Update 2/19/2016

I had started the fourth installment of Morgan’s Stories. I had to stop and take a break, because I had top surgery and “masculinizing” lipo, while at the same time my father in law passed. I’ll still be working on things, but it will go slower.

I also think it’s about time I start looking for a copy editor, to sweep through all my typos. I think my stuff is looking good as far as a first draft is concerned, but a professional copy editor could really go a long way towards making things look right.

I plan to finish out this story arc with Morgan, and then put the whole thing up on Amazon for a buck or two, for purchase.

I don’t expect to make money, or get famous, but it would be nice to have it out there.

Thanks very much for reading.

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3. Morgan and Gherzille

This is the culmination of Morgan becoming something more. It explains why he’s tempersome, and a bit of a lush. I enjoyed writing this, and would have had it up sooner, but I was stuck in Atlanta on and off for months. 

As always, feedback and link backs appreciated. 

Thank you. 

(This is fairly PG-13ish, so don’t be frightened of the opening scene.)


 

The room was dimly lit with a single flickering candle. Morgan was kissing the short haired woman with enthusiasm, and ran his calloused hands down the side of her neck. He generally pursued men, but occasionally a woman caught his eye. He was a short man, but his work as a sword for hire left his body muscled. His shirt was off, and the scars, tattoos, and runes that covered his skin gave him a rough look.

His brown hair was neatly cut today, and he was reasonably clean shaven. He’d just gotten off a job, and had made a beeline for a bar called the Tipsy Tankard, one of Tombsville’s fine drinking establishments. There he had met a beautiful lady, and they had drank and flirted their way into a private room.

The woman he was with had short dark hair, and dark brown eyes. Her shirt was off, showing her bright red stays underneath. She had a rose tattooed over her left breast, and her tawny skin was clear and smooth. Although drunk, her eyes were still bright.

She reached down to Morgan’s pants, and began to undo his belt. Morgan reached down to stay her hands, with a look of concern.

Morgan said, “Jenna, I have to tell you something here.” He was a little drunk, but not drunk enough to make this any easier. This discussion ranked as the worst discussion of all time, as far as Morgan was concerned.

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2. Morgan and James

This is a continuation of Morgan’s story. It shows insight into Tombsville, and the people he travels with. 


 

It was midsummer in Tombsville. That meant there were flowers, a bustling center market square, and a bit of an undead issue. This problem with the walking dead happened every summer. Warm weather meant the dead-touched corpses could move freely again, and would gravitate towards the living in their instinctual desire for destruction.

Tombsville was a fairly small town, but it had a fearsome reputation. It was still very influenced by the near-do-well’s that founded the city several centuries earlier. The proximity to the ancient and endlessly sprawling cemetery that was its namesake gave the populous a macabre sense of humor. The local inhabitants often decorated with tombstones from the surrounding graves, or even skulls and bones from the deceased. Anything from the cemetery was fair game.

What really set Tombsville’s celebrations apart from any other city’s, was the midsummer’s Dead Walk celebration. Every midsummer’s eve, the town watch would parade some of the mindless undead down the center avenue of the city, through the market place, and back out the other side. They would then be herded into an awaiting livestock pen where anyone could, for a price, shoot fireworks at the shambling corpses, until midnight. At the stroke of midnight the dead would be spectacularly set afire. No other city in the world could brag about an event like this. No other city in the world wanted to, either, but that didn’t stop Tombsville.

A historian might tell you the Dead Walk was a celebratory representation of how Tombsville was founded against the hordes of undead. However, a more realistic denizen of the town might honestly say it was fun to set fire to the shambling dead once in a while, as a way to get back at the blighters for being a constant pain in everyone’s collective ass.

Morgan loved the Dead Walk. It was by far, his favorite holiday. He was always one of the first in line, to purchase some of the explosives. He also usually brought some of his own, manufactured lovingly by his teammate, The Smith.

The Smith created the best explosives in the vicinity, and his work was much sought after. The giant explosives expert might not be interested in this kind of display on his own, but he was more than happy to work as a “consultant” for the city for the event, and help make sure all the fire works were reasonably safe. Reasonably safe by Tombsville standards might not be acceptable in another town, though.

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1. Morgan

This is an original story, with original characters. I wrote the story, and Morgan, to reflect my experiences as a transgender man. That is to say, I know there are other ways to experience being transgender, and other ways to express that. I wanted to write about a man that was comfortable with himself, and could be every bit a hero or villain as the cis gendered men in the genre, and be fully accepted for who and what he is. 

Feedback is always welcome. Please feel free to share. If you could give me a link back, I’d appreciate it. 

This is the first draft.

There is an explicit sex scene. Be warned. 


 

Morgan walked into the Lady Rose Inn with this comrades. He was the shortest of the travel worn men. He shared in the grime and travel dirt with the rest of his fellows, though. He was clearly human, with tanned skin, and several weeks worth of stubble growing on his chin. His unkempt brown hair hung on his head, with the slightest grey coming in at the temples. His eyes belied his worn appearance, and were bright blue and showed his good humor.

“So, I call the first bath,” Morgan said, while smacking the largest of the men on the back. Morgan smirked at the resounding thud of the contact.

The man he hit stood head and shoulders above everyone else, and was even taller to Morgan. He was a half-orc from beyond the mountains of Hargrove’s kingdom. Like all members of the Orcish race, the giant was tall, broad, and with a greenish tinge to his skin. He also had tusk-like teeth that protruded from his mouth, that occasionally made it hard to understand his speech. His name was Axe in these human dominated lands.

“Not unless you plan to fight me for it, little man,” Axe said, and just shook his head. Then he leaned down, and smiled a toothy, tusk filled, smile at Morgan. They faced each other eye to eye for a moment.

Morgan reached up and flicked the big man’s tusk with his fingers, and said, “I bet Rose will let me go first.”

“Or. . . you could go get your stuff at the apothecary, and let me have first dibs on the bath,” Axe responded. “These long limbs could really use the soak, and I’ll make sure you get the second one before James does whatever it is he does to defile the soaking tub.” As Axe said this, his dark eyes flicked forward to the dirtiest of the humans in the company.

Morgan smiled, and said, “Alright, but only if you promise to beat anyone that tries to cut in front of me.”

“You have my word, little man,” The half-Orc said solemnly. Only his eyes betrayed his amusement.

Morgan turned to go back out onto the busy street, and could hear James complain, “Wait? I defile the tub?!”

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First!

I used to keep a Squarespace account, but with my hubbies success with his Accidentallygay Wordpress, I thought I’d move over to this service as well. There is a bit of a learning curve, but I think it will work out better.

Mostly, I wanted a place to put my writing. I write genre fiction, usually with sci-fi or fantasy. My latest work is Morgan’s story. I wanted a protagonist that was every bit as Indiana Jones or Sparks Nevada as the next guy, but just incidentally transgender.

So much of the media that is published or filmed about transgender people focuses on transition, or the myriad possible tragedies we can face. There is an uncomfortable way most media fetishizes transgender women, and their struggles.

I just figured I would like to put out some general genre fiction, where being transgender was just an aspect of someone’s personality.

I also do a bit of art here and there. I am a mediocre artist who keeps doggedly attempting to put the images in my head down on paper. I’d like a place to put up the things I create in that vein.

Mostly, I just want a place so I can link back to what I do, and being as I write for Accidentallygay, this is fairly convenient.

Be kind with me, I’m not the most technologically savvy, so there will be a learning curve.

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