Second, and hopefully more exciting, I have just submitted a short story to Amazon for publishing on the kindle. It should be available later tonight or tomorrow. It's called He's the Bride, it's about 18,000 words, and is about a couple that had some trouble consummating their marriage on their wedding night.
An excerpt:
“Angela,” she spoke, stepping back to look at me over from feminized head to feminized toe.
“What?”
She was slowly walking around me, was behind me, stepped closer. “Angela,” she said again, softly, almost in my ear. “Andrew is a man’s name. You’re not a man.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died when I looked at myself across the room in the mirror. How could I say I was a man when I looked nothing, absolutely nothing like that. Nothing. Worse, while she may have been saying I was not supposed to be a man tonight, I felt an undertone of a more serious accusation. That I was not a man. Period. Ever.
“Angela,” she said yet again at a whisper, “look at yourself, you’re a sissy girl.”
Shock, shame, practically dripped off my face. Sissy? The word was like a slap, hurtful, painful, but who was I do deny it? I was WEARING BRIDAL LINGERIE! Was I supposed to say, no, you’re wrong, I am a man? Really? Dressed from head to toe in satin, nylon, lace? No, dear mother-in-law, your daughter’s husband, the one you milked, the one you dressed, the one you made submit, no, no, you’re wrong, he’s really a man.
That was a lie. It may have been true three weeks ago, it may have been true three hours ago, but not now, no longer. I had surrendered to her, surrendered my masculinity, what little of it I had, my manhood, however pathetic it was. And she knew, that was the worst, she knew, Judith knew. She fucking knew!
“You’re afraid,” she walked back in front of me.
“Yes,” I shook my head in disbelief. Of course I was afraid!
“You’re afraid to admit it.”
“Admit it? Admit what,” I asked, confused by what she meant.
She smirked. Reached out to me and let her hand touch between my legs, through the two layers of satin, nylon, through the two pairs of panties. I wanted to jump away from her but knew better. And then, as soon as her hand touched me, I realized it, what she was showing me. I was straining against the inner layer of satin, my penis, tucked backwards, was nevertheless throbbing, filling with blood, trying to grow, to become erect. I was…
“Afraid to admit you like being a girl, Angela.”
Here is the cover:
This is my first story to be exclusively published only as an e-book. I'll post and link when it is available. For now, it will be Kindle only because I'm not a Nook fan, but I'll have it there, eventually.
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