Dean is the protagonist of the story. He has a pretty face and his complexion is a beautiful honey brown and his hair silky brown.

When Dean joins Everest Military Academy in a desperate attempt to overcome his GID, he finds that he is unable to cope with the strain of life as an army cadet. After failing in all physical endurance tests, Dean is given an ultimatum. He is to either quit the academy or continue as a female cadet. With a guilty pleasure, Dean opts for the latter.

Dean feels extremely good inside when he is forced to wear the female cadets’ uniform. He, however, is humiliated by the way his batch mates react to his wearing a skirt. The girl cadets don’t want to have Dean in their wing as he still retains the male organ. Dean is apprehensive to live in the boys’ hostel as he fears sexual assault.


A Slippery Slope in Military Academy

Subtitle: A Frail Cadet

Series: Forced to Work in Girls’ Uniform

“Quartered in Snow, silent to remain When the bugle calls, they shall rise and march again” –anonymous

Chapter 1 – The Ultimatum on My Life in OG

The air was crisp. The bugle had blown. All of us: army cadets of Everest Private Training Academy marched in tandem to the beating of the drums. We boys were dressed in leaf-green pants, an olive green shirt and a smart cravat in striped red and white. Our feet were encased in black gleaming loafers worn over white socks. The girls, at the other side of the parade ground, were dressed in pretty much the same uniform. The only difference was that instead of the obnoxious creased pants that we were forced to wear, they were attired in neat pleated leaf green skirts that flattered the contours of their hips and lovingly flapped against the shapeliness of their calves. I may be wrong, but the girls’ shirts seemed to have puff sleeves unlike our drab ones.

I caught myself looking their way longingly, and then forced my brain back to the present. I had come to the training academy, a 3 year precursor to the NDA, before being inducted into the Indian army, for a purpose. The purpose was to forget my shameful secret inclinations. The secret inclinations constituted an overwhelming desire to mingle with girls. To dress, to talk and behave the way they did. To have the same smoothness of skin, swell of bosom, flaring of the hips and lusciousness of the derriere. To have my hands decked in henna and be married off to some valiant, virile and muscular male.

I could hardly do that considering I came from a family which boasted of great soldiers. My father, Colonel General Jai Prakash Bhatia, who had sacrificed his life at the Kargil war in 1999, had been granted the Paramvir Chakra. It was the highest honor that could be bestowed on any soldier for exemplary bravery. My cousin, Capt. Vikas Bhatia, the recipient of the best NCC cadet awards in two zones during training, had martyred himself while trying to flush out terrorists from the Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai during the 26/11 terrorist attacks. My elder sister had married a major in the Indian army. So perhaps it comes as no surprise that everyone in the family expected me to grow up to be a brave, virile, disciplined army officer with a stiff upper lip.

It was a difficult because I was a man trapped in a women’s body. Furthermore, I wasn’t cut out for hardships even as much as the other girls in our training center were. At 5’4, I was as petite as any one of them, with a pigeon chest and a pretty face. The expanse of my chest was way below the medical standards of the Everest Academy, but rules had been relaxed for me because I had earned admission through the sports quota. Even though I was a girlish sort of a boy, I had one ‘macho’ interest: Shooting. My being a state level High Power Rifle Shooting champion had made me eligible to get into the Everest Academy even though I had failed to meet the required medical standards.

I was an aberration in yet another way. The levels of body fat male cadets between aged 18 and 22 were supposed to possess was 20%, but mine constituted an embarrassing 30%–a figure that fell into the female cadets’ category. Yet the academy had been forced to recruit me. A million thanks to my brilliant marksmanship!

‘Cadet Bhatia!’ the stentorian voice of Major Saxena struck me like a whip. Major Saxena was a strict, ruthless disciplinarian with an extremely short-temper. -. And most of the time, he was on the hazardous brink of losing it on me.

‘You’re marching haphazardly’ he presently barked ‘please try and concentrate’. I tried to discipline my footsteps to follow a more regular pattern than before. It was in my best interests to do what the other cadets in the academy were doing. After all, I was here to deflect attention from myself and become a part of the camouflage.

In spite of my hardest attempts, I hadn’t deflected Major Saxena’s attention off me. His piercing black eyes were watching me like a hawk. He exchanged a cryptic glance with his college Major Chopra and asked me to step aside.

The two gentlemen escorted me to an area that had a bar where we did pull ups.

‘Let’s see how many you can do’ said Major Saxena said in an intimidating voice.

I approached the bar with trembling hands. I gripped it with my palms facing away from me, and tried to pull my chin up to it, with my hands spaced wide apart. However, as diligently as I tried, I failed miserably.

‘Oh come on, let him try “negatives”’ said Major Chopra, a milder, less belligerent army man than Major Saxena. “Negatives” were half-pushups. As Major Chopra held my rotund limbs, Major Saxena prompted me to bring my chin over the bar. In spite of Major Chopra’s help, I struggled. Finally, when I had managed to bring my chin to bar level, Major Saxena instructed his colleague to release my feet.

‘Hang on to the bar and let your feet dangle for 10 seconds’ Major Saxena ordered me. I felt the weight of each second taking a toll on my dainty body. One second ticked by, then two and then three….by the time even five whole seconds had passed by, my exhausted hands had released the pull up bar. I came crashing down on the ground, clutching my tiny chest and breathing frantically.

‘Look at him, Major’ Major Saxena said to his colleague with disgust ‘Already sweating like a pig. The girls perform much better’.

‘Let’s not be too quick to judge him’ said the more lenient Major Chopra .Then turning to me, he asked: ‘Would you be interested in running?’

‘Of course, Sir’ I said with feigned enthusiasm, when in truth I detested running. I’d rather have been dead than trying to torture my heart muscles in this crazy manner.

Major Chopra set my running target as one and a half miles in 9 minutes, 20 seconds. He split it up in a manner that had scientifically proven viable for sustained running.

‘Okay, here goes’ said Major Chopra rubbing his hands vigorously ‘One and a half kilometers would be 1500 meters, right? So let’s divide the run into three installments. You do 500 meters in 4 minutes, another 500 meters in the next three and the last 500 in 2 minutes 20 seconds. Agreed?’.

‘Yes, Sir’ I said standing at attention and raising my hand in a smart salute as military personnel were trained to do.

‘Right, you may start’ said Major Chopra running alongside me with a watch in hand. While he was running alongside me, I was acutely conscious of Major Chopra; the musky sweat of his youth, the gleaming virility of his abs straining through his thin t-shirt and the hot masculine blood gushing to his veins. Thoroughly fascinated by a vein throbbing on his left temple, I lost track of time. At the end of the assigned time, all I was aware of was Major Chopra’s exasperated look as he said: ‘You’ve just completed 400 meters and have already become a tortoise!’. I was forced to snap out of my reverie. As Major Chopra had pointed out, though I was ostensibly supposed to be running, my speed had decreased to cipher and my meaty rounded body had come to a near halt. All the while, sweat poured down my forehead in torrents, which I suspected had more to do with having a hot-blooded young male running alongside me, rather than actual physical exertion.

With a disappointed heavy tread, Major Chopra and I walked back to the starting point, where Major Saxena was waiting for us with a hungry look on his face.

Like a hawk waiting to pounce on its prey.

‘Well?’ he raised a quizzical eyebrow at his colleague.

‘He couldn’t do it’ Major Chopra reported with due objectivity.

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ said Major Saxena with a kind of sadistic satisfaction ‘that the boy is a pansy, a Nelly, a pussy?.

‘Maybe running just isn’t his thing’ shrugged Major Chopra ‘Perhaps he is better in water’.

‘Ha!’ snorted Major Saxena sarcastically ‘I can just visualize him as a merman. The chap is so incompetent; he’s worse than the girls’.

‘Please Major’ said Major Chopra looking quite weary ‘give the boy a break. And, FYI, the girls are great swimmers. Stop being such a misogynist.

Major Saxena sniggered nastily. The three of us made our way to the left of the parade ground which housed an indoor stadium consisting of an indoor gym and a swimming pool. The two men, two dashing figures in black trousers and thin OG t-shirts, waited patiently as I changed into my swimming trunks.

Since I wasn’t adept enough to take a dive, I lowered myself into the pool gingerly, painfully conscious of the two attractive men staring at me. The awareness that I was alone with two fairly young, uber-attractive males made my heart flutter like a young girl’s. The thought that they could seize, touch and have their way with me without the knowledge Brigadier Mehta (the principal of Everest Private Academy), sent fearful yet pleasurable shivers down my spine. It was a bizarre thought. Why would my two trainers even think of raping me, a podgy young boy, unless they were homosexuals?

With sinful thoughts abounding in my head, I tread into the pool, held my breath and started swimming with gusto. On second thoughts, I regretted not having started off with lighter movements because I found it extremely difficult to balance myself in the water. Instead of balancing out inhalations and exhalations, I panicked and started hyperventilating, swallowing a great deal of water in the process. As I choked and gasped for breath, my capped head temporarily bobbed on surface of the water. I disappeared under the surface of the water again and tried to begin afresh. However, my technique was so wrong that I was drooping and enervated before I had swum even a meter.

To my consternation, Major Chopra looked like a man who had been drubbed. He had pinned a degree of hope on me and I had failed him. Miserably. Major Saxena stood beside him, gloating with triumph. I had, with my incompetence, not only managed to embarrass myself, but had also shamed Major Chopra.

At this moment, I knew I had to do something. Desperately. To restore the honor of the kindly Major Chopra.

‘Sir’ I said addressing Major Saxena as boldly as my silky voice would permit ‘I request to be taken to the parade ground again’

‘The parade ground? What for?’ asked Major Saxena taken aback. The two gentlemen looked equally bewildered. A cadet issuing orders to his trainers was not a common phenomenon in Everest Academy.

‘You didn’t test my shooting skills’ I pointed out.

‘It’s likely to be as pathetic as your other talents!’ said Major Saxena in a disparaging voice. We, nevertheless, walked out from the indoor stadium into fresh air again.

Major Chopra lowered the height of the rifle stand so that it was in level with my eye. He tore away and discarded the target that had already been punctured with holes by a previous cadet, and replaced it with a fresh new one. He adjusted the target length, so that it was at a distance of about 30 feet from me. Then he handed me an ISSF 10 meter air rifle.

I pressed the butt of the rifle to my cheekbone. Then proceeded to relax my right shoulder. The butt plate of the rifle sat in firm contact near the joint of my upper arm. I spread my right leg out and pulled in the right knee. I relaxed my neck, so that my eye could precisely see through the rear sight aperture. I thrust my womanly hips towards the target and angled my shoulders in its direction. Finally when I could see the target from the middle of my rear sight aperture, I pulled the trigger.

There was silence for a split second. No one breathed. The bullet, released from the mouth of the rifle, hit the center of the target. I had hit bulls’ eye.

It was nearly 2 pm by the time my trainers had finished testing me and I headed straight to the army canteen for lunch. I realized that I had been so engrossed in proving myself that I had missed out on my 1 pm working tea. My stomach was growling with hunger, but since the canteen was full of cadets, I served myself small, lady-like portions. Gorging oneself in public was embarrassing.

As I was nibbling away like a dainty bird, Sumeet Singh, one of my classmates passed me. He was a young man of tremendously rustic origins and sensibilities. I noticed that his plate was heaped with food. ‘Had a good time with the trainers, girlie-girlie?’ he asked.

‘Girlie-girlie’ was a moniker bestowed on me by the guys in my squadron. Soon, it had spread throughout the hostel and slowly permeated the entire academy. Even the girls were aware of the nickname and sometimes addressed me by it. To tell the truth, being addressed by the moniker touched a secret pleasurable chord in my heart and made me go dizzy with excitement. However, I pretend to abhor the sobriquet. After all, I had come to Everest Academy to make a man out of myself. Sissy pet names wouldn’t serve me.

I had a good look at Sumeet Singh. Even though he was unsophisticated and definitely not my type, I could help feeling magnetized towards his square pockmarked face, the matted dark chest hair visible through his gaping buttonholes and the intensely masculine sweaty smell emanating from his muscular body. Sumeet’s eyes roved suggestively over my doughy body the way it did over the females’. I was aroused and repulsed at the same time.

‘You’re acting as if I romped with them’ I couldn’t help rolling my eyes flirtatiously.

‘Wouldn’t put it passed you, girlie-girlie’ Sumeet teased sweeping a deliberate glance at my soft body ‘with your complexion, with your perfect figure….Oh! You could make a stone orgasm!’

‘Hush, flatterer!’ I exclaimed shocked. A slow blush had crept up to my face and my velvety skin was tingling pleasurably.

I would have continued my coquettish tete-a-tete with Sumeet had we not been interrupted by the academy peon who informed me that I had been summoned by Brigadier Mehta. On receiving the information, my skin started tingling in a diametrically different fashion. My nerves were overwrought with fear and my heart was caught in my mouth.

Brigadier Mehta, the principal of Everest Academy, was the only male in the campus who inspired fear instead of desire in me. At 80, he was still sturdy, straight of back and had all his wits about him. His tonsured head, deep purplish pouches beneath the eyes and artificially darkened tooth-brush mustache had the cumulative effect of reducing me to a quivering, gelatinous mess. In his heyday, Brigadier Mehta was apparently a soldier par excellence who had shown exemplary courage in the J&K operations and Indo-China conflict. Years had passed, yet the fire in him hadn’t quelled.

I passed over from the canteen to the main building, running all sorts of nightmarish scenes in my head. I passed our well-furnished classroom, the hospital section and walked the entire length of the long, frighteningly ill-lit corridor at the end of which the brigadier’s chamber was located. Lifting one trembling hand, I knocked.

‘Come in’ ushered a deep, gruff voice from the cavernous interiors of the chamber.

I walked in with trepidation. The brigadier was standing at his table. He was a tall man, who at 6’1, towered over me. Brigadier Mehta looked clearly displeased.

‘Cadet Batra’ he rasped ‘Major Saxena and Chopra told me about your shameful performance at the endurance test today’.

‘Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir’ I meekly said, waiting to be thrashed with words.

‘You know very well cadet’ continued the esteemed Brigadier ‘that had it not been for the sports quota, you would never have made it to this academy’.

‘Yes, Sir’.

‘You also know that I admitted you because of the respect I have your late father Major General Jai Prakash Batra. He was a great soldier’.

‘Yes, Sir’.

‘However cadet, your recent flagrantly poor scores in physical endurance tests (except rifle shooting) have made me have a rethink about your worthiness to continue in this academy. Even our girl cadets, whose assessment criteria are a little different from that of you guys have been performing much better than you. Many of the staff members have been insisting I rusticate you. However, I’d like to lay down two options in front of you’

‘Yes, Sir?’

‘The first one is rustication from the academy’ said Brigadier Mehta.

‘And the second option?’

‘Is that you continue, albeit as a female cadet’.

To read the rest of the story please click here.


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