Tag Archives: mtf

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?


 

Visit the Yu Sakurazawa’s home page – transgender books of Yu Sakurazawa’ transgender books.

Yu Sakurazawa’s Amazon Author’s Central page:


 

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.


 

To read the rest of the story please click here.