From alt.sex.stories.tg Wed May 29 23:49:06 1996

Path: mordred.cc.jyu.fi!news.csc.fi!news.funet.fi!news.eunet.fi!EU.net!Germany.EU.net!howland.reston.ans.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!in2.uu.net!news.i-link.net!usenet

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

Organization: I-Link

Lines: 399

Message-ID: <JDcqxY5fap7Z090yn@i-link.net>

Reply-To: LabRat@i-link.net (Karen Mitchell)

NNTP-Posting-Host: austin-1-16.i-link.net

Mime-Version: 1.0

Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1

Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit

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.