"I've been a dyke for a long time," says Asa Keiswetter. He stands on the well-lit stage at the Creative Alliance, in front of a microphone stand. His hair is cut close to his head; he has a stocky build and wears a muscle tee and knee-length shorts. He doesn't look like a dyke. In fact, he looks like a twentysomething male, which he is—now.

Since October, Asa has been taking male hormones. He is in the process of transitioning from female to male, a transformation that is never easy. It's been particularly confusing for him. For years, Asa was easily pegged as a lesbian. "When I walked down the street, people would say, ‘Oh, there's a dyke.' That's just how it was. I've never been able to be not out."

But now that Asa looks so convincingly male, he can't be readily identified. "Now that I look like a guy, when I say I have a girlfriend people think I'm straight—or they think I don't know I'm gay," he says. At this, the audience laughs uproariously. Their laughter fills the entire theater, and Asa joins in.

Moments like these are common at The Stoop Storytelling Series, in which Asa is a participant. The series, created and hosted by Style magazine senior editor Laura Wexler and improv theater veteran Jessica Henkin, has become known for the camaraderie that the participants and the audience create, through the simple act of sharing their stories.

On this June evening (the eighth since the series launched), as at each Stoop, seven storytellers get seven minutes to tell a true story that falls under a theme. The storytellers are chosen ahead of time—Laura and Jessica seek some out; others just fall into their laps—and they do one formal rehearsal with the whole group (the hosts discourage storytellers from writing down their tales, but recommend verbally practicing). Also, three audience members are given three minutes each to tell a completely off-the-cuff story.

"I have always been into the empowering aspect of telling your own story," says Laura. "We believe in the process of figuring out what the story is, and what story from your life is worth telling."

Tonight's theme is "(Re)Creation Stories: Tales about Crisis, Change, and Rebirth." The six storytellers (one couldn't attend the performance due to a family emergency) run the gamut—hot sauce purveyor Mick the Pirate, Baltimore magazine senior editor Hannah Feldman, singer/songwriter Joanne Juskus, A&E series Random 1 cocreator and costar Andre Miller, and WYPR radio host Diane Finlayson. They sit next to the stage, their chairs positioned diagonally so they can see both the audience and their fellow storytellers; onstage is that single microphone stand, with Caleb Stine and the Brakemen, the official Stoop band, sitting with their instruments in the background.

Before the show begins, Laura and Jessica take the stage and welcome the crowd. The audience is clearly filled with regulars, people who know what to expect. The mood is upbeat and friendly, fueled by Laura and Jessica's stage banter: Laura plays the straight man, while Jessica is the silly one, taking easy shots at Laura.

One by one the storytellers station themselves before the mic, but to my surprise, they don't look alone up there. Rather, they seem to be buoyed by the atmosphere. Although some are clearly nervous, they look happy to be here. The crowd is friendly and ready to laugh. ("In New York," says Jessica, "audiences are stingy; it's hard to get laughs. Baltimore in general has gracious and warm audiences.")

And although the stories are often funny, they are just as often terribly sad (and sometimes the audience mistakenly laughs at things that aren't meant to be funny at all). Although Andre, for example, tells his story with humor and spirit, it is a heartbreaking one. His father, once a champion boxer, started drinking and became abusive to his family after he lost his touch. Andre became the "step-up child," the one who stepped up to protect his siblings and mother from his father's fists. Andre describes the turning point in their relationship: "I had had enough, and I confronted him, and he had hidden a knife underneath the cushion of the wicker chair. He took the knife and he went like that, and I didn't flinch. I looked at him and he did it again and I didn't flinch. And that was the end of our relationship."

"There's so much at stake—that's what keeps the audience coming," says Laura. True—these stories revolve around the basics: Who am I? How do I express that? And to whom do I express it?

Back on stage, Asa continues his story. He describes a recent decision to befriend a young woman in his anatomy and physiology class. "I kind of have to tell her who I am, right? I think I do. In order to be her friend, I think I have to tell her." So, he says, "We're watching the teacher present the reproductive system"—here, the audience erupts into laughter again—"and I write a little note and it says, ‘Amy, I'm not just an effeminate guy. Six months ago I used to be a girl. I'm transgendered.'"

The girl, though initially confused, was unfazed by the revelation. And Asa got a little closer to figuring out one piece of his puzzle. "I guess what I've decided is that I'm going to tell the people who are important to me who I am. I don't want to be someone who has a big secret. I just want to figure out what kind of guy I am."

And I—I realize—have some things to say about figuring out what kind of person I am. I have a re-creation story too: The first half of 2007 was filled with endings for me—the deaths of a favorite dog, a long-term relationship, and a dear friend. Those months of mourning seemed to drag on forever—but now, I have a new apartment, a new position at work, good friends who support me, another dog, and an understanding of how strong I can be. My story is a good one, I think. I want to get up on that stage and tell it!

I'm a little envious of these six. I know they were anxious ahead of time—I saw them pacing and nervously chatting backstage—but now I can see their exhilaration, and I want to feel that too.

Laura and Jessica share my feeling, they admit. "For the first couple of shows, we were kind of jealous. When else do you get that moment in life to say, hey, here's who I am?" says Laura.

It's an attractive opportunity. "Telling your story reminds you that you're alive and that you have connections with others," says Jessica. "Why are twelve-step meetings so successful? It's a claiming of your autonomy, and at the same time saying you are not alone."

Tonight's show is the last Stoop at the Creative Alliance. Even though Jessica and Laura admit that leaving the cozy and quirky Patterson Theater is heartbreaking, they feel they can't keep turning people away. (Every show has sold out, many of them very quickly.) Their new home, Center Stage, will allow many more people to attend the events and hear the stories of other Baltimoreans, and perhaps consider telling their own tale—if not at The Stoop, then maybe to friends over dinner, or to an acquaintance at a bar, or in the pages of a journal.

"We believe everyone has a story," Laura says.

—Marianne Amoss is Urbanite's managing editor.

The first Stoop of the season, on the topic "Corpus: Stories about the Body," is September 24 at Center Stage (700 North Calvert Street). Go to www.stoopstorytelling.com for more information.