Being Princess

I married a princess. Not a proper princess, mind you. But living in London as a third generation Pakistani, it’s about as close as you can get. I honestly couldn’t tell you how I landed Shazia, my princess. She’s a posh bird with a successful businessman father, spoiled as heck. Has a huge closet full of clothes and shoes, all expensive stuff. Her father refers to her as ‘daddy’s little princess’. She could have had any rich, handsome, educated bloke she wanted. Instead, she chose me.

I’m not that bad, when you think about it. I worked in IT as an all round consultant. I could tell you how to get the most of out of Windows 10 and the Office suite and to iron out any general issues you may have. I wont exactly be making a killing in the field but, after 7 years, I made a pretty decent living considering my very modest background with no living parents.

I was no big, strong, aggressive male though. Rather, I was quiet, diminutive and always amicable. I treated women with a lot of respect but this attitude wasn’t really winning with them and at 29, I had never had a girlfriend. Shazia, who worked in the marketing department just to swan about and have men chase her, I’m sure, just came up to me one day with an ostensible IT issue and invited me out for some tea. We went to a café and she spilled about herself – how men were scared off by her high maintenance lifestyle. I sympathised and somehow, we hit it off.

Our wedding day was, quite frankly, the most glamourous day of my life. There were hundreds of guests who gave lavish gifts and were in turn given a sumptuous meal. Shazia was the princess of the day, of course. She was utterly resplendent in her wedding dress, immaculately made up and beguilingly charming to everyone. I simply shrank back and just smiled and received the congratulations from guests with graciousness.

That night, we did the deed twice. I was a virgin and Shazia said she was, too. On her father’s instructions, we never got beyond hand holding during our courtship so I never got to really take her in as a sexual being before then. The love making was quick and it was she who initiated a second time. I, of course, obliged and fell asleep straight after. Not quite the atomic explosion it should have been.

I returned from the honeymoon to New York not much less of a virgin than I had been before the wedding. Shazia seemed satisfied with my performance and did not ask for more than what we had. We even missed doing it for three straight nights once because we were busy taking in glorious food, tours and shows. Something ate me at me though: I was physically satisfied as I climaxed every time but something was missing. I simply did not look forward to the act. I was impressed with Shazia’s beauty and glamour but I was not hungry for her. Making love became a duty. A chore

At work, I became even more withdrawn than before. I was now a married man who had a rich wife and golden opportunities ahead. Shazia’s father wanted his little princess to have the best and offered me several possibilities which would ensure that. I had everything I could want and yet I wasn’t content at all.

Akbar came into the picture just as his name (which meant ‘great’) would suggest. He was just larger than life but not in a brash or arrogant way. Just from sheer size. He was a big, barrel chested man who had a belly. His most distinguishing feature though, had to be his moustache. It was an obvious throwback to the 70ies Hindi films and made him look like Englebert Humperdink whom I knew thanks to my late grandma!

He was the security bloke in my building. Very conscientious worker. Takes his job seriously as most immigrants do. He came from Pakistan a few years before to work. I don’t quite know how, given the strict rules but I did know he was an educated fellow. Very knowledgeable about IT or at least, smartphones, from the stuff I’ve overheard from colleagues.

By that time, mere months from my wedding, I was sinking into a deep depression. I was dreading having to be with my wife at night and calculating how many days since we last made love. If it was one or two nights, I could manage another night of stalling. Shazia, on her part, never asked let alone pressured me into it. It was all me, I felt bad for not showing desire and I’d make a clumsy move. When we did eventually get down to it, it was a lacklustre affair, if you’ll pardon the pun.

Akbar came into my office just as I was working late one night. He did not have his usual ready smile. In fact, he looked rather serious.

“Mr Feroze, are you going home soon?”, he said using the ‘Mr’ that betrays his recent arrival to the country.

“I need a little more time, Akbar. I have to finish a report tonight. What’s up?”

“Well, we saw someone on the CCTV who seems to be prowling around. I’d like to say he looks harmless but I can’t honestly say so”

“Oooooh, not good. Can you stay with me while I finish up? I won’t be long…”

He looked at me with a cocked eyebrow but quickly returned his casual expression. I guess he must be inwardly smirking at my lack of manly courage. Well, I didn’t want to get hurt unnecessarily by some axe murderer, did I?

“Ok, I’ll stay but only for about 10 minutes or so. I need to do my rounds after that”

I nodded, smiled and got down to it. He took his phone out and started fiddling with it. Probably checking his Whatsapp for messages from all his girlfriends, I mused.

I did not work well under pressure and decided to finish up at home amidst the awkward atmosphere with Shazia. I may have to actually come on to her tonight, I thought bleakly. It had been three days, after all, I guessed.

Akbar walked with me to the lobby of the building and said, “shall I walk you to your station? Just in case….”

I was first slighted but his offer, thinking he was being sarcastic and derisive towards my masculinity, such as it was. But no, he had a very sincere, open smile and I knew he was happy to do it. I smiled back and said “yes, please.”

We walked wordlessly, at first, to the Tube station. At this time, I was sure to get a seat on all three legs of the journey. Then Akbar floored at me.

“Why do you look so sad these days?”

I turned to look at him in the face. Still the same sincere look.

“What do you mean, Akbar?”

“Since after your honeymoon, I keep seeing you looking like, so down. I thought you’d be happy after getting married. At least for a while, haha. But you didn’t even have that while, did you?”

“Oh. I don’t know. I’m ok”. I was hoping to leave it a that. Akbar wasn’t a stranger but he wasn’t a friend yet either.

“No, you’re not ok. I can see you’re not ok and maybe, if you just talk about it, you’ll feel better. Don’t let it take away your life. Tell you what. I feel like a kebab so why don’t we go in to Ali Baba’s for a bit? We can talk in there”

I was surprised at his sudden show of firmness and noticed his big hand was on the small of my back. Ali Baba’s kebabs were hardly my idea of a nutritious meal but at least I’d be out of the house till maybe Shazia’s asleep, right?

We took a table nearly entrance and ordered. He attacked his kebab voraciously while I merely pecked.

“So, yes. Why are you sad?”

I did not want to let the horse out of the barn knowing that, once I do, there was no going back. But this man was nice. I could see that he really wanted to help. I did not even feel that I needed to voice a verbal confidentiality clause. I just spilled.

“I don’t like making love to my wife.” I stopped there, expelling a sigh.

“Why not? You don’t find her attractive? Or is she nasty to you?”

“No, no. She’s a little spoilt but so nice to me. It’s only to her parents that she acts up. And she’s superhot! Men look at her even now. It’s just that she does nothing for me”

“You prefer men?” He did not say it with any judgement, merely a desire to understand but it was still no. I shook my head.

“No, I love women and my wife is the most feminine woman I know. She’s a total princess, so into clothes and make-up”

“Yet, although you say you’re into women, you have no desire for her at all”

I nodded, suddenly realising what I had put out there. This man can easily ruin my life now. But he wouldn’t do it. Nor even dream of it, I knew. I felt same with him.

“Have you ever watched ‘Interview with a Vampire?’ From 1994”

I frowned at this obvious non-sequitur. Huh? What was he going on about? But let’s humour him, I thought. I had actually watched it before.

“Yeah, I watched it years ago when I was a kid. Why?”

“You know Kirsten Dunst was in it? She was only 12 at the time…”

“Okkkkk? I remember her as the girl Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt turned into a vampire Akbar, where are you going with this?”

“Right. Good memory. I’d like to ask you for a favour: Watch the movie again. It’s on Netflix so you can download and watch it on the way home. You don’t need to watch all of it, just the middle where Kirsten takes her first victim and throws a tantrum to Tom and Brad. You remember it?”

“Akbar, why am I doing this?”

“Because what she says will matter to you. I know we don’t know each other well but trust me on this. What have you got to lose?”

This man was a movie genius! To remember a twenty-five year old movie down to an actual scene! Then to connect that scene to my life. I normally didn’t heed people all that much but this was Akbar who hadn’t put a foot wrong yet and I was intrigued. I downloaded the movie there and then.

We said our goodbyes and shook hands. I felt the assurance from his strong hands. He made feel safe to trust him with anything.

As expected, the train cars were nice and empty. I got down to the movie. First, the initial few minutes to reacquaint myself with it. It had been nearly twenty years after all. Then, to when Tom and Brad found Kirsten. I watched it intently from there right to when she said that line. Of course, Akbar did not tell me the actual line but it hit me anyway. Oh. My. God….

I was in a daze when I got home to our flat. Akbar was so out of line for his insinuation! How dare he think that! No, no, this was unacceptable. I would have a word with him or maybe just blank him altogether.

Shazia switched off the TV when I entered. I was surprised to see her awake and I needed some excuse to shirk off my husbandly duty. Well, I’ll just tell her, quite truthfully, about the report I just remembered was due. That was a great excuse.

“Feroze, why were you crying?”

Huh? I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. It was wet and so were my cheeks. My annoyance at Akbar had been more than trifling. It was a powerless fury.
“No, its nothing. I watched a sad movie on the way home”

“On Netflix? What movie?”

I mentally searched for a title but alas, I was no Netflix binge watcher! She must have seen my expression.
“Feroze, why do you not want me?”

“Huh? What are you talking about? You mean sex? Of course I want you! I’ve just been tired out from work, that’s all”

“No, sweetie. I know men. You may have suspected it before but let me just say it: I had already had several boyfriends before we met. We met when I was on a period of swearing off men thanks to a bad break up. One thing I do know though is desire. Men desire me. I mean, just look at me!”

She held out her hands and I took her in. She was beautiful, even in jammies with no make-up. Her lovely hair, big eyes, long lashes, ample chest…wow. Then it hit me and I started tearing up again. My fingers covered my mouth and I racked in sobs.

“Yes, as I thought. You don’t want me at all. You are me! Only born male. You only wanted my company as a consolation prize. If you couldn’t be the princess, then you must have the princess!” she said, using her father’s favourite moniker.

I sat down on the couch, still crying and burying my face in my hands. I was so ashamed.

“Honey, I was attracted to you because of your tenderness and you were just so sweet. We did all the fun things together! You were the first bloke..” she punctuated the word with an ironic chuckle “to enjoy seeing me pose and preen, do my hair and get dolled up. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world until I saw your sex drive..so called ‘sex drive’ anyway”

“Listen, I can do better. In fact, let’s..” She held her hand up to stop and I did.

“No, I am a woman and I need a man. A real man, not some sissy girl playing at being a man. I need a good fuck, honey. And so do you”

Later on, I realised that I was not grieving at all at the thought of my wife wanting a proper man. What I was grieving for just then was my lost façade. My public face which I had maintained for so long and which I kept so well that even I myself did not know.

“Feroze. I will go to my parents’ place tonight. Before we stop being husband and wife, I want to give you a gift. I want you to not resist. Just allow me this one little indulgence to make up for all the time you made me feel undesired. Please.”

I was puzzled. Why is she giving me a gift when I was the one who let her down? She took me by the hands into our bedroom which I realised is now just my bedroom. Her wedding dress was on our bed! All laid out and pink. Oh my god! It was just so silky and soft!

She took me into the shower and stripped me. Her composure was momentarily gone when she forcibly scrubbed my entire body. I heard her muttering words like ‘sissy’ and ‘fairy’. She towelled me off and shoved at me her expensive pink bra and panty set. I remember her once titillating me – or trying to, anyway – by sashaying about in it. But I wasn’t aroused. No, I needed to be wearing it to be aroused. I complied.

Finally, came the dress. I had no idea how to put it on but merely followed Shazia’s instructions. This was my emasculation, I felt. I had lost my manhood just then. But no, not yet. Shazia sat me down at the edge of the bed and proceed to put some heavy make up on me. The lipstick came last. Then, she took out, from the wardrobe, a wig of long, dark lustrous straight hair. I felt myself slipping away as she put it on me. She had planned this?

“Shazia, why are you doing this? Do you want to make love and you think this arouses me?”

“Ewww, no! I am no lesbian, Feroze. I am doing this because, before I leave forever, I am going turn you into what you really are. A khusra, someone born male but, in her soul, is really a woman. We were never really husband and wife but now, we can be sisters, at least. I will help you find your true self. Now girl, stand up and look in the mirror”

I did as I was told and saw myself. It wasn’t Feroze anymore. I looked like someone else. I stood like someone else. I held my hands like someone else. A woman, no..

“Who’s the princess now?”, she asked

I saw Shazia in the mirror. Next to me, she was plain but her physical looks beat me hands down. I was the princess in that moment though. All this time when I thought I wanted her, I actually did. Her essence. I wanted to be a preening, petulant, pouty, prissy, pretty, pampered princess. Because it was also my essence.
“Feroze, you are not Feroze anymore. My husband is dead. I cannot use that name with you now. You will be my little sister, Fareenah. Now, Fareenah, I am going. We will sort out the divorce in due course”

I was still tearing up but again not to my loss of a spouse. Rather, as I later found out the term, my egg had cracked. I was ready to reclaim my true self.

“Ok, sis. I’m so sorry for putting you through all this”

“Yeah, well. I’ll get over you by getting under some real stud”, she quipped. “Oh, by the way, someone is coming in a few minutes!”

“Who! It’s past 1am and I can’t meet anyone like this!”, I panicked! I just won’t open the door!

“Oh, he knows all about you. He’s a friend of mine when we were co-workers and I told him what was going on. He’s very understanding and also, girl, he’s a really good fuck!”

Akbar! It was Akbar all along! Akbar and Shazia knew each other and were lovers! There was no prowler. It was all a ruse! That made my blood rise till I realised, I was not a man anymore. I just had no right to be mad about this. I decided not to ask for the lurid details.

“Fareenah?”
It was a rich, deep, baritone voice. Akbar, looking very burly in his tight-ish uniform. He knew everything.

“Akbar”. That was all I could say. My voice was higher. Not like a woman’s but neither a man's.

“How are you doing, my beautiful princess?”

I felt a strange sensation. I realised, just then, that I liked Akbar. No, more than that, I lusted after him. Perhaps even love will come at some point. This big, burly man was so powerful yet so nice and considerate of my feelings. Love will definitely come, if he’ll let it but for now, I felt a deep desire. To get laid…

“Sit here with me, princess”. I did and heard the door click. Shazia had just left. I was the lady of the house now. Akbar put his big arms around me and I noticed his muscles. For a while, he just held me but I wanted more. But princesses couldn’t be so obvious. Instead, I just looked him in the eyes shyly and furtively looked away. He cupped my chin in his hand and planted a kiss….

We woke up the next morning in bed. Me, a right mess, I’m sure, but feeling the after glow of love-making. I looked at my man and thought, I must be his object of desire! There was a closet full of outfits along with a vanity table full of make-up. I will practise femming myself. I will learn about hormone treatments to grow breasts and wide hips and grow out my real hair. Perhaps I can even get surgery to remove my maleness. I hated it now.

Akbar growled awake, grabbed my hand and pulled me to him. I squealed and cuddled up to him, planting a lusty kiss. I wanted nothing more than to be his princess.

Except, perhaps, to be his queen…