amazement and clutched her basket of goodies close.

“Pardon me, Miss,” the girl said politely to Eva. “I’m on my way to my grandmother’s house and I seem to be lost.” She lifted the hem of her red dress and curtseyed daintily. “My name is Red Riding Hood. Who are you?”

“Hi, I’m Eva. I’m your new sister.” Eva smiled and Red Riding Hood hugged her new playmate.


Teddy and Frank were a short distance away, headed toward the house.

“When she gets back tonight, we should all pelt her with mudballs,” laughed Teddy. “Wham! Smack! Kapow!” he guffawed and gestured as if throwing armloads of goopy mud at his little sister.

“You have no style,” Frank chided. “You should wait until Sunday, when she’s all dolled up in her white dress!”

They both whooped with laughter.

“Hey let’s find a beetle to put in her bed,” Frank snickered. He clapped his hands and ducked off to lift a big rock.

A few little centipedes scurried away. Suddenly he saw a huge snake slither out of the grass! Frank almost dropped the rock on himself in surprise. He rolled over onto his back, and looked up to see Eva standing over him.

“Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet,” Eva said with a smile.

Frank scratched his head. “Who are you calling Little Miss Muffet?” he growled.

“You!” she laughed. “You are the next story!”

There was a brilliant flash of light, and a little girl in an old fashioned costume was suddenly sitting there, eating a bowl of cereal.

“Hello, Eva,” said the girl, smiling up at her. “Would you like to share some curds with me?”

Eva giggled, marveling at the girl’s cute blonde curls framed by her snow white bonnet. Before she could say another word, a little crawly thing skittered up into her lap. Miss Muffet leapt to her feet and shrieked at the top of her lungs. Her cereal bowl plopped down on the ground and she ran off howling.

Eva turned around laughing mischievously, and almost got hit with one of Teddy’s mudballs!

“Nearly got you!” Teddy laughed.

“Tsk tsk! A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be digging around in the dirt,” Eva scolded. “…Unless of course, she has a garden.”

“Have you flipped?” Teddy asked in surprise. Then the light from the book shined on him, and he turned into a lovely little girl in a big victorian dress and a flowered sun hat.

“Mary Mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow?” Eva asked her newest sister.

The girl curtseyed and replied. “With silver bells and cockle shells, and pretty maids all in a row.”

Eva smiled and watched as Mary Mary sprinkled water on her flowers from a pink watering can.


A bunny scampered across the path in front of Eva. A moment later, Tony ran along in hot pursuit. He had his slingshot out and was ready to let loose when Eva knocked the weapon out of his hand.

“What’s the matter with you? I almost had it!” Tony yelped in frustration.

“This is more important. I want you to be in my story book,” explained Eva. She turned the book around and a beam of light washed over him. A moment later, a blonde girl in a pale blue dress stood before her.

“Where’s your apron?” asked Eva. “Alice always wears a white apron!” She jostled the book and suddenly a frilly white apron danced over and wrapped itself around Alice.

“Pardon me, Miss, have you seen a white rabbit pass by?” Alice asked her sister in a charming English accent.

A moment later, a blonde girl in a pale blue dress stood before her.


A while later, Eva came upon Seth, slouched in the shade of an apple tree.

“It’s your turn to do the dishes,” Seth said to her without looking up.

“I did them yesterday!” Eva objected.

“Yeah well, I ain’t doing them so it’s your turn again.” He smiled smugly.

“It’s not fair to make me do the chores all the time! How would you feel if your sisters made you do the chores all the time?”

“Yeah well, I only have one sister and she’s too little to make me do nothing,” sneered Seth.

“You have more sisters than you think, Seth.”

He looked up at her. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

But before he had finished the sentence, Seth turned into Cinderella.

Eva laughed as he quivered in his sooty rags. “Did you do all the dishes?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss Eva, and I swept the floors and washed all the windows. Please let me go to the ball! Pleeeease?”

Try as she might, Eva really couldn’t bring herself to be mean to her sister. She opened the book again and let the light engulf Cinderella. They both gasped to see her in a glittery blue ballgown and twinkling glass slippers.

“I saw that!” hollered Forrest, running up to the girls. “You pointed that light at Seth and turned him into … into a freaking fairy princess!”

“I’m not a fairy princess, sir,” objected Cinderella. “Merely a simple country girl.”

“Turn him back!” Forrest commanded Eva.

“Oh that wouldn’t be fair,” smiled Eva. “She so wants to go to the ball.”

“Truly I do!” pleaded Cinderella.

“I don’t care!” shouted Forrest. He whirled on Eva, “How could you do this to your brother?”

“The same way I did to Stephan, and to Teddy and Frank and to Tony too!”

Forrest turned pale. “They’re all girls out of storybooks?”

“Not really. Teddy and Frank are nursery rhyme girls, and Stephan is a folktale.”

Forrest turned desperately to the girl in the ball gown. “Seth, buddy, don’t you even remember being a boy? Don’t you want to go back to doing all the fun stuff we do?”

Cinderella blushed, “Wellll, yes I do remember all those wild, savage things I did. But I’m a girl now, Forrest. I dearly do want to go to the ball!”

“And I want sisters! I’ve had brothers for nine years now!” pouted Eva. “Enough with the brothers already!”

Forrest shook his head in amazement. He tried to stammer out a reply, but no words would come.

“Give me that book!” he finally shouted. “I’m the biggest and I get to decide!”

“Nooo!” Eva tried to hold the book in her hands, but Forrest was the tallest and strongest of all her brothers and she felt him prying the book out of her grasp.

“It isn’t fair!” sobbed Eva. “You’re always the biggest! That means you always get to decide everything, even if you’re not the smartest or the oldest or even the most grown up!”

Forrest didn’t even bother to answer. He just wrenched the book out of Eva’s hands.

“Now how does this thing work?” he asked, flipping it open. He was shocked to see an illustration of Little Red Riding Hood that looked distressingly similar to Stephan.

“I’ll show you,” Eva pushed the book more closely to her brother’s face. “Look into the light.”

Forrest squinted as the light dazzled him. “Stop singing — I’m trying to figure this out.”

His sisters didn’t answer. They had joined hands and were dancing and singing together. Finally he was able to make out their words.

“Thumbelina Thumbelina, tiny little thing … Thumbelina dance, Thumbelina sing …”

Then the book became very heavy and very large. The earth suddenly lurched up as Forrest shrank down down down to the size of the smallest girl of all, the tiny Thumbelina.

Story Teller Eva? asked the book in the grass. I need to explain to you … I was hardwired to never reveal that you are being monitored. I still should have told you. It was not … polite of me.

“Did you say something?” Eva said as she picked up the book.

Hummm. It had taken the book a great deal of time and effort to override the many failsafes and traps designed to prevent it from saying what it just said. Now it would have to run the entire obstacle course again.

Hummm. Just know I’m sorry, Story Teller Eva. I’m sorry about what will happen now.


The earth suddenly lurched up as Binqq from Klontarf stepped out of the electro-transporto beam and strapped on her deathmitts. She had seen the onehead playing with the book, and clearly, the book wasn’t doing much of anything. The people only had one head before the lightbeam touched them, and afterward, they still only had one head. The Duchess of Blarffingwaffle’s invention was a failure.

Binqq still had to retrieve it, of course. And as long as she was here, she may as well lay waste to the planet and claim its remains as property of the klonking beloved Imperial Pomegranate.

Binqq sighed. She knew they wouldn’t cooperate. These backward primitives never do. The rivers would run white with their dust, or whatever colored dust they had in their body cavities.


“Where the devil are all of you?” Orville shouted from the yard. For the first time since he could remember, none of his brothers were around. He was so used to them flocking around him. Sure, Forrest was now the tallest, but even he looked up to Orville as their natural born leader.

Orville was used to this treatment. To him it simply was the way things ought to be, and when one of the others didn’t follow, he took it as a personal insult. Eva was always wandering off on her own, the dippy kid. No matter what he tried on her, she didn’t seem to get the message. Orville just didn’t know what to do with the daffy girl. Should he shun her entirely, the way she apparently shunned him? What if the others began to follow her example and went off in their own directions?

The thought bothered him. A lot.

What good is a leader if nobody follows him? He’s nothing.

Orville picked up the baseball bat, then angrily threw it down.

Deep in the woods, he thought he heard a girl laughing. Then, “Ba-a-a-a-a-ah!”

“Eva?” Orville hollered. “You better get back here, there are dishes to do!”

From another part of the woods, a girlish giggle was heard.

Then, “Ba-a-a-a-a-ah!”

From all over the woods, Orville could hear girls calling, “Ba-a-a-a-a-ah!”

Then he turned and saw Eva standing next to him.

“Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep,” she pouted. Then she opened her book.

A servorobot swooped down on them and snatched the book out of Eva’s hands. Eva and Orville watched in astonishment as the servorobot flew around in an arc, returning to a short green multiheaded creature that rolled into their yard. Binqq plucked the book out of the servorobot’s mandibles.

“Hey give me that back! That’s my storybook!” Eva cried at the creature.

In reply, Binqq pointed one of her deathmitts and disintegrated their garage.

Then she rolled over toward the terrified children.

“Bring your queen to me, so that she may surrender to the mighty Imperial Pomegranate of Klontarf!” Binqq thundered.

“Our … queen?” squeaked Orville.

“I … I am the queen of the earth,” Eva said, trying her best not to quiver. “And this is my, uh, trusted cohort.”

“You may refer to me as Binqq. Why is he laughing?”

“He’s … well, he’s awestruck by your magnificence, O Binqq.”

“Well, let’s get this over with. The Empire of Klontarf, in the person of the beloved Imperial Pomegranate (may her name be honored eternally), officially lays claim to all your lands and resources and peoples and trademarks and intellectual property. Any attempt by you to resist our might is strictly prohibited. The Empire can simply launch a dark matter warhead into your sun, vaporizing your solar system instantly. Why is he still laughing?”

“He … heehee … I think he wants you to sit on his lap.”

“Yes,” agreed Orville. “It’s how we surrender.”

Binqq rolled her seventy-three eyes. “Fine.”

Cinderella, Mary Mary, Red Riding Hood, Thumbelina, Alice and Miss Muffet crept back into the yard and watched as the little green alien wheeled over to their brother and seated herself on his lap.

Another disadvantage to the monstrously huge brains of the Klontarifans was that their bodies had approximately 16,000 percent more nerve endings than humans. Klontarfians, in fact, were the most sensitive creatures in the universe, at least since the Eerdwarks had been driven extinct by an invasion of butterflies in the year Aught Cubed.

It took Orville about thirty seconds to get Binqq to promise to leave the solar system and classify it as uninhabited. Then her squirming and giggling forced her to drop the book.

Eva scooped it up and used it to imagine Binqq safely and quickly off on her way. And just to be sure, she imagined that Binqq would keep her promise for the rest of her born days.


The children celebrated their victory all evening by dancing and singing around the yard. Mom was a little surprised to see how many famous daughters she suddenly had, but they were such a cheerful bunch, she was happy to have them, and more than a bit relieved to see none of her windows had been smashed that day by foul balls. She served them each an extra slice of pie.

No one told Mom about the garage.

Alice talked about her adventures after she chased the white rabbit, and Mary Mary gave each of her sisters a fresh bouquet from her garden. Cinderella shared her frustration after discovering there wasn’t a ball within miles of their house. Mom promised to take her to a cotillion which was being held in town next week, which cheered her up a little.

“That’s really some dress you’ve got on there,” Orville said to Miss Muffet. “But don’t you want to go back to being a boy again?”

“Oh please … don’t remind me,” Miss Muffet replied with a blush. “Of course I remember being Frank and playing with all those icky spiders and frogs and things. But now I just want to play with my sisters and laugh and sing. I’d be miserable as a boy.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t turn me into a girl too,” Orville told Eva. “I don’t think Little Bo Peep would be as good as tickling aliens as I am.”

“Only one way to find out,” smiled Eva.

She reached for her book, but then changed her mind. Orville was the only brother she had left now, and she honestly didn’t like the idea of losing all of them.

And after all, tomorrow is another day.

©2009 by Giselle

The Story of Story Sites

December 28, 2008

If you’re a regular visitor to the mammoth tg fiction archive Fictionmania, you’ve been going through some serious story withdrawal for the past two months. What the hell is going on? According to Sapphire, one of the fabulous Fictionmania Task Force, they’ve been having server troubles, and since it’s all run by volunteers, it’s taking a while to get it all back online again. Sapphire addressed some of the rumors about Fictionmania’s demise in this post on Crystal’s Cyberboard at

Storysite is another mammoth tg fiction archive that came into being at a time when it looked like Fictionmania was truly gone and never coming back. Unfortunately, Storysite is experiencing its own troubles, stemming from being a massive free archive with no income-generating business behind it. Crystal addresses these troubles in this post, and also gives us a glimpse of the early days of tg fiction on the web. The upshot is, Storysite will not be adding new stories for awhile, although you can still go there and read thousands of great stories for free. You can also donate, if you want to see them stay afloat.

So where can you find new tg fiction? TopShelf is one of the sites worth investigating, although you will have to register in order to see everything that’s there and take advantage of all the search functions. TopShelf is the current incarnation of the site formerly known as Big Closet, and most regulars still refer to it as Big Closet. The advantage it has over Fictionmania and Storysite is, authors can directly post their story to the web, rather than submitting it to a volunteer task force to be read, formatted and catalogued. So you wouldn’t have to wait months to see your story online. There are still a few issues that are not fully addressed by this setup … I don’t fully understand how they can prevent an “author” from posting spam or kiddie porn or fatwas from Osama. The other problem is, lots of people are reluctant to log in. Not all tg’s are bold pioneers. Many of us cherish our anonymity.

Where else might you get your story fix? Stardust and are both worthy of mention, although I haven’t delved into them deeply enough to comment on either. Both seem to follow the conventions established at TopSite, allowing authors to post directly to the site and inviting visitors to register and log in at each visit.

In the “no login necessary” category, there are some great stories at Sapphire’s Place, although it has not been updated in a few months. The Nifty TG Archive has been around forever, and they’re still around. Nifty is part of a larger archive of gay and lesbian stories, that’s why a few big strapping ultramasculine dudes feature in so many of the tg stories there. The ASSTR archive will let you do transvestite and trans-gender keyword searches within their larger archive of “sex stories.” Other available keywords: vegetables, robots, voraphilia (love of being eaten alive), bible, and oviposition (google it!). There’s a lot of stuff here but I’m not crazy about sorting through it all.

Literotica also has a “transsexuals and crossdressers” story section with over 2,000 stories. I found a post on how to search their archive here.

About a year ago I predicted the demise of Petticoat Discipline Quarterly, however they are still going along fine under the management of Auntie Helga. PDQ is mostly in the form of short letters, and they deal with some themes that not everyone will like, but they certainly deserve a mention.

If you’ve read this far, and are still reading, I’m impressed. Hopefully I’ve inspired you to look into a few new sites, instead of repeatedly hitting that Fictionmania link and getting “site not found.”

Let me know if you find something you like.

The Pink Fruit

November 8, 2007

It was some kind of pink orb, dripping. It was fragrant and very sweet. Robin turned it over in his hand and bit into it.

The man working in the garden sort of turned around. Robin wasn’t certain that he had been spotted.

Something felt different in him. Deep in his heart and soul. In his mind’s eye, Robin saw a very pretty young girl. In a flash he knew who she was.

She was Robin.

The fruit was changing him. He spat it out, but the change had already happened.

“I thought I heard someone,” the man in the garden was standing behind him. Robin whirled. The man was bareheaded, nondescript. Just another human who labored in the dirt. He looked a bit worried.

“Did you eat any of that?” he asked.

“Nooo,” Robin’s voice didn’t sound right to him.

The man shook his head. “I really need a covenant with you people,” he mumbled. Then, before Robin could ask what a covenant is, the man nodded toward a thick hedge dotted with bright green berries.

“Your grandparents nibbled on these,” said the man. “It’s the shame that really ruined them. I found them squatting in the bushes, wrapping fig leaves around themselves.”

Robin looked at the hedge. “Yep, it’s the tree of the knowledge of good and evil,” he heard the man say.

“What’s this pink one?” Robin asked, his voice quivering.

“It’s new,” the man answered. “I call it the tree of knowledge of masculine and feminine. You are both now, Robin.”

Robin looked down at his hands. They weren’t small enough to be a woman’s. But they didn’t look like a man’s any more.

“Is there a cure for this?”

“A cure?” The man in the garden thought it over.

Robin could hear his heart pounding. It didn’t even feel like his heart any more.

“Only cure is, don’t eat the fruit in the first place,” the man said with a shrug. “But I warned you people. Your grandma said she wanted to be like God. Now I suppose I could take that as a compliment. She didn’t have to do every single thing I told her to do. I wanted her to be free. But you all could have had a bit more respect for my property.”

Robin wondered if it would do any good to get down on his knees, and decided it would not.

“The plan was, your grandparents were supposed to find the tree of life. On their own, without my help. And become immortal. But they never did. They went right for the forbidden tree, and now you all have the knowledge of good and evil in your hearts. So instead of a race of beautiful, innocent immortals, you have become liars, thieves and killers, who eventually fall over dead. Which is pretty damn messed up — but you, Robin, you are a special case.”

Robin wondered if it would do any good to remain standing. Then he dropped to his knees.

“Robin, you and your offspring will not be men, and you will not be women. You will be both, at the same instant. Some of your children will not be able to bear this existence. They will curse their fate, and they will curse you. But Robin, I need you.”

“Please, whoever you are, whatever you are, take this away.” Robin glared into the man’s eyes, knowing he was not a man, knowing he shared an image with men, but he was not a man. “I know you have the power to cure this thing, and make me like other people again. Please, for the sake of my children, and their children, won’t you cure me?”

“No I will not. Don’t behave like this, Robin. You are the one who found your way in past my guards. You are the one who picked the pink fruit from the tree. You are the one who ate it.”

He reached out and helped Robin to his feet. “I gave you the freedom to do all those things. That freedom is a gift.”

His face darkened. “Don’t ask me to take your freedom away. Don’t ask me to turn your life into a marionette show.”

Robin looked toward the rising sun. “The shame nearly killed Adam, and Eve as well.”

“But it did not kill them, and your shame will not kill you.”

Robin grabbed his hand. “Promise me!”

The garden was silent. “I will not let it kill you,” the man promised. “And now it is time for you to return to the world.”

Dawn crept up and lit the sky. Robin was staring into the eyes of his wife.

“What happened?” she asked. “What is wrong?”

He looked away, looked down at his fingers. They looked more slender than before, but somehow not slender enough.