Locked in Lace: part 1 of 5,276

October 15, 2011

I joined the Locked in Lace forum this week and began my first roleplay thread. I wasn’t sure how it would go, I never did much in the way of roleplay and many forums out there have been become creepy, cliquish and/or spamtastic. I was very pleased to see that LiL is well maintained and has a very friendly longstanding core membership.

There appears to be two main games at LiL — the Lacy Place and the M&R Corporation. I haven’t explored M&R yet, but Lacy Place is a hoot.


The concept at the Lacy Place is simple: create a male character, then watch helplessly as he is turned into a girl. If this sounds like fun to you (you perv!), then go check it out. I started with a rather egotistical french character named Gaston, who quickly crossed paths with a Parisian temptress hellbent on Gaston’s utter feminization, teasing him with very high-end cosmetics and forcing him to carry her Louis Vuitton designer purse.

Like many forums catering to gurls like me, LiL is a community site run by volunteers. Unlike many forums, it’s not overrun with 911 conspiracy trolls, athiests who want to disprove the Bible, community organizers, and other killjoy maniacs. A very nice gurl named Glenda invited me to post a link to my pretty pink pavillion, and this has resulted in a nice influx of new visitors (*waves happily to new visitors, and gives everyone a complimentary sugar cookie*).

In summary, I am having fun there, and for a grouch like me, that is saying quite a lot.


Welcome, LIL folk

October 14, 2011

Welcome to all new visitors from Locked In Lace ! I hope you will loiter here. Please read my stories, look at my photos and comment if you want to. And please come back any time, the door is always open to you.

Turtle Boy

October 11, 2011



October 8, 2011

To me, there’s nothing more fun than looking at beautiful women in beautiful dresses. Here’s a great site with paintings from a bygone era. The modern age encourages us to be crass and amoral. We’ve gone from etiquette to attitude, from crinolines to Gaga’s meat dress. At least we have images like these on Marinni’s livejoural page to remind us of the beauty that once was. Yes, it’s in Russian, here’s a machine translation from google.

Pretty city

October 6, 2011

I’ve always yearned for you
You always spurned me
Pretty city, shining in sunset.

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!

Alive today

September 25, 2011

Something happens in September. I seem to come alive and become able to do things (like most of you humans somehow can do all the time). This September it looked like it wasn’t going to happen (again!) but I finally woke up with a modest amount of normal human energy this morning and really, it felt like Christmas. Actually it felt like Christmas after being locked inside a steel box for a few years. I’ve been sick all week and before that, I was away from home taking care of some family responsibilities so I really can’t recall when I last felt like I was my normal rotten low energy me. So it’s been great to be having a day where I can take a shower, go to the store and buy milk, dump the old sour milk down the drain, schmooze on FB, and send a free copy of my novel out to a writer that I greatly admire.

I even took a walk through the neighborhood I live in. After 17 years, I ought to consider it “my neighborhood” but somehow I’ve never really made a friend here. The people here don’t seem to be any more nasty than any other place I’ve lived. And I’m the freakin nicest person in the world so I have no idea what the problem is.

Walking is very good exercise and I’m going to make an effort to do more of it, because sitting around and eating really is not enough of a workout. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to get back to a normal weight someday. It seems like a dream but I was actually once 50 pounds lighter and I felt great, even though most people who knew me were horrified to see I wasn’t my usual bloated rundown miserable self, and they were much happier when I failed and started putting the pounds on again. Ice cream tastes great, and if you eat too much of it, it can take years off your life. What’s not to love?

But actually, I’m sick of that cancerous thinking. I loved having a normal waist size and enough energy to actually do stuff. It was only for a few months and I had to become an obsessive fat-gram counting maniac to get there, but God it was sweet. Plus, when I look around my apartment, I can see how many people are willing to take care of me if I’m too sickly to take care of myself. Only one person here, and I’m not sure how willing they are, ’cause it’s me.

Irene was bad

August 28, 2011

… however, maybe the media overreacted a teensy tiny bit.

New Yorkers are pretty tough though. And if all the reporters can stand out in the hurricane, maybe it’s not so bad.

Thanks, WordPress

August 27, 2011

for not having idiotic warning pages like this:

For the record, the full message is :

The blog that you are about to view may contain content only suitable for adults. In general, Google does not review nor do we endorse the content of this or any blog. For more information about our content policies, please visit the Blogger Terms of Service

It’s sad that we’ve become such a rigid, institutionally puritanical planet. When did that happen? I can remember watching Goldie Hawn on Laugh In shaking everything God gave her, and one of the guests on that show was President Richard Milhous Nixon. Now, we torture arthritis sufferers with child proof safety caps and schedule every free minute of our children’s time. Did Spanky and Alfalfa have play dates? I think they just wandered next store to Buckwheat’s house and started building a fire truck.

Anyway, if “containing content” is a crime, I hope we’re all guilty.