[I wrote this story almost four years ago! I am posting the story as it was, four years ago. Please forgive me for any errors that might have crept in. Hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.]

Ben had been sleeping for the past six-seven hours or so. He was tired, and his body was aching miserably without respite. Between a nine to five job and juggling his debut novel, he was desperately in need of some rest and the Sunday precisely offered him that. Yawning profusely, he cracked his neck and fingers, a habit for many years. Had it not been for the cruel rays of the Sun through the sliver in the curtain, he would have slept an hour or two extra. As the force of habit would direct him, he went in front of his bathroom mirror to take a good look at himself and brush later. When he looked at himself, he let out a blood-curling shriek; for Ben Grimsley had been transformed into a woman with voluptuous bosom and alluring curves overnight.


Margaret slapped Ben with all her might; she never believed she could until now. For her Ben was the idea of a perfect lover, her prince charming, he was the epitome of love-until she discovered his dark side. Her whole world crashed to pieces since she never pictured him as the aberrant type.

They were almost on the verge of completing six months of living together coupled with being in a relationship and on one such fateful night, she was en-route to her mother’s place when halfway through her journey she realized, she’d forgotten an important gift she purchased for her mother weeks ago. On reaching the apartment where they both resided, she found it was locked from the inside. Margaret called an umpteen number of times before her knock took the form of banging, suddenly the door swung open and there ‘her Ben’ stood, stark naked with a particular dominatrix at his feet begging for mercy. Clad in the symbolic latex, she was badly bleeding from her nose and mouth, terrified of the suddenness of events.

Margaret gasped putting her right hand on her mouth and looked at Ben, ‘her Ben’.

“What’ve you done?” she asked, her voice defying her belief and faith in him.

“I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this”, quipped Ben.

“Did you hit her?” Margaret questioned, barely able to contain her tears. She felt bad for the girl.

Ben put his hands forward to pacify her, Margaret answered with a slap. Stunned, Ben’s face contorted with anger. He punched Margaret, causing her to fall down on the tea table by the sofa shattering the glass to pieces. She was visibly shocked by this action of Ben and before she could look at him, her eyes went towards the other victim who had a hint of a crooked smile on her face. Margaret desperately clung to the legs of the sofa as Ben pulled her legs forcefully uttering the words, “You agnostic bitch, I’ll show you what it takes to strike a man.” Amidst the struggle, the dominatrix carefully judged her position in the newly developed scenario and carefully got hold of a long vase, which had rolled from the table and landed less than a few inches from her foot. She was contemplating of hitting him when she heard Ben speak again, “Women are a disgrace to the human race, and they are here only for satisfying us and giving birth, nothing more, nothing less.” Involuntarily, her hand clutching the vase reached out for his head and knocked him out.

Margaret looked at her with eyes expressing gratitude, but before she could say anything, the dominatrix left in a hurry. There lay the male-chauvinist Ben with his former lover, Margaret.

With an ice bag on her head, she wondered what could have gone wrong in the past few months she was romantically involved with a creep like Ben. “How could I not see past his façade?” she was perplexed, how people change at a moment’s notice. Better tardy, than never. “Ouch!” she almost sprang as the ice pack hit the exact location of the injury.

“Ouch!” Ben let out a moan of pain in another hospital, where he was admitted as the ice found its way to the exact spot. “That bitch, I’ll skin her alive for this.” Ben had been thinking about how his plan failed. “She was perfect; I would’ve fucked her to death…” Ben laughed hard and sarcastically.


Ben groped himself with frantic hands, thinking it all to be a bad dream. Suddenly a revelation hit him and he felt his genitals with his hands and again shrieked as much as his vocal cords could support. Ben looked at himself again in the mirror, and broke down, falling on the floor with a loud thud. His worst fears have been realized.

Ben considered himself and literally was one of the most male-chauvinistic people to have walked on Earth. A local author and celebrity himself, he had been the target of feminist groups more than a few times. In his opinion, women were weak genetically and could never be on par with men, and he even gave absurd reasons, sometimes-coagulating history, economy, business and even wars alike. Ben had precluded all options for even considering women to be more than animals and breeding machines. That being said, he kept his mother in a little less contempt than the other females and it was also the thing he hated most. Sometimes he even declined himself to be her son. Margaret was romantically involved with Ben and being from a different state altogether, she had no idea of Ben’s real identity; till that day.

Naturally, Ben frequented by male chauvinist and patriarchal groups alike and another friend of him sharing ideas on a similar level was Mack, who was a reputed psychologist. Ben had no clothing or accessories for a girl; he hastily put on a green shirt and a long bottomed trouser with a brown overcoat. “I look utterly ridiculous,” he thought. As he reached Mack’s clinic downtown, a familiar signboard greeted him.

Mack Blomsky, PsyD, Ph.D., Ms, MD [No females allowed, please]

“Oh, shit.” Ben sighed.

It was lunchtime, Mack’s secretary Boris was a muscular fellow, and Ben did not want to mess with him for his own good.

Once Ben entered Mack’s clinic, Mack shouted, “You did not see the signboard madam, I hope?”

“Shut up, Mack. It’s me, Ben.”

“Who? What rubbish are you talking about?”

“You and I had a drink yesterday after work at the Shining Solomon bar, remember?”

Mack had a look of disbelief and his jaw dropped wide at the mention of this. After several detestable explanations about how Margaret had finally discovered his secret how he woke up in this damned body, Mack finally formulated a theory of his own.

“A theory? Really? I am in knee-deep shit and all you have is a wild shot theory of yours? Are you even serious Mack?”

“You wanna listen or not? Cause all you gonna have is this shitty theory of mine to proceed!”

“Go on then…,” sighed Ben.

“It is highly probable that your intense dislike for women caused you to, you know,”

“Develop these?” Ben cupped his newly formed breasts with his hands.

“You have a fuck-able body, I’ll give you that,” grinned Mack.

“Shut up, for fuck’s sake”

“There must have been a massive release of estrogen and other female hormones, but it is unlikely the whole thing could’ve been achieved within a few hour spans.”

Ben’s world had been turned upside down and rattled over. He had been cursed for reasons unknown to him. Ben locked himself up for days until Mack could find a suitable cure for him; it all seemed unfair and rude like he was being played with. Ben had agreed to do a blood test despite his fear of needles.

Mack met Ben at his flat with the test results and as he had suspected, Ben’s blood was oozing with the hormones of the inferior sex, according to them.

“How is that even possible? Do you think somebody laced me with hormones?”

“Quite probable”

“You don’t say?”

“I just did”

“I am in trouble, ain’t I? Anyway, can’t this be flushed out of my system or something like that?”

 “I’m afraid that is not possible as you can see the effects have been more than profound.”

“Shouldn’t the effects wear off or something like that?”

“Promise me if I die, you wouldn’t let the secret out”

“Shut the fuck up, already”

But they didn’t wear off. Ben had severed all contact with Margaret, he was gradually on the path of losing his sanity. Living inside that body, trapped had leeched him of everything. Ben would seldom get out of his flat and when he did, he made sure it was only after midnight. Finally, after the seventeenth day, he contemplated suicide; he could no more be a part of this ordeal. Writing a grim suicide letter, he took ten ‘Alzolam 0.5’ tablets-nothing could’ve been easier than this.

The next day

Mack decided to check with his friend for a quick visit and discovered the body. He had an ominous feeling about today, especially after Ben had put up with the ‘death talk’. Police came within a matter of minutes and after intensive questionnaire, which followed, Mack felt depressed for his acquaintance cum good friend, as he was not able to protect him from being discovered. How else would he have disposed of the body? He could not have dumped it somewhere only to lead the police breathing on his neck.

Margaret knew Ben had a thing for hookers and her along with a group of other femme-fatales conspired to coerce Ben in a position, which would ultimately lead to either his devastation or death. The night the incident with Margaret and the dominatrix occurred, Ben had already been administered the hormone dosage. Margaret and the dominatrix had planned very meticulously, careful not to leave any loose ends. In fact, Margaret had known about Ben all along. The hormone laden whiskey had begun working the moment Ben took a sip.

The feminist organization ‘Panthers in Pink’ was headed by the dominatrix named Celia and Margaret herself.

© Biswadeep

Image courtesy-

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