Category Archives: Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform

A Slippery Slope in a Music Band – A Substitute Singer

  • Title: A Slippery Slope in a Music Band
  • Subtitle: A Substitute Singer
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Category: transgender, romance

M. “Aaron” Smith: is the protagonist of the story. He is an 18 year old boy living in the small American town of Sunnysky. He studies in Sunnysky High School. Aaron has red hair (hence is often called “Ember Head” by his friends), dark green eyes and a face full of freckles. He is a cheerful good-natured boy, who is good at sports and singing. Aaron is also girl-crazy and accident-prone. In this story, Aaron is forced to dress in drag in order to impersonate new band member, Cynthia Perry, who has eloped with her boyfriend at the lost moment. The whole story revolves around Aaron’s agonies and ecstasies of stepping into womanhood.



A Slippery Slope in a Music Band

Subtitle: A Substitute Singer

by Yu Sakurazawa

Chapter 1 – A Buxom, Redhead

“I think we’ll bag it”, Valerie, my rich, vain girlfriend declared. She jiggled her gold bracelets and tossed her dark mane.

“Are you sure?” asked Bianca, my sweet, blonde pal “I don’t know if The Aarons are better than Jenny and the Felines”. By The Aarons, Bianca meant our band. I was the lead vocalist and guitarist, Veronica played the keyboard, while Bianca played the tambourine.

The Aarons did very well locally. My pals said that it was because people could relate to me: an 18 year old cheery, redheaded boy. They loved my gentle voice, “cute” freckles and boyish (if somewhat, sloppy) charm. Everyone adored me as I was.

“Forget Jenny and the Felines, babe” I presently dismissed Bianca’s worries “we will definitely bag the contract with Lothario Records”. “Yes, we ought to” I mentally reassured myself. After all, The Aarons had left no stone unturned for the past few months. We had made a demo album, bought great quality equipment and had even hired a manager. All this had been possible because of Valerie’s wealthy old dad: Arthur Johnson. Mr. Johnson was the owner and CEO of Johnson industries. He disapproved of me (as Valerie’s boyfriend), but would do anything for his darling daughter.

“Right, we were great at the auditions” confirmed Valerie presently “Cummings said Brando was impressed”.

“Cummings would say anything to please you” I muttered under my breath “after all, he’s the lackey-manager hired by your old man”. My remark wasn’t off the mark. Cummings, our gangling, simpering manager, had the hots for Valerie. He would say almost anything to make her happy. I, however, had to admit that our auditions had gone well. But it was hard to tell what Brando, the head of Lothario Records thought of us. He had sat stony-faced, throughout the auditions, staring hard at my two girl pals. When we had thanked him at the end, Brando remained expressionless.

Presently, Cummings walked into our recording studio. He was grinning from ear to ear. Really, the idiot couldn’t stop drooling at the sight of Valerie. I tried to subdue my irritation and concentrate on the news Cummings had to convey.

“Brando gave us the green flag, babe!” he said wrapping Valerie in a sudden, crushing embrace “you girls are in!”

“That’s great!” said Valerie trying to disentangle herself from Cummings’s bear hug “I knew it!”

“He loved both of you” Cummings turned to beam at Bianca “Brando loved you girls!”

I felt anxiety stir in my stomach. Why was Cummings saying Brando loved “the girls”? What about me? I was the one who had formed The Aarons in the first place.

“You mean he loved The Aarons, right?” I asked uneasily.

“Sure, lad” said Cummings suddenly looking nervous “Brando loved The Aarons. But…” he tailed off.

“But….” I prompted.

Cummings remained silent. I could sense both my girl pals becoming tense.

“Speak up, Cummings” commanded Valerie “or has the cat got your tongue?”.

“There’s a small catch” replied Cummings coughing and not meeting Valerie’s gaze.

“What?” barked Valerie.

“Brando does want Aaron in the band” Cummings finally said “he wants a third girl, preferably a redheaded one”.

***

There was a long, dumbstruck silence.

“How’s that possible?” asked Bianca finally “how can we be The Aarons without Aaron?”

“You’ll have to oblige Brando; otherwise the contract will go to Jenny and the Felines” Cummings said “it’s your call”. He shrugged.

“We can’t allow another band to get our contract!” Valerie protested “we’ve worked so hard for it!”. She refrained from mentioning the money her dad had poured into the venture.

“That’s right” I said “I can’t afford to be selfish. The Aarons is bigger than me”.

“Are you sure, Darling?” asked Bianca caressing my cheek “is it okay if we take another girl?”

“Absolutely” I said putting on a brave face “you may take any girl in Sunnysky”.

“Cynthia Perry is a good choice” said Valerie “she is red-headed and also has a rich husky voice”.

My mind went into a tizzy at the mention of Cynthia Perry. If there was ever sex on legs, Cynthia was it. With her big bosom, long legs and luxuriant red mane, Cynthia could set the whole town on fire. I don’t want to be misunderstood here. Even though I loved Valerie and Bianca dearly, I was also crazy about other girls. Polygamy is the typical trait of any teenage boy, and I was no exception. And Cynthia topped the list of girls I occasionally dated and frequently fantasized about. She was a great flirt and very promiscuous. I believe she had an especial soft spot for me.

It was uncharacteristically generous of Valerie to suggest Cynthia. The two had been fierce rivals in the past, competing to display their extravagant lifestyles and gain hegemony over me. But it was obvious that bagging the contract mattered more than personal feelings to Valerie. This was the first sign of martyrdom I had ever seen in her.

Bianca and I agreed to Valerie’s idea. Bianca was especially happy because Cynthia was a close friend of hers. So, Cynthia was selected. She performed in the second set of auditions. Brando evidently loved her. He apparently stared at her goggle-eyed throughout the performance.

On the day before the final round of auditions, Bianca rushed into our recording studio. She looked flushed and extremely anxious.

“I’ve got bad news” she said.

“What happened?” Valerie and I chorused.

“Cynthia has eloped” said Bianca “with a boy from Pembrook. The two have gone away to another city”

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Valerie in dismay “what about the auditions??!”

“We’ll have to find a replacement” said Bianca, pensively chewing her lip.

“Or an impersonator!” quipped the crafty-minded Valerie.

“Right….” agreed Bianca “we need an impersonator….until Cynthia returns”. Both the girls were looking at me intently. I got a whiff of the girls’ thoughts and flushed under their scrutiny.


Please click here to read the rest of the story.


A Slippery Slope in a Mall – Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform

A Slippery Slope in a Mall

  • Title: A Slippery Slope in a Mall
  • Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Category: mtf, transgender romance, lesbian

Finn O’Brian is the 19 year old protagonist of the story.  Finn is a devoted uncle who works hard to maintain the custody of his deceased sister’s children. He is drawn towards 35 year old Madison, whom he perceives to be kind and competent. When his boss, Wagner, offers him a 20% raise in return for coming to work dressed as a female sales attendant, Finn reluctantly agrees. He does this in order to be able to provide a better quality of life to his nieces. As Finn achieves great success as a female sales assistant, he finds his body getting feminized. Finn must take full advantage of his feminized body if he is to participate in the local beauty pageant, the winner of which gets £2000 and 20 family dining coupons—prizes which would help Finn look after his nieces better.

 

A Slippery Slope in a Mall
Subtitle: The Joy of Being a Mommy

by Yu Sakurazawa

Chapter 1 – My Hero

The alarm rang, shaking me out of my sleep. Drat, it already was 5 am. I don’t know where the night had disappeared. It was already time to wake up when I had barely shut my eyes.

I brushed my teeth and had a hurried shower. The utilitarian white tiles of the bathroom stung my eyes. They were such an eyesore! But guess one loses the right to complain when one lives in a council house in Hazel Grove. Silently cursing my poverty, I threw on my uniform: granite grey trousers with a black bush shirt. Since it was a cold day, I put on a fitted grey pullover too.

I went to the children’s room and shook my nieces awake. Six year old dark eyed and dimpled Mollie was quick to wake up and brush. As I patted her dark brown hair, I marveled at how much Mollie looked like her mother: my deceased elder sister, Cecelia. Since our parents had passed away when I was very young, Cecelia had practically raised me. I continued living with her even after she married Ivan, a construction worker, when she was 20. Ivan died in a hit-and-run accident a few years later, leaving behind Cecelia and two young daughters. Coincidentally, Cecelia herself died in a freak accident last year. She was only 29.

As the nostalgia of the past engulfed me, Amelia, my three year old niece woke up. She looked disapproving, grumpy and absolutely adorable! I picked the crabby little bundle up and led her towards the washbasin. With her blonde hair and blue eyes, Amelia bore close resemblance to her deceased dad.

I quickly dressed the children in matching grey frocks, plain white socks and little shoes with buckles. As I locked the house for the day and drove the children in my old, rundown jalopy, I fervently wished I could provide them with a better quality of life. That was difficult, considering I was only nineteen and a humble shop assistant. However, I was determined to do all I could to retain the custody of dear Cecelia’s children. After all, I couldn’t let Alan Hill, the drunken brother of Ivan, to get his lazy, irresponsible paws on my precious Mollie and Amelia.

I dropped the children off at their playschool at Cheadle and drove ahead to Old Trafford, where Madison Mall, the place I worked in, was situated. I passed a football field on the way and gazed yearningly at it. It had been sometime since I had set foot on a field. I used to play for The Tamside and District Junior League, before joining the Men’s Sunday League last year. However, I hadn’t got much time to play since Cecelia passed away.

I reached Madison Mall and took the lift to the fourth floor, where the store I worked in was located. As I entered “Elegance”, Rowan Wagner, the bald, middle-aged owner of the place, indicated his watch and made a disapproving face. I checked the clock on the wall and discovered that I was only five minutes late. Yet the greasy old motherfucker had to rub the fact in. I watched the steady rise and fall of Wagner’s big belly, thinking I could murder him. The old fucking martinet.

As I walked towards the shelves and started folding the clothes neatly, I could hear my colleague Esme Meyer’s dulcet tones in the background. Esme was trying to sell summer dresses to a group of young women. Esme was an attractive, statuesque redhead with the most persuasive manner ever. She attracted male customers with her luscious figure and got in female customers using her sweet (and, in my opinion, artificial) voice and polished (put-on) manner. Esme had also won the “Best Sales Assistant” award last year, owing to having made more sales than the rest of us. Drat. Give me a female shop assistant’s uniform and a saccharine sweet voice, and I could have beaten that fake, irritating redhead any day!

I stopped thinking about Esme and tried to concentrate on my work. As I was putting the coats out on the hangers, I smelt something funny. Smoke. What was happening? Were any of the clothes on fire? I looked around. No, all was well at Elegance. Yet the singed smell of smoke grew stronger. I glanced at old Wagner, Esme and her gaggle of customers. The expression on their faces told me that they had smelt the smoke too.

Soon wispy whirls of smoke entered Elegance. “It seems to be coming from the Food Court on the third floor” Wagner said “let’s go down and check what’s wrong”. Since the use of lifts is prohibited during a fire, fat Wagner and I took the stairs. I dashed down sprightly, while old Wagner lumbered down at his own pace. I opened the staircase door and sprinted into the third floor corridor. A whole lot of people were assembled there. I spotted my friend Ben, who worked as a server at the Food Court, and joined him. “The fire has been put out, mate” said Ben gravely “but Eddie, the cook, is injured”. “That’s too bad” I murmured. Ben and I pushed on ahead, through the crowd, to get a better view of the injured cook.

Eddie wasn’t in the best of shapes. He was sprawled on the floor, with wounds on his hands and feet. “When one of the kitchen curtains caught fire, and spread to old Eddie’s apron, he came rushing out screaming agitatedly. Someone had the sense to ferret out a blanket, throw it at Eddie and make him roll on the floor…” Ben explained to me.

“Shouldn’t we be doing something now, rather than just stand and stare?” I asked Ben.

“Sure” Ben agreed “but no one knows what to do”.

Just then, a tall woman pushed through the crowd with an air of confidence. She was about 35 years old and was stylishly dressed in a red A-line skirt, fitted faux leather jacket and ankle-length boots. Her dark brown hair was cut in a stylish bob. I recognized the woman as Madison Gillette, wife of Hugo Gillette: the owner of Madison Mall. While the others stared on, clueless about what to do, Madison summoned the mall manager and briskly asked him to call the emergency services immediately. Madison then kneeled down beside Eddie, and tried to rouse him by gently tickling his bare hands and feet. Eddie didn’t budge. Madison put her ear to the man’s chest (evidently trying to listen to the sound of air coming in and out), while simultaneously checking for a pulse. “His pulse is quite strong” she told everyone assembled “there is nothing to be worried about”. Just as Madison had said those words, Eddie’s eyes fluttered open. They opened wide in fear as the cook evidently recalled that his apron had caught fire. “You don’t have to worry” Madison said to Eddie in a crisp, reassuring tone “the burns aren’t too serious”. Madison asked one of the other cooks to get her a clean moist cloth, with which she covered Eddie’s burns. She subsequently asked the manager to fetch the first aid kit from the emergency room, and separated Eddie’s fingers and toes with dry, sterile bandages. Then, with quick competent movements, Madison raised Eddie’s legs and kept them on her lap. Her eyes searched the crowd and settled on me. “You come here” she called me firmly “and keep the man’s arms on your lap”. I kneeled on the floor and did as Madison had instructed. “Elevation will keep the burnt areas from pressure and friction” Madison explained to me. Her eyes were a clear grey, nose a strong one, and expression sincere. “This is the kind of face I’d trust in any situation” I said to myself.

Madison continued to monitor Eddie’s pulse and breathing until the ambulance arrived. She kept talking to the man in a positive, reassuring tone. When Eddie was put on the ambulance stretcher and taken away to the hospital, all of us got back to work. The day went on as usual, but something had changed. I had developed feelings of hero worship towards the kindly, competent Madison.


Please click here to read the rest of the story.


 

Feminized in Circus – Forced to Work as a Girl

  • Feminized in CircusTitle: Feminized in Circus
  • Subtitle: Forced to Work as a girl
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Transgender Category: MTF

Alfred Batista and Ethan Faria are 13 year old boys living in Goa. Alfred is very “pretty” and is often teased by other boys “as one with a pussy”. However, it is Ethan who nurtures a secret desire to be a girl.

The boys’ life changes when a traveling Spanish circus called ‘Esplendor Circus’ comes to town. On the night of a show, the circus’s owner and manager realizes that the star attraction of their circus: a talking parrot is missing. Alfred is tricked into wearing girls’ clothes and is paraded as a part of the exotic animal menagerie to divert people’s attention away from the missing parrot. None of Alfred’s friends recognize him.

The pretty ‘girl’ in the menagerie is a huge success and the owner makes a lot of money. He and the manager are now reluctant to let Alfred go. As Alfred tries to fight them and leave for home he is raped by the manager, Ruiz, in a bid to ‘tame’ Alfred. Alfred’s spirit is partly broken.

Alfred is dressed as an Arabian dancer and is displayed in the menagerie for a second consecutive night. He undergoes the motions of spinning the hula-hoop with distress. At the end of the show, Alfred spots Ethan who has come to the circus the next day too. He narrates the horror of his ordeal to his friend.

Characters:

Alfred Batista/Angie: is the protagonist of the story. He is a “pretty” boy, with enormous blue eyes, pink apple-like cheeks and red hair. At 13, he is 5’3 and doesn’t yet display signs of puberty. However, Alfred’s tastes are “boyish”: He is interested in fishing and soccer.

Ethan Faria/Yvette: is the protagonist’s best friend. At 13, he’s 5’5, lean, dusky and has black eyes and hair. Though Ethan looks manlier than Alfred, he nurtures a secret desire to be a girl. He isn’t interested in sports, but enjoys cooking.

Ronnie: is the protagonist’s girl friend. At 15, she is 5’5, ash blond, baby faced, has leaf green eyes and a voluptuous figure. She has been sold off by her parents to circus owner Mendoza at age 11. Subsequently, Ronnie is raped by circus manager, Ruiz and is given estrogen hormone injections to speed up the development of her child-like body. She subsequently works as the hula hoop girl in the circus.

 

Claudio Ruiz: is the savage animal-trainer cum manager of Esplendor Circus. Ruiz is 34 years old and is dark and skinny. He has long greasy black hair, replete with lice and crooked rotting teeth. He decorates his eyes with kohl and wears an animal talon necklace around his neck.

After Lucio the parrot goes missing, Ruiz finds Alfred as a substitute star attraction. He tricks Alfred into dressing like a girl and displays him in the exotic animals’ menagerie. The following day when Alfred tries to attack Ruiz, Ruiz rapes him. He forces Alfred to dress as an Arabian dancer and displays him in the menagerie for a second consecutive night.

Desi Mendoza: is the owner of Esplendor Circus. He is 50 years old, has a lined face, snub nose and pig-like eyes. Mendoza is fat and jowly. In spite of being the boss, Mendoza has got into the habit of taking directions from his subordinate, Ruiz.

After the talking parrot goes missing, Mendoza becomes panicky as the parrot is the star attraction of the show. He calms down at Ruiz’s behest and lets him go with the idea of using a feminized Alfred in the exotic animal menagerie.

———————

Feminized in Circus

Forced to Work as a Girl

Chapter 1 – A Pretty Boy

‘Your cane ain’t big enough’ said Alfred Batista ‘If you want to hook big fish, you’re gonna need a longer rod’.

‘How about this?’ said Ethan Faria, chopping off a longer cane of bamboo and holding it up for his friend for approval. ‘Yeah, that’s cool’ said Alfred appraising the rod approvingly ‘Long enough for the fishing line to be tied’. At thirteen, Alfred was probably the prettiest boy who existed on the planet. He was 5 feet 3 inches tall, lean and had the face of an angel. His face was yet devoid of hair and voice silky as a girl’s. Alfred loved sports, especially fishing and soccer.

‘So, I trim off the leaves next, right?’ asked Ethan, holding up the bamboo stick. Alfred nodded. Ethan proceeded to methodically scrap extraneous materials off the bamboo. He was the same age as Alfred, but extremely different in appearance. He was 5 feet 5 inches tall, was reed thin and had a lean dusky face like most local Goans. Unlike Alfred’s, Ethan’s voice had cracked. Hints of a moustache could be seen on his upper-lip. Yet, character-wise, he was the more effeminate of the two. ..Both boys lived in a small fishing village with lots of creeks, fields and coconut trees. The town had some exquisite Portuguese Baroque style buildings and charming old villas. The riverside, speckled with brightly white washed houses and wrought-iron balconies, offered a pretty view.

As the boys crossed cobbled alleys teeming with quaint old taverns and cafes, they came across a group of 17 year olds playing soccer. Ethan was keen on getting away, but Alfred stopped. ‘Will you please let me strike?’ he asked one of the older boys. ‘Ha! The runt wants to strike’ sniggered a burly hirsute specimen.

‘The pretty one with a pussy wants to play with guys’ his cocky, squat friend drawled. Nevertheless, the defenders passed the ball. Alfred caught it up and served it perfectly. The ball surged high in the air. The defenders and midfielders poised themselves to catch it. Everyone held their breath. The ball hit the goal. ‘The runt with a pussy’ had scored a goal.

The older boys watched the retreating figures of Alfred and Ethan. Ethan turned back to note an expression of desire and amazement on their faces. It was as if lust was written all over them. Imagining a hypothetical situation in which Alfred had a vagina, the guys would definitely have liked to slide their freshly-functioning fast burgeoning cocks into his pussy. Though Ethan loved Alfred as much as he would a brother, Ethan felt a stab of jealousy. It was he who wanted to be ogled at, coveted and chased. Belying his boyish appearance, Ethan fantasized about being a girl. When no one was around, he wore his sister’s dresses and bedaubed himself with his mother’s makeup. The act was his guiltiest pleasure. Ethan felt the same horrible envy pierce his heart when he heard the bed of his sister’s room creaking. The young wild animal-like sounds of his sister and her boyfriend making love made him go a terrible shade of green. Ethan was indisputably and undeniably gay.

As they passed the huge bell standing in the church of Immaculate Conception, Ethan said to Albert ‘A traveling circus is in town, you know’.

‘A traveling circus?’ said Alfred still thinking about soccer and fishing.

‘Yes, the Esplendor Circus from Spain!’ said his friend, his eyes shining ‘they are going to put it up in the huge grounds behind the Church Square. Marco had been there with his parents yesterday. He couldn’t stop talking about the performing monkeys, trapeze artists and puppeteers. But most of all he spoke about Lucio. Everyone in town’s talking about Lucio…’

‘Who’s Lucio?’ asked Alfred vaguely recalling the ways and means his dad had taught him to bait fish ‘Is he a performing artist of something?’

‘It would be wrong to call Lucio that’ admitted Ethan ‘He is an extremely bright parrot who is fluent in 7 different European languages. Marco was saying he is especially proficient in using expletives. Apparently, Lucio called the ring master a ‘blooding fucking little slut’. A shocked Mrs. D’Costa tried to cover her son’s ears with her prudish hands. But it was too late. Marco had already heard!’. Ethan laughed uproariously.

Alfred joined him. ‘Man, Lucio sounds like some parrot!’. He remarked ‘we must go to the circus’.

‘Great!’ said Ethan ‘Shall I get the other guys along? The show starts at eight’.

‘Fine’ said Alfred ‘How much are the tickets?’

‘Thirty dollars….something like that’ said Ethan.

Alfred made quick calculations in his head. He discovered that his pocket money would suffice to cover the expenses. He wouldn’t have to coax his old man to give him money. He told Ethan that they’d walk down to grounds behind Church Square at 7 pm.

A group of five boys set out at 7 pm. Alfred was dressed in his dandiest suit that he reserved for the Sunday’s mass: A navy blue pinstriped suit with a white shirt, a peaked lapel and a pink necktie that went along with his rosy cheeks. Like a good little boy, he paired them with a clean pair of light blue socks and black polished loafers. He wore a pair of silver cuff-links his granddad had given him before he passed away. Before leaving, Alfred’s mother attached a little pink rose in his button hole, gave him bag of apples and said: ‘Enjoy yourself, darling. Come home as soon as the show ends. No loitering around. There’d be many a crook prowling around to whisk off pretty children’.

‘I am not a child!’ Alfred protested ‘besides, I am not a girl’.

‘You’re no less prettier than one’ Alfred’s mom laughed

Like most young boys on the cusp of manhood, Alfred didn’t like his mother’s comment. He sulkily joined Ethan and his other friends waiting outside. They walked through creeks, baroque style buildings and enchanting villas before they finally reached the Church Square. As he heard the revelry: excited squeals and merriment of the crowds in the grounds behind it, Alfred’s heart swelled with a kind of unknown pleasure. A foreign circus, one that boasted of a talking parrot, was here! In spite of having Portuguese roots, Alfred had led a sheltered life in Goa and hadn’t seen any foreigners. He found his first prospective encounter with the outside world exciting beyond imagination.

The sprawling rented hall was lit up like a golden palace. Yellow bulbs adorning its surface glittered like glorious stars. A board right in front proclaimed ‘Espendor Circus’ is in big capital letters. Under it was a billboard bearing pictures of acrobats swinging two and fro, monkeys dressed as clowns, trapeze artists and a magnified image of the renowned Lucio: the talking parrot. He was a pretty striking bird with a blue face, a purple crown, a bright green crest, a chest with interspersed fluffy orange and golden feathers and a greenish flank. His wing shaft and tail were of the same bright yellow hue. Alfred noticed that Lucio’s beak and claws were as razor sharp as his tongue was supposed to be. Alfred sneaked a peek inside the circus and saw a majestic elevated platform covered with striped curtains. There were seats in front of the stage as well as side galleries, meant to accommodate a sizeable crowd. Alfred felt a tinge of excitement at the pit of his stomach, wondering what lay behind the stage or, for that matter, what life on stage would be like.

A little midget dressed as a maharaja, in tight red leggings, a kurta and a golden turban, chaperoning an elaborately adorned elephant with a howdah on its back, broke into Alfred’s reverie. ‘Tickets this way please’ he beckoned towards the counter. Albert moved towards the counter with his friends in tow. The tallest boy in the group collected the money of the six other boys and paid the guy dispatching tickets in bulk. Subsequently, the boys heard the enticing tinkle of the cotton candy cart and flocked to it like ants. Alfred mannishly desisted. He didn’t think eating sticky fluffy cotton candy behooved a young man of 13. Giving his friends a contemptuous glance, he ambled towards the back of the hall. Absorbed in their juvenile sugary orgasms, the other boys didn’t notice.

The night air was cool on Alfred’s skin. Emboldened by the freshness it bestowed to the night, Alfred sauntered deeper into the back of the circus. It was suddenly as if the innocence of the pristine night had been ruined. The air suddenly smelled filthy: of decaying food, animal waste, pus and blood. Alfred realized that he had come to the enclosure the circus animals were imprisoned in. He saw sad looking parrots with their wings clipped. Alfred noticed that they had been put in cages without perches, forcing them to haplessly cling to a side. Cages bearing lions, tigers, bears and dogs looked as if they hadn’t been swept in ages. The food dishes which hadn’t been cleared had flies swarming to them. They gave out an unbearably strong reek. Horses, with their hind legs tied together, hobbled around limited distances, half-heartedly chewing on dried decayed-looking hay. Shackled elephants, tethered right in front, trampled on their own filth and waste. Alfred noticed that one was missing an eye and was also suffering from an especially bad sore on its side.

‘What an irony!’ said Alfred to himself ‘Esplendor Circus is beautiful to view, but is so full of cruel dark secrets inside!’. He remembered the bag of apples his mother had given him. Alfred was moved enough to salvage a few and give them to the one-eyed elephant one by one. Little did he know that this naïve action of his would be used against him in such a manner that that his innocent life would change forever.


To read the rest of the story please click here.

 

Books of “Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform” series are titled “Slippery Slope”

Among the transgender stories written by Yu Sakurazawa, the books in the “Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform” series are the most popular and all of them are titled as “A Slippery Slope –  something”.  The phrase “slippery slope” means a process or series of events that is hard to stop or control once it has begun and that usually leads to worse or more difficult things.

Likewise, in each book of “A Slippery Slope – something” once a process is triggered it is impossible to stop and feminization of the protagonist inevitably progresses until it is finally completed.

A majority of transgender stories that you will find in the Kindle market are run-of-the-mill adult fictions, while Yu Sakurazawa’s stories are not. “Slippery Slope” stories are serious mtf stories, or heartwarming romances. They are delightful mtf reads and are sensual, erotic and fun.

Here are the cover pages of “A Slippery Slope – something” books (Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform/Dress series) with links to Amazon sales pages.

A Slippery Slope in an Airline A Slippery Slope in a Bank A Slippery Slope in a Call Center A Slippery Slope in a Hospital A Slippery Slope in a Hotspring A Slippery Slope in a Nunnery A Slippery Slope in a School A-Slippery-Slope-in-an-Ad-Agency A Slippery Slope in Military Academy A Slippery Slope in an Amish Community

Please see brief introduction to each story as follows:

A Slippery Slope in Amish Life

Laila is a research scholar affiliated with JNU University and writing a thesis on the Amish Community. She is 27 year old,  tall, dusky, muscular for a woman, have straight jet black hair and intense coal black eyes.  When she was alone in an Amish house on Sunday Laila met Amos, a beautiful young Amish man and fell in love at first sight. She couldn’t resist the urge to persuade him to dress in female clothes. However, the Amish family came home and found Amos dressing in drag. Then they excommunicated Amos from the Amish community.  Laila considered it as her responsibility and took him to New Delhi on a student visa. She helped Amos enroll into a foreign language course in JNU University and helped him transform into a woman, gradually. During the course of Amos’s treatment, Laila meets Dr. Gracie Holmes who tells her that Laila herself suffers from GID.

A Slippery Slope in a Hospital

Craig/Carol Lovatt: is the 28 year old protagonist of the story. He is a petite, slender, pretty-faced Anglo-Indian who works as a nurse in the renowned Acesco Hospital. He is a responsible nurse, but commits a rare mistake on Valentine’s Night. As a result of his negligence, a patient dies. The patient happens to be the wife of Norman Abbott, the dean of Acesco Hospital. In lieu of being sued for negligence, Craig opts to sign a contract drawn up by Mr. Abbott. The terms of the contract bind Craig to carry out a series of strange instructions given by Mr. Abbott without questioning. One of them entails going to hospital dressed in a female nurse’s uniform and identifying himself as “Nurse Carol Abbott”.

A Slippery Slope in an Ad Agency

Zack is the 34 year old wild, unconventional and attractive protagonist of the story. He is tall, has expressive dark eyes and colors his hair blue. As the Creative Head and co-owner of leading ad agency Impressions, Zack has many admirers. His life has its share of schemers with his brother Ben and girlfriend Tania desiring his feminization to meet their own selfish ends. By making a laughing stock of Zack, Ben wants to amass all his popularity. By feminizing him, Tania wants to satisfy her deepest fantasies. On Tania’s suggestion, Zack dresses as “Zina” to be able to write the perfect ad copy to endorse women’s cosmetics, dresses and lingerie. Slowly and steadily, Tania and Ben trick Zack into completely becoming Zina— with silky long hair, breasts and a pussy. Though Zina is loyal to Tania, she finds that she is powerfully attracted to her client, Daniel Garfield.

A Slippery Slope in an Airline

In order to be closer to his girlfriend Flight Pursuer Gina Brooks, 25 year old law student Carlton Hart applies for the position of a steward in Zephyr Airlines. One of the recruiters, the older ultra-attractive In-flight Service Manager Rosaline Wells, agrees to select Carlton albeit only as a female flight attendant. Rosaline claims to see a woman (whom she calls “Clarissa”) trapped inside Carlton, and makes it her mission to set Clarissa free. Carlton thinks Rosaline is a raving lunatic, but agrees to dress in an air hostess’s uniform and identify himself as Clarissa Hart.As Carlton starts his job, he discovers that he is careless and clumsy. A series of events including a mid-air kiss Carlton shares with bisexual pop singer Twiggy Meteor, Gina’s affair and elopement with charismatic naxalite Ashish Dutta and, later, her marriage to wealthy hotelier Ellis Lawson, push Carlton deeper and deeper into the quagmire of feminization and into Rosaline’s sensual arms.However, Carlton (now Clarissa) still dreams of getting back with Gina. Will the two young lovers ever reunite? Or are they permanently pushed aside by hostile circumstances?

A Slippery Slope in a Hotspring: Yumori of Kasuga Hotspring

A retiree, 60 year old Japanese businessman Mr.Suzuki, visits Kasuga Hot Spring and meets a young yumori (hot spring keeper). The two men get into interesting conversation. The yumori takes Suzuki deep into the woods in the back of the hot spring, where Suzuki finds an astounding secret spring where animals are bathing. The combination of the human bath and the secret animal bath gives a magical effect – rejuvenating into the opposite sex.

A Slippery Slope in a Nunnery: where none of the nuns may dress improperly

Alex Pinto is the protagonist of “None of the Nuns May Dress Improperly” (Magdalene Sorority). Alex is quite a good-looking boy, 5 feet 9 inches tall, with an athletic body, honey-brown eyes and copper-streaked hair. He has a long face, a noble nose and full-lips: features that earn him the ‘beautiful’ sobriquet. Mesmerized by the beauty of Irish nun, Stella Mary, Alex trespasses into nunnery grounds. He is caught and bullied by the young nuns, led by three lethal females called the Three Musketeers. Much to Alex’s embarrassment, the Three Musketeers decide to punish him by forcing him to wear a pale pink tunic and a wimple. Since they haven’t had much straight sexual activity in recent times, they also get Alex to pleasure them.

A Slippery Slope in a Bank

26 year old effeminate-mannered, pretty faced man, Vicky Pereira wishes to marry his long term girlfriend, Edwina Joseph as soon as possible. However, his current job in a lesser-known bank doesn’t accord him enough financial security to take such a big step in his personal life. Vicky applies for the post of senior manager in a renowned bank known as Trust Bank. A goof-up at the interview leads to an underestimation on the part of the recruiters: Vicky is now employed as a clerk in Trust Bank. To comply with the rules, he must wear a uniform just like the other clerks: a jacket with an in-built bra and a form-fitting skirt. Customers are uneasy interacting with a man dressed in drag, hence Vicky is ordered to undergo laser treatment for removal of facial hair and a tracheal shave to get rid of his Adam’s apple. Vicky is under the impression that his feminization is a superficial one, done only for professional reasons. However, his girlfriend Edwina has other plans and Vicky permanently becomes a girl.

A Slippery Slope in Military Academy: A Frail Cadet

In an attempt to cure himself of GID, 19 year old honey-complexion boy, Dean joins Everest Military Academy: a private training institute that trains young people to become brave and competent soldiers. However, the delicate Dean finds he is unable to cope with the strenuous army life and finds himself failing all PET tests. The principal of the academy, gives Dean an ultimatum: either quit the academy or continue as a female cadet. Dean embraces his deepest, darkest desires by opting to transform into a female cadet. He is ordained into femininity by being forced to wear the female cadets’ uniform which comprises of a puff-sleeved OG shirt and a leaf-green pleated skirt. Eventually, Dean’s feminization includes HRT and SRS conducted/supervised by doll-faced 29 year old army doctor, Dr. (Capt) Sophie Mistry. As Dean eventually transforms into gorgeous, diva-like Diana, Dr. (Capt) Sophie makes it clear that her interest in Diana is more than professional. Diana, however, has lost her heart to Capt. Eric Saldana, her young and dashing Military History teacher. Diana is shocked when she learns that Capt. Saldana is interested in Dr. (Capt) Sophie. Meanwhile, Cadet Alvin D’Cruz, a classmate of Diana’s displays a zealous, possessive passion for her. Where will these convoluted romantic entanglements lead to? Is Diana destined to be with the man of her dreams?

A Slippery Slope in a Call Center

Eighteen year old Ajay Singh is a pretty-faced, effeminate boy living in the town of Patiala. Even though he is born male, Ajay hasn’t attained puberty. His dressing in female clothes and performing a feminine dance on a college stage creates a scandal in the social circles his family moves in. Fearing further stigma, Ajay’s parents ask him to leave Patiala. Ajay travels to Bangalore and joins a BPO/Call center of a San Francisco based telecom company called Ursa Major. He is given the job of a customer service representative. Ajay finds himself deeply fascinated by his beautiful and powerful boss, Barbara Turner. Barbara takes a personal interest in Ajay and even helps him neutralize his accent. The sexual tension between the two provides fodder for some office gossip. Since Ajay has a high-pitched, girlish voice, Barbara asks him to identify himself as ‘Arianna’ to customers who call. ‘Arianna’s’ life takes an unusual turn when Barbara coaxes him to wear a saree on the ethnic day held in the office.

Slippery Slope in a School

In the year of 2002, small-town boy, Simon joins Somerset High, an elite school that caters only to the offspring of the rich and the powerful. Since Simon is a scholarship student belonging to an ordinary family, his uppity classmates initially treat him with contempt. However, as his talents become known, Simon’s popularity soars, leaving school heart throb Sid fuming. Sid resorts to mean, underhanded tricks to pull Simon down. After Sid plays an especially dirty trick on Simon, school queen bee Richa (who also happens to hate Sid’s guts) offers to help Simon defeat Sid. For this Simon must assume a new identity—that of a female Italian student of royal lineage, “Principessa Simona Marino of Monte Isola”. As the charm of “Simona” casts a spell over the students of Somerset High, Sid’s popularity takes a beating. However, Sid doesn’t mind being beaten by the lovely exotic “princess”. As weeks fly by, Simon finds himself getting sucked, deeper and deeper, into the quagmire of femininity. As his body is progressively feminized, Simon finds that he is physically attracted to none other than his sworn enemy Sid! However, he also experiences a soul-to-soul connection with the noble Pamela, who, like himself, is a scholarship student of humble origins. Will Simona choose Sid or Pamela? Will love win over primeval lust?


 

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A Slippery Slope in an Airline – Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform

  • A Slippery Slope in an AirlineTitle: A Slippery Slope in an Airline
  • Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Transgender Category: MTF

Carlton is the 25 year old protagonist of the story. Carlton is 5’6, has china blue eyes, a small pert nose and wavy brown hair. He has a delicate fit body and dainty hands and feet. Carlton world turns upside down when he meets In-flight Service Manager, Rosaline Wells who insists that he joins Zephyr airlines dressed in a female flight attendants’ uniform. Though Carlton has doubts about Rosaline’s mental balance, he obliges as he wants to be close to Gina, his girl friend. Under Rosaline’s instructions, he calls himself Clarissa Hart and pretends to be a female flight attendant. Carlton all along experiences a powerful attraction for Rosaline Wells. A series of gaffes Carlton commits push him deeper and deeper into the whirlpool of feminization. Carlton eventually transforms into an attractive, shapely, long-haired woman and starts living with Rosaline as her young lesbian wife. In spite of being in a relationship with Rosaline, Clarissa yearns for Gina.


A Slippery Slope in an Airline

Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform

Chapter 1 – An Attractive Cougar

“Carlton” my girlfriend Gina Brooks pouted “we never get to see much of each other, do we?”. With her baby blue eyes, perfectly bobbed red hair and an above-the-knee A-line shift, Gina looked invitingly pretty. I had been dating this intoxicating flight attendant for five years now, and life was heaven. But the hectic, inflexible nature of Gina’s job left us with little time for each other.

“Yes, baby” I agreed, languidly flipping through my law books “It’s a real pity”. I was studying law, and was currently in the 5th semester, but studying the Civil Procedure Code held no interest for me whatsoever. I craved to be with Gina 24×7, 365 days in a year. However, I had no remote idea as to how to manage this.

“Well, what do you propose we do about it?” Gina indignantly put her arms on her tiny waist. This gesture made my girlfriend look younger than her 25 years. I often teased Gina about how young she looked. And Gina often teased me back. There was truth in what Gina said: I looked closer to 20 than 25.

“Oh, I don’t know” I carelessly said, trying to get my head around procedural law “why don’t you get a job near our apartment? Perhaps you could be a receptionist or something?”. Gina and I shared a 30×30 flat in the Eurasian Cantonment Area of Bangalore. The flat was a pretty modest one, with two bedrooms, a living hall, a kitchen and a bathroom, but pretty much served the needs of a young couple like us.

Gina seized a textbook from my hand and thwacked me on the head. “Oww…what was that for?” I asked shocked.

“For being such a male chauvinist pig!” said Gina thwacking me again “didn’t it occur to you to get a job in my airline? You could complete your law course via correspondence”. My girlfriend worked with Zephyr Airways, which was the fourth largest in India, size-wise and in terms of the number of passengers it carried.

“I could” I said “but how would an administrative job help?”

“I was thinking on lines of a flight attendant, silly!” said Gina impatiently “’a steward’ as they used to say in the good old days. There is an open session going on, so there’s no need to apply. You could just walk into Room No. 9 at the farthest end of the airport and attend the interview in the coming week”.

“Do you think I’d qualify?” I asked taking an objective look in the mirror “the job demands a good personality”. I liked what I saw in the mirror. At 5’6, I wasn’t the tallest male on earth, but was definitely one of the cutest (even if I say so myself). With a pair of china blue eyes, a small pert nose and wavy brown hair, I looked rather like Scottish actor James McAvoy. My body wasn’t overly muscular, but was in shape. “Weight in proportion to height” – that’s what all airlines advertised, right? Well, I had that.

“You know you’ve got it, pretty boy” Gina teased “don’t fish for compliments now!”

“But I wonder if I have the customer care skills…” I said seeking further reassurance.

“Oh, you do” Gina assured me “when it comes to mollycoddling children and pampering grandmas, you can give a trained nanny a run for her money!”

“Then I am mighty glad” I drawled. I flipped Gina over on her back and tickled her neck and dimpled chin. She laughed until tears ran down her eyes and begged me to stop. Oh, the juvenile-erotic games of sweet youth!

***

On the D-day, I dressed in a double breasted tan suit, with a dark brown tie picked by my girlfriend. The crisp white shirt I wore didn’t have a single crease and its collar was held stiff by a pair of silver collar-stiffeners Gina had borrowed from her dad for the occasion. A pair of classic pearl double cuff-links and roasted coffee bean colored loafers completed my ensemble.

My face glowed with health and vitality. My wavy brown hair glimmered so brilliantly that it would have put men in shampoo ads to shame. I surveyed my teeth: they dazzled like diamonds.

With a few last minute tips and reading of sample in-flight announcements, I was ready to take on the world. Gina and I drove to the airport in her vanilla white Maruti 800 car. Since Gina had already handed over my resume to the HR department of Zephyr Airways, I didn’t have to take the trouble of carrying it along.

The airport was the most overwhelming, yet exciting place on earth. It was spread over 400 acres, had a capacious runway and aircrafts with behemoth wingspans. My loafers made contact with PVC flooring that was perfect and the high ceiling curved ahead of me in an exciting tunnel. People of different nationalities, cultures and professions pulled their trolleys along or patiently waited in the passenger areas. The staff areas comprised of some perfectly dressed people. The attractively lit retail outlets and restaurants beckoned me invitingly.

Resisting the urge to have a Coke, I walked to room number 9. At the entrance of the interview room, Gina gave me an encouraging peck on the cheek and disappeared. I was left to handle the interview on my own. Suppressing the nervousness that threatened to debilitate me, I strode in.

That was the first time I saw her.

45 year old Rosaline Wells, an experienced In-flight Service Manager, was seated beside two non-descript men in identical navy blue suits and two neatly dressed young females. The perfectly tailored light olive-green shirt that Rosaline wore flattered her ripe perfectly spherical breasts and brought out the color of her twinkling green eyes perfectly. She had a long slightly gaunt face with high-cheek bones, a feature that added to her attractiveness. As she stood up, I noticed that Rosaline was wearing a figure-hugging skirt that flattered her voluptuous figure and nude high heeled pumps that made her look three or four inches taller than her already towering 5 feet 9 inches.

“Hello” I said “I am Carlton Hart”.

“Welcome Mr. Hart” said one of the two guys in identical suits “we received your resume and are quite happy with the way you’ve presented yourself. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have other work to attend to. Ms. Wells here will be your sole interviewer”. The men shook my slightly sweaty hands and departed. The two girls (who had obviously been freshly interviewed) thanked Rosaline Wells, gave me a friendly parting smile and left the room. Even though I was nervous, I returned their smiles.

I was left alone with Rosaline Hart. I noticed that though she wasn’t a classic beauty, Rosaline was a very attractive woman.

“Have a seat, Mr. Hart” she said in warm, but professional tones “you don’t have to be nervous”. She pushed back a strand of golden hair and gave me a humorous, slightly skewed smile.

“This is the first time I have applied for the post of a flight assistant” I said frankly. It was a gawky, stupid, bumbling thing to say, but Rosaline took no notice of it. “It doesn’t matter” she said soothingly “as long as you have the interest and aptitude, it’s alright. Besides, we’ll put you through an 8 week period of intensive training before you actually start working on aircrafts”.

Rosaline started off with the expected question. “Why do you want to be a flight assistant?” she asked.

“I would like to be a flight attendant for Zephyr Airways as I believe I have excellent customer service skills and the talent of interacting with diverse customers, both at a personal and professional level. I also understand the importance of team spirit, and would work with my colleagues to create the most comfortable flying experience ever for passengers. I also understand the importance of customer safety, and would be perfectly suited to the exciting, bustling fast paced environment of the aviation industry” I rattled out the notes that I had mugged. Frankly speaking, I sounded rather like a parrot. Throughout the time during which I answered, I was aware of Rosaline’s twinkling green eyes appraising the shape of my forehead, the angle of my nose and the curve of my lips. Simultaneously I had an overwhelming urge, to reach out and touch Rosaline’s shoulder-length thick golden blonde hair. I clenched my arms at my sides and forced myself to smile.

Rosaline smiled too—her funny little lopsided smile. “Your answer is technically perfect” she said kindly, “but I urge you to cast protocol aside and speak from the heart. See me as a friend, not as an interviewer. Why do you think you have exceptional customer service skills?”

“Well” I answered “it’s because I love looking after people. As my girlfriend says I love ‘mollycoddling children and pampering elderly ladies’. There is something about care-giving that gives me the deepest satisfaction. I often feel bad that I’m not able to assist people on a day-to-day basis”.

Rosaline nodded, as if affirming some inner thought. Then she gave me the widest, most brilliant smile ever. It reminded me of water in the sunshine.

“I believe I just got a glimpse into your soul” she said, looking at me in a way that made the small hairs on my body rise “thank you for trusting me enough to….”.

Rosaline went on to ask me further questions vis-à-vis diplomacy, customer safety and professional interactions. In between taking notes, her sparkling green eyes kept returning to my tiny, delicate hands. I was acutely aware of the delicate nape of Rosalind’s neck, the haphazard rhythm of her breathing, the perfect spheres of her breasts and a thin film of perspiration on her upper lip. She proceeded to ask me to read a sample in-flight announcement. I read it as crisply and clearly as I could.

At the end of the interview, Rosaline looked elated. “Congratulations, Carlton” she said “You’ve done tremendously well. I liked the way you answered the questions and the affable manner in which you interacted with your peers. After all, they are your future classmates and coworkers. I am happy to announce that you’re eligible for our 8 week training program. However, after gauging your personality, I’m convinced that you’d be more eligible to be a female flight attendant rather than a male”.

“What?!” I said unable to believe my ears.

“You heard me right, Carlton” said Rosaline “I think you are better suited to be an air-hostess, rather than a steward”.


Click here to read the rest of the story.

A Slippery Slope in a Hospital – Sentimental Transgender Romance

A Slippery Slope in a Hospital

  • Title: A Slippery Slope in a Hospital
  • Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Transgender Category: MTF

Craig/Carol Lovatt: is the 28 year old protagonist of the story. He is a petite, slender, pretty-faced Anglo-Indian who works as a nurse in the renowned Acesco Hospital. He is a responsible nurse, but commits a rare mistake on Valentine’s Night. As a result of his negligence, a patient dies. The patient happens to be the wife of Norman Abbott, the dean of Acesco Hospital. In lieu of being sued for negligence, Craig opts to sign a contract drawn up by Mr. Abbott. The terms of the contract bind Craig to carry out a series of strange instructions given by Mr. Abbott without questioning. One of them entails going to hospital dressed in a female nurse’s uniform and identifying himself as “Nurse Carol Abbott”.


A Slippery Slope in a Hospital

“Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform” series

Chapter 1 – The Gross Negligence

The time was 9pm. I, Nurse Craig Lovatt had been on the evening shift for a good 7 hours already. Since the date happened to be February 14th, Valentine’s Day, on which it has become a universal ritual to express romantic love towards one’s partner, I had planned a date with my girlfriend Theresa (Tessa, for short). The two of us had planned to meet in a multi-cuisine restaurant named “Rogue Elephant” which is a four hour drive from the hospital.

I had already asked the head nurse, Mildred Bosham, for permission to be allowed to leave the hospital an hour earlier than usual. She, in turn, had spoken to Chief Nursing Officer, Lara Jenkins who had rolled her eyes and said, “At least, four other nurses have asked to be let off duty early on Valentine’s Night. But hey, I think we’ll manage. After all, your personal lives are important to us too”.

I had profusely thanked her before I left. Right now, I made my way into the changing room. I had bought a new grey suit for the occasion. Before stripping, I surveyed myself in the mirror. A beautiful young man in his 20s, wearing the male nurses’ white tunic and associated epaulettes, stared back at me. A pendent watch, a rite-of-passage gift my dad had given me when I had become a full-fledged nurse, dangled on my delicate neck.

“Beautiful” and “Delicate” may sound like unusual adjectives for a man, but they did suit me perfectly. At 5’4, I didn’t have much of my tall, big boned Anglo-Indian parents in me. I was comely and slender, with a body that was dainty and fine-boned. Also, my face was smooth and chiseled like that of people from the North Eastern part of India or perhaps Far Eastern Asia. Since my family was all for cultural interbreeding, I attributed my physical appearance to one of my ancestors having been from East Asia.

I had started unbuttoning my white tunic, when Nurse Bosham’s voice sounded from the door. “Nurse Lovatt” she said peremptorily “come out for a second, will you?”

I buttoned my tunic and stepped out. Nurse Bosham’s round face was lined with worry. “What’s up, Madam?” I asked.

“Nurse Lovatt” Nurse Bosham said in an apologetic tone “could you please stay back for an hour or so, until Nurse Kapadia arrives for the night shift? All the other nurses on the evening shift are absconding, you see. We have an emergency case. The dean’s wife has suddenly been taken ill”. The dean of Acesco Hospital was an American named Norman Abbott. He also ran a health insurance company that funded the hospital. I’d heard that the Abbotts were basically Americans, but had lived in India for a very long time.

“Drat” I thought “Why do such things happen only to me?”

I exhaled audibly and followed Nurse Lovatt to the inpatients’ ward. A grey-haired over-weight woman, roughly in her late 50s, was convulsively jerking her arms and legs. The abrupt movements caused her wiry grey hair to jerk free of her pony-tail, making her look extremely unkempt. I couldn’t help noticing that her night gown was faded and drab. I looked at the patient’s name and age. 57 year old Vivian Abbott wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Epilepsy?” I asked the Nurse Bosham.

“Yes” said Nurse Bosham “plus potential depression of the respiratory system caused by alcohol ingestion. In addition to having fits, Mrs. Abbott is severely intoxicated as well. Dr. Moira Jacob will brief you up about the rest. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another patient to attend”. With the above information given succinctly, Nurse Bosham left me.

Presently, Dr. Jacob joined me. She was a peevish young woman in her mid 30s. These days, Dr. Jacob was especially bad-tempered, since she was undergoing treatment for infertility. The hormones she had been put on, for egg-retrieval, caused extreme mood swings in her.

“Give her Carbamazepine” Dr. Jacob said to me abruptly “and yeah, since Mrs. Abbott is here for the first time, go low and go slow”.

“Yes, doctor” I said “but don’t you think we need to go through Mrs. Abbott’s medical history first? After all, it might have information we’re unaware of”. I was in the habit of setting up treatment sheets before I started treating any of my patients.

“Good Lord, Nurse Lovatt!” Dr. Jacob snapped “where do I ferret out her history from??”

“We could probably ask….” I said timidly “has someone accompanied her?”

“Yeah, there was a woman who had accompanied her” Dr. Jacob said irritably “I think she’s Mrs. Abbott’s domestic help. The woman has gone to get herself coffee. And we can’t afford to wait for eternity! So, do as I say and give her the goddamn drug!!”.

I wasn’t sure at all if I ought to follow Dr. Jacob’s orders. First of all, we didn’t know Mrs. Abbott’s medical history. In addition, apart from suffering from epilepsy, Mr. Abbott was heavily drunk as well. This aspect made the case more complicated than it looked.

Probably Dr. Jacob wasn’t in the best state of mind because of the hormones injected during her in-vitro treatment. Perhaps I ought to fetch Nurse Bosham. Or consult Ms. Jenkins.

“Don’t obsess, you fool!” a voice inside my head reprimanded “you can still make it to Rogue Elephant. Send Tessa a message and tell her you’ll meet her in about forty-five minutes. And for heaven’s sake, give the patient Carbamazepine like the goddamn doctor is telling you to and be done with it!”

I gave Mrs. Abbott the medicine as Dr. Jacob had ordered. Then Dr. Jacob examined her. After all, the potential depression of Mrs. Abbott’s respiratory system also had to be looked into. During the initial examination, it was documented that Mrs. Abbott was responsive to pain and able to speak in a slurred manner. Also, she could move her extremities. There was no apparent trauma.

Next, on Dr. Jacob’s orders, I shifted Mrs. Abbott into a movable stretcher and wheeled her into the ICU. I evaluated the patient for about ten minutes. The lines on the monitor, monitoring electric activity of the heart, blood pressure etc showed that Mrs. Abbott’s condition was quite stable.

I looked at my pendent watch. It was only 9:30 pm. There was still time to slip away, get dressed and drive to meet Tessa at Rogue Elephant. Mrs. Abbott seemed to be doing quite okay. Besides, Nurse Kapadia would arrive in half an hour.

I left the ICU and surreptitiously slipped into the changing room. I wore the smart grey suit, slicked my hair with hair gel and sneaked unseen into the parking lot through the rear exit of the hospital. Then I got into my second hand red Maruti 800 car and drove down towards Rogue Elephants’……

***

While I was still dreaming of the sweet kisses and murmurings Tessa and I had exchanged the previous night, I was awakened by the persistent ringing of my mobile phone. I recognized the number on the screen as that of Ms. Jenkins’.

“Good morning, Ms. Jenkins” I sleepily said “what’s up?”

“Nurse Lovatt” Ms. Jenkins’s voice sounded grim “please get here as soon as possible”.

I quickly got dressed in a striped shirt and beige trousers and drove down to the hospital. I met Ms. Jenkins and Nurse Bosham at the entrance. Both of them looked grim, and somewhat accusatory. At that instance, I knew something was seriously wrong.

“You slipped away before your shift ended yesterday” Ms. Jenkins said glaring at me piercingly. Hers was a statement, not a question.

“And you gave the patient Carbamazepine without even having checked her medical history” said Nurse Bosham severely “Did you know Mrs. Abbott was allergic to it?”

“Well, Dr. Jacob asked me to…” I said my mouth going dry “I just followed her orders”.

“We all know very well, Nurse Lovatt” said Ms. Jenkins accusingly “that Dr. Jacob hasn’t been herself lately. Hospital rules state that if there is the slightest doubt in the nurse’s mind, regarding the prudence of a doctor’s decision, they should consult another authority. You can’t blindly follow orders when you know the doctor in charge is wrong. If in your situation, even a novice nurse would have consulted either Nurse Bosham or me”.

I swallowed in panic. It had crossed my mind to fetch either Nurse Bosham or Ms. Jenkins before administering Carbamazepine to Mrs. Abbott. It was something I should have done as a responsible nurse. However, I had decided not to because I was more concerned about my Valentine Night’s date with Tessa.

“Besides, Nurse Lovatt” said Nurse Bosham “you left the patient unattended for half an hour, until Nurse Kapadia got here for the night shift. The minimum standard of care calls upon the nurse on duty to monitor the patient’s respiratory rate every 15 minutes….however, you sneaked away without informing anyone and left Mrs. Abbott’s respiratory status unmonitored…..”

“I am sorry” I said earnestly “I sincerely apologize. It was very unprofessional on my part to leave the patient unattended for so long”.

The two women maintained a stony silence. A strange uneasiness gripped me.

“By the way” I asked timidly “how’s Mrs. Abbott doing today?”

“She died, Nurse Lovatt” said Ms. Jenkins coldly “by the time Nurse Kapadia arrived, Mrs. Abbott wasn’t breathing. She was cyanotic; her pupils were fixed and dilated. The autopsy report is yet to come in, but we suspect respiratory arrest was the cause of death”.

I froze with fear. Mrs. Abbott was dead. It had been my duty to consult with other superiors before administering the dubious drug, but I had omitted to do that. It had also been my–solely my–responsibility to stay back until the end of my shift and to closely monitor the patient’s condition. However, I had slipped away because Mrs. Abbott’s seemed quite stable.

The powerful dean’s wife was dead. And she died because of me.


 

Please click here to read the rest of the story.


 

A Slippery Slope in a School – Forced to Work in Girls’ Dress

A Slippery Slope in a School

  • Title: A Slippery Slope in a School
  • Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Dress
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Transgender Category: MTF

In the year of 2002, small-town boy, Simon joins Somerset High, an elite school that caters only to the offspring of the rich and the powerful. Since Simon is a scholarship student belonging to an ordinary family, his uppity classmates initially treat him with contempt. However, as his talents become known, Simon’s popularity soars, leaving school heart throb Sid fuming. Sid resorts to mean, underhanded tricks to pull Simon down.

After Sid plays an especially dirty trick on Simon, school queen bee Richa (who also happens to hate Sid’s guts) offers to help Simon defeat Sid. For this Simon must assume a new identity—that of a female Italian student of royal lineage, “Principessa Simona Marino of Monte Isola”. As the charm of “Simona” casts a spell over the students of Somerset High, Sid’s popularity takes a beating. However, Sid doesn’t mind being beaten by the lovely exotic “princess”.

As weeks fly by, Simon finds himself getting sucked, deeper and deeper, into the quagmire of femininity. As his body is progressively feminized, Simon finds that he is physically attracted to none other than his sworn enemy Sid! However, he also experiences a soul-to-soul connection with the noble Pamela, who, like himself, is a scholarship student of humble origins.

Will Simona choose Sid or Pamela? Will love win over primeval lust?


A Slippery Slope in a School

“Principessa of Monte Isola”
Chapter 1 – A Wily Fox

I sit in my garden, savoring the crisp air and greenery around me. Through the rose bushes and cherry trees, I see Pamela, laughing freely as she spins the merry-go-round where our daughter, Diya is sitting on. Three year old Diya lets out a gurgle of delight. Pamela pushes a strand of straight brown hair behind her ear. She looks extremely young and carefree.

Pamela has been my partner for about 15 years now. There was a time in my life when I had to choose between her and another person. The choice I made changed my life. In spite of my aching youth at the time of critical choice, good sense prevailed. And I am ineffably thankful about that.

Diya, which name means “a lamp”, lit up our home two years ago. Pamela and I came across the emaciated child when the NGO we worked in had sent us to promote literacy and awareness in certain parts of Africa. Baby Diya’s parents had died of Ebola. She was, at that point, being looked after by an impoverished neighbor, who hadn’t yet turned her over to an orphanage.

One look at those beautiful clear eyes, and Pamela and I knew that Diya belonged to us and that we belonged to her. After completing a complicated web of paperwork, we were finally able to bring our baby home, which is in Wimbledon in south west London. Today Diya is a healthy, happy toddler of three. Pamela and I have looked way ahead into the future and made ambitious plans for our child.

As I take another sip of my tea, I think about myself and the extent to which my life has changed. I am Simona, a fair, curvaceous woman of thirty two, with long black hair that falls in loose waves across my shoulders. I enjoy cooking, gardening and of course, rock music. I work for a UK based NGO called “Sparkle”, which works for the eradication of ignorance and superstition, and promotes literacy and awareness in developing countries. I find my job a meaningful one and derive much satisfaction from it. Helping others and knowing that I am making a difference gives me a tremendous high.

I lie back on my hammock and reflect on how far I’ve come. Life for me wasn’t always “Sparkle”. It was also once in “Somerset High”. And the events that transpired in Somerset High changed the topography of my life. It was not in some trifling philosophical way either. The series of minor occurrences that snowballed into a large-scale event drastically changed the course of my life including my identity.

Grandmas narrate fantastic folklores and legends about incidents that never ever occurred. Writers create utopias and dystopias, which are mere concoctions of the imagination. It sometimes feels good to read fiction. However, I prefer reality and truth. For truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. The events that transpired in 2002, and my whole life is testimony to the events.

It all began when I joined Somerset High. Somerset High was an elite highly westernized school, full of children of mostly the rich, powerful and the influential. However, the school offered scholarships to meritorious students hailing from poor or middle-class backgrounds. That is how I, 18 year old Simon Kataria, originally hailing from Alwar in Rajasthan, was able to secure admission into the twelfth grade of Somerset High.

For a boy hailing from a small town, Bangalore provided a bit of a shock. It was full of MNCs, pizzerias and glittering shopping complexes, and was suffused to all over with Western culture–something that I hadn’t been much exposed to at that time. I was astonished to see how modern and techno-savvy everyone was. For a no-frills boy brought up with good values, my classmates provided the biggest shock ever. I was flabbergasted to see how spoilt they were: how much lacking in morals and manners, the ability to work hard and respect for other people. Most of them, I discovered, had little or no merit, but were in Somerset High just because a parent or a relative happened to be a big shot. The students of Somerset High were shallow superficial brats, whose only mission in life, it seemed, was to run others down.

The aforementioned covered Richa Luthra, the queen bee of the school. Richa was very pretty and well-aware of the fact. She turned up to school wearing short sexy dresses, high heels and make up (Somerset High, modeled after American schools, didn’t have a uniform). Richa’s hair was always impeccably styled; her hands neatly manicured. She hung out with another snob called Carlotta Lobo and a quiet girl called Pamela Singh.

The girls weren’t the best of personas, but it was the boys who took the cake. Especially bad was a big boor called Siddharth “Sid” Arora. Sid was the only son of Ramsingh Arora, who was the Cabinet Minister for Railways at that time. Sid had all of his father’s metaphorical weight, but not his scruples. Of course, dazzling good-looks and some amount of natural talent made Sid the most popular boy in Somerset High. Exercise and good nutrition had given him a tall body, which Sid built to perfection by working out for two hours at the school gym every day. He had soft brown hair, finely chiseled features and looked like a young Greek God. A gift of the gab had made Sid win the previous academic year’s elections, as a result of which he was currently the leader of the student body. Sid’s fairly good reverse-sweeps had made him a fairly sought-after batsman. He could carry a tune and strum a chord, so he was lead singer cum guitarist school boy band “Dark Death”.

Needless to say, all the girls in Somerset High had a crush on Sid. They predicted that he and Richa, the prettiest, most popular girl in school would hook up, but somehow that didn’t happen. For reasons unbeknownst to all, Sid and Richa hated each other’s guts. They were always engaging in one-upmanship, trying to put the other down.

A few months after having joined Somerset High, my popularity started escalating. I was the “perfect” height, had smooth milky-white skin and “soulful” brown eyes: features that were adjudged as being easy on the eye. Although I wasn’t as beefed-up as Sid, my slender body was considered quite “hot”. I was diligent and earned the admiration of teachers and respect of peers. I had played much gully-cricket as a child; my scoops, slogs and square-drives soon made me replace Sid as the best batsman in Somerset High. I was fairly articulate, so Sid feared that I’d win the school elections that were a month away.

It was then that the ragging and bullying started. Sid and his two sidekicks named Virat Sharma and Eric Dhawan would waylay everywhere: when on my way to the library, the table tennis hall or the boys’ restroom alone. Then they would incessantly insult me—about my small town back ground, the vernacular accent with which I spoke English, the un-branded clothes I wore and also my looks that they interpreted as feminine. Even though I don’t like to admit that I looked like a girl, I have to confess that I wasn’t as masculine-looking as other boys in their late teens. My face, which sprouted very little facial hair, appeared as smooth as a peach after I shaved. My arms, legs and chest weren’t very hairy, which led the boors to mock (they had seen me swathed in only a towel in the boys’ room, where we showered after cricket practice) that I waxed them. Also, my voice, a pure crystal clear tenor, wasn’t as low and gruff as theirs, leading them to categorize it as “girly”. The way in which I looked, spoke and walked (with a slight sway of the hips, apparently) led the deadly trio to call me a hijra, a pansy and “a boy with a pussy”. I found the last especially derogatory. I, however, decided to ignore their bullying and name-calling, as they weren’t causing any concrete harm to me.

However, soon Sid and his friends started taking their “pranks” to higher, unacceptable limits. They’d sneak into my hostel room and leave mice that would rip up and destroy the essay paper I had stayed up all night to write. The day before an important cricket match, the scoundrels tied a thin string across the stair case as I was traipsing down. In my zeal and enthusiasm, I barely noticed it, and came crashing down like a ton of bricks. The school authorities summoned a doctor, who told me I was lucky not to have broken my neck. I had, nevertheless, sprained my ankle and couldn’t participate in the next day’s match. In my absence, Sid was asked to lead the team and even bagged the Man of the Match award.

Naturally, I was sore. However, since complaining about fellow-students to the school authorities was seen as “sissy”, I decided to tackle Sid’s harassment on my own. Nevertheless, tried hard as I did, I just couldn’t come up with a suitable plan of action to counteract Sid’s persecution. I hoped that time—the best healer—would cure Sid of his depraved, mendacious ways and make him stop haranguing me.

For a few days it did. I thought Sid had finally grown up.

After a geography lesson one day, our class-teacher, Mr. Edwards had something to say: “Sid” he said addressing my rival “I think you have been the lead singer and guitarist of Dark Death for a long time now. How about giving the other boys a chance?”

“Sir!” said Sid in an outraged tone of voice “I had been selected, last year, by popular vote! How could anyone possibly replace me?!”

“I know, Sid” said Mr. Edwards in a placating tone “and I appreciate it. This academic session too, we will conduct auditions and leave the decision to popular vote. The students will decide who they want as the lead singer and guitarist. If they still like you, you’ll be selected again!”

“Okay, Sir” said Sid grudgingly. I could sense that he didn’t like Mr. Edward’s idea at all.

“Good” continued Mr. Edwards “I’ve decided to have the audition day after tomorrow evening. Those of you, who want to audition, please raise your hands. I need to write down your names straight away”.

Four male hands rose up in the air. I threw mine up too. Even though I was from a small town and wasn’t fluent in English, I was deeply interested in rock music. One of my cousins, who worked as a cook in a hotel in America, would get me cassettes and CDs of many a rock star every time he visited Alwar. Therefore, I had grown up on Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, Nirvana and of course, Elvis Presley. The aforementioned relative had also been kind enough to buy me a guitar; hence I knew all my strings, diads and chords.

Sid looked at me in a disparaging way as if to say “you stupid little rustic, don’t tell me you know about rock music?!” I ignored him, knowing that belittling me was just Sid’s way of displaying his insecurity. Deep inside, he knew I’d perform well and that I’d get the better of him.

After school, I walked up to my hostel. I crossed Sid and his cronies at the staircase, but didn’t pay any attention to them. I sauntered into my room and picked up my guitar. I started humming a song from rock band “Deep Purple”, trying to recall the chords.

“Smoke on the Water?” a voice from the door said. I had been so ensconced in my endeavor that I hadn’t noticed that someone had walked up to my door. I lifted my head up to see Eric Dhawan, one of Sid’s friends.

“Yes” I said tersely, not wanting to get into a conversation with one of my archrival’s chums.

“Simon, I can see that you’re angry” said Eric looking apologetic “and I really don’t blame you”.

I remained silent and continued strumming my guitar.

“Listen, I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you” said Eric looking truly remorseful “It’s Sid; he brainwashes us into doing wrong things. I am sick and tired of his ways now. I want to start afresh, as a good person”.

I looked up at him, but didn’t say anything. Eric’s dark eyes seemed honest.

“That’s a good decision” I said and continued playing my guitar.

“Thank you” said Eric gratefully “I hope we can be friends”.

“That might take awhile” I said shrugging.

“Fine” laughed Eric “Meanwhile, would you take a piece of advice from me?”

“Sure” I said.

“Smoke on the Water is too common” said Eric “many people are likely to play it. In fact, I think Sid is going to perform the same piece of music at the audition. If Mr. Edwards finds that both of you are playing the same song, he’s going to disqualify one of you—the one who auditions later. Why don’t you play something else?”

“I haven’t practiced anything else!” I said in horror.

“Don’t panic” replied Eric “Here’s a sheet containing the chords of Bryan Adams’s song “Run to you”. All you have to do is alternate between the A, E and B chords in F#M. There is the D chord also, of course, but that comes later”.

“Thank you, pal” I said gratefully, taking Eric’s hand in mine and shaking them “I owe you one”.

“Oh not at all” said Eric grinning, as he let himself out of the room and shut the door after him.

I spent the next two days alternating the A, E and B chords in F#M. After the first few lines, I alternated between the D and E chord. Since I was a little rusty, it was difficult at first, but I practiced very hard. It had always been my dream to perform in a rock band; an opportunity to make it come true had finally presented itself to me.

On the day of the audition, I picked up my guitar as soon as I came back from school. The time was 3: 45 pm. After having practiced for half an hour, I realized I had to use the bathroom. When inside the toilet, I got the impression that someone had sneaked in. However, when I came out, I realized that there was no one inside. “Just a draft of air perhaps” I told myself. I continued practicing the guitar for all I was worth. I exercised my vocal chords too, by singing the song I was playing. All the time, I kept an eye on the ticking clock. The auditions were to be held at 7: 30 pm sharp at the school auditorium, which was a ten minute walk away from the boys’ hostel. I decided to practice up to 7:15pm, before leaving for the auditorium.

At 7:15, I set out towards the auditorium. As I entered, a boy named Troy was screaming Aerosmith’s “I don’t want to miss a thing” into the microphone. I was surprised to note that the auditions had already begun! Mr. Edwards sat in a corner, listening intently. I noticed Sid, flanked by Virat and Eric, standing in a corner. A few girls had also come to listen to the boys’ audition. I noticed Richa and her friends among them.

Mr. Edwards gesticulated me to take center stage next. “What are you singing?” he asked.

“Run to You by Brian Adams” I said.

“Sorry Simon, but that has already been sung by Sid” said Mr. Edwards “please pick another one”.

I was astounded by what I had just heard. I cast a glance at Sid and Co. Eric’s gloating expression told me what I needed to know. He had deliberately misguided me, so that I got disqualified at the auditions.

However, I was determined not to be disqualified. I had another triumph card up my sleeve: Smoke on the Water.

I told Mr. Edwards I’d perform that number.

“Bad luck, Simon” said Mr. Edwards “Eric’s performed that”.

“Has he had his turn already?!” I exclaimed flabbergasted “it’s only about 7: 30 pm yet!”.

“It’s nearly 8 O’clock” replied Mr. Edwards “the auditions began half an hour ago. I’m sorry to say, but your clock has slowed down. Please do get it checked”.

Since I hadn’t practiced any more songs, I couldn’t perform at the auditions. Sid was, once more, selected as the lead singer cum guitarist of Dark Death. Everyone was ordered to go back to their rooms. As we were parting, Sid deliberately brushed against me and said “better luck, next time, pansy. And yeah, do get that clock checked”.

A memory stirred in my mind. That of a “draft of air”. It might easily have been Sid who had sneaked it and set the clock back by about half-an-hour. As I caught sight of his retreating form, brazenly guffawing and horsing with his friends, fury simmered inside me.

He had played a trick again—the snake. This time Sid had gone too far…..


 

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A Slippery Slope in an Ad Agency – Forced to Work in Girls’ Dress

A Slippery Slope in an Ad Agency

  • Title: A Slippery Slope in an Ad Agency
  • Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Dress
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Transgender Category: MTF

Zack is the 34 year old wild, unconventional and attractive protagonist of the story. He is tall, has expressive dark eyes and colors his hair blue. As the Creative Head and co-owner of leading ad agency Impressions, Zack has many admirers. His life has its share of schemers with his brother Ben and girlfriend Tania desiring his feminization to meet their own selfish ends. By making a laughing stock of Zack, Ben wants to amass all his popularity. By feminizing him, Tania wants to satisfy her deepest fantasies.

On Tania’s suggestion, Zack dresses as “Zina” to be able to write the perfect ad copy to endorse women’s cosmetics, dresses and lingerie. Slowly and steadily, Tania and Ben trick Zack into completely becoming Zina— with silky long hair, breasts and a pussy. Though Zina is loyal to Tania, she finds that she is powerfully attracted to her client, Daniel Garfield.



A Slippery Slope in an Ad Agency

Chapter 1 – Adman in a Dress

Zack walked in into the smooth glossy interiors of family-owned Impressions Advertising Agency. It was huge and super-successful. Impressions even owned an independent company that handled the array of clients it received and catered to their advertising needs.

As he walked into the room Zack drew admiring glances from his staff on his blue streaked hair, eyebrow-piercings and the tattoo of a Scorpio (his sun sign) on his upper arm visible through the sleeveless denim shirt. His spunk, wit and style also attracted many followers. Zack’s eccentric style of dressing went with his role as the Creative Director of Impressions. Zack was tall, wiry and at the peak of his prime at 34. Many ladies coveted him, but he was loyal to his long time girlfriend, Tania.

Ben, Zack’s 36 years old brother, walked into his cubicle, peeked in and requested to have a word with him. He was as different from Zack as chalk from cheese. Unlike Zack, Ben was pale, ash blonde and lacking in personality. He doubled up as the Accounts Executive and Communications Executive of Impressions Ad Agency, but none of the employees paid him the slightest attention. Even though Ben had equal stakes in the company as Zack, he was never treated as the boss. The younger brother was indisputably the popular one: both professionally and socially. This was the cause of some jealousy in Ben. The fact that he had silently been in love with Zack’s girlfriend Tania was the cause of resentment as well. However, Ben never displayed any of his inner emotions. His manner was bland and matter-of-fact, and expression inscrutable. Nobody suspected that beneath the solid, placid exterior lay a creature simmering with passion.

“Bro” Ben presently said in his flat voice “the biggest client ever contacted us today. He wants us to endorse his line of beauty products for women, that is if we bag the deal”

“And who is the biggest client?” Zack asked curiously.

“Daniel Garfield, of Minerva Products” replied Ben

“No Kidding”! said Zack enthusiastically “he’s one top dog! I bet he has a HUGE budget!”

“That he does” agreed Ben “but don’t cheer this soon. We’ve not hooked Garfield yet. You will have to create an impressive enough ad campaign to do that. Otherwise, he’ll go to Vistas, our rival ad agency.

“I’ll never let that happen” swore Zack “we can’t let that slimy Damon win. I’ll create such a swell hard copy that will blow Garfield away”.

“Well, good luck” said Ben drily “here’s the creative brief’.

Zack went into his cubicle and skimmed through the creative brief written by his brother. It briefly stated the background of the famous Minerva Products, contained a lot of other information, a note about the target audience and the budget. Zack couldn’t help noticing that the budget for the ad of Minerva Beauty Products was a whopping 4 crores’.

“Wow” Zack breathed “that’s’ quite a sum!”. Even though Impressions was a very successful ad agency, it had never got a client with such a big budget before!

“A client with a big budget would mean profits for Impressions and greater pay for the employees; I must clinch this”, he thought his jaw set in determination. Zack sat down to write the catchiest, most persuasive ad copy. He would, later on, create the most appealing website for marketing purposes. Zack was an ace at both words and design.

Tried as they did, the words wouldn’t flow. “Funny” thought Zack “a creative block has never happened to me before”. He attributed his inability to write to the stress created by the big budget assigned to the project and fierce competition from Vistas. He thought of contacting his creative team to brainstorm ideas, but Zack saw that all the cubicles were empty.

It was but obvious why. No one worked on a new year’s eve, especially in the urban metropolitan city of Bangalore. Zack remembered that he had a date with Tania later in the evening. He looked at his watch. Zack had two more hours to go before he was supposed to pick his girlfriend up. For now, he was to work–alone.

Zack wrote many a copy and crumpled the sheets up in frustration. What was wrong with him? Had all his creative juices dried up? It seemed like he had lost his ability to think, leave alone write. Zack crumpled into a dejected mess on the floor and put his head down on his folded knees.

He heard the door knob turn and the door open with energy. “Zack?” breathed a familiar husky sexy voice “what’s up, honey?” Zack raised his defeated face to his girlfriend Tania. She looked stunning in a red gown that complemented her tall, slender figure. Her size eight feet were encased in nude sandals and dark red hair pulled back in a chignon. Tania was more than just a pretty face. She owned the successful Rainbow TV channel that offered ad space to Zack’s agency at a subscribed rate because he was her boyfriend.

Apart from her black handbag, Tania was carrying two rather massive polythene bags with her.

‘Oh! Sorry, darling’ said Zack remembering “I forgot to pick you up. A gorgeous woman like you doesn’t deserve a hopeless boyfriend like me”.

“Hush” Tania shushed Zack putting a lithe finger on his well-formed lips “I can see you’re in a bad place. Tell me exactly what the matter is”.

Zack told her.

“What does Minerva Beauty Products cover exactly? asked Tania

‘Hmmm… the usual thing’ replied Zack “lipsticks, mascaras, eye shadow and stuff, you know.’

Tania listened intently. She had always had a secret kink: to feminize her sexy boyfriend. Even though she didn’t desire to be a man, Tania often dreamed of being the dominant in the relationship and treating the feminized version of Zack as her whore. As Zack spoke, an idea struck Tania. A naughty, wicked idea. She made full use of the opportunity presented to her to her advantage.

‘You know, Zack’ she said in a slow deliberate voice ‘the reason you’re not able to write a good copy is because you aren’t thinking like a woman—after all, they are the target audience of your ad”.

“So, you write it for me” said Zack

“Come on, Zack’ laughed Tania “I am a businesswoman, not a creative!”.

“Well, then I am dead meat today” said Zack holding his head in his hands.

“Not necessarily” Tania smirked and bit her lower lip. Her green eyes twinkled mischievously.

“What do you mean?” Zack blinked.

“You could be a woman for tonight” said Tania “for as long as it takes you to write a good, persuasive copy”

“Ha! You’re joking right?” laughed Zack.

“Never been more serious in my life” said Tania “suppose you’re writing about a car, you’ve got to test drive it first. If you’re writing about a particular candy, you’ve got to taste it. The same applies to beauty products!”

“Damn! I am not doing it!” said Zack.

“Think about it” said Tania “Minerva Products is BIG. If you don’t grab Garfield, Vistas will!”

The thought of the huge hairy Damon getting the ad contract was too much for Zack to bear. “Guess, it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try” he said grudgingly.

“That’s a good sport!” said Tania approvingly. Desire and excitement stirred somewhere down below. Tania’s most erotic fantasy was finally going to come true. But wait… she should never let Zack suspect. He would think she was a pervert. Tania reminded herself to play it cool and act very business-like about the entire affair.

“Okay, where do we start?” asked Zack hesitantly.

“Well, I got an extra dress along” Tania said nonchalantly pulling out a slinky short blue number from one of the polythene carry bags “Just in case I dropped wine or something on the one I am wearing ….. Why don’t you try it on ?”

“In here?” asked Zack looking aghast.

“In the restroom, silly” Tania laughed

“Gents or ladies?” asked Zack dubiously.

‘Why ladies of course” said Tania peremptorily leading Zack across the corridor to the ladies bathroom. He squirmed uneasily as Tania got him to take off his jeans and Bob Marley t-shirt and had him put the flimsy little dress on. Zack did’nt have too much hair on the arms and legs, so the dress didn’t look as grotesque as it would on any other grown male, but Zack’s well-toned biceps, muscular calves and, of course, his flat chest were a giveaway of fact that he was a man dressed in drag.

Zack self-consciously looked at his bony knees and bare arms and nervously said

“You don’t think this is too skimpy, do you?”

“Of course not” said Tania with energy “I think it is perfectly delicate and feminine”.

“God, my feet look so weird in these sneakers!” Zack exclaimed.

“Abracadabra!” said Tania pulling out a pair of transluscent blue slippers from her bag.

“You almost make me feel like Cinderella” grumbled Zack trying them on. Surprisingly, they were the perfect fit .

“Hey!” Zack said getting slightly suspicious now “it’s almost as if you shopped these for me!”

“Of course not, honey” said Tania deceptively “You and I are the same shoe size”.

“Are we?” Zack raiased a skeptical eyebrow, as Tania asked with barely concealed excitement:

“Okay, now where are the Minerva beauty products? You surely have samples”

“They are in Ben’s cabin–in the first draw”

“I’ll get them” Tania who was familiar with the layout of Impressions rushed to Ben’s office and got the kit that contained Minerva beauty products. Trying to steady a hand that was quivering with the excitement of a fantasy supressed for years, Tania bedaubed foundation on her boyfriend’s smooth skin, lined his dark eyes with kohl, curled the lashes with mascara and painted his lips a frosty pink. With each stroke of her the make-up brush,Tania’s pulse quickened. Zack was ACTUALLY metamorphosing into “Zina”, the lover she had dreamt about over and over again!

Zack confused her excitement for dizziness. He thought a fanting spell was coming over Tania. “Honey, are you okay?” he asked concerned “shall I get you a gin and tonic?”

“Of course, I am okay” said Tania steadying herself and giving Zack a bright artificial smile. “Now excuse me, I’ve got to change”. She disappeared into one of the toilets with the other bag she had brought with her and emerged a few minutes later wearing a neatlytailored black two-piece suit and a tie with blue and white stripes. Zack noticed that she had put on a pair of men’s black loafers.

“Where has that come from?” asked Zack zapped.

“Oh, I first brought you an extra pair of clothes as well” Tania fabricated “in case you spilt whiskey or something on the ones you’re wearing”. Before Zack could react, Tania grabbed him by the arm and said:

“ Let’s hit the pub and welcome 2016, baby!’.

“Are we going like this?” asked Zack incredulously.

“It would be fun” Tania coaxed.

“It would be ridiculous” Zack corrected.

“Come on, baby” Tania cajoled “we’ve been a dull conventional couple for SO LONG! Don’t you want some zing… some chutzpah in our love life?

“I am content the way we are” replied Zack.

“Don’t be such a bore, Zack”, Tania said “for a creative, you are pretty dull”. She pursued her month in a pout. “Dull” Tania had just called him. Dull. The word could sound a death knell to their relationship. Zack realized it was evident that Tania felt their relationship was beginning to stagnate. If she continued to feel that way, there may be a chance that she would leave him. And Zack could never envisage the prospect of losing a smart and beautiful girlfriend like Tania. He loved her to distraction.

‘Okay babe’ he said grinning reluctantly ‘I guess I’ll oblige this eve’.

‘That’s my chick..I mean, dude!’ said Tania hugging him exuberantly ‘thank you, darling’.

‘Hey, but what about my creative copy??’ said Zack remembering.

“You can complete it after dropping me home” said Tania leading Zack down the corridor towards the exit. A few accountants and employees from the media buying department had decided to spend New Year’s Eve working away. Creatives, whose dates had stood them up, had also decided to return to office and finish up pending work. They were completely unprepared from the sight that confronted them; that of their favorite boss in a revealing blue dress and makeup being lead down the corridor by his suited-booted girlfriend. They stopped whatever they were doing and gaped at the couple. One saucy executive called Sally gave Zack a flighty look and remarked:

‘Seems like you’re getting in touch with the woman in you Zack’

Emboldened by Sally, timid Dean said: ‘So you let the lady wear the pants?’

‘Ha ha!’ Zack simpered actually distressed at all the attention that he was getting “Tania and I decided to swap genders for the night!”

There was some embarrassed tittering from the subordinates.

“Whatever floats you boat, boss” a malicious voice reached Zack as he stepped outside the office building and moved towards the parking lot “whatever floats your kinky boat!”


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A Slippery Slope in a Nunnery: where none of the nuns may dress improperly

A Slippery Slope in a Nunnery

  • Title: A Slippery Slope in a Nunnery
  • Subtitle: where none of the nuns may dress improperly
  • Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Dress
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Transgender Category: MTF

Alex Pinto is the protagonist of “None of the Nuns May Dress Improperly” (Magdalene Sorority). Alex is quite a good-looking boy, 5 feet 9 inches tall, with an athletic body, honey-brown eyes and copper-streaked hair. He has a long face, a noble nose and full-lips: features that earn him the ‘beautiful’ sobriquet.

Mesmerized by the beauty of Irish nun, Stella Mary, Alex trespasses into nunnery grounds. He is caught and bullied by the young nuns, led by three lethal females called the Three Musketeers. Much to Alex’s embarrassment, the Three Musketeers decide to punish him by forcing him to wear a pale pink tunic and a wimple. Since they haven’t had much straight sexual activity in recent times, they also get Alex to pleasure them.



 

None of the Nuns May Dress Improperly
Magdalene Sorority
Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform

Chapter 1 – The Lovely Young Nun

The dew was crisp. The air carried with it the promise of fragrance. In spite of the glorious lightness of nature around me, I felt the customary weight in my heart. I was 21 years old and a final year BA student in a secluded Bangalore college, a stone’s throw away from my house, and was currently walking towards it with satchel on back. This had been my routine for the past three years.

In spite of being a theoretical ace at how the mind works (psychology), an expert at how news circulates (journalism) and the growth and progress of the economy (economics), I felt lost. My personality was one-dimensional and I hadn’t had any interaction whatsoever with the members of the opposite sex. My father, a strict disciplinarian, had made sure that I had studied in an all boys’ school and now in an all male college. I hadn’t had an opportunity to meet my mother as she had died after counteracting an infection a few days after giving birth to me. She hadn’t left me with any siblings either. In a strange irony, the few cousins I had on the maternal and paternal sides happened to be male.

There were girls living in my neighborhood, but I was too frightened to speak to them. Living in India can be very tricky: boys and girls are not allowed to mingle as freely as youngsters in western countries are. Dating is frowned down upon and is usually to be done stealthily. I knew a few people who had a boyfriend or girlfriend; they behaved as if they had committed a crime.

Like any young person my age, I had my share of….”urges”. I spent a substantial portion of my study hours dreaming about some half-dressed dolled-up heroine I’d seen in the movies. At nights, I fantasized about them and jerked off. Many a times, I had thought about going to the red-light area and having paid sex, but had backed off in the last moment. What if I got an STD in spite of using a condom? Furthermore, what if any of my father’s acquaintances saw me and complained to my father? My father is a short-tempered man. If he ever got a report to that effect, he would have skinned me alive.

As the tall, imposing nine feet wall made of stone came into view. I was momentarily distracted from the carnal nature of my thoughts. Magdalene Sorority. A home for nuns and religious sisters. Girls. Ladies. Colleens who covered themselves from head to toe. Women who were kept cloistered from the world, ostensibly to devote their lives to prayer, solitude and community service. Ladies whose duty was to pray for the world and redeem those who didn’t pray.

At that time, little did I guess about the true nature of Magdalene Sorority. Little did I imagine how different it was from other nunneries.

Lo now! The gates were opening! For some inexplicable reason my heart leapt and got caught in my mouth. It was almost as if my reaction was a precursor for what was to enfold. The gate opened an inch wider. I saw a tall figure whose form was nearly hidden by the pale pink tunic she was wearing. As she swung and latched the gate shut, I caught sight of a long scapular trailing down her noble back. And as she turned and looked in my direction, my heart stopped beating. For one whole minute, I was a dead man.

The prohibitive concealment provided by the wimple couldn’t hide her beauty. She had a Celtic marmoreal well-chiseled face that was free of all flush. Dark untrimmed yet most beautiful eyebrows cut through her delicate skin, forming two magnificent arches. A few tendrils of hair that had managed to escape the severe clutches of the wimple were the palest dandelion yellow I had ever seen. Her nose was straight and noble. The lips underneath were full enough but lacked sin. I was certain that no lusty tongue entertaining lascivious thoughts had passed over them. I was certain she hadn’t ever been kissed.

But it was her eyes I couldn’t forget. Those clear dark pools were more noble, honest and chaste that I had seen in any human being. They were those of an angel who had never lied, even to herself. Or never had a bad thought or committed even a semi-horrible deed.

I conjectured the young nun’s age to be about mine. She was as young, but had a purity and tranquility about her that belied her tender years. I know this is a sinful thought to entertain about a nun, but that night brought dreams… perhaps of an inappropriate kind. In them, she would slowly divest herself of the cross hanging in front of her body, gently keep the rosary aside and removed her scapular. She would then slowly take off the grey wimple covering her hair and shake those pale dandelion yellow locks free. Her hair, shaken from their confinement, would fall in soft uninhibited waves over her slender shoulders. I could see beads of pristine dew on them. Then she would demurely pull the pale pink tunic off from over her head. A pair of legs, as gawky, slender and coltish as a school girl’s would come into view. Then she would pull her slip up to the crotch and reveal untainted white cotton panties. The slip would come off tugging along with it the sensible white bra, revealing small rock-firm breasts with the palest nipples I could ever imagine. The panties would slither off those boyish thighs to reveal the most innocent pubis I could imagine on a grown woman. A Celtic triangle flushed a slight rosy pink showed between her legs. Her stomach was so flat and stretched that the slit of the naked pubis was clearly visible to my eye. Then she would stand watching me with a shy, yet suggestive gaze.

Madonna. Magdalene. A lady of immaculate conception. Also the common whore.

For a good one week, I couldn’t eat much. I spent my nights tossing and turning waiting fervently for the young nun (whom I’d labeled “Madonna” in my mind) to come and take off her habiliments. To come tease and get her to place my coarse lips on her tender ones. The rest—I dare not say.

I had changed, yet the mirror in front of me proved I was the same. Standing 5 feet 9 inches tall in my socked feet. With a face as long as Madonna’s, but infinitely browner and weather-beaten. With eyebrows that looked as if they had been neatly trimmed and hazy honey-colored pools for eyes. I had a fairly manly and agile body like most boys my age. But my face that had a rather fine nose and full red lips prompted many others to say that I was “beautiful”. An adjective usually reserved for girls was occasionally used to describe me.

Sunlight dappled over my artificially-colored copper hair and reflected at the nunnery. Stark granite stucco walls stared at me. Guava and eucalyptus trees—dense foliage—that were higher than the walls sneaked from above those forbidding falls. A board claiming “Entry not allowed. Trespassers will be prosecuted” blared loud and black-lettered at the entrance. A somewhat stern-looking security guard stood at the gate.

I stood for a whole hour waiting for her to appear. Then another. Time crawled by in the uncanny way that always does. The security guard bolted and locked the gate, put the key in her pocket and went off, presumably for lunch. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I had to see her. I made a stirrup of a few boulders lying in the corner and steeped on them. Then made a spring for the walls. I managed to encircle my arm around the high ornamental pillar by the side of the gate. I then hauled myself on to the wall. However, since it wasn’t flat, I slithered off its surface. I was thrown off a height of a good nine feet and landed on the ground. Luckily, the small bed of soft hay that happened to be lying below broke my fall. I wasn’t hurt, only mildly stunned.

I was on the other side. Inside the nunnery campus.


 

To read the rest of the story please click here.

A Slippery Slope in Military Academy – A Frail Cadet

A Slippery Slope in Military Academy

  • Title:A Slippery Slope in Military Academy
  • Subtitle: A Frail Cadet
  • Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Transgender Category: MTF

Dean is the protagonist of the story. He has a pretty face and his complexion is a beautiful honey brown and his hair silky brown.

When Dean joins Everest Military Academy in a desperate attempt to overcome his GID, he finds that he is unable to cope with the strain of life as an army cadet. After failing in all physical endurance tests, Dean is given an ultimatum. He is to either quit the academy or continue as a female cadet. With a guilty pleasure, Dean opts for the latter.

Dean feels extremely good inside when he is forced to wear the female cadets’ uniform. He, however, is humiliated by the way his batch mates react to his wearing a skirt. The girl cadets don’t want to have Dean in their wing as he still retains the male organ. Dean is apprehensive to live in the boys’ hostel as he fears sexual assault.

 


A Slippery Slope in Military Academy

Subtitle: A Frail Cadet

Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform

“Quartered in Snow, silent to remain When the bugle calls, they shall rise and march again” –anonymous

Chapter 1 – The Ultimatum on My Life in OG

The air was crisp. The bugle had blown. All of us: army cadets of Everest Private Training Academy marched in tandem to the beating of the drums. We boys were dressed in leaf-green pants, an olive green shirt and a smart cravat in striped red and white. Our feet were encased in black gleaming loafers worn over white socks. The girls, at the other side of the parade ground, were dressed in pretty much the same uniform. The only difference was that instead of the obnoxious creased pants that we were forced to wear, they were attired in neat pleated leaf green skirts that flattered the contours of their hips and lovingly flapped against the shapeliness of their calves. I may be wrong, but the girls’ shirts seemed to have puff sleeves unlike our drab ones.

I caught myself looking their way longingly, and then forced my brain back to the present. I had come to the training academy, a 3 year precursor to the NDA, before being inducted into the Indian army, for a purpose. The purpose was to forget my shameful secret inclinations. The secret inclinations constituted an overwhelming desire to mingle with girls. To dress, to talk and behave the way they did. To have the same smoothness of skin, swell of bosom, flaring of the hips and lusciousness of the derriere. To have my hands decked in henna and be married off to some valiant, virile and muscular male.

I could hardly do that considering I came from a family which boasted of great soldiers. My father, Colonel General Jai Prakash Bhatia, who had sacrificed his life at the Kargil war in 1999, had been granted the Paramvir Chakra. It was the highest honor that could be bestowed on any soldier for exemplary bravery. My cousin, Capt. Vikas Bhatia, the recipient of the best NCC cadet awards in two zones during training, had martyred himself while trying to flush out terrorists from the Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai during the 26/11 terrorist attacks. My elder sister had married a major in the Indian army. So perhaps it comes as no surprise that everyone in the family expected me to grow up to be a brave, virile, disciplined army officer with a stiff upper lip.

It was a difficult because I was a man trapped in a women’s body. Furthermore, I wasn’t cut out for hardships even as much as the other girls in our training center were. At 5’4, I was as petite as any one of them, with a pigeon chest and a pretty face. The expanse of my chest was way below the medical standards of the Everest Academy, but rules had been relaxed for me because I had earned admission through the sports quota. Even though I was a girlish sort of a boy, I had one ‘macho’ interest: Shooting. My being a state level High Power Rifle Shooting champion had made me eligible to get into the Everest Academy even though I had failed to meet the required medical standards.

I was an aberration in yet another way. The levels of body fat male cadets between aged 18 and 22 were supposed to possess was 20%, but mine constituted an embarrassing 30%–a figure that fell into the female cadets’ category. Yet the academy had been forced to recruit me. A million thanks to my brilliant marksmanship!

‘Cadet Bhatia!’ the stentorian voice of Major Saxena struck me like a whip. Major Saxena was a strict, ruthless disciplinarian with an extremely short-temper. -. And most of the time, he was on the hazardous brink of losing it on me.

‘You’re marching haphazardly’ he presently barked ‘please try and concentrate’. I tried to discipline my footsteps to follow a more regular pattern than before. It was in my best interests to do what the other cadets in the academy were doing. After all, I was here to deflect attention from myself and become a part of the camouflage.

In spite of my hardest attempts, I hadn’t deflected Major Saxena’s attention off me. His piercing black eyes were watching me like a hawk. He exchanged a cryptic glance with his college Major Chopra and asked me to step aside.

The two gentlemen escorted me to an area that had a bar where we did pull ups.

‘Let’s see how many you can do’ said Major Saxena said in an intimidating voice.

I approached the bar with trembling hands. I gripped it with my palms facing away from me, and tried to pull my chin up to it, with my hands spaced wide apart. However, as diligently as I tried, I failed miserably.

‘Oh come on, let him try “negatives”’ said Major Chopra, a milder, less belligerent army man than Major Saxena. “Negatives” were half-pushups. As Major Chopra held my rotund limbs, Major Saxena prompted me to bring my chin over the bar. In spite of Major Chopra’s help, I struggled. Finally, when I had managed to bring my chin to bar level, Major Saxena instructed his colleague to release my feet.

‘Hang on to the bar and let your feet dangle for 10 seconds’ Major Saxena ordered me. I felt the weight of each second taking a toll on my dainty body. One second ticked by, then two and then three….by the time even five whole seconds had passed by, my exhausted hands had released the pull up bar. I came crashing down on the ground, clutching my tiny chest and breathing frantically.

‘Look at him, Major’ Major Saxena said to his colleague with disgust ‘Already sweating like a pig. The girls perform much better’.

‘Let’s not be too quick to judge him’ said the more lenient Major Chopra .Then turning to me, he asked: ‘Would you be interested in running?’

‘Of course, Sir’ I said with feigned enthusiasm, when in truth I detested running. I’d rather have been dead than trying to torture my heart muscles in this crazy manner.

Major Chopra set my running target as one and a half miles in 9 minutes, 20 seconds. He split it up in a manner that had scientifically proven viable for sustained running.

‘Okay, here goes’ said Major Chopra rubbing his hands vigorously ‘One and a half kilometers would be 1500 meters, right? So let’s divide the run into three installments. You do 500 meters in 4 minutes, another 500 meters in the next three and the last 500 in 2 minutes 20 seconds. Agreed?’.

‘Yes, Sir’ I said standing at attention and raising my hand in a smart salute as military personnel were trained to do.

‘Right, you may start’ said Major Chopra running alongside me with a watch in hand. While he was running alongside me, I was acutely conscious of Major Chopra; the musky sweat of his youth, the gleaming virility of his abs straining through his thin t-shirt and the hot masculine blood gushing to his veins. Thoroughly fascinated by a vein throbbing on his left temple, I lost track of time. At the end of the assigned time, all I was aware of was Major Chopra’s exasperated look as he said: ‘You’ve just completed 400 meters and have already become a tortoise!’. I was forced to snap out of my reverie. As Major Chopra had pointed out, though I was ostensibly supposed to be running, my speed had decreased to cipher and my meaty rounded body had come to a near halt. All the while, sweat poured down my forehead in torrents, which I suspected had more to do with having a hot-blooded young male running alongside me, rather than actual physical exertion.

With a disappointed heavy tread, Major Chopra and I walked back to the starting point, where Major Saxena was waiting for us with a hungry look on his face.

Like a hawk waiting to pounce on its prey.

‘Well?’ he raised a quizzical eyebrow at his colleague.

‘He couldn’t do it’ Major Chopra reported with due objectivity.

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ said Major Saxena with a kind of sadistic satisfaction ‘that the boy is a pansy, a Nelly, a pussy?.

‘Maybe running just isn’t his thing’ shrugged Major Chopra ‘Perhaps he is better in water’.

‘Ha!’ snorted Major Saxena sarcastically ‘I can just visualize him as a merman. The chap is so incompetent; he’s worse than the girls’.

‘Please Major’ said Major Chopra looking quite weary ‘give the boy a break. And, FYI, the girls are great swimmers. Stop being such a misogynist.

Major Saxena sniggered nastily. The three of us made our way to the left of the parade ground which housed an indoor stadium consisting of an indoor gym and a swimming pool. The two men, two dashing figures in black trousers and thin OG t-shirts, waited patiently as I changed into my swimming trunks.

Since I wasn’t adept enough to take a dive, I lowered myself into the pool gingerly, painfully conscious of the two attractive men staring at me. The awareness that I was alone with two fairly young, uber-attractive males made my heart flutter like a young girl’s. The thought that they could seize, touch and have their way with me without the knowledge Brigadier Mehta (the principal of Everest Private Academy), sent fearful yet pleasurable shivers down my spine. It was a bizarre thought. Why would my two trainers even think of raping me, a podgy young boy, unless they were homosexuals?

With sinful thoughts abounding in my head, I tread into the pool, held my breath and started swimming with gusto. On second thoughts, I regretted not having started off with lighter movements because I found it extremely difficult to balance myself in the water. Instead of balancing out inhalations and exhalations, I panicked and started hyperventilating, swallowing a great deal of water in the process. As I choked and gasped for breath, my capped head temporarily bobbed on surface of the water. I disappeared under the surface of the water again and tried to begin afresh. However, my technique was so wrong that I was drooping and enervated before I had swum even a meter.

To my consternation, Major Chopra looked like a man who had been drubbed. He had pinned a degree of hope on me and I had failed him. Miserably. Major Saxena stood beside him, gloating with triumph. I had, with my incompetence, not only managed to embarrass myself, but had also shamed Major Chopra.

At this moment, I knew I had to do something. Desperately. To restore the honor of the kindly Major Chopra.

‘Sir’ I said addressing Major Saxena as boldly as my silky voice would permit ‘I request to be taken to the parade ground again’

‘The parade ground? What for?’ asked Major Saxena taken aback. The two gentlemen looked equally bewildered. A cadet issuing orders to his trainers was not a common phenomenon in Everest Academy.

‘You didn’t test my shooting skills’ I pointed out.

‘It’s likely to be as pathetic as your other talents!’ said Major Saxena in a disparaging voice. We, nevertheless, walked out from the indoor stadium into fresh air again.

Major Chopra lowered the height of the rifle stand so that it was in level with my eye. He tore away and discarded the target that had already been punctured with holes by a previous cadet, and replaced it with a fresh new one. He adjusted the target length, so that it was at a distance of about 30 feet from me. Then he handed me an ISSF 10 meter air rifle.

I pressed the butt of the rifle to my cheekbone. Then proceeded to relax my right shoulder. The butt plate of the rifle sat in firm contact near the joint of my upper arm. I spread my right leg out and pulled in the right knee. I relaxed my neck, so that my eye could precisely see through the rear sight aperture. I thrust my womanly hips towards the target and angled my shoulders in its direction. Finally when I could see the target from the middle of my rear sight aperture, I pulled the trigger.

There was silence for a split second. No one breathed. The bullet, released from the mouth of the rifle, hit the center of the target. I had hit bulls’ eye.

It was nearly 2 pm by the time my trainers had finished testing me and I headed straight to the army canteen for lunch. I realized that I had been so engrossed in proving myself that I had missed out on my 1 pm working tea. My stomach was growling with hunger, but since the canteen was full of cadets, I served myself small, lady-like portions. Gorging oneself in public was embarrassing.

As I was nibbling away like a dainty bird, Sumeet Singh, one of my classmates passed me. He was a young man of tremendously rustic origins and sensibilities. I noticed that his plate was heaped with food. ‘Had a good time with the trainers, girlie-girlie?’ he asked.

‘Girlie-girlie’ was a moniker bestowed on me by the guys in my squadron. Soon, it had spread throughout the hostel and slowly permeated the entire academy. Even the girls were aware of the nickname and sometimes addressed me by it. To tell the truth, being addressed by the moniker touched a secret pleasurable chord in my heart and made me go dizzy with excitement. However, I pretend to abhor the sobriquet. After all, I had come to Everest Academy to make a man out of myself. Sissy pet names wouldn’t serve me.

I had a good look at Sumeet Singh. Even though he was unsophisticated and definitely not my type, I could help feeling magnetized towards his square pockmarked face, the matted dark chest hair visible through his gaping buttonholes and the intensely masculine sweaty smell emanating from his muscular body. Sumeet’s eyes roved suggestively over my doughy body the way it did over the females’. I was aroused and repulsed at the same time.

‘You’re acting as if I romped with them’ I couldn’t help rolling my eyes flirtatiously.

‘Wouldn’t put it passed you, girlie-girlie’ Sumeet teased sweeping a deliberate glance at my soft body ‘with your complexion, with your perfect figure….Oh! You could make a stone orgasm!’

‘Hush, flatterer!’ I exclaimed shocked. A slow blush had crept up to my face and my velvety skin was tingling pleasurably.

I would have continued my coquettish tete-a-tete with Sumeet had we not been interrupted by the academy peon who informed me that I had been summoned by Brigadier Mehta. On receiving the information, my skin started tingling in a diametrically different fashion. My nerves were overwrought with fear and my heart was caught in my mouth.

Brigadier Mehta, the principal of Everest Academy, was the only male in the campus who inspired fear instead of desire in me. At 80, he was still sturdy, straight of back and had all his wits about him. His tonsured head, deep purplish pouches beneath the eyes and artificially darkened tooth-brush mustache had the cumulative effect of reducing me to a quivering, gelatinous mess. In his heyday, Brigadier Mehta was apparently a soldier par excellence who had shown exemplary courage in the J&K operations and Indo-China conflict. Years had passed, yet the fire in him hadn’t quelled.

I passed over from the canteen to the main building, running all sorts of nightmarish scenes in my head. I passed our well-furnished classroom, the hospital section and walked the entire length of the long, frighteningly ill-lit corridor at the end of which the brigadier’s chamber was located. Lifting one trembling hand, I knocked.

‘Come in’ ushered a deep, gruff voice from the cavernous interiors of the chamber.

I walked in with trepidation. The brigadier was standing at his table. He was a tall man, who at 6’1, towered over me. Brigadier Mehta looked clearly displeased.

‘Cadet Batra’ he rasped ‘Major Saxena and Chopra told me about your shameful performance at the endurance test today’.

‘Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir’ I meekly said, waiting to be thrashed with words.

‘You know very well cadet’ continued the esteemed Brigadier ‘that had it not been for the sports quota, you would never have made it to this academy’.

‘Yes, Sir’.

‘You also know that I admitted you because of the respect I have your late father Major General Jai Prakash Batra. He was a great soldier’.

‘Yes, Sir’.

‘However cadet, your recent flagrantly poor scores in physical endurance tests (except rifle shooting) have made me have a rethink about your worthiness to continue in this academy. Even our girl cadets, whose assessment criteria are a little different from that of you guys have been performing much better than you. Many of the staff members have been insisting I rusticate you. However, I’d like to lay down two options in front of you’

‘Yes, Sir?’

‘The first one is rustication from the academy’ said Brigadier Mehta.

‘And the second option?’

‘Is that you continue, albeit as a female cadet’.


To read the rest of the story please click here.


 

A Slippery Slope in a Call Center – Forced to Work in Girls’ Dress

  • A Slippery Slope in a Call CenterTitle: A Slippery Slope in a Call Center
  • Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Dress (Uniform)
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Category: transgender romance, mtf, lesbian

The protagonist is a pretty-faced boy living in a rural town. He was forced into a situation to perform a feminine dance on a college stage. It creates a scandal in the social circles. Fearing further stigma,  the parents ask him to leave the town. He travels to a big city and joins a call center of a San Francisco based telecom company called Ursa Major. He is given the job of a customer service representative.  He finds himself deeply fascinated by his beautiful and powerful boss, Barbara Turner. Barbara takes a personal interest in him. The sexual tension between the two provides fodder for some office gossip. Barbara asks him to identify himself as Arianna to customers who call. His life takes an unusual turn when Barbara coaxes him to wear feminine clothes in the office.

 

A Slippery Slope in a Call Center

Chapter 1 – Pansy Boy

My name is Ajay and I live in a rural town called Patiala. It is a beautiful place with forts, complexes, gardens and even a palace of mirrors. The land is very fertile. The summers are sultry and the winters extremely chilling. Education is given considerable importance and there are a number of good schools and colleges in my town. There are also many playgrounds to play cricket, polo, skating etc, but Patiala could hardly be called exciting for a youngster like me.

At 18, I am very much a youngster. I am 5 feet 6 inches tall, have a slender waif-like body and what people call ‘a pretty face’. Its fair, creamy texture often lead relatives to heave wistful signs and tell my mother: ‘Mira, your color has been passed on to your boy, not to your girl’.

‘I had saffron with milk when I was pregnant with him’ my mother says nostalgically.

‘Well, you should have had the same when you were expecting your daughter too’. The gossipy old cows of Patiala don’t mince words.

My sister, Poonam, is dark-complexioned: a factor that causes much stigmatization in India. That is, second to being born a girl. To counteract factors stacked against her, Poonam rebels by cutting her hair short, wearing boys’ clothes and getting into unnecessary fights with people. I am her complete antithesis; a fact that has got the tongues of gossipmongers of Patiala wagging.

I still haven’t attained puberty. As mentioned before, my skin is still as smooth as girls’ and my voice sweet, high-pitched and clear. My chest and groin regions are hairless. I wasn’t born ‘a eunuch’ or intesexed though; my penis was pretty much ‘male’ at birth. However, at 13 or 14, when that of an average boy’s genitals starts functioning and manufacturing sperm, mine did not. During my early teens, when my friends suddenly started shooting up like bamboo poles, had voices that started cracking and faces that began sprouting hair, I started feeling like an aberration. Also, upon the onset of teens, I noticed a very strange phenomenon in boys and girls my age. I didn’t understand this for a long time. They, who had been behaving quite normally with each other until the seventh grade, suddenly started behaving weirdly with the opposite sex: the girls would blush and giggle when the boys were in vicinity, the boys would start straightening their hair and preening themselves and generally try and make themselves bigger and more attractive. The girls would flutter their eyelashes, speak alternately in sweet and saucy tones and generally sit and stand suggestively, positioning their tits and buttocks to best advantage.

I was totally confused. What was happening around me? Why had my classmates, who had been together since kindergarten, suddenly started behaving in such a strange fashion? One evening, I was to understand. A tall athletic boy named Vikram, who was the head boy of our school and the captain of the football team, winked at me. I had walked to him across the football court in the midst of wildly cheering crowds, had extended a slender milky hand and said: ‘Congratulations’.

Vikram took it in his own strong one and held it for a moment longer than necessary. Then he said ‘thank you’ in his deep baritone and winked. I felt my heart race and the area around my groins tingle. My head started reeling and I went into a tizzy. So, this is what had been happening to my classmates of late! It was the ardor of first flush of youth expressing itself!

From that day onwards, I started feeling very shy and self-conscious around young males. Every time I passed the corridors, I could feel the boys’ eyes linger lustily on me and seek out hypothetical breasts and a pussy. I could see that they savored my slender shape and the sway in my walk. It was almost as if they were undressing me with their eyes. When I talked, these boys noticed the fluty lilt in my voice and the effeminate gestures of my body. Every once in a while, a homophobe flung the word ‘hijra’ or ‘chakka’ at me. That hurt, to say the least.

Since I felt so coy in the presence of members of my own gender, I started hanging out with the girls. They were kinder than the boys, and not as predatory. They’d call me ‘a eunuch’ at times, but in an affectionate manner. We’d spend our school-breaks discussing fashion, latest girly pulp or features covered in magazines like Cosmopolitan, Femina and Women’s Era. Like the girls, I tried out recipes and drooled over male film or sport heroes. Being a part of the gabfest made me feel I belonged.

After my tenth grade, my father started suffering losses in his business. His textbook store ‘Wisdom Books’ used to be quite popular until the internet became a rage. Classified ads and private websites, with their savvy ways of conducting research, buying and selling was the reason for ‘Wisdom Books’ running at a loss. Tried as I did, I couldn’t convince my dad to use the internet. Instead, I was forced to discontinue my education and join his sinking business.

Working in my father’s shop cut me off from my usual girlish clique. I spent all my hours at the shop, got home late to have dinner and sleep. On weekends, I helped my mother cook meals and do household work—something that gave me such pleasure that I was unable to break away from it. My girl pals, who were now in the eleventh grade, stayed in school up to 5 pm and then went off to attend tuitions. They hardly had time to visit or phone me. My sister Poonam, the quintessential tomboy, wasn’t appropriate company for me. I was lonely and miserable.

Two years passed in an uneventful manner. One morning, my father assigned a job to me. ‘Visit all the colleges in Bijlinagar and post flyers on the community bulletin board’ he instructed ‘and don’t forget to include the e-mail address and phone number of Wisdom Books’.

I dutifully went to all the colleges in the area and did as told. It was nearly noon by the time I went to St Carmel’s. My heart leapt as I saw the girls from my school in the campus! True to ‘vows of sisterhood’, they had all joined the same college. I felt a stab of envy that was quelled by a deluge of pleasure at the reunion. My friends were all decked up in kurtis (a tight-fitting long India shirt, with slits at the sides), Patiala salwaars (long roomy pants, stitched in Patiala), colorful bouncy parandas (an ornamental tasseled tag for braiding hair) and jutis (flat Punjabi shoes made of leather and intricately embroidered in gold and silver thread). Apparently they had a cultural fest in which all of them were taking part. It was apparent that they were preparing for the gidda or the traditional Punjabi ladies’ dance.

‘Hi Ajay’ screeching my best friend, a well-endowed, eternally cheerful girl called Manpreet ‘Long time, no see!’

‘Been busy with business’ I muttered sulkily ‘old man never lets me go out of sight’. I noticed that Manpreet was wearing the gidda costume.

‘Well that’s too bad’ said another sweet slip of a girl ‘we’re having a great time here’. Her slight figure was also swathed in the dance attire.

‘I can see that’ I said ‘and admit I am envious, but in a good way’.

My friends smiled. ‘Ajay’ Manpreet said ‘we’re short of a gidda dancer. Would you like to try?’

‘How can I?’ I said ‘I am not from your college’

‘That doesn’t matter’ Manpreet reassured me ‘we told the principal that we’re short of dancer and she permitted us to include an outsider’.

‘Fine then’ I said and allowed myself to be guided down a corridor, apparently leading to the green room. On the way, a sudden, slightly frightening doubt gripped me. ‘I am to dress as a boy, right?’ I asked Manpreet.

‘No’ said Manpreet ‘I told you we were performing gidda, the traditional women’s’ dance. You’ll have to dress as a girl’.

‘I can’t, you know…actually, I was on an errand’ I said a beginning to stammer ‘my father expects me back home soon’.

‘This is treachery!’ said Manpreet accusingly ‘you’ve given us your word. Besides, you never mentioned any errand when you arrived’.

It was my word against my own. I was trapped. I let myself be led into the green room and took off my pants and shirt. I let my friends put a red kurti over me, but since belonged to the heftily-built Manpreet, the kurti hung loosely over me. One of the girls, an ace seamstress, got it off me and drew in the fabric a few inches inwards, so that the kurti clung snugly to the contours of my slender body. The rice paddy green lehanga or long skirt fit perfectly, its roomy pleats arranging themselves in neat rows across my long legs. Somebody procured a braided black wig with a red paranda from somewhere and fit it over my closely cropped hair. A pair of rich green jutis was salvaged from somewhere; Manpreet asked me to wriggle my well-shaped feet into them. With a hint kohl, powder and lipstick, I looked as pretty as either one of them. My lack of breasts and a derriere was the only indicator that I was a male.

The college emcee announced our gidda dance. A group of four girls and I took our positions on stage. The evening, still young, was quietly merging into dark. The makeshift college stage was resplendent with beams of various colors bombarding us from all directions. From where I was positioned, which, unfortunately happened to be the center of the stage, I could recognize faces in the audience. Most of them were familiar ones, of parents and siblings of the girls I was dancing with. At first, they seemed a bit taken aback to see someone, who was clearly not a girl, among their daughters. As a malevolent gleam settled in their eyes, I realized they had recognized me in my ludicrous drag avatar. ‘Look, that’s Ajay Singh!’ their whispers were loud enough for me to hear ‘the pansy boy who runs his father’s book store!’.

‘I don’t know if you remember’ remarked another parent ‘but he used to be in our daughters’ school. Nina had told me that Ajay Singh was effeminate. But I never thought he’d stoop to the extent of dressing in a ladies’ costume and performing the gidda!’

‘His father pretends to be one of these macho alpha male types’ said lady Number One ‘must be disappointed to have a son who’d rather have a pussy than a cock!’.

The brazen ladies tittered. It was now that I saw a figure behind them: a hefty, mountainous and glowering figure. The flames of his anger were clearly directed at me. Dad!! I very nearly jumped out of my skin. My father was speaking to a policeman whom he presently sent away. Then he resumed glaring at me. I surmised that since I hadn’t returned by 3 pm as I had promised, my worried father had combed the town, finally sought the aid of a local police man who had traced me to St. Carmel’s. I was certain that dad wasn’t pleased with what he saw and heard.

My first impulse was to flee. But by that time, the loud music of Sirdhool Sikandar urging us to dance started blaring. It was impossible to stop dancing as the following lyrics, admiring the beauty of Punjabi women, reverberated through the room.

Hase naal se jalaava phul mariya
Gore gal utte neel piya
Jiven surma sindhoor vich khilariya
Gore gal utte neel piya

It literally meant: “In jest I threw a flower
it made a bruise on her fair cheek
like kohl spread in red powder
it made a bruise on her fair cheek”

As I gamboled on stage with the beauty, femininity and fluidity expected of the gidda, I could feel my father progressively burgeoning with anger at such top speed that I feared he’d explode. Or have a heart attack. At the very least, I was certain he was intent on making a bruise on my fair cheek, not with a flower, but with a slap from his powerful hand. I went ahead with my capering, but was cowering with fear on the inside.

Catastrophe was waiting as soon as I reached home. My father, who had returned much earlier, was trembling with rage. My mother, who had apparently been making rotis (wheat bread) in the kitchen, stood furiously at the entrance, rolling pin in hand. She made an impatient gesture of flicking back a strand of hair, and ended up smearing wheat flour on her forehead. The little accident made her angrier. Even Poonam looked indignant.

‘Come inside’ my father said ominously. I followed like a submissive dog, with the two ladies in tow. Once inside, the three sat down on the sofa. I didn’t have the courage to sit down and nobody invited me to. I suddenly felt very lonely and alienated.

‘What did you mean by that tomfoolery?’ my father thundered ‘I had sent you to post flyers, not romp about like a goddamn female!’

‘Actually, I…’ I bleated like a helpless lamb ‘I didn’t want to, but Manpreet insisted’.

‘Would you jump into the well if she asked you to, you cocksucker?!’ dad swore.

I was shocked at the expletive. My father was a hot-tempered man, he got angry very often, but he never used swear words. I guess he was really furious.

‘Answer me!’ my father bellowed, further incensed by my silence.

‘No’ I said with dignity ‘I wouldn’t’.

‘Do you know how much I have had to endure’ my father blared ‘because of you? Tongues have already been wagging because you haven’t yet sprouted a beard, and you go a step further to give them a reason for malicious gossip!’

I opened my mouth to say something, but words got wedged in my throat. I realized I was trembling like a leaf.

‘You should have heard those women, Mira’ my father said addressing my mother ‘they were calling him a hijra. Raising doubts about his manhood and mine. Our family name was besmirched today. Never have I been so humiliated in my life!’.

‘I agree’ said my mother indignantly ‘he spends hours in the kitchen, when he should be playing outdoors. He shows no penchant for sports or mixing with other boys. So, when other people’s sons are kicking footballs, ours wears bangles’.

Mom meant it metaphorically, of course, but Poonam took the expression literally. She milked this opportunity to snitch on me. ‘Yes, he does wear bangles’ she said in her coarse, aggressive voice ‘when you’re not home, mom, I’ve seen him sneak up to your dressing table and slide one bangle after another into his wrists. I’ve also seen him use your anklets and jhumkas (earrings). He thinks no one is watching, but I have!’

Great. This was what I needed. A footnote from my sister that would push me further into quagmire. I’d noticed that however sweet I tried to be to my sister, she unfailingly found ways to antagonize me.

‘Not only that’ Poonam continued her finking marathon ‘when in school, I’d seen him hang out only with girls. Tittering, gossiping and reading girlie magazines’.

Mom and dad were silent for what seemed like centuries. Finally, dad spoke. His voice was grave.

‘At this rate, Ajay’ he said ‘Our family honor will be mingled in mud. We’ll reach such a state that we’ll not be able to hold our heads high in public. So, please do us a favor–and leave’.

‘But where do I go?’ I cried aghast. The prospect of leaving the cocooning shelter of home and going off elsewhere frightened me.

‘You’re a grown male of 18’ my father said evenly ‘for all intents and purposes, a man. Get a job elsewhere. It’s obvious your heart is not in the family business’.

‘You mean, you want me to quit Wisdom Books?’ I asked.

‘Beta (son), I am suggesting you leave Patiala’ said my father, not meeting my eye.

‘Leave Patiala?!’ I cried horrified ‘but this is my home. I haven’t been elsewhere. Where do I go?’

‘There are plenty of cities’ said my father half-apologetically ‘Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata. I am sure a change of air would do you good’.

The stance of my family was clear. I was an embarrassment to them; a shame that they wanted to fling as far as possible from them. So that I wouldn’t linger around their home with my pansy-faggot self and besmirch their family name further. I was saddened instead of angered. Large teardrops started rolling down my cheeks.

Unable to see the son of the house cry, my mom and sister strutted out of the room. My father remained sitting on the sofa, gelid and heartless as a rock.

‘I give you a week’ he finally sounded the ultimatum.


 

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A Slippery Slope in a Bank – Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform

  • A Slippery Slope in a BankTitle: A Slippery Slope in a Bank
  • Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Transgender Category: MTF

26 year old effeminate-mannered, pretty faced man, Vicky Pereira wishes to marry his long term girlfriend, Edwina Joseph as soon as possible. However, his current job in a lesser-known bank doesn’t accord him enough financial security to take such a big step in his personal life. Vicky applies for the post of senior manager in a renowned bank known as Trust Bank. A goof-up at the interview leads to an underestimation on the part of the recruiters: Vicky is now employed as a clerk in Trust Bank. To comply with the rules, he must wear a uniform just like the other clerks: a jacket with an in-built bra and a form-fitting skirt. Continue reading A Slippery Slope in a Bank – Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform

A Slippery Slope in a Hotspring – Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform

  • A Slippery Slope in a HotspringTitle: A Slippery Slope in a Hotspring
  • Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Category: transgender romance

A retired businessman visits a hotspring in the high mountains of Japan and meets a young hotspring keeper. The two men get into interesting conversation. The hotspring keeper takes him deep into the woods in the back of the hot spring, where he finds an astounding secret spring where animals are bathing. The combination of the human bath and the secret animal bath gives a magical effect – rejuvenating into the opposite sex.


-Quoting from the author’s blog:

I recently went to “Kasuga Hot Spring” near Tateshina Mountain in Nagano Perfecture. (Location: 36.194720, 138.337959).

Kasuga Hot Spring is famous as “Hot Spring of Jewel Skin” and it is known (as I experienced) that the skin becomes more feminine and beautiful after taking the bath. Kasuga Hot Spring was developed in Enpo Period (1673-1681), when a local  hunter found an wounded deer resting in a hot spring for curing herself.  Even before that finding Kasuga Area was known for deer’s population and was called “Deer’s Village”. The spring water is rich in metasilicates and it is probably the reason why women get more beautiful (skin gets silkier). Kasuga Hot Spring boasts various efficacies; making beautiful skin; curing neuralgia, muscle pain, joint pain, frozen shoulder, motor paralysis, stiffness of joints, bruises, sprains, chronic digestive disease, hemorrhoids, poor circulation, illness recovery period, fatigue recovery; health promotion in general. I went there at the end of August, 2015. My skin became silkier and younger. It had both inner (enclosed) baths and outer open air bath – don’t worry, men have their own segregated area. The outer open air bath was about 4m x 3m or so and 50cm or so deep. It had very beautiful special hexagonal roof supported by 6 wooden pillars. I was in the outer bath for two hours and totally relaxed. The plot of this book came to mind while I was half dreaming in the bath.



A Slippery Slope in a Hotspring

Chapter 1

The Staggering Combo

It was a moonless starry midnight. The old stag tottered on and on. He was indubitably ancient, yet had a kind of regality around him that reflected in his proud erect back and towering grand antlers. Yet his body had lost all youthful stamina and vigor. The stag’s limbs were not as strong and sprightly as they used to be. They were sore and hurt a lot, making even a single step forward an excruciatingly painful task. He took one step of each forelimb and painfully dragged his hind-quarters behind him.

He passed a majestic beautiful cherry blossom tree beyond which lay a mini thicket. The stag passed the mini thicket and came across a clearing. The clearing showed the most wondrous amalgamation of the natural and the man-made. A splendorous outdoor hot spring, with the clearest pristine emerald green water, lay flanked by imperial boulders and small shrubs. An ornamental bonsai also lay to one corner of the bath. The bath lay sprawled over an area of 3mx4m and had a depth of about 50 cm. It was covered by a singularly unique hexagonal roof and was supported by six sturdy beautifully-shaped wooden pillars.

To the tired old animal, the spring was a Godsend. The pure thick mist emanating from it was inviting. The stag walked the areas covered by stone tiles and gingerly put one forelimb into the water. Finding the temperature soothingly moderate—not to hot, not too cold—he immersed the entire expanse of his ancient body in it. The naive stag didn’t realize it, but the hot spring had segregated sections for men and women. The section the stag had immersed himself in was that of the men’s.

The stag lay in the rock-made spring until dawn. The geothermal spring had worked its magic. He felt considerably younger and his joint pain subdued a bit. Had the stag’s condition not been so pathetic, he may have been completely cured. However considering how poorly he had been, a recovery of the above mentioned degree was by itself miraculous. Intense sufferings had, previously, subdued the stag’s pleasure in living; he found that he had regained it after a few hours in the Kasuga Hot Spring. The stag took deep, voluptuous breaths, basking in the joy of being alive.

A Yumori, keeper of the hot spring, came in to start his duty for the day. He was a comely young man, tall of limb and beautifully-sculpted of body. He was in his early 20s and with his shapely sculpted bones, chiseled features and delicate skin, was much more glorious than the average male. A poet or an aesthetic would have described his looks as that of a young Greek God’s. As he flicked a strand of black floppy hair from his right brow, he noticed the stag.

Rendered self-conscious by the presence of a human being, the stag stood up slowly. Then he got off the bath and disappeared into the woods with more gusto than before.

The young yumori begun with his duty. He reached out for the drain-lid and emptied the bath. He scrubbed it with soap and a mop, and then rinsed it with clean tap water. Following this procedure, he turned the faucet of hot water from the source of the hot spring and filled the rock-bath with it. The yumori went to the bathroom and checked if every faucet was working and whether the stools, soap and towels were in place. He replaced all cotton mats with fresh clean ones. The bath was now open for visitors.

Meanwhile, the stag had sauntered into the recesses of the woods. Though he felt much safer here than the human-bath after the yumori had come in, the stag didn’t know his way out. He was sucked deeper and deeper into the cryptic confusing labyrinth that was the woods. At one point, he reached the precipice of a cliff and, by the instincts that animals have, warned himself not to fall off it. Just when he’d got around to feeling better, he didn’t want to die. Then, he noticed a ray of light coming through a wall of brambles. He slashed his way through the bush to find the mouth of a cave.

At the other end of the cave he stood astonished. He saw an astounding sapphire blue spring. It was a natural secluded animal hot-spring. If the rock-made human bath had been beautiful, the natural animal hot-spring was divine. Boulders of volcanic igneous and metamorphic rock surrounded the ethereal pool. A host of cherry-blossoms, in full bloom of spring, encircled it in the most enchanting manner. Every once in a while, as the gentle wind blew, either one of the trees would shed a flower into the corn-flower blue waters beneath. The stag noticed that the moment this happened, the flower would become newer and fresher than before.

The stag approached the spring gingerly. He was excited, but also a little apprehensive. The vaporized steam emanating from the lovely spring lent a surreal misty aura to the place. When the mist dispersed, the stag could see various animals of other species: rabbits, hares, chipmunks, monkeys, deer and birds inside the spring. He got into it cautiously, apprehensive that the other animals would protest in some way. He felt they were even likely attack him. However, the creatures sat there in peaceful, harmonious tolerance. All of them, it was obvious; saw themselves as speckles of one utopian unified cosmos. Cooperation and coexistence seemed to be the rule followed by the animals bathing in the spring.

As the beautiful blue waters embraced the stag, he fell into a delicious, dreamy sleep. The waters were even more soothing and pacifying than the waters of the rock-made human bath had been; its properties much more spectacular and mirific. The stag felt a pleasant tingling sensation all over his body. It was the most delectable sensation he had felt and the stag lay there until the end of the day.

Twilight merged into purple darkness. The day birds flew off to their nests. The night came alive with the creaking of crickets and the hooting of nocturnal birds. The moon that had played coy the previous day was resplendent in its full glory. The silvery moon beams were so bright that it might as well have been day.

The stag reluctantly hauled himself out of the spring. He looked around for his companions of the morning, but they were nowhere to be seen. The stag felt small, agile and….feminine. It was a queer feeling, yet not an unpleasant one. He perched himself on one of the igneous boulders and beheld his reflection in the shimmering sapphire-blue waters below. The bright moonlight showed him the most stupefying sight he’d ever come across in his life. The old stag had metamorphosed into a young doe.


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