Preface

"Thanks for watching my place for a few days."

"No problem."

"There isn't much to it, just make sure the cat's bowls are full. I already cleaned the litter so don't worry about that. Every day give the guinea pigs a hand full of hay each and a leaf of romaine lettuce or some parsley. Water the plants every other day that's about it.

The big thing you will be doing is living here, so people know the house is not empty."

"Fine."

"There is food in the fridge. You can also order anything you want from the local Italian or Chinese, they have my credit card on file."

"OK, OK."

"You have the wifi code."

"We went over this."

"If there is a problem, call me."

Main Chapter

Rabhya (Rab to his friends) eyes opened. He was sitting on a soft couch. He couldn't move his arms which were spread out away from his body. His hands touched the soft material of the sofa. In front of him was a mirror. He could see himself.

Rabhya was dressed as a woman in traditional Indian apparel. He didn't know what the dress was called, although his mother had been born in India, but his father was a white man born in America, He was born in America also. The truth was that he didn't know much about his Indian heritage. He certainly didn't know how to speak Hindi.

He looked over his face in the mirror. Although covered in makeup, the face was distinctly his own. His eyes, his nose, his mouth, and the angle of his cheeks somewhat hidden behind makeup were undeniably his. His hair was covered by a scarf, but he didn't think it had been cut. He could feel the pull of heavy bell-shaped earrings that hung from his ears by a chain. On his forehead, was a headpiece, his mother would have known it was called a maang tikka. Rabhya was least concerned about the maang tikka than anything else, but it was the most important thing to his future.

His eyes drifted down to the top of his crimson dress with gold accents. He saw his gold necklaces and many gold bracelets. They looked very expensive. He somehow knew they were real gold. A moment later the swell of his chest area caught his eye. He didn't need to touch his 'breasts' to be pretty sure that they weren't real. His chest could feel the faux-boobs pressing against his skin.

He started to worry about his dick. Had something happened to it? Was it pierced or in some way removed? Concentrating on that area, Rabhya knew he was intact. He could 'wiggle' it under his clothing to tell it was still there. There was certainly some sort of taut material covering his crotch under the dress he was wearing, but his penis was under there somewhere.

He wanted to pull his legs apart to give his balls some room. He wanted to stand up. But like his arms, he couldn't control his legs or any other part of his body. He couldn't even wiggle his toes.

"What's this all about?" he cried out.

"It's your wedding day. Your parents arranged for you to marry a handsome man in a traditional Indian wedding," was the reply. No one was in the room with him. The voice was heard over a speaker.

"I'm not gay."

"Certainly not, you are a traditional Indian woman." This time the reply wasn't spoken in English. It was spoken in Hindi. Rabhya understood the words. He didn't even notice that the reply was in a different language than the one used a moment before.

"I'm not a woman!" Rabhya replied in Hindi as if he had been born in northern India. He spoke fluently in the local dialect of a small town approximately a hundred miles (160 kilometers) southeast of Dehra Dun.

The machinery hidden within the Maang Tikka was replacing his thoughts and knowledge as he sat. It was this device that wasn't allowing him to move his arms or legs. So far, his fluency in English had been removed and replaced with Hindi, including the local accent from the Indian State of Uttarakhand where the city of Dehra Dun is located.