"Honey, I need to talk to you", I said to her with some trepidation. I did not know how she would react, but I needed to tell her the truth after these few years of our marriage.

This story is about an Indian couples' struggle as their marriage is tested and they try to navigate their way through the entirely new expectations and experiences of the husband's suppressed auto-gynephilia and trauma from abuse sexual/otherwise, against a backdrop of traditional patriarchal Indian society and an intensely segregated LGBT community.

The moment that tractor beam hit our little ship we knew our fate was sealed. My moms and I had been abducted by the most feared beings in the galaxy, merciless creatures who saw us as nothing more than raw materials for their quest to turn everybody, everywhere into what they were. The drones ignored my screams as they replaced my left eye with a more efficient visual apparatus, then replaced other parts of me with tools suited to the tasks I had been assigned to perform. Wires snaked into my brain, and when my mind was linked to the collective I wasn't me anymore. I was no longer anyone.

But I'll say one thing for being turned into a Borg, it did eliminate my gender dysphoria for more than 5½ years. When you're nothing but a component with the designation 13-of-13 gender identity is irrelevant...

A New Year, a new genre; my first foray into forced femme. Happy 2023 to all at BC!

THE AGENCY

In the midst of darkness, light persists.
Mahatma Gandhi

1

Caution: This story contains references to prostitution, murder, and suicide, but there are no graphic depictions of any of them..

I’m George Walda. Shortly after I turned 17, some strange things started happening to me. First it was this recurring dream that I had turned into a pile of goo.

Jennifer Lam, of "A Bikini Beach Summer" and "A Bikini Beach Late Summer", revisits Bikini Beach for the first time.

Have you ever looked over the edge of your life and pressed the rewind button in your brain? Just looking back at the things you might have done, could have accomplished, or conquered like a battalion on a literal battlefield of life? I’m pretty sure the general in charge of my life was either asleep at the morning briefing or he was annihilated and no one informed me as I ran up and over the hill into the line of fire.

He'd promised his unborn child that, girl or boy, he'd care for them.

A father didn't need to understand his kid to still love and support them every way he could...

Shouldn't that have been enough?

“Okay, just a few more,” the photographer says to me as I pose in my designer jeans and t-shirt. “That’s great Ian, look this way, try to stand a bit straighter so we can see the logo clearly.” I do as I’m told and hold a subtle smile on my face as the camera takes photos of me- or rather, the clothes I’m wearing. “Okay, I think that’s everything. Thanks Ian, I’ll you have the rest of your Saturday back!”

Link: The Road to Hell Title Page and Description

CAUTION - Referenced Attempted Suicide

--

The following day Dr. Benson talked with Joss for another two hours after his IV and catheter were removed. Sure that he understood his patient, he needed to see how he handled other people. On the afternoon of the fourth day of his observation, the first guest he allowed to see Joss was his father.

Link: The Road to Hell Title Page and Description

CAUTION: Attempted Suicide
CAUTION: Referenced / Discussed Suicide
CAUTION - Highly Emotional Content

--

As the school year came to a close, Josh and Grace were getting closer to one another, but he continued to struggle with his feelings while still clinging to the memory of his love for Jennifer and all that she'd tried to do for him. No matter how many times he tried to look at it, he couldn't figure out what the right thing to do was.

The chapter that is more fantasy than reality, but one that is still based (even if very loosely) on my experiences in the ward. In this, I find myself new in the ward who I make an unusual connection with.

Again if you are not okay with Dysphoria type stuff, the please avoid reading this. Also, this has more ex-rated scenes to it (yeah sex- even if short :P)

The continuation of the story based on my real life experiences.

Once again, there are conversations of suicide and mental anguish, so if you are not emotional able to read on this stuff, please avoid this story.

The drop into despair and the darkness that I had built around me, and set myself up for, crashed over me like a wave. I reached out for help, but could the hand save me, or would it be slapped away as the depth of my sorrow, and anguish overcome me?

Again this has comments on suicide and pretty much my first-ever anxiety attack. So, again if you cannot emotionally read about that stuff, I would suggest missing this story.

Warning on Grammar. While I have really tried to correct a lot of stuff, however, the email was real (in fact all the chapter is how it went down), and I didn't want to overly change the content too much. In saying that, reading the old email again now, .... Jesus grammar can be shit in email communication!! :D

The continued story of my dive into my gender-fuelled mental break down. Again, this touches on emotions that you might feel upset about if you are not stable yourself, so be sure to feel safe before you read this.

In this part Daniel and I chat on IRC (yeah ancient Discord :D) and in my emotional imbalance the whole situation causes more emotions to run out of control and confusion to take over.

This does have some very mild cybersex type scene.

Also, if you are interested in the book I talk about in this "Nearly Roadkill" you can find it: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/207201.Nearly_Roadkill

Also want to add that a long time ago, Dana Short also helped me a lot on this chapter (in fact the whole story, but this one the most).

Light And Shadow (Part 8 of 8)

by Erisian

Chapter 37 - Citadel

Krux led me through hospital corridors full of a mix of demons, devils, and souls - some were patients, some staff, and all very organized. Other than the eclectic collection of body-types, skin tones, and random number of limbs, the place had that same frenetic-yet-focused feel of most busy hospitals I’d been in. Bureaucracy blended with function all mixed together as white lab coats, suits and ties, and professional skirts.

I stood out like a sore thumb or an outcast from one of those medieval historical re-enactment groups as I pushed past them all. The armored breastplate and feathered kilt felt all the more primitive as compared to the security stationed at the glass doors which exited to a landing platform. They stood there complete with modern body armor and elegant-yet-nasty rifle-sized blasters packing a punch orders of magnitude higher than the agent’s pistol. While the demons among them only had five to six souls suffering at their cores, their equipment likely made up for the lack of raw potential and then some.