Category Archives: Gender Swap in general

Current List of Published Transgender Stories by Yu Sakurazawa

“Hijra, The Third Gender” series

“Hijra, the Third Gender” series consists of the following books. They are all stories about “hijra” but each story is independent from each other.

A Japanese businessman travels to India and is deeply moved by the Roma-style music and dance that he saw in the state of Rajasthan. He actually falls in love with a tall beautiful dancer called Sangita. He is totally enchanted by Sangita, who takes him to a whole Continue reading Current List of Published Transgender Stories by Yu Sakurazawa

A Supermodel – Fairer than the Fairer Gender

A Supermodel

  • Title: A Supermodel
  • Subtitle: Fairer than the Fairer Gender
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Transgender Category: MTF

[Introduction]

Sara was a fifteen year old boy when she (at that time ‘he’) finally mustered the courage to tell her mother that she wanted to be a girl.  Sara’s parents decided to take her to a doctor, who diagnosed her as GID. Sara was lucky to have understanding parents and could start hormone therapy young enough.

Sara made her way to become a fashion model. However, the modeling industry is not an easy place for a male-to-female transgendered person.

[Sample Text]

A Supermodel

Fairer than the Fairer Gender

Chapter 1 – The Beastly Glamour World

I stand in front of the mirror and appraise myself. Tall, long legs and shiny well-toned arms. A well-defined jaw-line that runs high along the face. A forehead that is quite wide, allowing me to sport a wide spectrum of hair-styles. Well-sculpted cheek bones that would look good even when I grow older. My skin is quite clear: the perfect canvas for any make-up artiste. A noble straight-bridged nose that is slightly upturned at the tips runs along the middle of my face.

My gaze shifts beneath the head. A nice neck veering towards the lengthy, but that’s seen as an asset in the modeling industry. Especially, if you want to be on the runway. So is height seen as an advantage. That way, I am quite fortunate to be an enviable 5’8. For a ‘woman’ that is. I look at the breadth of my shoulders and the size of my feet and wonder if anybody will guess that I am an MTF….’No, don’t be silly’ I tell myself ‘It’s all in the mind’. Either way, shoulders a bit broad can carry away a plethora or looks, be it be Eastern or Western, and a huge foot-size could also be an advantage—when encased in high heels, they arch very well and make one’s calf-zone look much longer. And I could very well do with some height in the calf-region because it is ever so slightly shorter than the average aspiring model I am competing with. This is because genetic males have slightly shorter calves than females. ‘What if someone with a keen eye happens to notice it and find out that I am an MTF…?’ the doubt rankles in my mind. I tell myself that such thoughts are silly. It doesn’t matter as long as I feel fully and completely female—from the inside. Confidence. That’s the key. That’s what the doctors and counselors keep telling me. ‘Believe in yourself’ I give myself the auto-suggestion ‘You are as good as any real girl out there!’

My Smartphone rings. I pick it up to find that it is from my agent Jon. ‘Sara’ he says in his crisp, confident voice ‘I hope you have your portfolio ready? The agency will be expecting it’.

The port-folio. Of course. How could I have forgotten the most important thing? I strictly tell myself to focus and to quit concentrating on the wrong things. I fish out the assortment of photos that I had got clicked a few months back. Beautiful shots against different backgrounds. Most of them have been shot in natural light, giving agencies a chance to see what I actually look like. The make-up is minimal or hardly there, accentuating my raw natural beauty.

‘Jai, the photographer is really good’ I think to myself ‘He’s been able to get all the expressions right. Not a thing is amiss: the anger in the smoldering eyes, the lightness of spirit bursting forth as laughter on the lips and the sensual sulky pout–are all perfect. He has been able to metamorphose me from a light fay-like spirit to an angst-ridden renegade, over the course of just a few pictures. He has been successful in capturing the entire range of emotions present inside a single person. And his directions were minimal.

‘Actually, he has forgotten to capture something’ a little nagging voice inside me says ‘the fear that you persistently feel day in and day out—the fear of being exposed as an MTF transgender’. I smother the voice immediately. The world is already a difficult place to live in. Getting paranoid would only make things worse.

I turn my attention back to the portfolio. Great positioning and posturing. The balanced healthy diet, loads of fluid and personal grooming has been helping. And so also the regular fitness regimen that comprises a jog at the first blush of morning, followed by yoga, and Pilates; cardio, salsa and belly-dancing in the evening. My body stays in good ectomorphic tall and lean shape, so any clothes that they put on me would look nice. As Jon, my pillar of support, was telling me once, I’d look great with even a gunny-bag thrown on me. In spite of the hormone therapy and other MTF cosmetic surgeries, my breast size remains one cup smaller than that of my mother’s. Yet, that seems to be an advantage rather than a disadvantage in the fashion industry, especially the runway, where small breasts seem to be preferred. This is because to showcase the cut, fall and details of a particular garment to its best advantage, you don’t need to have too many details of your own. Also, I have noticed that the models on the ramp don’t sport a bra and wear neat skin colored panties underneath those designer clothes. Ungainly undergarments, like an especially conspicuous bra strap or thick-seamed panties, are a definite taboo.

The phone rings again and I pick it up with vexation. ‘Yes, Jon?’ I can’t keep the irritable edge out of my voice. I instantly regret it. Jon is one true well-wisher I have and I can’t allow myself to get waspish with him. ‘Sorry to disturb you again, Sara’ comes his soft apologetic voice from the other end ‘but I wanted you to make a note of your measurements’.

By measurements, Jon means the usual: height, weight, bust, waist, hip, dress and shoe size. ‘Just throw in the hair color, eye color and skin tone, will you?’ Jon suggests.

‘Such close details?’ I ask teasingly, thanking my lucky stars that there is at least one person on earth with whom I can talk freely ‘Are you getting me to audition for an international agency or what?’

‘No, this one is local’ Jon clarifies ‘but be prepared, honey. You never know when fortune comes knocking at your door’.

That’s Jon for you. Always encouraging, forever optimistic. However, the agencies haven’t been this way—so far, at least. ‘Don’t take their rejections personal’ I tell myself. Maybe be my kind of looks just don’t fit their list. Yet a disconcerting doubt lingers. Maybe it’s something else…..

I take a shower and quickly get ready. I don’t pick anything over-dressy: just a neatly cut-pair of blue skinny jeans and a light cotton t-shirt. Except for a hint of kohl, mascara and colorless lip-gloss, my face is free of make-up. I wear my straight black shining waist-length hair loose. I notice with satisfaction that my long bangs have covered my high slightly masculine forehead and the bony ridge right above the eye-brows that they call ‘The brow-crossing’.

I allow myself a spot of indulgence when it comes to shoes and wriggle my feet inside the most stylish pair of red clogs. A red hand-bag slung over one shoulder and I am ready to audition.

Ironically, the audition to the most glamorous industry in the world is being held in a dingy basement. As I descend down the stairs, an unpleasant musty odor assaults my nostrils. It seems like it has been a while since the basement was used. As I come to the bottom of the stair case, a desk comes to view. Three people are seated behind it. The first, I recognize as Tara Chandani, who is the head of a reputed modeling agency. She has the distinction of being a highly proficient model hunter and a great task-master—a quality that shows in the hard lines of her square face. The other two people are Cyrus Mistry and Hiren Patel, the famous Indian designer duo. They are supposed to be big cheese in the industry and everybody worships them. However, their outlandish appearance doesn’t impress me much, especially that of the short squat Hiren Patel’s. He is wearing a jacket two sizes too small for him and is bursting through the buttons. It’s an unpleasant sight.

At the far end of the room, stands a guy in his mid 30s. He is wearing camouflage pants and an olive green t-shirt. He has a languid style about him. A camera is slung around his neck .. I don’t have to see the badge on his t-shirt to recognize him as Gaurav Khanna, the celebrity fashion photographer.

There are chairs in front of the desk where many girls—my competitors—are seated. I recognize one tall sharp-feature vixen-like minx. Nikki. ‘Oh no, not here!’ I sigh wearily. Nikki and I share a history. We went to the same school, the same college and our parents socialized in the same circle. Nikki had the habit of aping whatever I did and concocting various nasty little conspiracies to pull me down. Presently, I am terrified of the possibility of Nikki’s pulling off some unscrupulous trick to sabotage my success. I fervently pray that the devious little minx hasn’t seen me.

However, she turns. And sort of winks and smirks at the same time. I feel butterflies flutter in my stomach. The sight of Jon standing at the far end of the room calms me down. He catches my eye and waves. I wave back.

It took quite some time before my turn arrived. The girls were called to the desk one by one and each strutted her stuff in front of the selectors. Subconsciously, I started evaluating their eyebrows, noses, cheeks and lips and compared them to my own. My eyebrows were as arched, nose as small, cheeks and lips as full. My surgeon and cosmetologist hadn’t done too bad a job.

My turn finally arrived. The judges looked at my portfolio and exchanged glances of approval among themselves.

‘What are your stats?’ Tara Chandani asked me.

’34- 25- 34, Ma’am’ I replied truthfully. The ‘perfect’ model was typically expected to have a ’36-24-36’ figure, but nowadays the modeling industry had relaxed it’s a bit rules and looked at other aspects like individuality, confidence, originality and all that as well. Hence, I didn’t feel the need to lie. Any such fib could be detrimental to one’s future in the long run.

Amazon KDP allows only 10% of the e-book to be shown. To read the rest of the story please click here.

 

The Animal in Me – Resurgence of Transhumans – SF Cyberpunk

  • The Animal in Me_newTitle: The Animal in Me
  • Subtitle: Resurgence of Transhumans
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Category: Cyberpunk

In a future society technology and biological engineering reshaped human life. The earth is not divided anymore to nations or races but to subcultural groups. Many people are trans-humans, and are treated as second-class citizens, since they are technologically or genetically modified. The Purity Party has a majority in the current government, led by President Yceberg, who believes in the sacredness of the body. The question is: how far he’d go to prove his point?

Theo Ruby is 32 years old, single man, a loyal soldier. He worked as the Head of Security at the Purity Party. Right after elections, he’d got infected with a mysterious virus which was deteriorating his body fast: within days he became paralyzed, unable to speak and on the very edge of death. It was an experience what would change anyone. After he was captured by the trans-humans and copied into Babel, he lives on in her body as a clear consciousness. After some time to adjust, his personality becomes more unpredictable and revengeful.



The Animal in Me

Resurgence of Transhumans

Chapter One – The Ball

Outside the fences, eager paparazzis fought the security, the cameras aggressive flashes flickered in the darkness. Only a few long-distance shots captured blurry images, and even those were about to be taken away by the sec eventually. The media hyenas struggle didn’t reach the upper-crust’s ears, who were celebrating the Purity Party’s recent win at President Yceberg’s luxurious resort.

Powerful politicians and prominent celebrities cruised in the illuminated tropical garden with fancy cocktails in their hands.

Yceberg casually chatted in the circle of men wearing shiny uniforms, his well-tailored, silver suit and bald head was easy to spot, which made Theo Ruby’s job easier. As the Head of Security he had to pay maximum attention to the president’s safety. He had clear orders to keep this party free of trans-humans. There was only one name on the list who was approved to attend the exclusive celebration, although she was genetically modified or maybe this was the exact reason, to have one to show off with. Lady Indigo was the wife of the United Africa’s ambassador and also the ultimate representative of trans-humans, but only a dull, snobby puppet figure in reality. Her distinctive purple skin was slightly fluorescent by the fairy-lamp’s dim lights.

She threw piled lobster cubes on her plate and slurped out the last sips of her Virgin Mojito. Theo Ruby escorted her while the ambassador left to a private room to discuss some sensitive topics, like how to treat the rebelling trans-human minority in United Africa. Lady Indigo knew nothing about politics but she had the looks to be among politicians: her chubby, mutant Eve-look with weird portions was evidently alien. Her color palette ranged from from avocado green to radiant indigo, she was sometimes gorgeously different, from other angles interestingly ugly. Since she was not considered bright enough or didn’t qualify for long conversations, she was engaged in stuffing her face with the lobster which constantly fell out of her swollen mouth even after numerous attempts.

Theo barely could stand the strong, sweet scent she emitted. Her puffy hands left brown fingerprints on the expensive porcelain plate.

“Are you in a reproduction phase?” Theo asked politely, trying to disguise his disgust by browsing among the replicated chilly tofu.

“Yes, unfortunately.” Her face blinked out of a fleshy, spore-bearing body of a fungus. “It takes forever to keep my clothes clean of spore marks.” She quivered her long eyelashes at Theo fighting for his attention. He took one step back, and checked again what President Yceberg’s position was. He was still talking to the ambassador behind closed doors, so he was stuck with this woman for a while. “It’ll pass in a month. Just avoid chemicals. Contaminated cells mutate easily,” he said and gave her a fake smile.

“I hope so.” Lady Indigo sighed. “Would you escort me to the Ladies Room, please?”

I’m so sick of this baby-sitting, Theo thought but it was part of his job. He raised the radio to his mouth and said, “10-100,” which was the code word for a bathroom break. “Copy that,” a distorted male voice answered and a heavily armed guard nodded at him from the opposite side of the garden.

Lady Indigo left a brown vapor trail of spores in the air as she entered the Ladies Room. Theo shifted from one leg to another and his thoughts revolved around the mysterious Project Revelation, a file which landed on his table this morning. His orders were to study the super-confidential document but all he wanted was to forget all that he had learned. If Yceberg goes through with this, it will just enrage the trans-humans. It can easily lead to a war just like it is about to happen in United Africa.

His thoughts were interrupted by an unpleasant, squeaking voice: “Mr. Ruby, I have some trouble in here, could you help me?”

“It’s inappropriate for me to go in there, Lady Indigo,” he said. “What’s the problem?”

“My zipper got stuck on my dress . . . I cannot go out like this. Be so kind and save me from my uncomfortable situation, please!” Her voice seemed desperate. Theo sighed and went in.

Lady Indigo stood almost naked in the middle of the room, her dress hanging on her pimpled, purple skin. Theo walked to her and tried to think of strawberry milkshakes and playful clouds to distract himself. He tried to fix the broken zipper on the sweaty velvet dress. The woman stood in front of him, looking at him through the mirror.

“Are you married, Mr. Ruby?” she asked.

“No, madam, my job doesn’t allow me too much free time.”

“It’s a shame, because you are a very handsome man,” Lady Indigo said with a wide smile. They looked very odd next to each other: a purplish post-op fungus hybrid and a creole man with Mayan face tattoos, wearing a braided beard and a military uniform. Lady Indigo’s hand reached for his trousers and grabbed his penis with a sex-starved move. Theo tried to step away but her grip was strong and she painfully squeezed his balls with her puffy fingers.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and peeled her fingers off himself. Her body fat rippled like the surface of the ocean when she was pushed to the sink.

“I want to give you a nice time. Five minutes of pleasure cannot cause any problems . . .” She pulled up her skirt, and spread her chubby tights. Slimy juice was dripping out of her pink pussy.

He grimaced and said with stifled voice: “I’m not into monsters.”

Her small eyes widened: “Is that so?” Her dull expression quickly transformed into something she hadn’t showed before: she seemed intelligent. “Don’t think that you are so special, Mr. Ruby. Your days are numbered and your services won’t be needed anymore soon.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact . . . I follow orders just as you do,” she said and jumped on Theo like a panther, forcing her giant lips in his mouth. He felt a fleshy tongue penetrating him, a sensation he never felt before. Theo took out his handgun and pointed it to Lady Indigo’s temple. She let go immediately but her smile just became more vicious. “Enjoy the rest of the night, Mr. Ruby.”

The Ladies Room door slammed behind him, he felt rage that he was fooled so easily. Was he supposed to report this to President Yceberg?

This bitch wanted to put me in an awkward position, be caught or whatever, but I won’t let anyone to know about this shameful story, he thought and a sudden wave of dizziness raced through him. Red spots bounced in front of his eyes as he rushed back to the garden to check on the president.

Underwater Escape – An Escape to the Other Gender

UnderwaterEscape

  • Title: Underwater Escape
  • Subtitle: An Escape to the Other Gender
  • Series: The Fatal Gender Swap
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Gender Swap Type: A woman swaps with a man in the history.

Gemma was caught in the act by Josh, while she was having sex with Max. The next day, before the show, they were still on bad terms with her husband. This is the reason why Gemma became distracted and couldn’t focus on the trick. She started to suffocate under water.
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The Kantuta Bond – A Bond that Swapped the Lovers

  • The Kantuta BondTitle: The Kantuta Bond
  • Subtitle: A Bond that Swapped the Lovers
  • Series: The Fatal Gender Swap
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Gender Swap Type: Body swap

[Background]  About 150 years ago a virus called PSY-12 destroyed the majority of Earth’s populations. The virus drove people mad and suicidal. The rest had constant nightmares what they’ve called “the nightmares of the Earth”. The people who were immune recolonized the Earth. Some tried to rebuild a technologic lifestyle, others decided to start new, more nature-friendly communities.

This is what happened on Amantani Island (Peru, next to the Lake Titicaca). They call themselves the Kantuta Tribe after the flower which grows there. Outsiders call them “Hippies with guns”. They prefer to live in isolation. During 150 years the local Quechua survivors and the new pioneers (mostly Americans and multiethnic Peruvians) formed a spiritual local community. Their lifestyle includes the usage of ayahuasca.
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