Feminized by Hypnosis – A Transgender Suspense Story

  • Title: Feminized by Hypnosis
  • Category: A Transgender Suspense Story
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa

Adam Beckwell is a 21-year-old student of finance. He is 5’7 and slender, with brown hair and soulful brown eyes. Adam is always gloomy, fears expressing himself and is disgusted by sex. He is teased by his classmates and called “stuffed shirt”. Adam is easily suggestible and believes each word his psychiatrist tells him. He is emotionally dependent and is incapable of making his own decisions.

Susan Farley is Adam’s 19-year-old neighbor. She is 5’7 and slender, with black hair and cornflower blue eyes. Susan loves life. She has a sunny temperament, dresses boldly and isn’t afraid to express herself. She loves the good things in life like writing poetry and masturbating. Susan takes a writing class in London, where she meets the love of her life.

When Adam develops depression and meets psychiatrist, Dr. Ella Brown, she suggests that he and Susan may be the same person. Ella convinces Adam that he suffers from Dissociative Personality Disorder as well as Gender Identity Disorder. She tells Adam that Susan represents his self and encourages him to express himself as Susan would. Slowly, Adam develops a desire to feminize and develop a body like a woman’s.



Feminized by Hypnosis

Subtitle: A Dangerous Therapist

Disclaimer: The representation of Dissociative Personality Disorder and its treatment may not be hundred percent authentic. Artistic liberty has been taken in the representation of the same.

Chapter 1 – Adam, the Stuffed Shirt

I looked at myself in the mirror. The conservative pants, white shirt and grey blazer looked elegant on my slender frame. I considered adding a tie to my attire, but decided against it. After all, I was only a student, not a professor.

My name is Adam Beckwell. The fact that I, a 21 year old guy dressed like a “fuddy-duddy oldie” had become a joke in my college. My choice of attire combined with my long, rather morose face and the incapacity to lighten up made me the butt of many jibes. My batch mates called me a “stuffed shirt” and made fun of my “perpetually constipated look” I chose to think I had a stiff upper lip. My parents had taught me not to display unnecessary emotion.

I hail from Bakewell Village, in the valley of River Wye in Central Derbyshire. Thinking of Bakewell brought back memories of the Monday market, cattle, agricultural lands and Bakewell tart! Being in London for three years had almost made me forget my roots. I loved Bakewell; however, I was also frightened of it…

My mother still lives in the village and I visit her once in 6 months. I have mama’s sensitive brown eyes and bud-like lips. She complains that I don’t go and see her often enough. Mama worked as a kindergarten school teacher and was also a conscientious church-goer. She took me and dad along with her to the mass every Sunday. I was taught to religiously read the bible every day. This sort of puritanical upbringing has shaped my views on life, death and punishment.

Punishment. The word made me think of deceased dad. His ogre-like frame and ruddy face sprang in front of my vision. He was chasing me, half-laughing and half-angry. I ran away from him for dear life. Chills ran down my tender spine. Hairs stood up my five year old neck. Dad succeeded in catching me by the scruff of my collar. He spanked me for being a “bad boy” and for enraging God…

And then, he…

The alarm presently rang loudly. I had set it for a particular time, but was ready before that. I had one last glimpse at myself in the mirror and headed towards college. It is located in Earls Court, the area I have rented accommodation in. I walked down to college, trying to appreciate the pretty streets and houses.

The image of dad lying on the hospital bed barged into my vision. He had been diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma Stage IV two years back. He had swollen lymph nodes in his armpits and had lost a gallon of weight. He had survived for only five months after the diagnosis. Mama had been upset that I refused to look after dad during his final days. However, I had been terrified to be around disease and impending death. I had also been petrified to be around dad…

Now, I was disturbed. I noticed that my hands were trembling. I shouldn’t have worked myself into this state. I shouldn’t have thought of Bakewell. I shouldn’t have thought of dad. I shouldn’t have thought of the church.

The past had had a negative impact on my present. When my contemporaries were fucking like bunnies, I’m still chaste. I seem to have no desire to copulate. I regard sex as something, which is animalistic and filthy. However, I don’t tell people that. They would regard me as abnormal.

I’d told my batch mates that I’m saving myself for marriage. This is untrue. I’m petrified at the thought of walking down the aisle and deflowering my wife. I don’t know how I’m going to get around this situation. I’d probably hide under the cloak of religiosity and not get married at all. I could become a theologist and remain unmarried.

Apart from sex, I’m terrified of blood. The thought of a woman on her period disgusts me. Even if I engaged in sex, I’d never do it with a woman on her period. Ugh!

The impressive college campus came in sight. I snapped out of my morbid thoughts and walked inside with a sense of relief. The world of investing and finance took away my mind from other aspects of life. After all, speaking my mind and expressing myself was something that I had been most terrified of….


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