From the mutilated fantasies of a disabled transgender woman and reforged with love and hate.
This work contains adult materials including sexually explicit activities, depictions of rape, extreme violence, female genital destruction, the consumption of an unborn child, strong language, extreme homophobia, extreme transphobia, extreme racism, offensive language directed at Christians, and identity death. This work is not suitable for minors. Reader discretion is advised.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locales, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
The creative inception for this project came from a 6-months-long friendship I had with a Colombian woman by the name of Karen Wiktoria Sigilwig Rueda Pelayo, also known by her online alias of Clavietika. Much of this story is loosely based on anecdotes she shared about her disdain for the ‘inferior Spanish culture’ she was born into, her dissociation issues, and her attempted romantic relationship with a cisgender woman, among other things.
Some of the more troubling and problematic language used in this story are gross exaggerations inspired by comments and anecdotes Clavietika shared with me during our relationship. While other problematic elements are a reflection of the 1991 setting, when hateful rhetoric, sexism, racism, and phobia toward minority groups were more generally accepted. In other words, the awful things said by the cast of characters are meant to be awful.
Capítulo 1: Venus
Cacton Gil, Colombia
Sunday, June 23, 1991
I took a deep breath as I stared up at the sky. It was a brilliant blue, bereft of even a sliver of cloud, with a sun shining bright, but away from my periphery. The humid summer air washed across my face, but was propelled by a cool northern breeze. I took in the aroma of the forest around me and relished in the tranquility of the sound of leaves brushing against each other.
This little clearing was my special place. Far enough from the usual trail to feel secluded, yet no more than five minutes away from civilization. I sat down on a large stone, just the right height to serve as a chair, and brushed the shoulder-length straight blonde hair out of my face, before looking down at myself.
Church just got out an hour ago, and I changed before coming out here. Because my mother would never let me hear the end of it if I stained my Church clothes again. Though, she would find some way to complain about my actions no matter what I did, because she’s my mother. Which is why I felt little guilt as I looked down at my thin body, dressed in a fluttery yellow top that left my arms and midriff exposed, and dark shorts that stopped before reaching halfway down my thighs, showing off my smooth, white legs. It was fashionable, and one of the only ways to keep cool during these harsh summers.
Once my body was relaxed, I looked at the paper bag within my hand, and began to dispense the contents onto the rock. A sandwich, an apple, and a can of carbonated water. I rolled my eyes as I looked at this meal, recalling my younger brother’s teasings over how ‘American’ this meal was. He wasn’t wrong, but it was simple and easily portable.
I snapped open the can of water and rinsed my mouth with a slight lemon flavor before gulping it and sighing as the lukewarm fluid bubbled in my stomach. Yet before I could unwrap my homemade sandwich, I heard a rustling in the shrubbery nearby. I paused and looked forward with a smile— expecting some harmless woodland critter to pop out. Instead… I saw a man.
A young man with naturally brown skin, an unkempt mesh of curled dark hair on his head, and a scattering of stray hairs across his sweaty face. His lanky body was dressed in a sky blue t-shirt that hung loosely against his frame, while his jeans draped down his stubby legs and over his tennis shoes. His black eyes remained locked on me as he awkwardly lurched out of the greenery, and his huffing was loud enough to overpower both the wind and rustling.
I knew this man all too well. His name was Christian Cortes. He was a classmate of mine for years, and the most repulsive cretin I had the displeasure of knowing. He was a stalker. A proclaimed ‘admirer.’ Someone who wanted to ‘devote his life to me.’ Someone who once broke into my house to ‘sleep by my side.’ He was the reason I took evening courses in high school, and I was overjoyed to learn that he was rejected from the local university I was attending. I hated him. Christian knew this, but he still approached me, regardless of what I said to him.
Christian’s dark skin glistened with sweat, his body reeked, and while he could have been a somewhat ‘cute’ man, he clearly did not care about his appearance. His facial hair was a revolting intersection between a masculine beard or mustache and a respectable, clean shave. He was dressed in the clothes of his older and infinitely more attractive brother. He carried himself as if he was a family of salamanders bound in a sack of flesh, with his heavy steps and jittery arms. That’s before getting into his primitive nature when it comes to all things. Social skills, general knowledge, or even resembling a human being.
I gagged as Christian moved toward me, and I began to pack my things, feeling ill as I breathed the same air as this man. Yet as I finished bagging up my lunch, he wrapped his sweaty palms onto my wrists, and slammed me against my stone seat. I gasped from this sudden act— far more aggressive than anything Christian had ever done before.
Christian then thrust a hand into his oversized pants pocket and grabbed my left hand, fiddling with my fingers as I remained paralyzed by shock. I knew I should’ve screamed, that I should’ve called out this creep for being the rapist I always knew he would become. But as I tried to push out these words, Christian planted his lips against mine, thrusting his coarse hairs into my smooth skin. As this happened, I felt something fill up my cheeks, puffing them out as I was unable to escape my assaulter’s embrace.
As this action continued, I found my resistance waning. My body grew weak, and my eyelids grew too heavy for me to keep them open. I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to determine what happened before I fell into unconsciousness, and once I did, I was met with a hot sensation, like I had entered a burning building, unable to escape.
That intense heat only lasted nary a few seconds before I fluttered my eyes open, revealing the clear blue sky I had been admiring just a few minutes ago.
While I could see, my mind felt like it was immersed in fog. My body felt numb. And before I could do much of anything, I heard a disturbingly familiar voice to my left. I nudged my head to the side, and I saw… myself. I saw my body standing in front of the stone seat, dressed in my light summery clothes, blue eyes looking down at my person, hands on my C-cup breasts, and my face… perverted.
“It worked. It actually worked!” My body said with an excited inflection.
As I looked at this sight, I felt the numbness leave my body. I felt the grass touching my exposed arms; the pants covering my legs, and the sweat covering my face. I still felt fatigued, but I knew that something was deeply wrong here, and I forced myself off the ground, where I felt loose clothes slosh across my person, while something lightly scratched my face.
This sudden motion caused the blood in my head to slosh around, and I brought my eyes down to the ground… where I saw that I was wearing the same clothes as Christian. A second later, I held out my arm, revealing a biologically tanned arm peppered with dark hairs that had been haphazardly cut with scissors. Deep down, I knew what this meant, but I still sent these hands across my body— the body I was controlling— in a desperate bid to debunk this revolting conclusion. Alas, from the greasy hair to the ill-fitting shoes, I could tell that this was the body of Christian. I was the one controlling his grubby sweaty hands, who felt his facial hair brush against his face, and smelled the musk of his unwashed 19-year-old body.
While on the verge of hyperventilating, I felt a hand clasp my shoulder. A jolt shot through my body and I looked up to see my face— my true face— contorted into an eager smile, one that deceptively made me think I was looking at my own reflection. Yet, I knew that the person manipulating it was none other than Christian.
“Tell me, Christian, how do you feel?” Christian said, using my voice and flaunting my body as he spoke. “Does everything feel right to you? Because I am feeling simply fabulous. Better than I have in my brief life. Now, after nearly two decades, everything feels right with the world.”
I grabbed Christian by his wrist— my wrist— and looked at him with the most furious expression I could make. Words failed to convey my emotions, but that did not stop me from trying. I began by saying his name, but immediately stopped. Not only because I heard his unusually deep voice boom from his throat, but because I did not say his name. Instead, I said my own.
I paused as I realized how my words betrayed me, and in this moment of weakness, Christian freed his hand.
“Awww! It feels so good to hear you acknowledge this corrected reality. Yes, my name is Evelyn. Evelyn Eleonorrazz. Tell me, who are you, sweetie? Come now, I know you are a shy and awkward boy, but you can at least tell me your name.”
Evelyn Eleonorrazz Christian Cortes.”
“Yes! You are Christian! You have always been Christian and will always be Christian. Now and forevermore! A disgusting disgrace of a man! While I am Evelyn Eleonorrazz! It is the name my mother gave me when I was born, when she learned that I was a girl— a woman— a female! I always was! Always will be! I have breasts, I have a vagina, a clitoris, I am tall, I am white, and I am beautiful! I’m certain that, just looking at me, makes the monster in your pants furious. He’s telling you to go wild. To assault me! Isn’t that right, Christian?”
“No,” I said, raising my pitch to something less disturbing. “That would mean assaulting
myself the woman I love.”
I froze as my words betrayed me again, and I crumbled onto the grassy floor. I could not take it. I could not process how or why such a thing happened, and the only thing I could do was… cry. I was a man now, but all I could do was act as a woman and bawl my eyes out, sobbing as I tried to comprehend the cause behind such an act of unreal malice.
Christian could have offered me comfort as he saw me in such a pitiful state but, despite claiming to have ‘loved me’ myriad times in the past, he did not truly care for me. He cared for my body. And not in the way that a man cares for a woman’s body. He cared about my body the way a freak cares for a woman’s body.
And he expressed this love— this savage lust— by stripping me, casting aside the outfit I had dressed myself in, and looking at my body in all of its glory. He grabbed my body like a man, thrusting my hands against my breasts, clawing at the areolas with fingernails. The other hand went lower, defiling my sacred garden in a manner I had only heard described by the most hedonistic of women. He was treating my body like a piece of meat, howling like an ornery hound as he defiled it before my eyes. And between his aggressive moans, he spoke in a blasphemous tongue.
“Blessed unto you, Lucifer! your name has been trampled by the world, and I repent every slight I have offered you or your minions. You are the truest source of justice in this world, and the corrector of the Creator’s wrongs! And God… you are a faggot and a n****r! You robbed me of what I rightfully deserved and cast me in a body ill-fit for life! A body you created in your own image, you vile donkey!”
As a Catholic, I could not stand by and allow one to praise the epitome of evil in such generous words, and disgrace the name of the Almighty through comparison to the lesser. A fury fueled my body as I walked forward and grabbed him by the shoulders!
“How dare you
use my body to voice such blasphemy! Are you saying this is the work of the Devil? You conspired with the Devil to steal my body?”
“Heh,” Christian cackled as he loosened my grasp. “Indeed I did, Christian. Of course, a man such as yourself would find such a concept revolting. You bear a Holy name after all. It was through a demon that righteousness prevailed. And through the ring on your finger, our fates are sealed. Your very soul is inextricably bound to your new being, and mind is much the same!”
I then looked at the left hand I controlled and saw an obsidian band across my ring finger. Looking at Christian, wearing my naked form, I saw a matching ring. He must have placed it on me when he grabbed my hand.
I paused as I let his words sink in. This was irreversible. This was forever. I would forever be bound in the disgusting body of my stalker, and he would get to live my life. The life of a woman nearly done with her nursing degree, with a loving family, and wonderful friends. Meanwhile, what does Christian have? …Nothing. He lacked any talent or skill to call his own, and his family did little more than tolerate his existence.
“No…” I said as I digested his words. “How can you even think what you are doing is ‘righteousness?’”
As I stood tall and looked at him with disdain, Christian chuckled.
“I was born with the soul of a maiden. I deserved happiness. I deserved beauty. And because I was denied it, I sought to praise it. I found the most gorgeous woman in this forsaken shithole of a village and I worshiped her, hoping that I would gain purpose in my life by serving her. Yet she rejected me. Called me disgusting and worthless. You hated me. You flaunted yourself, were granted a brilliant life by those around you, yet deep down, you bore a kernel of evil. Whereas I bore a kernel of good, one that has been eroded by evil. Through the power of Satan, all the good is now in one gorgeous body, and all the evil is now in one disgusting body. I corrected an imbalance in the retard n****r God’s flawed plan. I have brought justice beyond the divine!”
The pompous ramblings of this body thief devolved into noise as he relished in the sound of my voice, while touching my body, defiling it while claiming that I was evil. I felt the teeth in my new mouth grind together as I tried to comprehend such selfishness. Yet as I stewed in anger, I felt… something else.
I had repressed whatever impulses ran through this body since I’d been thrust inside it. I did not want to think about it, let alone feel it. Yet, I could not ignore what lurked between its legs. For it was lifting the fabric of the baggy trousers and rustling through the breezy boxers. It was not even as long as a finger, but it still demanded attention as it aimed itself skyward… and it received just that from the man before me
“Ugh! You truly are repulsive, Christian. You wish to fuck me, do you not? It makes sense. You always stalked me, and even laid in bed with me once, like the demon you are. So, what are you going to do? Will you do the first masculine thing in your life, or will you run away, content to masturbate at the thought of being with me? You always did the latter. Churning your cock until it became covered in scabs, dreaming of what it would be like if you had this body. Well… that is not going to happen. So, off with you. Allow me— allow Evelyn— to enjoy herself in peace.”
Christian was throwing kindling and fuel onto the flames of anger burning within me. Every syllable he said made the fire burn hotter and bigger until I reached a breaking point. I grabbed Christian by the throat— my throat— and thrust him down to the stone I had been sitting on before he took my body— my life— my everything! He looked up at me with horror. He recognized my power, my dominance, and I wanted nothing more than to use this power to exact revenge!
I drove my fist into his stolen stomach, and then brought both hands to the belt and oversized pants I wore, stripping them away along with the boxers, until I was wearing nothing more than a t-shirt. The flipping folds hid the fleshy tube from my vision, but I could still feel it. Damp with sweat and bulging both with blood and fury.
“If this is forever, and I am evil, I may as well act like it. Isn’t that right,
Christian Evelyn? This is what you wanted? A little role reversal? To experience what it is like as a woman? Well, as a woman— with the ‘soul of a maiden,’ you ought to know that if you masturbate— flaunt your goods in front of a man—”
Christian Evelyn… if I cannot get my body back become you, then… I’M GOING TO FUCKING RAPE YOU!!!”
I thrust my dick into my stolen body. I had never touched my body in a sexual manner, and always felt sinful as I did anything more than glance at it. Meaning I did not know what pleasures or pain this penetration would produce, but Christian’s face said it all. A mixture of horror and excitement broke out on what was once my face, and it twisted to and fro as I thrust forward. He moaned, groaned, and attempted speech, but as he did so, I chose to get more aggressive. I brought sweat-stained palms to the stolen breasts, tugging and shaking the flesh around while slamming my palm into the areolas. Tears broke out on my stolen face, and Christian’s pleas became more pitiful.
“Bitches do not speak unless spoken to!” I shouted. “So, shut the fuck up, your else you will lose everything! Because trust me, I would love to return the favor and rob you of what you stole. But for now… what is it that Christian wants Evelyn to do? What is Christian’s dearest desire? You have the capacity to make that desire manifest unto reality, and you deny its existence? For shame. Christian may be a disgrace as a man, but it appears that ‘Evelyn’ is a disgrace as a woman, unable to perform the God-given duty of all women.”
He tried to respond before I punched him in the face, bashing his stolen skull against the rock. As he wept, I laughed. I embraced the evil coursing through my body, and lost myself. I had claimed I would act as a man, but my actions were little more than bestial.
I pounded Christian’s ass against the stone, bruising his spotless skin. I sank my teeth into his breasts, drawing blood as I abused them, and I punched his face until the skin on my hands tore open, leaving one of my most prized assets battered and bruised. But it did not matter now. NOTHING MATTERED! Because I had nothing.
After no more than five minutes, my sexual assault came to an end. The petite monster between my legs was finally worn enough. I panicked as I felt it pulse forward, releasing fluids in a steady motion. I looked down and saw a splatter of blood spread between our genitals, and soon the blood pinkened as a white fluid seeped from my stolen vagina.
My Your mother would be so disgusted to hear that I her only daughter lost her virginity outside of wedlock. Oh well. She is no longer not my mother. My new family will likely be proud of my aggression, finally becoming a man. And as a man, I will be a far better one than you magnificent! I will become—”
As I monologue to the body thief before me, jet jacked on male hormones, I felt something strike me in the head, causing me to fall into the grass. I looked up and saw a middle-aged man. A kindly gentleman who I often saw throughout the years and hadn’t ever learned his name. I looked up at him and, beyond his beard, resting in his hand, I saw a baseball-sized stone. One that, I assumed, was used to knock me down. As he looked over me, sunglasses obscuring his expression, he raised his stone-carrying hand high, and swung it at my face.
Capítulo 2: Marte
Boyacá Department, Colombia
Monday, July 1, 1991
In the heat of the moment, when someone is pushed to their limit, it is easy to forget that their actions have consequences. That you cannot do what you want without being punished for any transgression. I forgot that in my fury. I was confident in the secrecy of my private getaway. But I was caught, and now, for my crimes against my country, and civilization as a whole, I was sentenced to prison.
I was woken up at the brink of dawn and shuffled onto a bus with thieves, drug producers, fraudsters, and, of course, fellow rapists. The dread was as thick as the humidity, and as the bus continued to roll over the tattered road to the prison, I could feel my stomach churn. However, there was nothing I could do about it. My hands were bound, whatever possessions I had sat in the rafters above. If I stood up, I knew that the guard would reprimand me. I snuck a glance as he stood at the front of the bus, his upper lip obscured in a thick hemisphere of black, and his identity protected by reflective sunglasses.
I had known this would be my fate since I woke up in a prison cell a week ago. Whatever fear and worry I had was expended over that week, and now I was just waiting out the ride so I could gather more information. Boys were told horror stories about prisons. They were abusive and dreadful places. Hells on Earth. Where men are murdered, raped, and are forced to live in constant fear. Places where weak men died quickly, and only the strongest survived.
I was not the strongest. Far from it. Though my soul had been locked within the body of a man, I was still a woman deep inside. I had little faith in my survival within this concrete box, located three hours from the only home I ever knew, and the idea of dying was… almost freeing. If I died, that meant I would not need to live in this body any longer. I would not need to answer to the name Christian Cortes, the man who stole my everything.
I shook my head as I realized I was entertaining such morose ideas and decided to at least try to survive in this prison. Perhaps it had gotten better over the intervening years. Perhaps this one was better than most. I would not know until I had seen this place firsthand.
Aya (Alba y Anochecer) Penitentiary, Colombia
Tuesday, July 2, 1991
My knees were weak as I walked out into the prison yard with 7 other new inmates. Dozens of men stood before me, lined up against the wall, and I could feel their eyes looking over me, looking at my scrawny male body in the tightest clothes I could find in Christian’s room. The men next to me were taller, stronger, and looked onwards with confidence, having accepted the situation or knowing well enough not to show weakness. A weakness that I showed both plainly and clearly.
I tried to distract myself by listening to the guard recite the few rules of this place. Rules that, knowing prisoners, were broken frequently. Once his speech ended, the men lining the parallel wall dispersed, walking over the concrete floor and over to the ‘fresh meat’ before them. They were dressed in light clothing for the summer, many lacking even a shirt. Their muscular bodies were covered in all manner of tattoos and scars. And amongst the population, not a single one looked to be overweight.
I shuffled away from the group of newbies and off to a corner, where I pressed myself against its harsh painted surface, breathing slowly.
“15 years,” I whispered to myself. “I won’t be able to survive here for 15 days, let alone years.”
As I sat down, if only to rest my vibrating legs, I saw a man approach me. He was an exceptional man, unlike anything I had ever laid eyes on. He was over 2 meters tall, rippling with muscle, and his skin was dark. Darker than that of any human I had ever seen in my life.
“Wow… they are real,” I whispered to myself.
In Cacton Gil, there was not a single African resident. Never in my 19 years had I laid eyes on a person of their race, and while I learned about them in school, a part of me thought they were all worked to death, or removed from my homeland. Yet, there was now one meters away from me. Approaching me, towering over me, looking like a… monster of darkness.
I flinched as he spoke to me. His words were in Spanish, but his deep booming voice, combined with a foreign accent, left me unable to comprehend his words, let alone respond. I muttered an apology, asking him to repeat himself, and he leaned down, placing a hand on my shoulder. My body froze as I looked into the white of his eyes, only for him to flash his white teeth, smiling at me.
“C’mon, little guy. I was just asking your name. If this is how you’re going to act around here, you might be better off in solitary. And trust me, you don’t want to spend time in solitary.”
“O-Oh,” I murmured, struggling to find my words as I raised my pitch to a more comfortable speaking range. “M-My name is Christian and… I’m just… scared.”
“Christian, eh? Nice to meet you,” the African man said while offering a handshake I hesitantly accepted. “My name’s Ben. I know it might be hard, but don’t be scared around here. The guys here, they can smell fear, and they don’t trust it. They’ll go easy on you for a while, ‘cos you’re new, but keep it up, and you won’t be long for this world.”
“That… might be for the best,” I said, looking down at the discolored concrete below.
“Don’t talk like that! Your life is precious, no matter what you did, and you should want to live through this, you got that?”
“I lost everything though… Friends, family… won’t ever accept me after what happened.”
Ben looked at me tersely as I said that, before expanding his arms, and wrapping them around me. My body froze as I expected him to end my life, but I then realized he was just offering me a hug, gently pressing his arms against my back and pressing my flat chest into his toned shirtless torso.
“I don’t know you, Christian, but you seem like the sort of man who doesn’t belong here. Stick with me, do what I say, and I’ll keep you safe.”
Ben then patted me on my back and guided me as he walked toward a group of men, likely in order to exchange greetings. Part of me was nervous as we drew closer and I could see the tattoos lining their arms, but as Ben kept a hand placed against my back, I found myself able to walk toward them, unimpeded.
Aya (Alba y Anochecer) Penitentiary, Colombia
Friday, August 23, 1991
As I served the final tray of food to the final inmate, I felt that I was on the verge of collapsing. While I had learned to enjoy cooking by helping out my mother with meal prep, preparing three meals a day for hundreds of people was a soul-crushing and hand-aching process. I took a moment to stand and rub my palm… before I began having my own dinner. A slice of bread, a boiled egg, a banana, an arepa, and a cup of avena. I never thought I would miss fresh vegetables as much as I did. Hell, I didn’t even want to think about what I would do for some good beans or a ripe avocado.
I felt like I should complain about the work, as spending 8 hours a day in a metal-filled room full of person-sized pots of boiling water, standing and chopping food, was not my idea of a good time. However, when compared to the alternatives, it was a pretty swell gig. I could rest in the yard and risk getting shanked by people hiding knives in their underwear. Or I could be here, shaving a third of a day off my sentence every day I worked, and nabbing 1,000 Colombian pesos— just over half of the minimum wage. So at least I would get something if I ever got out of this concrete box.
Regardless, as the work day came to a close, I was shuffled back to the prison yard and to my cell. A 5 square meter cell containing two prisoners, and I was fortunate enough to be cellmates with Ben. During the few hours before lights out, we would spend our time together, chatting when we had something to share, but mostly reading whatever we could find from the sparse prison library. I tried passing the time by reading, but as I reached a heartwarming scene in this pulpy adventure story about a female explorer, I could not help but cry.
I tried to get used to this. I tried to adapt. But I just couldn’t.
I felt naked when my hair was shaved down to a buzz cut every month. I despised the thick hair that this body grew, and spent hours shaving every week to keep myself as smooth as possible. I tried raising the pitch of my voice as I spoke, because I could not stand to hear Christian’s voice come out of my mouth. The mere act of living in this form brought me a constant hum of despair, and… None of this was fair.
He was enjoying my life, living with my family, and was seen as a victim by those around him. He was a creep who branded me as evil for not accepting his affection and… he still won in the end.
As I cried into my stinky pillow for the fortieth night since I came here, Ben knocked against the bottom of my bed, the top bunk. He normally just let me cry, but as I looked down at him, laying in his too-small bed, I could tell he wanted to help.
“I learned why you wound up here. One of the guards let it slip. Do you want to talk about it?”
“…I did not want to do that to
him her. He She… Evelyn tormented me. She insulted me in every way she could. She took something invaluable from me, and left me with… nothing. And as she did so, she stripped down to nothing, and began to masturbate. I was angry and… I raped her. I wanted to punish her for her malice, and I said such awful things to her. I do not regret my words, but I regret my actions. And after I was caught, I did not even try to defend my actions. I did wrong, and I accepted my punishment.”
“Did you… love Evelyn? Because it sounds like you had a relationship.”
I thought of trying to tell a lie. But seeing as how I was Christian now, I… figured I may as well tell the truth. I may as well assume my new role.
“It was more nuanced than that. I… did not love her. I envied her. She was beautiful, fair-skinned, and represented… everything I want for myself.”
“You want to be her? To be a woman? To trade your dick for a hole?” Ben asked, snickering between every sentence.
“Yeah. I… I guess I do.”
“…I think I am starting to understand you, Christian.”
“It… it was just a fantasy. There is no way for me to become a woman…
“Hmph? No, there is.”
“How, through some ‘voodoo magic’ you learned about back in Choco?”
“I do not know the specifics, but through surgical and medical treatment, it is possible.”
“…The fuck are you talking about?”
“Have you never heard of a sex change?”
“Wait, that’s a real thing?” I shouted, nearly bashing my head against the low ceiling.
“…I would ask how you never heard of that, but I suppose you were in disbelief that black people existed.”
“Don’t blame me. Blame Cacton Gil for being so racist that no black people wanted to live there!”
Aya (Alba y Anochecer) Penitentiary, Colombia
Tuesday, December 24, 1991
As I returned to my cell after one of the longest and hardest days I ever had in the kitchen, I flopped down onto the nearest bed, planting my face in the pillow as I let out a sigh. I could’ve fallen asleep then and there, but Ben stood me up from his bed, and threw an arm around me.
“I’m sorry that you have to work the hardest during Christmas.”
“Tell me about it. And tomorrow is going to be even worse… but at least I got to make some cake, and that was nice. It’s been soooo long since I got to make a cake, and I nearly lost it being around something so sweet.”
As I remained locked in Ben’s grasp, I leaned over to my shelf and grabbed three plastic containers. One contained crushed spearmint leaves, the second contained fenugreek, and the third carried saw palmetto. Without a moment’s hesitation, I opened them up, took out a small dose of all three, measured with a tiny spoon, before plopping them into my mouth at the same time, allowing the flavors to mingle with my saliva before finally swallowing the herbs.
“It’s been about a month since you started taking those things. Have they been working?” Ben asked, rubbing his face against mine as he looked at the containers.
“Well, it’s hard to tell. I think my skin is a bit softer, my body hair does not seem as thick anymore and…”
I paused to feel my chest. I began wearing an undershirt after I started taking these herbs, as I wanted to avoid chafing as my breasts developed.
“Still not much breast growth, but my nipples are super tender. As in, at least three times as sensitive.”
“Mother nature can do some truly wonderful things, can’t she?” Ben said with a small laugh.
“For sure… But I do wish that I could have gotten something made by, you know, a pharmacy… and that the prison would buy these for me.”
“Ha! Not a chance. I still remember when people with huge problems— screaming all night every night, hanging from the ceiling like a monkey, and stealing knives to cut their throats— weren’t given anything to help them. A lotta places, they still aren’t. Be grateful that you can even buy these, Christian.”
I knew Ben was making all the sense in the world, but I still could not help but groan as he laid down the truth before me.
“Yeah, yeah. The psychologist at least listened to me and gave me a solution, and thanks to you, I have not been jumped on by anyone. That doesn’t stop them from bad-mouthing me in the kitchen, but I’ve learned to tune it out. And I just need to keep doing that. Learn to repress and ignore things, cling on to whatever modicum of hope I can find and… maybe… when my sentence is up, I can truly be happy.”
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Christian. It took me two years before I learned such wisdom.”
“Right, you got locked up here when you were 15 and… has your tenth anniversary passed yet?”
“Not yet, but… that was a lifetime ago. I barely remember who I was back then. That Ben… was a different man than the one before you. He was mean, nasty, and got in a lot of trouble.”
As Ben said “trouble,” I looked down at his arms. While the scars had faded and healed, they were still plainly visible on his skin. They were still, and would forever be, a part of him.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
“Worry not,” Ben said as he patted my back. “I think about it every day. It makes me determined to do better. To be a better man. Because when I get out, unless I am a good man, I will be sent back to a concrete box.”
“You’re wise beyond your years, that’s for sure… and you’re sharing this wisdom with me for free. I know I’m not strong or all that skilled but, Ben, if there is anything I could do— anything to repay you for all you’ve done… let me know.”
“Anything, you say?” Ben said as he tussled my hair, longer than any other inmate’s in this block thanks to a special exemption.
“Well, unless it breaks prison rules,” I clarified. “I want to get out of here and I know you wouldn’t want me to get messed up in drugs, gangs, weapons, or violence. So… no stealing knives or whatever.”
“When you’re locked up in a place like this, surrounded by killers and those suffering from their own demons, you learn to appreciate the human connection. It’s rare that you can find someone who you can trust and care for and I care about you Christian..”
“Goodness, could you even be more pure and innocent? How on Earth were you ever hustling cocaine?” I asked, lightly elbowing Ben in his hardened chest.
“How were you ever a rapist?”
“In fact, Christian, I appreciate you so much that I got you a little Christmas present from the workshop. It’s not Christmas yet, but I think it’s close enough.”
Ben then released me from our ritualistic evening hug and brought a hand under his pillow, where he produced a piece of magenta cloth fashioned into a bow, with a wood clamp to fasten it into one’s hair.
“I hope that this will bring you more happiness,” he said as he placed the bow onto my head. “Makes you feel a little bit more like a Christina.”
Our cell lacked a mirror— glass was too easy to break and fashion into a weapon— so instead, I brought my hands to my face. I tried to forget what I now looked like and imagined what this face looked like through touch alone. The slight protrusion of the brow, sunken cheeks, and harsh jawline still felt like that of a man. The skin, while soft for a man, still featured short hairs poking through the skin. Yet the hair, while slightly greasy from a day of meal prep and a lack of shampoo, was longer than what was customary on a man, slightly softer, and was given a flourish of something different when I happened across the folded cloth perched at an angle atop of my head.
I felt a tear escape my eye as I relished in this feeling and there, for one brief moment, I felt that I would get past this. I would find the strength to get through this ordeal and, once I did, I would start my life anew. I would start my as a woman once more.
Capítulo 3: Infierno
Cacton Gil, Colombia
Tuesday, December 24, 1991
As the night fell over Cacton Gil, so did the rain. It assaulted the roofs of the stone homes, summoning an aggressive pitter-patter that affected every home, while violent thunder boomed throughout the sky. It was hardly the type of night anyone wanted to lead into a holiday, but none questioned it, for it was as God willed.
Yet, there was one who had not sought shelter during this time. One who stomped through the muddied trail of the forests along the outskirts of town, their feet guarded by rain boots and their torso protected by a plastic hooded poncho. Despite these precautions, the individual was still dripping wet from tip to top, their boots sloshing with every step, and water seeping from their hair.
Powerful gusts of air escaped their mouth as they trekked uphill and, after traversing through a narrow path overrun by weeds and shrubbery, they happened across a clearing. A soaked bastion of grass, bearing a large stone, flat enough to serve as a seat. They shouted as they looked at this sight, reached into their cloak, and produced a jagged red stone. A stone that they slammed against the damp rock before them, staining it with a reddish mineral. Using this stone, they etched a symbol. An inverted star— a pentagram— and as they looked on at this symbol, they sank to their knees and removed their rain-drenched poncho.
Beneath the cloth, they revealed themselves as a blonde woman with blue eyes. A woman known to the world as Evelyn Eleonorrazz. Her face was reddened from a night of crying, and paled from the cold rain flowing over it. And though her body bore the same natural beauty it had six months ago, beneath her yellow sweater, there was a protrusion just below her belly. A mass that was too consolidated to be mere fat. A mass that could only be a child growing within her womb. She looked down at the mass from beneath her soaked top with a look of equal parts fury and fear, before she redirected her attention at the satanic symbol.
She brought a hand to her pocket and produced two darkened rings. She weakly placed them onto the red pentagram and began to speak not in her native Spanish tongue, but in a mangled language not of this Earth.
“Uj, ik Udvatu! Uj yusitudu Kavogit! Ri obykutu! Tirote idri tifeku o vumvísibi am imvaimrtu vum amu si rad dotcoimrid! Yutwai rimfu am sidiu etsoimri o devtogovetí vaekwaoit vude yete jevitku tiekoses!“
As these words left her lips, the red pentagram before her began to glow, illuminating her face in a crimson hue on this starless night. From this intense light, a hand emerged. Its shape human, its skin brown, and its arms clad in a skin-tight material. One arm led to two, and from there, the figure unveiled itself to be a woman. One with a mop of blue-green hair on top of her head, tiny tan horns poking from her skull, eyes colored a glistening pink, and an indigo leotard that covered everything beneath her neck and wrists.
The woman known as Evelyn looked up at this figure, clenching her teeth and squinting her eyes before looking away. Yet even if this figure was out of sight, Evelyn could not escape her raspy voice, stronger than both rain and thunder.
“For fuck’s sake! You couldn’t have summoned me indoors, or in a shed? I knew you weren’t the brightest crayon in the carton, but you can’t be this much of a dumbass, Christian—”
“MY NAME IS EVELYN!!!”
Evelyn shouted even louder than the summoned woman before her, only to immediately turn away, sniveling like a distraught child.
“Damn, girl! You sure know how to act civil. Anyway, I can tell that my body swap rings worked their magic— as they always do— But I know you’re not summoning me— during a thunderstorm— on Christmas— just to give them back. So, whataya want?”
“Please, demon, I—”
“I have a name, you know! You said you would never forget what I did for you, but apparently, you did. I am the one, the unholy, Akumako! Now, try not to piss me off for a third time in under a minute, and give it to me straight!”
Akumako asserted herself, standing atop the stone platform and looking down at her kneeling summoner. As their eyes met, Evelyn took a breath, deliberating her words before speaking.
“…Every night, I am haunted by nightmares. Every night, I remember what happened on that day. The day I was… raped. I think of him. And I feel sorry for him, when I should not. When I know he is a being of naught but evil! I keep thinking of him. I keep remembering details of his life— details I should not know about.. And… I want him gone from my mind. I want to—”
“I told you to be punctual! Now shut the fuck up and lemme brew up some ish.”
As Akumako clenched her sinuses, she thought back to the meeting she had half a year ago. The soul of a maiden trapped within the body of a man, who wanted to obtain not only the body of a woman, but wanted to steal it from her lifelong crush. It practically wrote itself. Yet, the woman before Akumako did not seem to see it that way. Her reality appeared to be… different.
“Okay, ‘Evelyn.’ Tell me, what do you think is the source of these nightmares of yours?”
“You! You did this to me! You are tormenting me with these memories. Of… he who mustn’t be named! I know of his childhood, his lust, his vilest actions, while I barely remember my childhood. Any part of my life where he wasn’t there! Ever since he defiled my body, I have—”
“It’s funny how reality has multiple interpretations when you’re a fuckin’ idiot. But I get what you want. And if you dare to interrupt me as I spit the truth, I’ll just say fuck it and turn you into a toad, wouldja like that?”
The woman in the yellow sweater said nothing in return, and merely shook her head.
“You want to forget that you are not Evelyn. That you are truly Christian. That you stole the real Evelyn’s body and life. That you drove her to sexually assault you. You were embolden by power, drunk on euphoria, and wished to insult the woman you loved. In return, you got fucked, and she got shipped off to jail. All because of you. Everything that happened on that day was your fault. I did nothing to your mental state— neither did the rings— and every bad feeling flowing through your brain is merely guilt and regret for your actions. Because, deep down, you know you are not the real Evelyn. You know this is a body you stole. And you hate yourself for it. You hate yourself for punishing a woman who, truly, did nothing but deny your unnerving attempts at affection.”
Akumako paused, looking down at a woman clenching her teeth. She looked to be crying, but whatever tears she shed were washed away in the rain.
“You want to forget it all. You hate the truth and want to be immersed in a fantasy where you are Evelyn. Where you always were Evelyn. And where the name Christian means nothing to you. Is that correct? Yes or no?”
“…Yes,” she said, looking up at Akumako. “I prayed to God, hoping that He would cure me of my ails, but even with the body of one of His loyal servants, someone blessed by Him at birth, my prayers fell on deaf ears. …As they always have.”
“Duh! If she hadn’t abandoned this world, she would have perma-banned your prayers for calling her the N-word… twice.”
Evelyn hung her head. She was unsure what to feel when presented with such information, or if she should even believe it. Instead, she merely stared at Akumako, their eyes crossing as their bodies were doused in the rain. Time seemingly slowed down as they retained this standstill.
“So… do we have a deal?” Akumako asked, puffing up her chest.
Evelyn said nothing. She merely shook her head up and down. Akumako, in turn, let out an audible chuckle.
With a snap of her finger, she freed herself of all clothing, her naked brown body illuminated by the glowing red pentagram below, and flashes of lightning above. She then snapped again, and Evelyn found herself nude from tip to toe. Her pale skin exposed to the rain, her supple breasts hanging before her, and her growing belly on display. She brought her hands to her breasts, hiding her nipples, while crossing her legs to obscure her labia.
“You must know that if you want something from a demon, a price must be made. You got a discount the first time, because hurting a mentally disabled transwoman is a little fucked, even by my standards. But now… you’re singing a different tune. You wish to forget your true self, who you are, and desire nothing but comforting lies. Such pathetic desires disgust me, and if you wish for me to manifest them unto reality, a mighty sacrifice must be made. But rather than just wave my hands to take what I want, I think you deserve to be punished!”
Akumako then brought a hand to her pelvis, and from the barren skin, a black symbol appeared. As her hand pressed against the symbol, her abdomen began to shake, jittering about as if a critter was awakened within her. The details were shrouded by the dark and rain, but as Evelyn looked up at Akumako, she noticed a disturbance along her crotch. Akumako’s clitoris was swelling, growing longer and longer, until it stopped resembling a button of pleasure and became a protrusion. It grew from the size of a thumb to a finger and continued even further, dropping lower and lower down her body, stopping only once it was more than halfway down her thigh.
As lightning flashed, Evelyn was granted a brief second to look at this new appendage, and her heart skipped a beat as she saw it in all its glory. It was a penis, but rather than being short and stout in its features, this one was frightening in its size and its body was coated in a whitish slime that squirmed within the rain, yet remained locked to its body.
“As a woman, I’m sure you’re excited to stuff this inside you. So, do me a favor and pucker up that puss, bitch! ‘Cos I’M GOING TO FUCKING RAPE YOU!”
As Akumako made such a bold declaration, she leaped down from her stone platform and onto the muddied grass with Evelyn. She spread Evelyn’s body on the ground, shoving her hair and arms into the mud, and the human screamed. Screamed as she saw the slimy white monster poking out from Akumako’s crotch, its body hard and firm, and its position just fingers away from her sex.
Before she could plead or beg for mercy, the monster entered her, shoving aside her folds with a single thrust. Words escaped her as she felt parts of her body that she had never felt before, and all she could do was scream. She screamed as loudly and vigorously as she could, straining her voice as one thrust begot two and two begot twelve. Yet there wasn’t a soul who could hear her over the turbulent weather. She was stuck there, with zero chance of escape.
As her throat tired of screaming, and as she felt this monster brush up against her womb, she attempted a more vocal form of resistance and began to berate her rapist.
“You monster! You beast! You are not a woman, you are a man! A MAN! No, not even a man! You are worse than God! Lesser than a faggot! Lesser than a n****r!”
As Evelyn dropped such words of hate, Akumako merely laughed in response.
“Cracka, please! Don’t hate me just ‘cos I’m making you feel so good. Besides, I ain’t even black. I’m Persian. Well, that and about 7 other races, but ain’t one of them Sub-Saharan!”
Akumako spoke the truth. Despite Evelyn’s fury, there was a sliver of herself who was rejoicing in this sensation. Her innermost desire was to be a woman, in both body and mind. And in this moment, she certainly felt like one.
Her mind flashed to the muddled joy she felt as she lost her virginity six months ago. The ways she would end her days by enjoying her new form, basking in its sensitivity and pleasure centers. The fantasies she would have when happening across the handsome men in the shops she frequented. To her, penetration was the ultimate way for one to feel like a woman, and she could not help but feel affirmation as she was assaulted. It was a deeply troubled mental state, and one she could not escape from.
It did not help that, despite the disgusting look of this slimy white penis, it slid into her canal elegantly and swiftly, lubricated to allow for easy thrusting, and leaving behind a tingling sensation as its juices mingled with her own. Akumako fucked like a sexual veteran, one who knew how to sift out the most sensitive spots on a partner’s body, manipulate them, and make them moan with pleasure. And Evelyn was nothing if not a moaner.
Her mind was a slurry of hate and bliss. She loved Akumako’s technique, yet hated her form. To Evelyn, Akumako was a tainted woman who wore a dick between her legs. A darker skinned lesser. A literal demon. And a being whose very existence spit in the face of the one whom she considered the mightiest power in this world. Yet, deep down, she knew that Akumako would give her what she wanted.
Her internalized racism, sexism, Catholicism, hatred of sexual deviancy, and dysphoric trauma all clashed in this heated moment. She needed affirmation, validation, and confirmation as she underwent these sensations, and began to murmur ‘truths’ in order to ease herself.
“I am Evelyn. I am a woman. This is a womanly act. This is a woman’s place. Akumako is a man. I am with a man. This is what my body is made for. Women enjoy this. I enjoy this. And once it is over, it will be better. For he will be dead, and only I will live on! I will be me in every facet and he shall be—”
“By Beelz, shut the FUCK up! For someone who wanted to be in a situation like this ever since she scoped her first puss, you’re real shit at this whole sex thing. In fact, screw it! Say goodbye to Christian, and praise the motherfucka who made you what you are! ‘Cos I ain’t even gonna try to make you cum one last time!”
Lightning flashed as Evelyn looked up at Akumako, her face bearing a sinister grin as she brought her hands to her victim’s hips and put an end to her thrusting. They remained there for a moment, silent as the rain continued to assault their cold and wet bodies, before it happened. From within their mingled genitals, a light sizzling sound perpetuated, its noise muted by the rain, and their warm embrace became warmer… and warmer still.
A high-pitched noise parsed through Evelyn’s lips, barely audible over the rain, as her body tensed up and clenched up. Her teeth ground together, eyes shut, and breathing became erratic.
The vicious white goop that covered Akumako’s penis was a form of fungus. A lifeform of its own that had passively enhanced their sex. But now, activated by Akumako, it began its next move. It began the sacrifice.
The sacrifice began by clinging to Evelyn’s vaginal walls, warming up and triggering a chemical burn that ate away at her flesh. As this happened, the substance spread beyond the grasp of Akumako’s penis, and deeper into her womb.
As Evelyn began to push herself away from her rapist, Akumako grabbed her, pressed their breasts together, and locked her between her thin yet mighty arms. These restraints robbed Evelyn of any means of resisting. All she could do was wait as Akumako remained inside her. The pain kept her teeth clenched as it devoured her vagina, yet it reached untold levels of agony when the slime penetrated the uterus.
Before any of the amniotic fluid could flow out, the white substance spread itself in, and swam to the fetus that lurked in the center. A mostly formed human being, bound to their mother, yet not developed enough to survive the outside world. They floated, squirming about, but could do nothing about the white goop as it reached their developing skin. It spread across their tiny form, gnawing away at the skin, ripping apart the flesh, before finally pressuring the bone into nothing but shards.
Though Evelyn could not see what was happening, she was connected to her child and, when they died, she could tell. She lacked the tears to shed and, as she comprehended the pain and loss, she grew limp.
The undesired loss of a child before they are born is a tragedy, and to Evelyn, it was something more. It was being denied something quintessential to womanhood. Her mind could not process any questions. All words left her. And she remained in this paralyzed state as the white goo continued to make its way throughout her uterus, where it continued its consumption. Through the uterine wall, it traveled into her fallopian tubes, where it made short work of them, burning away their walls in parallel before reaching the prime destination, her ovaries. Where her hundreds of thousands of ova— her eggs— remained, where the blueprints for her future children resided. Yet, the white substance did not care for the significance of these parts and, with equal aggression and force, both of these sites were burned away and rendered sterile.
At this point, she barely felt anything. The pain led to numbness, the despair led to hopelessness, and she laid against Akumako with a dead look in her eyes. She knew that, due to these preternatural internal burns, she would never be able to bear children. To be, as she saw it, ‘a true woman.’
Akumako then loosened her embrace around Evelyn, removing her penis, and allowing her body to fall into the watery mud below. Not a drop of the white substance remained on Akumako’s penis. Instead, it remained within Evelyn, where it spread outward, onto the vulva. There, it burned the folds with such power and force that they mended, sealing it and transforming this orifice into a mound of scarred flesh. Though her clitoris and urethra remained untouched, it was clear to Akumako that Evelyn’s vagina had been sealed shut. Now and forever.
Evelyn looked down at her body as this burning sensation stopped. She no longer had the protrusion of a developing child poking out from her. Her abdomen was concave, thinner than ever, for many of the organs she had within there were no longer present. Her entire reproductive system was gone— burnt away into nothingness— within a matter of minutes.
She remained there, her heart still breathing and mind still racing, but unable to move. Unable to do anything but lay there, half immersed in muddied water as the rain continued to pour. Her eyes remained static as Akumako looked over her, a frown on her face, before she walked into the darkness.
Evelyn was all alone. She was too exhausted to lift herself up from the growing puddle around her, too devastated to build up any adrenaline, and with her lower body having lost several organs, she could do little more than wiggle her arms and legs. So, she laid there. As the rain continued to pour down her, as her eyes began to flutter shut, and as her face drew deeper and deeper into the water below.
“Wake up, big sis! It’s Christmas!”
The joyous shouting of her baby brother was enough for Evelyn to rise up from her bed and stare at the clock. It was 6 AM, the sun was perching over the horizon, and the scent of chocolate filled the air. She rose from the bed and looked down at herself, clad in her pajamas that loosely hung off of her body, yet, for some reason, she felt herself drawn to her flat stomach. She flinched as she realized what she was doing and noticed her little brother had already left her room.
She left for the door, ready to greet her family on this most festive and precious of days. Though, she paused as her eyes drifted to her desk, where she saw an envelope addressed to a ‘Christian Cortes.’ She looked at the note with a puzzled expression, trying to recall anyone with that name, before shrugging her shoulders. Ordinarily, she might have looked into this curiosity more, but as her mother’s voice echoed through her home, she swung open her door and rushed out of the room, eager to greet her family this Christmas morning.
As she swung the door however, the envelope fluttered and drifted from off her desk, down to the floor, and into a small wastebasket. A wastebasket full of crumpled up papers, camouflaging the envelope, never to be opened, and its contents never to be read.
Capítulo 4: Tierra
Cacton Gil, Colombia
Thursday, January 13, 2000
The midday sun rose high in the sky, beyond my line of sight, but I could still feel it pounding down on the roof of this steel box. The bus system in Colombia is something I always heard adults complain about as a child, going on about how slow and uncomfortable it was. And now, as someone taking her first interdepartmental bus ride, I could attest, it sucked.
People were packed in as tightly as possible, the scent of sweat seemed to emanate from the walls, and while the wind helped take the edge off, it meant inviting in more humidity and more exhaust. All while the engine sputtered, and the wheels clattered against the neglected roads.
“If this is what the outside world is like, maybe I should’ve just stayed in the concrete box,” I murmured under my breath, too quiet for anyone to hear me.
It was purely a joke though. I worked hard to be freed early, and as a free woman, I was at something of a loss for what to do with my life. However, I had some priorities. I used the money I accumulated over my 8 years of work to buy some clothes, makeup, and other essentials. After that, I made it a point to get on the next bus to Cacton Gil. Because I had to see them again. I had to confront them after what they did to me. What they stole from me.
I looked down at myself as I said this. My body was dressed in a simple pink dress with a floral pattern. It went down to my ankles, covering my naked legs in something modest yet breezy. Along with that, I wore a light navy scarf to obscure my Adam’s apple, and a frayed scrap of magenta that I fashioned as a bracelet along my left hand.
Beneath all of this laid my slender frame, with my only true curves coming from my B-cup breasts. Not too surprising given… my mother’s ample bosom. Still, it was not enough to hide my purse, which I clenched tightly against my stomach, for it contained almost everything I owned.
My curly dark hair fluttered into my eyes as I double-checked things in my purse, but I swiftly slung it back. I considered wearing it in a ponytail, as I had in prison, but I was free, and I wanted to feel free.
I snickered as I reminded myself of that fact, still in disbelief, and that disbelief compounded as I looked out the window and saw it. Cacton Gil. One of the only two places I had ever called home. Where I was born… and where I lost everything.
I brushed a hand against my arm as I looked at it, rubbing a finger against one of my scars. My scars were symbols of what I had survived. They were symbols of my strength. And I needed to be strong if I wanted to do this.
I took a deep breath as I deliberated how I could find her. How I could find Evelyn Eleonorrazz. It was entirely possible that she had left this town for something better. But I needed to be sure.
As I got off the bus, I began to walk across the familiar streets of this rural town. Everything looked slightly bigger than I recalled, and people shot my curious looks. And for good reason. To them, I was an outsider, and outsiders were rare in these parts. But even if they didn’t know me, I recognized most of them. They were about nine years older, but their names came quickly as I passed them by. I could initiate a conversation with most of them, but I wanted to choose the right one.
Once I got my bearings, I happened across a small restaurant that I frequented when I felt like treating myself to a proper meal. Even after all these years, I remembered to order the executive lunch and, minutes later, I was greeted with a plate with samples of beans, fried potatoes, rice, chicken in sauce, half an avocado, and a tomato salad. The price went up since 1991, but after dulling my palate with prison food for nearly a decade, it tasted heavenly.
While I ate, I attracted looks from locals, mostly men. As they spoke to me, it was clear that they saw me as a woman, dropping slang and insinuating that I was pretty with their words. Though raunchy with their comments, their words of affection made my heart flutter, and I wasted little time using this as an opening to ask them about Evelyn. They laughed in response, muttering to themselves before answering, and telling me to check the church at the center of town.
I offered them my thanks and, upon finishing my lunch, I began walking through the familiar streets, falling into a nostalgic rut as I took a scenic route. I had always thought this town was dated, quaint, and imagined that I would eventually move to a big city once I got my nursing degree. A place where things were changing and growing, instead of wallowing here in stagnation. But after being in prison, I appreciated this place. The clear blue sky, the lack of walls, the wide open streets, and most especially the nature. I used to think nothing of the trees and shrubbery around the streets, but now, I looked at them as if they were bushels of gorgeous flowers.
At the end of such musings, I found myself meters away from the church and, with a deep breath, I opened up the doors. The church was always the pride and joy of this town. A building that every resident used, where people met, and where they forgot about their sorry lives by being told it was all part of a greater plan. Though my faith had waned during the duration of my adulthood, I still viewed it as a force of good, one that inspired and enriched the lives of millions across the world.
I traipsed down the emptied halls, my feet echoing thanks to the high stone ceiling, before I happened across a woman in a dark cloak— a nun. She was tall, slender, and though her back was facing me, I tried to grab her attention
“Pardon me, Sister. I am looking for a woman named Evelyn Eleonorrazz and was told I might find her at this church. Have you—”
I paused as the nun turned around to face me. I was greeted with a fair-skinned blonde-haired blue-eyed woman in her late 20s. She looked at me with a sweet, pristine smile, and answered my question, even though I could tell who she was from her visage alone.
“Good day, miss. I am Sister Evelyn. Though, I must ask why you would search for me. I have little to offer to people beyond His teachings, and I have never seen you amongst our congregation.”
My mind went elsewhere as I heard the woman before me offer such a response. Never did I imagine that the person who called God a… N-word would come to worship Him, and something seemed deeply wrong about this whole situation. As I began to count the ways, the woman before me developed a concerned expression.
“Might I help you with something?” Evelyn asked me, a smile on her face.
“M-My apologies. I forgot to introduce myself,” I began. “My name is Christina Cortes. Does… that ring any bells?”
“Cortes… No, I do not believe so. No one in this town carries that name. I am certain of it.”
“Do you remember having someone who was… affectionate toward you during your childhood? In an… uncomfortable way?”
Evelyn paused as she thought back on her youth, smiling slightly.
“No, I cannot say I do. There were men whom I fancied, but I never did anything with them.”
“Truly?” I asked, smirking slightly. “Because I heard that you had a child.”
As I made this, possibly gauche, comment, the nun before me tilted her head and looked away briefly.
“I… was born without the ability to bear children. Without the ability to… partake in coitus. I viewed this as a sign from God. My entire family did. That I was not meant to lead the life of a common woman. That I was not meant to be a mother. So, after briefly pursuing an education, I chose to devote myself to God.”
I had wanted to ask… so many questions after that comment, but I needed to confirm something.
“On June 23, 1991… did something happen to you?”
“Heh. That was a lifetime ago, Christina. And much of that time in my life is… blurry. I do not like to think back on it.”
“…So, you don’t recognize me. You do not remember what happened 8 and a half years ago… nor do you remember your original name. Something must have happened, Evelyn. Do you remember any special rings? Do you remember anything happening on that stone in the clearing? Do you remember why you took evening courses in high school?”
As I kept asking questions, Evelyn began to walk away from me. Her breathing became intense, she grabbed her arms, and she kept her eyes locked on me. She was scared, and seeing her face— what was once my face— wear such an expression, made me feel awful. I sat down on the nearest bench, hung my head low, and spoke to her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s just that… this is not playing out as I imagined. You are not the person I thought you would be.”
I began to take my leave, only for Evelyn to reach out to me, grabbing my right wrist and clenching it tightly. Upon touching me, her face was aghast, eyes wide, and mouth hanging open. She dug her nails into my skin and began to shake vigorously, vibrating her body in a disturbing manner as she stood her ground.
“Evelyn… are you—”
A scream cut off my words. A wordless screech that echoes throughout the reverberant walls of the church. I froze as I heard this, for I knew I would be unable to run without harming the woman clenching my arm. As her screeching persisted, pausing only long enough for her to take a breath, I heard footsteps clattering against the floor, and soon saw a man in dark robes— the local priest— run through the church, toward Evelyn and me.
He quickly removed Evelyn’s hand from my arm, and grabbed her by the shoulders, screaming over her as he tried to calm her down. In response, she added words to her screams.
“You! You did this to me! You stole my baby! Give her back! GIVE HER BACK!!!”
The priest then looked at me. As I took in Evelyn’s words, I developed a fear greater than anything I had ever experienced in my life. If the people of Cacton Gil learned that I had raped Evelyn, a nun, nearly a decade ago, they would murder me. If Evelyn wanted, she could have me lynched by the people here. They could easily deem me a demon and… the fear of those repercussions drove me out of the church.
I ran out and made my way through the backstreets of this town, taking a roundabout way before finally reaching the bus stop on the outskirts of town.
I was safe… for now, but this was the most obvious spot where anyone would look for me. And, based on the time on my wristwatch, the next bus was at least 10 minutes away from arriving. If they were searching me, they would position someone here to find me, and while I did not know if I was truly in any danger, I could not accept that I was ever safe unless I had iron bars protecting me. And even those don’t protect you from guards who want to ‘fuck your tranny ass into a pussy.’
I did not have my protector. Ben was still serving at least another three years. And I did not have any leverage or guards to rely on in this outside world. I was alone… and I was horrified by that notion. So much that I shook as I waited for the bus… only for the sound of a cane hitting stone to draw my attention elsewhere, as an older, likely retired, man walked up to me. He was aged by nearly a decade, but I still recognized his face. As he was the man who attacked me in June of 1991. The one who caught me and sent me to prison.
I did not feel any resentment for the man. He was helping out a young woman from a rapist after all. But he still struck a profound fear within me. I worried that he would attack me yet again, knock me out, and imprison me. But as he walked forward with his three legs, he instead offered me a gentle smile.
“Good afternoon, miss,” the gentleman said in a withered voice. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around these parts.”
I took a breath and decided to play it cool, acting like I had done nothing wrong.
“I… spent some of my childhood here, and came to reconnect with someone… but they wanted nothing to do with me.”
“Pfft. Young folk can be like that. They don’t know what they have until it’s gone. …Do you have any family here?”
I was as terrified of lying to this man as I was telling the truth, so… I told him the truth.
“She… she said the Cortes family left some time ago. Is that true?”
“Ah… awful tragedy, that one. They left… eight or nine years ago. Headed to Bucaramanga. Their only son was sent to prison and… I’m actually the one who locked him up. He was having his way with a girl in the woods. Though, I can’t seem to remember who. …Maybe it’s best to forget those sorts of things. You can only remember so much when you get to my age, and I’d rather remember the finer things. Like your gorgeous face.”
I took a sigh of relief as he finished his explanation, before I offered him a muffled thank you for his compliment.
Before we could indulge in any further recollections or pleasantries, the bus surprised me by arriving two minutes early.
I said my goodbyes to the older gentleman as I boarded the bus, producing my fare from my purse, before looking inwards to find a seat… only to see that the bus was completely empty.
As the doors closed and the bus began to move, paranoia struck me. Alas, there was little I could do to resist without causing a scene, so I sank down into one of the seats in the middle of the bus, and began looking at the trees lining this rural road. I tried to lose myself in the beauty of nature, and succeeded as the minutes passed, and my fears subsided into nothingness.
I remained in this trance until the bus reached its next stop. I did not bother to look at who entered, for I felt I had nothing to fear, only for someone to plop their tuchus onto the seat next to mine.
I turned my head and was met with a young woman with a brown complexion, darker than my own, with short dark turquoise hair, pink gem-like eyes, dressed in an indigo tank top and a pair of jean shorts. She was an attractive woman, certainly, but I did not wish to stare, so I turned my head to focus on the surrounding greenery… only for this woman to throw an arm over my shoulder.
“I’ve gotta say, you turned out at least 30% hotter than I thought you would’ve,” the woman said to me in a shrill voice.
“W-Who are you?” I asked, unable to move away from her without leaving my seat.
“The name’s Akumako and… I’ve gotta start by saying sorry, what happened to ya was pretty fucked”
“I… I do not know you, miss. Could you—”
“I’m a demon. I’m the reason why you’re in that body. Why you, as you put it, ‘lost your everything.’ I gave ‘Evelyn’ the rings she used to steal your body. She summoned me, made an offering, and I gave her that thing she slipped on your finger back in ‘91.”
I tried to contribute to this conversation, but my brain was locked in a loop, struggling to process what I was hearing. Despite this, Akumako continued.
“What I’m sorry about is her. When I saw ‘Evelyn’ for the first time, I could tell she was suffering. Her soul had been tormented and harmed. She was a girl trapped in the body of a man and I wanted to set her free. But what I didn’t expect was for her to be a fucking cunt. I saw what she did to you. The first thing she did was a fresh new puss was fuck, and she fucked you all the way to the big house.”
“So, you are saying I did nothing wrong?” I weakly asked, still struggling to accept this stranger’s words.
“Of course not! The bitch asked for it. Explicitly asked for it! And even if she didn’t, she deserved it for acting like such a stupid fuck. But… I hate talking about her like that. She was someone with so many wants, yet was fundamentally incapable of happiness. She had the body of her dreams, she was permitted into a university, she had a loving family, and was months away from fulfilling her dreams as a mother. Yet, she could not focus on that. She focused on what she lacked. On her lack of confidence. On her hatred. She despised herself deep down and, rather than try to reconcile with her actions, rather than ask for help in dealing with her issues, rather than try to become a better person, she summoned a demon to make the pain go away.”
Akumako then took her arm from off my shoulder as she continued her explanation.
“She sought emancipation. And I delivered it. I freed her from her past self. She no longer remembers anyone named Christian. And when you came around, you caused phantoms of memories to resurface. Namely those of her unborn child… Who I guess was your kid too.”
“So… why did you take away her ability to reproduce?”
“…Because a price had to be paid. When she first summoned me, Evelyn had nothing she valued highly. She was filled with hate and disposition, and there was nothing to sacrifice. But when she summoned me again, on Christmas Eve of 1991, she had something she desired. Her sex. And to make her desire a reality, I had to take it away. And with that gone, with her inability to please a husband or bear children, she decided to become a nun.”
“…And there is no way I could befriend her, is there?”
“You’re seriously asking that after your interaction 30 minutes ago? You’re a trigger for trauma, babe. Just let your stalker be. She’s history.”
I laid back in the uncomfortable bus seat as I took this in, digesting the information before asking “what’s next?”
“In the end, you’re both victims,” Akumako said, matching my posture. “She was a victim of herself, and you’re her victim too. But you’re easily the bigger victim, and I don’t need to explain why. I could just leave you like this, but… even though I’m a demon, I ain’t a heartless cunt. So, here.”
Akumako then reached a hand into her jean shorts, and produced a plastic bag, filled with papers. It clearly did not fit inside of her shorts, so I had no idea where she pulled it from. At least, nowhere I wanted to mention.
“You went from second-class citizen to fourth-class citizen, so here’s something to even the odds.”
Inside the bag, there was 10 million Colombian pesos, a plane ticket from Bucaramanga to Cali, a set of keys with an address on the key chain, and a letter written to ‘Bitz Gender Confirmation Clinic.’
“Your life got fucked over and your best decade was rot away, so consider this a little something. I would not do this if you got super powers or immortality or some shaz, but as a transwoman, the most important thing you need is some phat cash. So enjoy these demonically procured reparations. Hit up Doctor Bitz and they’ll do whatever surgery you want. Double-D tiddies, a milkshake-ass ass, a tracheal shave, a fresh neo-vagina for your man— the whole nine yards. Rent’s been paid for 12 months, so you don’t need to worry about work while you recover. But you are going to need to find a job, eventually. ”
…I had no idea how to process what was in my hands. This was an unfathomable amount of money, and these gifts, or ‘reparations,’ were beyond even my wildest imagination. I looked up to thank Akumako for these gifts, but… she had gotten up from her seat, and moved over to the other side of the bus, where she opened up the window. She looked forward at me, smiled, and shot me a peace symbol before she said her final farewell.
“Catch ya on the flip side, ya self-made faggot!”
Akumako then shoved herself out of the window. I ran over to her as she did so, but she slipped away before my hands could reach her, and as I looked out the window to see where she landed, I saw nothing but asphalt. I looked away from the window, baffled as to where she could have gone… and I saw the bus, filled with dozens of people, all vying for room.
For a brief moment, I thought this was all a dream. Yet, the bag of money and documents still remained in my hands, their contents legitimate. I quickly stuffed this bag into my purse as I realized how fragile my sense of reality was, and I looked out the window. At the vast expanse of nature rolling before my eyes. Even though my life had been hard these past 8.5 years, and I had lost so much, right now, in this one surreal shining moment, I thought that… maybe, just maybe, things would work out for me in the end.
With TSF Series, I pretty much always have some sort of thinly defined ‘trope’ I wish to tackle. And here, I decided to combine two concepts with similar ideas but very different origins. The first concept was that of a body stealing stalker. Most often an older male character who steals the body of someone younger and more attractive than them. It is a fairly common concept in TSF doujins, which often end shortly after the body theft. Because of that, I could not help but wonder what it would be like for the victim of the body theft, and how they would change their life and body after losing their ‘everything.’ While, conversely, wondering if the body thief would eventually grow to hate or dislike their new body as they settled into their new life.
The second is a far more… innocent concept, one that I know is harbored by a lot of young transgender people. The fantasy of switching bodies with an attractive person of the ‘opposite’ sex. This is most generously used in feel-good fiction about a transwoman and a transman switching bodies to avoid the physical, economic, and social costs of a typical gender transition. But after being introduced to this concept, I thought of remixing it. To have the swap involve one trans character and one cis character. The trans character would, likely, be happy in the cis character’s body, but what if the cis character decided to transition back to their preferred gender. What if the trans character became cis and the cis character became trans?!
What you have here is me taking these two ingredients, throwing in a bunch of creative ‘mayonnaise’ that I milked from the hundreds of hours I spent talking to Clavietika, and a dash of some supermarket ‘authentic Colombian table seasoning.’ As I blended these ideas into an outline, I originally planned to create a far more farcical tale. But as I started actually writing it, I realized that the comedy had to take a backseat in favor of treating the subject matter with respect. And… even after finishing this story, I am still iffy about some of the subject matter.
Rape that leads into the loss of one’s reproductive organs and the death of one’s children. The death of one’s identity in exchange for blissful ignorance. The complex relationship between many younger Latin Americans and Catholicism. The murky mixture of fear and euphoria that comes with being a transwoman in a place where the concept of trans people has not become mainstream. And that’s before getting into the prison and herbal medical transition stuff.
Actually, I should also clarify that the depictions of the Colombian prison system and herbal hormones were both largely uninformed and likely do not reflect reality. I did roughly an hour of research into the Colombian prison system, but much of the information I did find was based on the modern system, and not the system as it was in the 1990s. Plus, I messaged reality to make the story flow a bit better. Meanwhile, the name-dropping of herbal hormones was pulled from a ‘busty boy’ 4chan thread I saw back in 2017, where an AMAB individual was able to produce significant amounts of breast tissue by taking fenugreek and saw palmetto. And I am only slightly jealous of this person’s results.
Now, as a story, do I think TSF Series #014: Satanica Intervention – What’s Yours Is Mine works? Well, there were a lot of concepts that I got to explore and approach, but due to my broader ambitions for this story, I cannot help but feel that there was more to explore with this concept. More details into the horrific process of trying to transition in prison, in a third-world country, during the 90’s. Greater explorations of these characters as they settle into their new lives. And so forth. But here, I just wanted to focus on the four key highlights, as I have a nasty habit of letting these side projects billow into something massive.
Focusing on what is here, I think the story has some good tension, emotional high points, and a nice blend of flavors. Starting tranquil, delving into despair, leading into a slight boost in the general mood after the main protagonist settles into prison. Which is followed by a dark shift halfway as the secondary protagonist gets additional characterization and undergoes a tragedy in order to help humanize her. All before reaching a final quarter where the protagonists meet up and reconcile on what happened.
I thought a fair bit about how these two would reconcile with each other, but I think that this approach offers a bittersweet conclusion for these two characters. Neither truly got what they wanted. Evelyn was denied something she found quintessential to womanhood. Christina was denied closure over a prolonged personal journey. And in the end, neither were able to say goodbye or make amends with one another. Yet, they also do not hate each other. Evelyn because she chose to forget, and Christina because she had long since absolved herself of hatred, even toward someone who hurt her on a profound level.
As for the actual ending, this is something I had to salvage from the original farcical ending. I added in a bit of closure with the nameless ‘man who bashes rapists with stones’ to somewhat explain the reality changes caused by Akumako. And regarding the main ending— the bus sequence with Akumako, I felt that the story should end on a somewhat surreal note with Christina and Akumako together, on a bus, explaining what happened and what drove Evelyn to do the things she did. A sequence meant to illustrate both the good and bad sides of her character, and try to eke out some sympathy from the reader.
The ‘reparations’ bit was something I went back and forth on, but I thought that it was cruel to leave Christina with nothing but the money she made in prison. She had a rough life, going to prison and going from a ciswoman to a transwoman in Colombia, in the year 2000. So I felt that she needed something to spark joy and stability in her life. Plus, it was a parallel to how I personally paid for Clavietika’s bottom surgery…
Now, I said that I tried to make the story less farcical, but it still has some silly moments. Such as the fact that I refused to cut the “I’M GOING TO FUCKING RAPE YOU!!!” lines, which are themselves references to Lemonfont’s Succubus series. This, in my mind, is one of the greatest lines in any erotic comic. It is so pure, so punctual, and I think about it every other time I happen across a rape scene. Meaning every other week, at an absolute minimum. Also, the name ‘Cactom Gil’ is a reference to Final Fantasy Gil Quest, because I am perpetually 14.
Another odd remnant is the whole ‘dick fungus pussy and baby vore’ schtick, which… just sort of popped into my head when I was outlining things. This was not based on anything as far as I can recall, but I think this is a good example of just how messed up my brain can be. Because I did not so much as flinch or question my actions during the entire outlining, writing, or medical-diagram-looking part of that section. Even though it is probably more messed up than when I had Black Vice eat a 7-year-old alive in Psycho Shatter 1985: Black Vice Re;Birth.
Okay, what’s a good transition, um… fuck it, let’s talk about racism!
This is something I only hesitantly included here, but considering the racial disparity in certain parts of Colombia (namely Santander), I felt the need to in some way hint toward the racism that the protagonists would develop growing up in a mono-ethnic environment. This ultimately led me to have Evelyn refer to God as an N-word, twice, and I felt pretty bad about this inclusion, even though I was using a censored version of the word. So, to counter this inclusion of racist terminology, I decided to replace one undetailed character with a black character, which led me to recycle Ben Benedict from TSF Series #007. He could have been anyone, but I like to recycle characters when I can. It gives the illusion of a shared universe.
This character was originally going to be an ‘ass-pussy-loving tatted-up bear-man Mestizo,’ but considering where Christina was in this story, I felt that she needed help from a strong man who could protect her from the perils of a men’s prison. That, and I thought the idea of a big, strong, kindhearted black man taking care of a tiny and timid pre/early transition transwoman was super duper adorable.
I also feel that I should clarify that everything surrounding Akumako and the demons is meant to be vague. This story was originally about Evelyn summoning the demon to steal her righteous reparations, but I felt that was not the right call, and the story should instead follow Christina. The body swap rings, ‘jagged red stone,’ pentagram summoning, and demon tongue proclamation are all intentional cliches, and there is no greater depth to look into there. I like lore, but not in a 14,000 word short story.
Speaking of which, the demon tongue is a mutation of the following line:
“Oh, Dark One! Oh, Mighty Lucifer! I implore you! Take back this gift and grant me a meeting with one of your servants! For I have a burning desire and I shall sacrifice anything to make it a reality!”
I shoved this line into DeepL, converted it into Spanish, and then into the Dragalia Lost Surtr language cipher I used for TSF Series #006-3. I figured the actual text was so minor, it was fine if it was double-garbled like this.
As one final bit of poorly inserted trivia, the name of this installment is a little strange, because it is a two-part reference. The first is to the GOAT and legendary anime TG caption blog, Divine Intervention. Which was one of my most frequently visited TG caption sites back in the day, and seeing the creator leave the site behind helped me come to terms with my own gender identity. I have zero clue what you are doing now, Divine Bandit, but I hope you are living your best life.
The second part is lifted from the 2013 stealth game, Monaco: What’s Yours is Mine, because I always thought that subtitle would be a good fit for a body theft story. …And I just realized that M. Wills beat me to the punch. DRATS! I got creamed by an erotic pro!