Warmoes (1) The beginning

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She stoodon the other side, on the corner to hide under a tree. A young black-haired, with a puppy dog of an undestined breed. She wore a light summer dress in the rain. Waiting for Godot...

Oh, Voila. The first sentences are there.
Oh, my God, a ROMAN. What did I start?
Hours and days, what do I say JAAAEN sitting in an attic room tapping. And when your 'Roman' is finally finished, afraid to wait and see if a publisher is (possibly) interested... I don't think so.

But look, now there is YOO.RS! Direct contact with your readers. And you get paid for it, too.
One euro for 1000 YP... That should yield at least EUR 25 per year.
The first sentence is the hardest part, it seems, so it was quite difficult.
But now. Anybody have an idea?
An autobiography? No thinking of it. What do I have to say after a career in the erotics sector?
By the way, “The Happy Hooker” already exists.

What about the puppy with her black dog?
Yeah, I saw it for the first time yesterday. Yesterday, the hottest 17th of May since the sightings. Hence the thin summer dress of course. And is that a reason to be my first character? What do I know about her now? Would she have DSD*?

Today I think I'm gonna leave it at this. Let's see if there's any interest in an instant novel.
Of course, a name has to be thought up, who calls his novel: “The ROMAN”?
And maybe I'll change this first page, because writing is deletion once said.

This morning I saw her again with her little dog. When I cycled back from shopping, we crossed each other, on the narrow path between two lots. This could not be a coincidence, probably she had come to live here new, and from now on she let her little beetle out every morning. She had the curious appearance, which looked better from close range than from a distance. Rare. Maybe because she's a black guy, they usually look better at close distance than from far. Now, what do I care? I'm as straight as the plague.
Well... or not. Actually, I'm a gay man in a woman's body. Wait, I'll explain it.
When I was born, as a girl, after a few months it was discovered that there was a XY chromosome in my blood, that is, boy.
But by a whim of nature, my body only produces female hormones, so girl.
When I was 12, the doctors decided to take away my testicles, which lived internally. Needless because the produced testosterone was converted into estrogen by itself. Fortunately, during the operation the clitoral was spared, because it is not always the case. Taking away my 'miracles' would not have been necessary, in retrospect, for anything. On the contrary, I could have looked even more feminine... a couple of cups more.
Because of my DSD* I have no uterus, no menstruation, nor children.

In the meantime, I'm married, as well as that.
Wolf is a few years older than me. Wolf, sounds better than Dolf.
Suppose someone yells: "Ah, Dolf”. Chance of hitting the heels against each other and shouting “Heil Hitler”.
Or “He is there”, as it would seem, dared to say during the occupation; the Germans did not hear the difference anyway.


Oh, look... the first readership reaction... and from a fellow blogger. He's here on Yoors working on his “Miracle Ballet “. A real novel (coincidence does not exist).


(read the sequel: “Warmoes” (2) “Uncle Tom's Negger's hut”)

* DSD = Disorders of Sex Development.
(Photo & layout: R. Siedlecki)
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