Cross-Dressed Fairy Tales

by Dawn De Winter

  

Part 2

  

Some familiar fables transformed for readers of transgendered tales. In part 1, Sherry and Sadie, two married men on a 'girl's night out' visit a lesbian bar and go home with Big Sue and Mike, two women who are dangerously upset to discover that they've been seduced by two cross-dressed males cheating on their wives.

Like Sheherazade in the Arabian Nights, Sherry decides that the only way to protect their … um, posteriors, is to entertain Big Sue with fabulous stories. Alas, being less inventive than the fabled storyteller who told 1,001 original tales to prevent her sultan and groom from continuing his – decidedly non-feminist – practice of killing his brides on their wedding night, the best that Sherry can do is to mangle stories she read as a child.

Fortunately, Big Sue had a childhood so deprived that it didn't even reach the level of being Grimm, and so she wasn't entirely certain that the first story she heard – about a transsexual named Snow White – was perhaps a wee bit derivative. Even so, Big Sue has insisted that the second story be friendlier to lesbians – or else.

 

Mary Jane, the Little Turnip By: Sherry

There was a time in a peaceable kingdom far, far from Texas but closer than New Guinea when a married couple long in vain wished for a child. As they were too virtuous, cautious and polite – and much too cold -- to undress in front of each other, they did not realize that they both were women, but the kingdom cared not because …"

"Watch it, sissy," Big Sue snarled, tightening her grip on Sherry's neck "this had better not be a story about stupid dykes or I'm going to grease my arm up to my shoulder and twirl you around on it."

Sherry gasped out an answer: "N…o, they're … not … even … lesbian. They … both … are … des … desper …ate for a … man."

"Two women desperate for a man?" Big Sue snorted. "This is definitely a tale being told by a male fairy." Sherry now gasped for breath as Big Sue loosened her death hold. "Well, get on with it, sissy. But you've been warned: No stupid lesbians!"

Sherry resumed her story, very cautiously --

To continue – At length, Shania, the more businesslike of the two women hoped that God was about to grant her deepest desires, for a peddler of digital clocks came by their modest, overtaxed cottage in its sensibly-sized lot, and even though he was dripping wet from the endless downpour, he was to her eyes an impressive specimen of manhood because she liked her men to be goateed and gaunt, elderly and wealthy, and decked out in gaudy stars and stripes from their "Mad Hatter" hat to their cowboy boots. In this fair kingdom women often lusted after such men, but felt very guilty and used thereafter.

Lured by his digital technique and nifty entreaties, Shania freely gave of her virginity; they exchanged fluids, and she was left barefoot and pregnant as the gaudy peddler rode off into the sunset singing, "This land is my land, this land is your land, from …." The rest of his refrain could not be heard for the pounding rain.

The two women had one window in their cottage (there being few windows in this fair land because of the General Pane Tax) from which a splendid garden could be seen, full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs, all of them very tall because of the rain flowing down the bald mountains unto the tree-tossed sea. Alas, the garden was surrounded by an even taller wall topped with razor wire, and no one dared go into it because it belonged, it was diffidently murmured, to a satanic enchantress of great political power, who headed a cult of devil's angels. At times the demons roared so loud that Shania couldn't hear the rain.

One day late in the afternoon, when Shania was retching from The Window because of morning sickness, she saw in the garden one hundred and sixty acres (or maybe it was hectares) planted with the tallest marijuana, and it looked so fresh and green because of its GM seeds that she coveted it, and had the greatest desire to smoke some – or at least to cut it down to an appropriate, more modest size.

This desire increased every day and she became consumed with moral outrage at the global unfairness of it all – that some people had all the marijuana simply because they grew it. Shania quite pined away, and began to look pale and miserable. For forty days and nights of rain her husband foolishly blamed the weather, but finally Celine was so alarmed that she asked, "What ails you, dear wife?"

Big Sue groaned loudly. Or possibly she burped. Then, as sarcastically as she could manage, she repeated with emphasis on the wrong sillabels, "What ails you, dear wife? You gotta be kidding. Nobody, but nobody speaks that way, not even in fairy tales. Can't you do better than that? After all, I've had to put up with a lot of nonsense in this story. I'm supposed to believe, for instance, that any woman could possibly be as stupid as Shania!"

"But this is a story about another land," Sherry hastily said to avoid strangulation; "it may remind you of our own land, but the fair land has always been twenty years behind the times, and its saintly people mainly spake quaintly."

"What's suddenly with all these words with a long "A" sound?"

"Because," Sherry replied, "the people of the peaceable kingdom cherish the sound of the first letter of their alphabet, and they say "A" as often and as long as possible. I should have been putting in a lot of words in my … tale with a long "A", so I am making – get it? – making up for lost taime."

"I didn't know there could be a long "A" in time?" Big Sue said.

"There can be if you're twenty years behind the time."

"I bet," said Big Sue, finally getting into the spirit of Sherry's tale, "that in twenty years' time the people of the fair but distant land will move on to the letter B."

"Boss bet, Big Beauty. Ouch! Why did you do that for?" yelped Sherry.

"Watch it, sissy. I don't need your approval. You need mine unless you want to feel my disapproval where the sun don't shine. And unless this story improves – Like, can there be less rain? You got me constantly needing to pee – well, it had better improve. Hear me? Now get on with your story before I decide to make you into a real girly man by grabbing your cock and balls with my free hand and then pulling them back so damn deep into your guts that you'll end up with a snatch. Nah, getting a vagina is far too good a fate for the likes of you. I'll have to think something that doesn't leave you better off than when you came. So talk -- What AILS the dear wife? Get on with it!"

Half-strangled, Sherry could only nod, until Big Sue's grip released enough for the panting pantywaist to suck in enough air to resume his tale. He wanted to say, "She was suffering from morning sickness, you dumbass. Shania's whole world was out of joint. She didn't even have pot to barf in. She was constantly grassing because it was maddening her that she didn't have a reefer. Have you got it yet, Big Sue? Or do I have to spell out the plot for you with sweet-smelling smoke rings? Cripes, what a dope you are."

But instead, Sherry continued thus –

When Celine asked Shania what AILED her, the pregnant one replied, "Can't you see I've been upchucking my donuts every day? If I don't get some Mary Jane to smoke, I shall die. Celine, who loved her despite their sexual incompatibility and Shania's constant moaning about how things are more-up-to-date south of the fair land, could not let her die, and so snuck into the deadly garden to bring her back some weed.

The marvelous weed did wonders for Shania's morale. Buoyed by her high spirits, her body chemically imbalanced, she craved and ate the oddest things – fried fiddle heads, fried beavertails, fried potatoes covered in cheese and "meat" gravy, and fried chocolates made from "moose droppings". Alas, Shania soon ate her way through their savings thanks to her special passion for pickles and ice cream, which were very costly in this fair land because of the Gherkins and Sugar Tax. And so she returned to The Window to look for food to free from the walled garden.

She saw a bed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion, and it looked so fresh and green because of its Ford and Chrysler seeds that she coveted it, and deciding, once again, that the Earth's bounty should be shared equitably (save for the pools of water filled by the unending rain in her part of the fair land), she begged Celine to "liberate that delicious looking weed from our selfish neighbor."

Worried about Shania, who looked quite green with envy, Celine at twilight clambered over the razor wire and down the wall into the garden of the enchantress, hastily clutched a handful of rampion, and took it to Shania. She at once made herself a salad from it, and ate it greedily. Her mouth thus stuffed, Shania could not fend off a lecture from Celine, who had developed superior airs from growing up in the polluted center of the fair land: "You have no idea of what you're eating, do you?" Shania shook her head.

"It's rampion. That's a type of turnip green."

Shania tried to look interested.

"I am confident," Celine continued, "that you don't know its botanical name; well, it's Campanula rapunculus A. That rap word actually means Little Turnip. Isn't that positively drole? The quaintest folk in the fair land, those who have horse-drawn buggies and speak a language from which our own tongue german-ated, call it Rapunzel. Remember that capital letter because these unfortunates capitalize almost everything, and so are unfairly accused of shouting whenever they enter chat rooms. I say it's unfair because they have not actually shouted for a half-century. Don't you agree?"

Shania shrugged – whatever. Yet she was so obsessed with the RAPUNZEL that the next day she longed for it three times as much as before. Celine knew that if she was going to get any rest that she'd once more have to descend into the garden. In the gloom of evening, therefore, Celine let himself down again. But when he had clambered down the wall, another pair of pantyhose ruined by the razor wire, she was sore afraid (or possibly sore at Shania), for she saw the enchantress glowering in the dark beside her like a rain-drenched cabin in a raging forest fire.

"How can you dare," said she with angry look, "descend into my garden and steal my rampion like a thief?"

"Because I vote socialist?" Celine tried.

"You shall suffer for it," replied the enchantress, who hauled out a thick book of government regulations through which she thumbed, looking for the approved punishment for thieves. "No, that won't do," the enchantress decided; "there is no way I'm going to elect this woman to anything, even if it mean she will hereafter be rarely seen in this fair land. No, I will punish her for the capital murderer that she is – for is not my rampion decapitated? And I will, following regulation 17, imprison her for life, and thus without the faintest hope of escaping her torment for at least three years.

Celine tried another tack: "Let mercy take the place of justice," she pleaded. "I only stole out of necessity. My pregnant wife saw your rampion from The Window and felt such a longing for it that she and our unborn baby, whose legal status is quite uncertain, would both have died if my wife had not got some exotic greens from your garden to mulch."

The enchantress allowed her anger to be softened, and said to Celine, "If your wife will die without MY rampion, then I will allow you to take away with you as much rampion as you need; but I make one condition: You must pay the Garden Surplus Tax on any rampion you consume. Celine, terrified, consented to win her escape, but she did not keep her promise.

When the baby girl was born, they named it after the leafy greens that had nourished the child in the womb: Little Turnip (although Celine argued at first for Rapunculus). To some, who do not know the fair land, the child's name might seem strange, but it was common in the fair land to name children after vegetables, since these were scarce and highly prized during the three winter seasons each year. Indeed, Celine herself was also known as Little Cabbage -- or "petit chou" in the argot of her birthplace -- for children in her natal region must have two names or else pay the Generational Sexism Tax.

One night, when her parents were both in bed – in different beds, of course, as was chaste custom in the fair land – the enchantress stole Little Turnip, leaving a changeling -- several kilos of marijuana in her crib, as well as a note saying that she would raise the child as her own – as arranged. The addled parents accidentally used the note to roll a joint, so never noticed the switch.

Even so, from time to time, when their "cigarettes" were extinguished by a downpour, they wondered, they wondered why Little Turnip grew ever smaller. "It should be the other way round; Little Turnip should be growing larger," Shania objected. But Celine knew better: "Whenever anything gets smaller, it gets better," she proclaimed. "It's like grapes. When they shrivel into berries, then it's time to make our famous ice wine."

Shania was even more confused: "But," she said, "it's possible to find grapevines covered with ice in any season in our fair land, and our grapes are rarely bigger than berries."

The enchantress renamed the girl in honor of her main cash crop – Mary Jane. She grew into the most beautiful child in the fair land thanks to frequent visits to a tanning salon. When she was twelve years old, the enchantress, much enchanted herself by the little vixen …"

Big Sue was shocked: "Hold on there, buddy. Is this some kind of kiddy porn? Why did you make her so young? Did you wear the dress because you thought it would be easier to get a kid to trust you if you didn't look like a guy?"

Now it was Sherry's turn to be shocked. "I don't care if you're bigger than me; I'm not going to let you insult me like that. Obviously, I'm into adult women – really BIG adult women – or I wouldn't be in this fix right now."

It wasn't fair, Sherry thought, to be accused of pederasty. He hadn't made up the age; he was simply following the original tale. It wasn't his fault that his German sources were kinky. "Jeez," he muttered to himself, "Little Snow White was unbelievable. I knew I had to change her age, 'cause she was only seven years old in the original fairy tale when the mirror started lusting after her. Hell she was still a pre-teen when she started keeping house for the seven lechers."

"Huh, speak up, sissy. What did you just say?"

"Anything you want me to say. You want Mary Jane to be older so the story will be less creepy? How about thirteen years old? Will that do?"

"Sure, then she's a teenager and we know what they're like. They're always ready for action." Then she shook Sherry and told her, "Okay, get on with it. What about the princess? It had better be a princess who rescues Mary Jane from the evil enchantress or … you'll be able to finally answer the question – what do lesbians do together in bed? – while you're hanging from the ceiling upside down and naked like a fruit bat wondering what we dykes really do with a dildos the size and shape of a baseball bat."

Gulp. Sherry resumed –

When Mary Jane was THIRTEEN years old, the enchantress, much enchanted herself by the MATURE little vixen, led her over the valleys and down the hills, always through the pouring rain, until they reached a dry plain (this being a land where the rain did not fall mainly on the plain). There, beside a pleasant brown river, the enchantress shut Mary Jane into a tower built of the finest concrete and precisely 190.8 meters high, but with neither stairs nor door; quite at its top a pod revolved, and from its small windows Mary Jane could see the rain clouds over her distant birthplace every sixty-two minutes.

When the enchantress wanted to go into the tower to do you know what, she placed herself beneath it and cried, "Mary Jane, Mary Jane, let down your hair to me." Mary Jane had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she heard the voice of the enchantress, she unfastened her braids and wound them around a hook just above the window – you know, so that she'd get some leverage. And then the enchantress would climb up her hair."

"What a lame idea!" scoffed Big Sue. "That's ridiculous. No one has hair like that, and if she did, she'd never agree to its being used as a ladder. Just think of the split ends! Besides, the poor girl would be bald within a month, and then what would the enchantress do? You're going to have to do better than that, sissy man. Climbing up a girl's braids! Imagine that! You'd better come up with something better, something more realistic. Maybe Mary Jane lassoed the enchantress like a calf and hauled her up."

"I don't think so. Anyway, I wouldn't think that calves are treated that way in the fair kingdom. But you gave me an idea of how to improve the story. Big Sue, you should be writing these stories. You've definitely got a literary flair."

"Watch it, sissy. Don't think you can get around me with flattery."

"They use rope – made of hemp. There's got to be lots of it available, considering that the enchantress grows marijuana." Since Big Sue seemed to like the idea, Sherry began anew –

When the enchantress wanted to go into the tower for hanky-panky with the young adult of thirteen years, she placed herself beneath it and cried, "Mary Jane, Mary Jane, let down your rope to me."

After a year or two, by which time Mary Jane could legally have sex in the fair kingdom, provided that her suitor violated none of the guidelines established by the "Royal Commission on Fiddling About," it came to pass that the king's son rode …"

"SHERRY!"

"…it came to pass that the king's lesbian son rode through the forest …"

"Now, I'm totally confused," said Big Sue scratching her head. "How can the king's son be a lesbian? Isn't that hard for a guy to be?"

"No, lots of transgendered folk are male lesbians. The world is full of … incredibly … insightful men who know not only that women are the superior sex, but also that lesbianism makes for superior sex."

"I like the way you put that."

"I thought you would," Sherry replied. "So you see, the love interest of Mary Jane is a prince who's going through a sex change so that he can be a princess and make love to other princesses. Okay? But can there be fewer interruptions? I'm in danger of losing the thread of my tale."

When Big Sue nodded, Sherry resumed the story –

… It came to pass that the king's lesbian son rode beneath the tower. Then he heard a charming song that compelled him and his golden palomino to stand still and listen. The songbird was Mary Jane, who in her solitude passed her time in letting her sweet little voice resound from sea unto sea:

Every night in my bed
I see you, I feel you,
that is how we go on.

Near, far, wherever you are
I believe that the heart does go on
Once more you climb the rope

And you're here in my arms
and the sex will go on and on

 

"Wow!" the king's son thought. "That's no virgin. It's time for me to bestow another royal favor." He wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the tower, but none was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so deeply touched his heart (among other things) that he rode back to the tower every day to listen to it.

 

She is the khaki river
running through my veins
She rides me without reins --
her name's Dame Avril

She lives in the heart of every
woman in fair land
Within the reach of every girl
who wants to mate her.

 

The king's son hoped he hadn't heard that last line properly. There was something suspicious about it. (Big Sue was, however, vigorously applauding.) Just then, when he was hiding behind an elk, he saw the enchantress go to the tower and heard her cry, "Mary Jane, Mary Jane, let down your rope." Then Mary Jane, the Little Turnip, let down her braided hemp rope, and the enchantress climbed up to the eagerly awaiting girl."

"If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I too will try my fortune," said the king's son, and the next day, after watching the enchantress depart puffing on a Cuban cigar, he went to the tower and cried, "Mary Jane, Mary Jane, let down your rope."

Immediately the rope fell down and the king's son climbed up. At first Mary Jane was terribly frightened for she had before seen a man. But the king's son began to woo her, telling the innocent babe that his heart had been so stirred by her songs that it had given him no rest. "It forced me to see you."

Then Mary Jane lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take him for her husband, she was so sorely tempted for she could see that he was young and pretty. "He is a much better looking than old Dame Anmurraya, and he will love me more than she."

And she gave him a provisional yes, laying her hand in his. "I willingly go away with you," she said, "provided that you are a good lay. Pray take off your clothes so that I can compare you with the withered crone who has been sharing my bed."

The king's son was found sadly wanting: "Where are your breasts?" Mary Jane lamented. "You've so terribly flat-chested. And your clitoris – it's grotesquely large. Alas, I cannot go away with you, for Dame Anmurraya is – and I never thought I'd say this of anyone – is lovelier by far than you. Even your hips are too narrow, and it looks like someone has taken an axe to your derriere."

"Brava, Brava, that a girl!" cheered Big Sue. "You tell that prince the facts of life – any woman, no matter how old, has got a better bod than any man, no matter how young. Okay, what happened next? I must know." And she poked Sherry in the ribs.

"Is there any way I could change your mind," the king's son begged.

"Come back to me with a prettier, more feminine body, my love, and I will run away with you and be your sex kitten forever."

The heart of the king's son leapt with joy. Is that all it would take? A sex change? Heck, that was something he'd been contemplating since he first learned that the boys in the fair land were required to lose their teeth playing hooky. And he went away, promising to return with a perfect body before coldest winter had turned into hottest summer, which gave him about two weeks to transform his being.

Though the king's son planned to return in early July, two years passed before he next saw the tower. In the fair land, even a prince had to wait his turn for surgery, which was, however, the best in the world because it was free, that is, if one ignored the cost of the Gender Surgery Tax. Finally, it was his turn. The transformation took but a moment, thanks to a court-mandated suspension of disbelief, and the king's new daughter Alanis was finally able to seek out her one true love, for whom she'd made the ultimate sacrifice …

Big Sue was looking mighty mad.

So Sherry switched gears hurriedly – And Alanis was finally able to seek out her one true love, for whom she'd made the minor sacrifice of cutting off her dick. As hoped, it was love at second sight, and Alanis came by daily for two weeks – when the enchantress was away – while Mary Jane conducted tests to see if her new lover was as versatile as Dame Anmurraya in bed.

The enchantress didn't clue in until Mary Jane said to her, "Tell me, Dame Anmurraya, how it happens that you are so much heavier for me to draw up the rope than the king's young daughter? She'll be coming by the moment you leave."

"Ah. You wicked child," cried the enchantress. "What do I hear you say. slut? You've been cheating on me with another, exposing me to an STD? You have imperiled me."

In her anger, the enchantress shaved Mary Jane's head, and she was so pitiless that she took the poor girl into a veritable cultural desert – to the bleak eastern suburbs of the most populous city in the fair land, whose inhabitants kept warm by constantly patting themselves on the back. There Mary Jane had to live in great grief and misery.

Of course, objectively speaking, the little twit deserved this fate. What could ever have possessed her to inform on Alanis to the enchantress? Perhaps her mother's drug abuse during pregnancy explained the child's – to quote the clinicians – "deficits in decision-making skills."

On the same day that she cast out Mary Jane, the enchantress fastened the rope of hemp to the hook of the window, and when the king's daughter came and cried, "Mary Jane, Mary, let down your rope," she let the rope down. The king's daughter ascended, but instead of finding her dearest Mary Jane, she found the enchantress, who gazed at the king's daughter with wicked and venomous looks.

"Aha," Alanis cried mockingly, "you would fetch your dearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest. The cat has got it, and will scratch out your eyes as well. Mary Jane is forever lost to you. You will never see her again."

The king's daughter was beside herself with pain, and in despair she leapt from the tower. She escaped with her life by landing on a Brahma bull, but its horns pierced her eyes. She wandered, a blind beggar, about the plain, lamenting and weeping over the loss of her beloved. She roamed about in misery for some years, awaiting her eye surgery.

As there were no laws enforced against begging in the fair land, the king's daughter, her hand holding out her crown inverted, and sympathetic passers-by dropped enough money into the crown to permit Alanis to buy the donuts and beer that made life – just barely – worth living without Mary Jane. The government, taking pity on her, gave her a seeing-eye dog, whose doleful look allowed her to double her revenues as a blind beggar, allowing her to switch from beer to … SHERRY!

Big Sue groaned and then gave Sherry's ear a sharp twist. Sherry winced, then continued –

At length, Alanis reached the cultural desert where Mary Jane lived in wretchedness. Alanis heard a voice, and it seemed so familiar to her that she went towards it, and when she approached, Mary Jane recognized her love at once. Mary Jane rushed towards Alanis, but tripped, falling forward onto Alanis's neck. The two of them wept – one with joy, the other with pain. Two of Mary Jane's tears wetted the eyes of Alanis and they grew clear again, and she could see with them as before – which of course justified the delay in surgery.

At last, Alanis could find her way back home to the palace, which had been moved to be close to a golf course owned by a powerful politician. There, Alanis was joyfully received, possibly because her parents truly loved her, sex-change and all, or possibly because they did not want to be charged with violating the girl's human rights.

A wedding probably occurred, for there were no laws against it, and Queen Alanis and Princess Mary Jane probably adopted children of many different hues, and they probably lived for a long time afterwards, happy and contented in the fair land. This is probably a good place to end the story, A?

Sherry was confident she'd soon be released. After all, every character in the story was – or became – a woman; and they all went to bed with each other. Big Sue had to be satisfied. She'd have to let Sherry and Sadie go home to their angry wives. That would be enough punishment for them. Or would it?

Was Big Sue about to let Sherry and Sadie leave with their anal virginity intact? We'll probably never know because just at that moment the doorbell rang, and then the evening began to get weird.

END OF PART TWO

  

  

  

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