From alt.sex.stories.tg Wed May 29 23:49:06 1996
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From: LabRat@i-link.net (Karen Mitchell)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.tg
Subject: Story - Hejra1.txt
Date: Mon, 27 May 1996 09:48:41 -0500
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I did not write this and you must be 18 or over to read it as it may
contain a great deal of adult explicit sexuality. If this is
offensive do not read - delete file. For those of us who enjoy ....
enjoy! Please do not ask for files by e-mail - I can barely keep up
with what I have now.
I don't think there is a part 2.
CHAPTER ONE
A VISIT WITH THE HEJRA
This fantasy was inspired by a newspaper article which described a
convention of eunuchs in India. Evidently there are up to 50,000 eunuchs or
hejra in India, and they are led by elected gurus. The definition of hejra is
not a castrated male, but is more interestingly "a person of neither sex." I
wonder if that would include people of both sexes or at least some of both
sexes. Anyway these hejra hold a large gathering on the election of every
fourth guru. The article describes them as heavily made-up and sari-clad
individuals who resemble men dressed in women's clothing. One wonders if
there aren't some cross-dressers among them. It would be interesting to join
them for a convention en-femme, only men are not allowed inside the premises.
The fantasy runs as follows:
How my boss learned that there was going to be a convention of eunuchs in
India I'll never know. She had a sixth sense about these things and
invariably sent her reporters into bizarre situations that made amazingly
good copy for the armchair travellers back home. But a convention of eunuchs
was going way out on a limb, I thought. Of course, I was secretly intrigued
by the idea of a large gathering of mixed gender people, since I had been
fascinated by feminine clothes nearly all my life. But I was not willing to
admit this in public and certainly not before my boss, who took great
pleasure in exercising her editorial and supervisory rights over junior
reporters. She especially seemed to have it "in" for me; always finding
difficult, out of the way assignments for me that left me little time at home
to explore any of the trans-gender issues which so intrigued me. I dared not
challenge her authority and was more or less resigned to going at her beck
and call across the face of the globe in search of the unusual. But this
assignment was beyond the pale... A convention of eunuchs in India! It was
certainly exotic, but I had just returned from an extremely tiring trip to
the Amazon jungles in search of the three-toed tree sloth, and wanted nothing
more than a few days vacation in which I could lounge around the apartment
and dress as I pleased.
I guess it was inevitable that the day after my return when I approached
her with my request for some time off, she brusquely refused my petition and
proposed in its place this junket to the sub-continent. My face must have
shown my resentment at this assignment because she rose from her chair, came
out from behind her desk, and walked over to where I was sitting. I could
tell by the way her heels clicked menacingly across the floor that she was in
no mood for an argument, but I couldn't help noticing the way that her black
pumps and dark stockings gave her legs such a shapely curve which rose and
disappeared beneath her rather severe business suit. The next minute she was
standing before me and leaned over with a threatening air.
"Of course, you don't have to go on this trip," she purred quietly. "We
do have other reporters who are more qualified than you; I'm sure you would
prefer to stay at home and do some research on local recipes from
neighborhood church groups," she said sarcastically. "You might even find the
weekly column on 'Goings On About Town" a bit of a challenge," she continued,
making it very clear that I could only refuse her at peril of a substantial
demotion in my job.
Needless to say I decided to accept her challenge and attend this
convention, though I promised myself that I would record the proceedings for
the trans-gendered community as well as the more conservative readers of her
magazine. She had already written to the person (guru?) who was supposed to
be in charge and received a response granting permission for a reporter to
attend, but what she neglected to tell me was that men were not allowed into
the main convention area.
I arrived in India and upon arrival I checked into a fancy hotel and
allowed myself the pleasure of a luxurious bath. After luxuriating in what I
must admit was a deliciously perfumed bath and a good night's sleep in a real
bed, I was ready to begin my adventure. I stepped out of my hotel and
arranged for a cab to take me to where I would meet my first contact, a
person who worked at a certain shop in the central market area near the red
light district. When I gave the cab driver the address he looked at me oddly.
"That is no good place for a foreign person like you, Sahib" he muttered
quietly. "But I'll wait for you if you like," he added hopefully.
"No need to bother yourself," I said confidently. "I can take care of
myself, and besides I'm meeting a friend there who will show me around." The
last thing I wanted was an overly protective cabdriver hanging around trying
to protect me from those who I was trying to see. He would scare off my
'hejra' contact immediately. No, this one I would have to do by myself.
He left me off in the middle of a bazaar filled with all sorts of people.
"The shop you seek is just over there, in that alleyway, but please be
careful, sir. There are very strange people live in this neighborhood. Don't
blame me if you get more than you bargained for..."
As I began slowly walking up the alley I soon regretted not permitting
the driver to at least show me the shop. I was not quite prepared for so
many people crowding around that I hardly had time to read the signs above
the little shops which competed for space along the twisting streets. I was
virtually carried along by the mass of humanity until I reached the next
intersection. At this point the street narrowed and the crush of people
became even more intense; I have never liked crowds overly much and this one
was no exception. I realized that there was no love lost in this market place
for white men who had dominated this country for so many years. Just as the
crowd became fully aware that there was a foreigner in their midst, I spotted
the shop and made a beeline for it.
The sign above the door was in sanskrit but the letters seemed to match
the ones I had been given. The interior was too dim to be seen from the
street. I took the plunge realizing that whatever awaited me had to be better
than facing the lecherous hordes outside. It was cool inside and the air was
perfumed with exotic scents. Everyone seemed to be moving slowly as if the
multitudes just outside the door were in a different world. My breathless
entrance seemed an unwarranted interruption. A pretty young clerk or some
such came up to me and greeted me in a low voice. I supposed she was only a
clerk or receptionist even though her sari was quite elegant and her make-up
was quite heavy and exotic. She asked me in perfect English but with a
surprisingly husky voice if she could be of assistance.
I gave her the name of my contact and asked if she worked here. She gave
me an amused smile and said "She does not work here, honored guest; Guru
Bismillah is the mistress of this establishment. She is expecting you and
will see you in a few minutes. You may attend her in the back room."
With a demure bow she motioned me into another room which was even more
exotically furnished than the first. Rich carpets and wall hangings muffled
the noise of the bazaar. There were other people in the room sitting quietly
talking in low throaty voices. Every eye turned to watch me as I settled down
onto a low cushion covered with silken embroidery. A servant brought me a
glass of steaming tea which I accepted with a smile and a nod of my head.
I was intrigued with this place. Why were all these feminine figures all
sitting so calmly in the back room? Were they some of the hejra that I had
come so far to see? I tried to look closely for any telltale signs without
seeming too obvious. One enormously fat woman in the corner had a deep voice
that kept catching my ear. Another sitting across from her had very thick
wrists and forearms. Several of the women were completely veiled except for
their eyes which were heavily made-up and quite striking. AS a male I
suddenly began to feel very alone, and though I sensed no hostility from the
people in this room, I had the feeling that very few men had ventured this
far into this establishment.
I was distracted from my musings by the return of the girl or so she
seemed. With a sudden shock, I realized she might be a hejra, too. She
beckoned to me with a long and elegantly painted fingernail. With just a
tinge of jealousy I examined her hands to see if the nails were real or fake.
They appeared to be real. I was suddenly aware of my own curiosity about what
it would be like to grow my nails to that length. I rose to accompany her,
and towered above this lovely and petite person, and felt once more a pang of
jealousy over her obvious femininity. If only I was six inches shorter and
thirty pounds lighter it would be so much easier to buy pretty clothes....
I followed her up a narrow winding staircase which opened into a large
room with low ceilings. At the far end a group of people were standing and
sitting in a semi-circle around an older woman sitting on a high backed chair
that reminded me distinctly of a throne. Flanking her on both sides were two
large figures wearing oddly ambiguous clothes. The size of the shoulders and
arms indicated males, but their hips were oddly rounded and they had very
little body hair. They were wearing silky harem pants, but their tops were
made of more flowing material. Of course, it suddenly dawned on me these must
be the classic harem eunuchs, castrated after puberty so that they have
the size characteristics of men, but begin to develop the softer more
womanly lines as they age. As I got closer I saw that their eyes were
carefully made-up and their ears pierced. I was intrigued....I wondered
how much was left of their genitals.
I turned my attention to the figure on the ornate chair or throne as I
kept thinking of it. She was clearly the center of respect and attention. Her
clothes were traditional, but of very fine material. I was aware of a
powerful force about her and found myself strangely attracted to her. She was
quite feminine in appearance, but had an air of assurance and control which
was quite masculine. I felt my heart begin to pound and looked down at my
feet for a moment, as if to reassure myself of my mission here.
As she turned her face to mine I was struck by the sensitivity reflected
in her soft, sad eyes which were heavily accented with rich colors and lined
with dark blue pencil. Her lashes were perfect, long and full and with each
blink seemed to dance lightly up and down. Her brows were pencil thin and
arched delicately above her eyes. The rest of her make-up was more elegant
and more refined than that of my guide. But I was caught by her dark eyes
which seemed to grow sadder as she gazed at me somewhat distantly, as if she
was recalling a time of great suffering.
But then the mood was broken and she smiled in welcome and gestured for
me to sit on a low stool before her. Her attendants rose to take their leave
and I quickly understood that I was to be honored with a private audience,
private that is except for the presence of the two massive eunuchs.
After greeting me and asking several polite questions about my trip, she
looked me directly in the eye and asked me how I came to hear of this
gathering. I was prepared for this and explained that as a travel writer I
tried to specialize in the unique ethnic and cultural traditions of many
societies. I had read an account of the last such gathering and launched into
my prepared set of questions about this particular convention of "hejras". I
explained that while in my country we had no traditions or institutions for
dealing with "people of neither sex", I was especially interested in learning
more about their culture, because in the US we were just becoming aware that
we also had our share of individuals whose gender and sexual identity was far
from clear. Therefore I explained, I wished to explore the hejra sub-culture
in India to learn how to deal with our own unrecognized hejras.
She seemed satisfied by this explanation or at least stopped probing for
the moment. She sat back contemplatively for a moment before telling me
leaning forward to ask a probing question.
"But didn't you read my letter granting permission for a reporter to
visit, but expressly stating that men were not allowed inside this building?"
she demanded in a stern voice.
My heart sank to my toes as I gave a silent groan. What had I gotten
myself into? Or rather what had I been gotten into? I had asked to review the
entire file that my boss had accumulated on the "hejras", but she had only
given me a few excerpts. Now, I realized with a sinking feeling why she had
not been more forthcoming. What a coup this would be for her star reporter!
I could just see the sensational title, "Report from our man among the
hejras" or some similar headline, if I survived, that is.
"Excuse me mistress, but I am only a reporter who has been sent here to
do a story by my editor. She is the one with whom you corresponded, not I,
and not only did she not tell me of the prohibition, but she encouraged me to
come immediately. I am terribly sorry if I have inconvenienced or insulted
your gathering in anyway," I apologized in my softest voice.
She shook her head sadly at my words and gave a great sigh before
proceeding to tell the following story.
"At our last such gathering there were no such strict rules about who
would be permitted to attend the proceedings. Several male foreign
journalists appeared and they were allowed to participate, thinking that a
little publicity would ameliorate conditions here. Unfortunately they were
not really sympathetic to the plight of the hejra and saw an opportunity for
good stories on these sexual oddities to be catalogued, photographed, and
described in lurid detail. When the girls realized what was happening they
took a terrible revenge on them. Only one survived the transformation and has
become a true hejra. She now counts her castration as the turning point in
her life. She rose to a position of power and influence among the hejra and
has recently been elected the next guru. It is she who has persuaded the
gathering to explicitly forbid the presence of men."
"You see, my dear visitor I have developed an aversion to all things
masculine. I simply can not bear to be reminded of those earlier days when I
was just an unenlightened male. So now you see why I surround myself with
beautiful women in this house of feminine arts. It pains me to even travel in
public anymore where I am exposed to all that disgustingly virulent
masculinity. So it is of course impossible for any man to attend the ceremony
where I will be worshipped as the new guru, the queen of the hejras. In fact
we have just decided that the punishment for a man entering this place will
be the loss of his manhood. I am sorry to inform you that in spite of
your mitigating circumstances, the law must be enforced."
"But the good news is that you will be able to attend our little
convention, but as a participant, a real hejra, not as a guest! By the time
we have finished with you there will be no trace of your manhood to annoy us.
Now guards take him away and don't let me see him again until he has been
properly transformed and trained."
I felt suddenly quite terrified. I suppose a completely trans-gendered
person might have jumped at the chance for such a conversion, but I was not
ready to give up that part of myself just yet. I fell to my knees to plead my
case.
"I really am a journalist, but my audience will be the hejras of America
who suffer as you do here, but are not permitted by their society to
celebrate in public. I only wanted to share with them the news that our
sisters in India have found a way to co-exist with a normally sexed society.
Many of the members of our sisterhood would wish to do just what you have
ordered for me, but some of us are seeking to find a balance between
masculine and feminine, that does not involve the loss of our maleness but
encourages the adoption of feminine traits. I myself am what in our society
is known as a crossdresser; I love to dress as a woman and when I do so I
think, act, and feel as I believe a woman would feel."
I could feel tears begin to trace their way down my cheeks as I pleaded
my case. Her beautiful stern face however showed little sign of relenting. I
had not bargained for such a hostile reception and was greatly distressed at
the thought of a forced transformation. In a frenzy of emotion I bent over
and began kissing her feet and begging for forgiveness. At last she was moved
and her eyes began to mist over. I could feel some of the tension drain out
of her body, as I clutched her legs as if my life depended on it.
"Well perhaps we do need to do a bit more background research on this
group of North American hejras as you call them. I certainly was never aware
of such things in my day, but perhaps times are changing. While we are
checking on your story you will remain with us and begin the first stages of
your transformation. You are lucky that we no longer simply remove the
testicles of our converts, but put them on intensive hormone treatments for a
few months. This treatment should round you out a bit and give you a taste
of biological femininity. You will also begin the training necessary to
participate in our coming ceremony. Fortunately for you the gathering has
been delayed three months so that you will have plenty of time to embrace
your new role in life. And if we find you have deceived us, we will complete
the transformation irreversibly. If you have been truthful, you may return to
your friends after the ceremony, if you so desire...."
With those words I understood that I had been given a partial reprieve
and was dismissed from her presence. I was lifted to my feet by the two
eunuchs and escorted out of the room. Instead of descending the stairs to the
shop I was led down another narrow corridor. By this time I realized we had
entered another building than the one I originally entered. It was larger and
more solidly built. As we emerged into a more brightly lit room I was aware
of much more activity around me. People were moving toward us talking gaily
and with many gestures. As we came abreast of one group, they fell silent and
stared openly at me with undisguised hostility.
One feminine creature reached and stroked my cheek with amusement. She
leered at me for a moment and then said, "Soon, my pretty, you will be one
of us in body as well as in spirit. After you have lost those useless weights
between your legs you will learn what it is to be a true hejra."
At this they all burst out laughing and proceeded merrily on their way. I
was a bit dazed by all the attention and the realization of what was about to
happen to me. Three months! What would people think back home? Would the
guru's people be able to find the underground TV network in the States so
that I wouldn't have to lose what little manhood I had left? What would I
wear here? Would they allow me to grow my hair long? How would the hormones
affect me? Perhaps I would be able to stop shaving so often? Maybe I would
even develop a more feminine figure?
My mind was still turning over the consequences when we entered a room
that looked faintly like a hospital room. A tall figure wearing a white dress
greeted us promptly. "So this is our visitor. Welcome to your new home. You
will be a frequent visitor to this place during the next few months until you
are fully one of us. Now please make yourself at home while I ask you a few
questions."
I sat quietly in a state of shock in a straight chair while she asked me
a wide variety of questions about my medical history, about adverse reactions
to any drugs, and surprisingly about my first experiences with feminine
clothing. She asked in such a friendly, concerned fashion that I felt oddly
at ease with her. At the conclusion of our chat she smiled warmly and asked
me to disrobe. I looked shyly at the two eunuchs who had become more
interested at the word disrobe and begin carefully removing my clothes. In a
few minutes I was standing quite naked before them and was keenly aware how
exposed I was to their careful scrutiny. The nurse ran her hands over my
body feeling its softness and checking its contours.
"Well, you take good of your skin at least. That gives us something to
work with at the beginning. How often do you shave and what kind of lotions
do you use? Have you ever taken female hormones before?" She asked
professionally. I answered her questions in the same quiet voice and began to
feel as if she had already designed the shape of my body to come. It was a
bit eerie but I found that I was strangely excited as I listened to her half-
spoken comments. "A little more breast here, a nip in the waistline, a bit of
rounding at the hips. Now some electrolysis will do wonders to remove that
body hair and its really a must for the face if we ever want to achieve a
natural smooth complexion. But for the moment a double dose of estrogen to
get things started."
She gestured for me to dress again and turned to prepare the hormonal
dosage. As I reached for my clothes I found one of the eunuchs holding a pair
of woman's panties and looking at me strangely. The other was just returning
from depositing all my male clothes in the trash. As s/he handed me the
panties s/he reached out and caressed my nipples. "Soon you will have pretty
breasts like us. But you still have your thing while we have lost ours. Can
we play with yours?" S/he reached out to stroke me, but I pulled away in
surprise and was glad to pull on my panties for at least some protection. A
eunuch with sexual libido, I wondered, what next?
By this time the nurse had completed her preparations and turned to say
"I have prepared a double dose of female hormones for this first time in the
form of an injection which will take effect quickly. After today you will be
given a normal dosage every morning in the form of a large capsule with your
breakfast. Please don't think that you can fool us by pretending to take them
because we will be monitoring your estrogen levels regularly. Since it is
too early to cut off your source of testosterone permanently, we will have to
chemically neutralize your male hormones in order to allow the feminine ones
to begin controlling your body. By tomorrow morning the estrogen should be
dominant, and we will welcome the new sister among us. In addition I will
give you a small sedative to make you sleep as your body adjusts to the
changes."
With these brief words of explanation she injected me with the fateful
hormones. I felt a sharp pain initially and then a dull ache, but otherwise
felt no immediate changes. The nurse laughed as she saw my puzzled
expression. "Remember, I said tomorrow morning you will feel the difference,
not now. Tonight your new hormones will be struggling to overcome your
naturally produced ones, so you may feel a bit strange. The sedative should
keep you feeling quite comfortable. And besides you will have your two
friends here to keep you company. Good night little sister I will see you in
the morning."
Next my neutered guardians handed me a simple robe which I pulled over my
shoulders and let fall to the floor, covering most of my body. I was hustled
out of the clinic and down another long hallway. At last we reached a small
room with a large bed and dresser in it.
I realized with a sinking feeling that my my passport was in the pocket
of the clothes which had just been thrown away. Now I was really stuck here!
Suddenly I began to feel increasingly drowsy, and before I could ask for one
of my two guardians to retrieve my precious document, I found myself being
pushed back onto the bed. I didn't really feel sleepy, just very relaxed.
The drug must have taken hold sooner than I had imagined. I yawned briefly
and looked up at my two escorts. They were smiling conspiratorially at me and
motioned for me to lie down on the bed. My mind felt really quite sluggish
by now as if I was in a faraway place, and then I faded completely into the
world of dreams.