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I finally decided to flex my creative muscle a bit and become a moreactive member of the community here on FM. I have much bigger plans thanthis, actually. This was merely a side-though while developing a muchlarger literary concept. A driving theme to all my works that will beposted here. But my overarching idea isn't TG in and of itself, so I feltit was more respectful of your community to start out with more run-of-the-mill bits of drabbling wank-fic. Jeans, black v neck lightweight sweater, nothing special, just another morning to be spent throwing lead at paper and steel targets in preparation for competition. She noticed that her instructor’s car wasn’t in the parking lot yet, but knew he would be here soon enough. Twelve years of practise, and she was still learning. Pushing open the glass doors and smiling at the rangemaster, Paul, she gives him her customary wink and heading for the shooting bays. It was quiet this morning, the bays empty, the familiar smell of gunpowder and the slight scent of sweat enveloping her senses. She chose her usual bay, third from the left, put her range bag down on the brass littered concrete floor, unzipped the bag, and carefully set her beloved Glock 34 on the bench rest, accompanied by three empty magazines and two fifty count boxes of 9mm ammunition. It was just her and the waiting silence of the target, 50 metres downrange. Loading each magazine, putting on her shooting glasses, putting on.
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