Be Still My Heart

imagesI may hyperventilate! Can this really happen? I am a military vet. I wonder if this will happen before I die. Would I take advantage of it? Despite my age, I think I would. I wouldn’t know for sure until the decision was in front of me. Hypotheticals are slippery devils.But I should get something out of spending twenty-two years in a small closet. It was stuffy in there.


Returning to the Outside

woman-outsideSome positive strides have been made in conquering my recent fear. [Very brief recap: hurricane, shelter, disapproving townsfolk, pitchforks… well, maybe no pitchforks].The church girls called me to have lunch. Since I quit the church they hadn’t seen me and wanted to catch up.  I felt this would be a good time to break my self-imposed isolation. Driving around without getting out of the car is not mingling heehee.

During the meal they were so sympathetic. I couldn’t figure out why until they told me. The very next weekend after I refused to return to help the priest out he gave yet another homily, a tirade really, about us men-in-dresses. This time he used my fucking name as an example of someone infiltrating decent society. Infiltrating. I thought I was attending a church service. My friends had wanted to call to commiserate but felt bullied so didn’t. This was a make-up lunch. I felt sorry for them. They felt so bad about something that wasn’t their problem at all. They shouldn’t have.

V didn’t attend. It’s definitely over. I understand. I surprised her with my little friend. Lesbians don’t like surprises like that LOL.

After that lunch we did a little shopping the old style way… wandering the aisles poking and prodding at the goods. I was so happy about being out I bought some new shoes. A boot with two-inch heels, zipper along the outside. And some new leggings.

All in all, it was a good day.

I’ve begun to reevaluate my opinion of  men. I won’t say why, specifically, but I believe I’ve taken my horrid experiences and previous bad relationships and applied them to all men. That’s wrong. That’s painting with too broad a brush. There are sweet, gentle caring men, men who wouldn’t ever think of hurting me. I just have to get to know them before ever putting myself in a compromising position. Why, I believe I may have grown, dear readers.


Comfortable Weekend

snapshot_002Do you know how you are in a really comfortable relationship? When on a quiet night instead of being on a dance floor in your finest sexy dress you find yourself perfectly happy sitting on the couch watching flames flicker in the fireplace. In your comfies.

I had planned on having Kelly’s head in my lap and running my fingers through her hair. But as you can see that proved impossible without chancing breaking a fingernail

And I couldn’t be happier. Being content merely in the presence of your lady, barely speaking but touching hip to hip, is in essence to me the epitome of love. No words need be said.

Mother Superior Book 2: Decisions LIVE

mother-superior-2It’s alive! The vamp is back. Mother Superior Book 2: Decisions is available online. My vampire series moves along with this installment. Diavola, the futa Mother Superior, has to decide her next move in the fight against the vampire Aurora. The decision shocks Diavola’s assistant/lover Sister Shannon. Didn’t shock me. I read my outline. What would you do with the choice: eternal youth or certain death?

I flesh out… so to speak… my vampire mythos with the transition ceremony and first feeding. Warning: blood is involved.

[NOTE: a question has been raised about the photo I used on the cover. Just to protect myself I will be uploading a new version. The link to Amazon will remain the same.]


The aging futa Mother Superior Diavola has a decision to make. Stay true to her calling as the facilitator and mentor to young futanari as they enter their new lives, or to toss it all aside for the siren call of eternal youth.

As she and her faithful African-American assistant prepare to meet their adversary, the vampire Aurora, the decision had been made. The die was cast and their adventure was about to begin.

This is a 7,300-word story containing futa and vampire sex. There will be blood.


The ceremony begins. Ancient beyond comprehension they stripped their clothes and tossed aside. The dark room couldn’t hid the bodies framing their sensuality. Futa and vampire melded into one. Aurora’s arms wrapped the nun from behind, one hand sliding across warm flesh to grasp a giant breast as the other took a firm hold of the futa cock jutting proudly.

Long incisors sank deep into the neck with an audible pop. Mother showed no reaction, no indication of pain. Instead she held her neck bent at an angle in surrender. Aurora at first closed her eyes in ecstasy as hot blood poured into her mouth The first swallow was always the sweetest.

Sister stared, mouth agape. It was almost obscene, like the vampire was making love to her superior, her friend, her beloved. Their intertwining of limbs as Mother reached to grasp Aurora’s ass completed the tableau. Precum poured from the dark red cock onto the floor. Sister licked her lips. Tasty. She hated to see the waste.

After several minutes Aurora pulled away, delicately wiping a smudge of blood from her lips and licking a stained finger. Shannon grew weak in the knees. On one hand she wanted to grab the knife and drive it into the monster’s heart to protect her loved one. On the other she desired to be lying under their bodies allowing their juices to dribble into her mouth.

Explore with me the growing relationship between Mother Superior and her Maker, Aurora. They are just getting a good start on their adventure. Book 2: Decisions on Amazon.

A Repost from My Friend Kira Moore’s Closet

Hormone Therapy is Lifesaving — But Why is No One Studying Its Long-Term Effects? | Out Magazine: “Yet there have been few studies looking at the long-term effects of HRT. While observational studies have retrospectively reviewed trans populations and declared hormonal transition to be safe, trans medicine has not had the kind of clinical research […]

Let me posit this question. The danger of organ damage is a reality which is why your doctor checks your labs periodically. Well, one reason. In the event the doc said that you were liable to do serious damage if you continued would you stop taking HRT? My answer is easy:  hell, no! I waited too long to start, you’ll have to pry  the pills from my cold dead hands to stop me, to paraphrase Charlton Heston. I would chance it to keep feeling as happy as I do.

via Hormone Therapy is Lifesaving — But Why is No One Studying Its Long-Term Effects? | Out Magazine — Kira Moore’s Closet

Review of Mother Superior Book 1: Futa v. Vampire

mother-superior-1I don’t mind telling you I was nervous when Bryce Calderwood posted a review of Futa v. Vampire. It was his books starting with Enthralled that got me interested in combining the futa with the vampire. His take… oh my friends… was unlike any vampire tale you have ever read in your life. No elegant vamps in tuxedos. I had to be sure nothing of his seeped into my own ideas.

So his 4-star review thrills me. I’m on the right track in building the legend of my own ‘creatures of the night.’

Hot and erotic vampire/futa September 21, 2016
A good beginning to a promising series. Tons of constant futa action. Interesting vampire lore. Enjoyed it a lot. Ready for the next!

I will be posting book 2 to Amazon today.  Just finishing up the edits when I ran across this review. I had to take a moment to squeee. Thanks, Master. I kneel at your workstation. (Bryce does DD/ls BDSM, too.)

An Epiphany

imagesI had a lot of traffic for my last post “Not A Pretty Story,” not the least of which was the person I was explaining myself to. (Thanks, my darling, for understanding.) It also generated comments on Facebook and Twitter besides my friends here at WordPress. Some insights were shared with me and one, in particular, has caught my attention.

As I am, in the most basic sense, hiding from life, unable to interact in ways a normal person takes for granted, I just may be suffering from more than simply being shy. The suggestion was that I have PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. While I have always thought of that in terms of combat vets who had witnessed and/or participated in the horrors of war, I have to admit I was just a tad stressed by my experience.

Since I was irritated and kind of blamed my therapist for putting me in the position to be attacked in the first place, I never went back. I cancelled her by phone. Had I instead gone and told her what happened, just maybe she would have (1) walked me through the healing process, and (2) given me a fucking discount! That would have helped. Instead, I’ve been stewing in this memory for a very long time.

I have written the incident into my stories several times now as an explanation for my protagonist’s personality. The very first series I wrote and published — T-Girl in the Office — (I’m not linking because this isn’t an advertisement post) is a telling of my life starting with working alone in a law firm midnight shift. Vastly romanticized, of course. Had to have a happy ending. The hope was that writing about it would dissipate its power. I tried three times not counting my previous post. I won’t again. It hasn’t worked. Going to sleep I hug my pillow dreaming of my love, wrapped in her safe arms. But during the night I have flashes.

Bottom line: if I’m ever going to be comfortable going out in public, much less dressed en fem, I may need to find a therapist. Haha! Could be more of a challenge that you think.

So thanks for your comments, everybody. Seriously. It has helped me. And isn’t that why we do blogs in the first place?

Not A Pretty Story

imagesA person I care deeply about wonders about my opinion on men. It’s a legitimate question. Because of the love I feel towards this individual I am writing this post. I want to advise the casual reader of my blog that this is not my usual smart-ass semi-amusing tripe I publish, or even something about the books I publish. So unless you are willing to read some serious shit, just skip this one and wait for the next post. This ain’t pretty.

Are we alone?

Have they all left?

OK, my love, here’s the deal. Prologue: by growing up utterly confused as to what the hell I was, what I was looking for out of life, I was led to some really dark places. This is not a unique experience for transgender people of my age. What I was was never covered in my high school health class, so how could I possibly know? By leading a life of cross-dressing and exploring the gay lifestyle — all of which proved unsatisfactory and unfulfilling — I grew depressed. Suicidal.

By suicidal I mean driving home from work considering which bridge abutment to steer into suicidal. When I found myself carefully studying the construction to decide which would be the quickest death I felt I just might need help. But when I sat in the middle of my barn on a bale of hay holding a gun I knew I had to do something now.

I saw my GP. I told him all these things. Scared the shit out of him, poor guy. He did tests to see if it was something chemical, but nope. All psychological. He advised me in the strongest possible terms to get to a therapist.

The Washington Blade. I don’t know if it still exists but it was the periodical of the area for following all things gay. I studied that bad boy like it was my Master’s Thesis. And I did find an article about a therapist who was holding a public meeting for those struggling with gender issues. I went. I listened. I talked to those also attending. Finally, I asked if she’d treat me and she agreed.

Now the raison d’etre of the story: two years go by. During that time, once she was certain she had me figured out, she wanted me to go out publicly en fem. Before we approached what she felt was best for me (SRS) I was to actually live full time as a woman. This was the step before that, however.

Seeking out venues that were safe for a man in a woman’s dress that was receiving no hormonal treatment at all, for a man who had five o’clock shadow by noon, one such venue was a drag club in North East Washington, DC. Not a good part of town. Not by a long shot. Back then you drove through it with your windows rolled up and didn’t look around or make eye contact. Yet for some bizarre reason, that is where the best shows were. Dupont Circle had much nicer bars but few shows. This particular NE club had a restaurant and bar along with live entertainment. I liked it.

So mid-evening I left the club headed for my car. There was no parking lot as such. Everyone had to park somewhere on the street. I was walking back to where I left my car. Ahead of me a group of noisy young men was on the same sidewalk headed towards me. I crossed the street. Bad move. Apparently they noticed that and did the same.

Trigger warning: don’t continue if you don’t want to read some sick shit.

The noisy men turned out to be sadistic assholes looking to torture someone like me. Yea! I won the door prize. They grabbed me and pulled me into the nearby alley. I thought I was in for the raping of my life. If I had only been so lucky. Instead two of them held my arms. I was immobile. They were younger, stronger, and far outnumbered me. I was at their mercy… of which they had none.

The leader lifted my skirt and roughly grabbed my manhood. The tight squeeze just added to my weakness. The pain was incredible. He had both my cock and balls in his hand and was pulling on it like he wanted to rip it from me Which I guess he did, actually.

Then he showed me his switchblade. The longest fucking blade I’ve ever seen. He held that in front of my face so I could study it carefully. He was talking trash all this time and the others loudly encouraged him. My ears were just ringing and I’m not sure I heard the words in a coherent way.

With one hand he held my aforementioned cock-and-balls and put the knife at the base of them. I’ll remember these words. In short, if I wanted to be a girl he would give me a free operation right now. I knew I was going to die. I knew if he cut me down there I would bleed to death before anyone came, and no one would come until I was gone. This was it.

I shit myself. I pissed myself.

Oddly, I think that saved my life. He backed away at the stench. He seemed to think that was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Laughing and pointing, I was suddenly released. I fell in a heap. I passed out.

When I came to I found just a small cut under my ball sack. Everything was intact. Messy. Smelly. But there. I managed to get to my car. I never again went out en fem in Washington, DC. I stopped seeing my therapist. I’ve been scared of crowds ever since. I stay to myself and will become nervous around any boisterous group like in a restaurant. So I eat at odd hours so there aren’t other patrons around. I got a job at a law firm working the midnight shift alone. I drove from the suburbs to my office downtown DC, parked in the underground garage, then drove back out. Just me, a computer and a constant workload. No human interaction for a few years. Loved it.

I left the area the day I no longer had to worry about working. Living in a small, very small, Florida town I interact with no one.

So there you have it, darling. The reason I say I don’t like men. It’s because they’ve never brought me anything but pain, real and psychological. To this day I have trouble sleeping without recalling those events. Except now I’m dreaming more and more about you.

There you are. A loving, gentle, caring person, the diametrical opposite of my past. Someone in whose arms I feel protected and safe. I’ve hurt you with my words. Please, darling, understand where I’ve come from and work with me. I can trust again with the right person. You are, without question, the right person. I love you. Please wrap me in your strong arms and tell me everything will be okay.