Ashley Lazlo

Conversations paused as the door swung shut behind Minori, only soft muzak coming from an unknown direction prevented icy silence. Still dressed in his business suit and on his way home from the office he stood out like a racoon at a kangaroo convention but he was too far in to perform an about turn with any dignity. Sticking to his original plan he walked to the bar, climbed aboard the only vacant barstool and ordered a light beer. Bar Chantelle was twixt office and home, roughly halfway, and like most areas of the city that Minori had moved to a month earlier it was another new to him area. “Haven’t seen you here before” a stool neighbour said “I’m Danny, general manager here for my sins” He smiled and half raised his glass toward Minori. Bar Chantelle was the sort of place that Minori had been searching for online without success, fate and thirst had conspired together to bring him to a place better than he imagined the city had to offer. He told Danny about his transfer to head ...

Feigning continuing sleep I watched through slitted eyelids as a naked Monica slid out from under the duvet and began rummaging in my dresser. She selected a pair of my boxers and a worn tee and took them with her, I heard the shower running. She was wearing my boxers and tee when I followed the smell of coffee to the living room. “Shower first” Monica said as she noticed me, I liked that bossiness, I took it as a sign that she thought of me as hers after just one night together.  Monica was my first, not only my first girlfriend but the first girl I had kissed as well. Her wearing my clothes seemed strange, none of my friends mentioned their girlfriends wearing mens clothes and at 22 I was not going to reveal my inexperience by asking. Monica was the opposite of me, she had sisters, brothers and several cast aside boyfriends, plus she was way more streetwise than me. I reasoned as she so casually helped herself to my underwear it must be what girlfriends did. We alternated, one we...

Monicas voice came down the line “describe yourself to me…”  I searched my head for an acceptable response. Two words bounced around in there as if challenging my lips to set them free, both words knew they did not qualify as a response. Crossdresser - that is not enough Transgender - that is too much I should write to the government - they really should invent a well known word that would sum up people like me, I mean with over a million men on the planet indgandine theory proves I would not be the only one. Before I get sidetracked by indgandine theory let me tell you how I arrived at Monicas question. ———//——— I saw him at a party, his clothes looked more feminine than any woman at the party, a vicar was talking to him as they walked from the bar. He looked uncomfortable, embarrassed, and as if he wished the ground would open up and swallow him - a perfect research subject for The Hormone Project. My take on the scene that lay before me was; she had chosen to dress as a vicar an...

 I opened my underwear drawer, called out “Heather, where is my underwear?” “Your underwear?” Heather had a smirk across her face when she walked into our bedroom “but David that is your underwear” “You cannot mean that, please, be reasonable” “Don’t be such a baby, now step in” Heather said as she held the, not-mine, underwear out, lots of men wore them she insisted.  “Why are you doing this?” I whined all too late, she settled them around my waist. Now she had taken me that first step I found it hard to resist what came next. Seeing my reflection felt like watching a scene from some weird horror-porno in the mirror. Heather knelt in front of me “Just put your toe in David” she said with a giggle “you will love the way they feel” she added as she unrolled one past my ankle. It was as if I had passed out or perhaps my mind had erased the memories of the past minutes, nightmare-self stared back at me from the mirror. “You make breakfast while I shower” Heather said “No, I want ...

“See anything different JC?” Molly said as I walked into our living room. “Looks and smells so different it could be a different place” I said, Molly had been at our new property for two days cleaning while I loaded our belongings on the self-drive removal truck. The shop we called our first home together, hardly surprising really as the property had been a shop before it closed its doors for the final time some years earlier.  There were three other shops in the row; sweetshop, delicatessen and right next to ours a florist.  The move was more Molly’s dream than mine, my dream was seeing my new wife happy and that look on her face the first time she walked into the shop told me I would, whatever the cost, make it our new home.  The apartment above the shop fitted us perfectly, two bedrooms, a modern bathroom and open plan kitchen living room. And perfect for sunny days was a typical cottage style garden out back. “Hello” someone tapped at the open street door and called u...