Typing away

I’m in my living room, on my love seat, with my laptop on my little laptop desk I built. NaNoWriMo is in full swing, and I’ve had a couple of days off. I’ve written over 10K words since yesterday. I want to get ahead. You can find me and add me as Buddy. User name Stefani Jo.

Short story: The Confession

Marcus stood there in a state of shock. He couldn’t move, frozen in place, petrified by the sheer misfortune of being found out. He was half dressed, panties, pantyhose, and a bra, a skirt in hand, his girlfriend’s sweater on the bed.

“What the fuck, Marcus?” Tina exclaimed once she found her voice, having been stunned into silence by the sight before her. “What the actual fuck?”

“I – I can explain,” he stammered, knowing that there was no way to explain what was happening.

“Can you?” She screeched. “Can you really? Oh, that’s great. What the hell are you thinking, you freak!”

“Okay, can you stop yelling? Sit down and we can talk this out.”

“Talk? Talk!” Leanna was beside herself. “No! You’re some kind of perv, some sick sex deviant.”

“I’m not. Wait, let’s talk.”

“No. I’m out. You want to dress like a girl, dress like a girl. Fuck this. I didn’t sign up for this. I want a man, and I don’t need some confused weirdo. I’m done.”


Marcus woke up in a sweat, panting as he realized that it was only a dream. Leanna slept soundly beside him. She hadn’t caught him, but how could she? He had turned his back on his own deviance. It had been years since he had worn women’s clothing. Years since he had purged his stash of clothing and makeup for the final time.

No, there was no way Leanna could find out, no way for her to walk in on him during the act. Dressing up left him feeling disgusted, as though he had allowed his kink to control him. He was stronger than his urges. He was a man, a manly man. He had joined the Marines to prove his manhood. He had proposed to Leanna to prove that he deserved to be called a man.

But the dream. The dream was becoming more persistent. If not this one, then the one where he is was out on the town, turned to look in a mirror, and found himself wearing a black cocktail dress, stilettos, and his hair long in in curls. But the thing is that it’s not him looking back, but it was him, a different him. There stood a woman smiling serenely, beaconing him to accept the truth.

The truth was what kept him awake most nights. When he was tired, he was at his most vulnerable, and the images and sensations of his illicit deeds came flooding back. The stolen moments when, home alone, he would steal into his mother’s closet, find something to wear, and prance around, excited to feel right. This continued until he was almost caught by his father, and he swore he would never dress again.

That’s the thing, though, it was not the last. He left for college and began to indulge in his fetishism. He bought dresses and wigs. Pantyhose was his favorite article of clothing. He bought makeup and taught himself to apply it, though it had the same heavy-handed application middle school girls took as they learned how to do their own makeup.

Thus began a cycle of buying and purging that plagued him for years. It left him feeling scared and alone. He kept to himself so that no one could possibly find out what a sicko he actually was. Days after he turned 21, he dropped out of college and enlisted, joining the Marines as did his uncle. He needed to prove himself a man.

He excelled during his time in service, achieving a rank of Corporal before being discharged after turning thirty. He met Leanna soon after landing a job with a defense contractor. He kept his focus, not wanting to regress back to the days when he dressed up like a sissy.

And it worked, until a few months back. Leanna had come home and started gossiping about a man named Todd, someone she worked with. He had come out to everyone at work as transgender, and had intended to transition.

“Can you believe it?” Leanna whispered, as though she feared being overhead. “Todd wants to be a woman! How weird is that?”

“Sounds a bit squirrelly,” Marcus guffawed, though part of him resented his bravery.

“He was one of the most manly guys in the office,” she shrugged before adding casually, “we dated for a few months before I met you. Trust me, there was nothing squirrelly about him.”

“And you’re okay with one of your exes becoming a woman?”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m okay with it or not,” she argued, becoming annoyed at the direction of the conversation, and the contemptuous tone in his voice. “Todd was alway sad and miserable. When he came out to me last year, he was terrified.”

“He told you last year? Why are you only now telling me?”

“Because, he made me promise not to tell anyone, and I keep my promises.”

“Hmm,” Marcus harrumphed unhappily, though he grudgingly knew she did the only honorable thing, even if it did sting.

“Anyway, he’s been looking happier this past few months, and decided to take the next step.”

“And how’s the office taking it?”

“Most everyone’s okay with it. We don’t understand it of course, but we know Todd. He’s not prone to follow trends or whims. He did this after years of struggling and coming to terms with who he is.”

“Don’t you mean who she is?” Marcus scoffed.

“Maybe, but not yet. Todd will debut Melody next week.”

And that was it. That conversation had awakened his desire to dress up. He missed the feeling, the freeing thrill of dressing up female. It was liberating and empowering. And he feared it more than he was willing to admit to himself.

In the middle of the night, he struggle to quiet his mind, and a whirlwind of thoughts flitted through him head, struggling to make sense of his own identity. Marcus was a man, and successful man. He had joined the Marines. He had killed men in the field of battle. He had dispensed mercy and let many live who were in his power to die.

He began to shake. It wasn’t the first time, and he doubted it would be the last. He fought against the reality of his situation for so long. It had been thirteen years since he had purged his collection of the last time. He now wavered, wanting more than anything to succumb to his need.

“Are – are you okay?” Leanna yawned, her fiance’s trembling had awakened her.

“What? No, I’m fine,” he lied.

“Don’t lie to me, babe. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, honest.”

“Bullshit!” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and turned on the lamp. “You haven’t been fine for a while. Something’s been bothering you for weeks. Are you ever going to tell me, or are you going to keep shutting me out? If we’re going to get married, you’re going to have to trust me.”

Marcus opened his mouth but had lost his voice. He tried a few times before shaking his head and admitting defeat. He shrugged and began to tear up. He couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. She was bound to find out regardless, so it might as well be now, before they got married. Might as well give her the opportunity to walk away and scrape up some pride while she was free to do so. It might as well be now.

“How’s Todd doing?”

“Todd? You mean Melody?”

“Yeah,” he replied in a small voice.

“She’s fine. Happier than ever. It’s been a bit of an adjustment for all of us, but she’s holding up well. Why do you ask? I thought the idea of her transition was offensive to you sensibilities.”

“It’s weird,” he chuckled before clearing his throat. “What would you say if I said that I kind of respect his courage.”

“You mean her courage?”

“Yeah. It’s, I mean I’m kind of jealous of that.”

Leanna’s eyes narrowed as she focused her attention on him. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I think I understand her a lot more than you will ever know.”

“I think you’re not giving me enough credit,” Leanna said quietly. “I love you, Marcus. If you’re going through something, you need to trust me to see it through with you. If you can’t trust me, there’s no point in me staying with you, is there?”

“I suppose not.”

“Good. I won’t press the matter, but when you’re ready, you can tell me anything. I love you.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, I’m worn out, so if there’s nothing else, night baby. ” She kissed his worried brow, rolled over and turned off the lamp, and fell back onto her pillow.

“I think I might have something in common with Melody.”

She sighed as the light came back on and Leanna got out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

“If we’re going to have the conversation I think we’re going to have,” Leanna replied as she threw on a robe, “I want coffee and pie.”

“Should I join you?”

“I not eating in bed, so yeah. I’ll brew up a pot if you heat up the pie.”

“Done,” Marcus said warily.

“Don’t look like that,” Leanna smiled sadly. “I already said I loved you. That hasn’t changed. You just need to get this out so we know where to go from here.”

Short Stories

Next story – First Step
Previous story – Madness

Being true

This whole duality has been confusing. I’ve been, for most if my life, content to remain hidden. It’s only within the past year that I’ve come out into the open, embracing this other side of me, the true side.

I know that the time will come that I’ll.have to choose who is real and who is not. Will Joe win, or will Stefani? I am both and yet somehow neither.

The greatest thing I have done is begin volunteering in Amarillo as Stef. It’s like I’ve found a place to belong. It’s at once scary and liberating. I just wonder hiw many people I will lose in the process.

Follow me on Stefanilara

Short Story: Lina

I had had several opportunities to back out before now, I thought as I stepped into the elevator of a hotel near the airport. There had been plenty of time to call the whole thing off before it got to this point, and I had yet to reach that point of no return, but I continued on, pressed the 7 button, and waited for the elevator to take me to her floor, and eventually to Lina’s door.

I had never met Lina, but with her I was in the best relationship I had been in ages. I don’t think I would be wrong to say ever. There was something between us that seemed to slip into place, even across the expanse of the internet. We messaged each other constantly when we were online, text back and forth all day, and even talked several times on the phone. We exchanged pictures back and forth. There wasn’t anything that I had kept from her.

We met on a dating site my friend had suggested I check out. At the time, I had come off a pretty brutal divorce, and then a girl that I was interested in asked me out for drinks after work. We hit it off. She told me she liked me, we kissed goodnight, and then she flaked out, leaving me hurt and confused. She wasn’t ready to date, she told me. Then I found out she had started dating another coworker and didn’t want me to know. Probably hoped to keep me in reserve if that one didn’t work out. Fuck her, I thought and moved on.

I started playing around online, signing up on various dating sites, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was still nursing a broken heart and a bruised ego from being shunted aside by that bitch. I functioned, at least superficially. I made it through the day, but the moment I walked through my front door, I broke down. What’s more pathetic than the image of a grown man bawling his eyes out?

My friend, however, was adamant I check this site out, so in exasperation, I told him I would. When I found it, I discovered, to my horror, that it was a tranny dating site. I found the idea repulsive and quickly left the site, but my interest was piqued and I had to check it out for myself. Didn’t take me long to be told that all the terms my friend used, tranny, shemale, and a lot more vulgar terms, were insulting. Some of these women, as they wanted to be called, were transgendered in various degrees of transition, and some were simply crossdressers looking for a guy willing to make them feel like a woman, even if only for a night.

I was flabbergasted every time I looked up a profile. Some girls looked beautiful, putting my ex-wife to shame, and others were obviously a dude in a bad wig, horrible makeup, and ill-fitting clothes. I laughed to myself, wondering what kind of perv would be so desperate as to hook up with one of those freaks.

The thing was, I kept coming back. I soon stopped laughing as I was drawn in by some of the girls. I started talking to a few, not looking for anything, neither shallow nor serious. Some girls only wanted their identities validated and were content to remain anonymous, but a few were openly hunting for anyone interested in a good time, sexually. I learned to avoid them.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Lina showed up. She, like me, had come off a bad marriage. Like me, she had also suffered from a cruel game from woman he knew and was interested in, and had left the dating scene as a result. Unlike me, she had to accept the harsh truth about her gender identity. She started coming to terms with her femininity, accepting that her boyhood desire to put on her mother’s dress wasn’t a sick sexual fantasy, but her soul’s desire to be the woman she longed to be.

I found her story fascinating. Soon, like I said, we were talking constantly. It became intimate fairly quickly, but not in a crude, sexual sense. We shared all our secrets over the course of a year. We became friends, and somehow more. Even though we hadn’t met, we decided that we wanted to be a couple. Lina, a man who inside knew herself to be a woman, became my girlfriend.

Still, we hadn’t met. We didn’t need to. Our connection was real, more real than any I had ever felt. I memorized her face, gazing at every photo she sent me, knowing in my heart that I had found my soulmate. Finally, after almost a year and a half, we decided to meet. Lina would be in town on a business trip, or at least her male side would, and we agreed that it would be a perfect chance to see each other , face to face.

Then the day arrived, and I started getting cold feet. I wasn’t gay. I never felt the least bit attracted to other men. The thought of doing anything sexual with a guy was repellant. A gay friend confessed he felt the same way about sex with a woman. Even the thought felt unnatural, we confided to each other. What I couldn’t shake was my feelings for her. It wasn’t a sexual attraction, or simply a physical connection, once and done, but a mental connection, a spiritual unity of our souls. This was real in a way that none of my other relationships had ever been.

I tried to reason my way out of the meeting. Wasn’t our relationship built on a lie? Lina wasn’t a real woman, and I didn’t believe pretending to be one made it any more real. I listened to all the arguments made against the transgender community, but I instinctively argued against each one, knowing that it wasn’t only what we had between our legs that identified us as man or woman.

I countered every fact and logical reasoning with experience. Lina treated me better than any real woman ever had. I treated her better as well. I did worry that what made it so great was that we were never actually close, that there was no immediacy between us, but that last hurdle was set to be jumped in a matter of minutes.

I screwed up my courage as I stepped off the elevator on the seventh floor. I walked to her door, room number 726, and I knocked. I heard her unnaturally pitched voice, muffled by the door, telling me that she was coming. This was my last chance , to escape from the sham, but I couldn’t. I loved her, and she had confessed that she loved me.

It had come to this, a moment of truth, a moment of fear and exhilaration, and a rush of adrenaline washed over me. I heard her slip off the door chain, heard the deadbolt being opened, and then before I was ready she opened the door, looking every bit as apprehensive as I felt.

“Lina?” I said, unable to believe we were actually meeting.

“Yes,” she replied guardedly, not knowing how I would react.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” I smiled, my heart brimming with affection for this woman I just now got to see with my own eyes.

“You too,” she relaxed, extending a hand for me to shake.

“I don’t think so,” I laughed. I took her in my arms, noticing that though she was almost as tall as me, she still felt feminine in my arms. I looked her in the eyes, then stepped back to admire her. “You’re more beautiful in person, Lina,” I said, once my eyes had taken her in. “Absolutely stunning.”

She flushed, but otherwise looked pleased. She let me into her hotel room, wrapped her arms around me, and we kissed for the first time. “Damn,” I said, once we broke our embrace. “Never got kissed like that before.”

“Good,” she winked, and took me by the hand towards the bed.

“I thought we were going out for dinner,” I protested, both excitement and panic setting in.

“We will,” she hinted with a flirtatious smile, “but first let’s get to know each other. I’ve been saving myself for you, and I waited a long time for this. Make love to me, please. Afterwards, we can grab a bite to eat, and then?” She asked rhetorically, opening herself to the great unknown, and inviting me along to join her for the next grand adventure.

Short Stories

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