His imagination stimulated by the ‘Legend of the Stag’, diehard psychoanalysis aficionado, Prof. Miller, goes to North-East India in search of The Spring of Reincarnation. He returns to Boston as gorgeous 19 year old Eve and finds that his relationship with wife, Madison, takes on a tantalizing dimension. Eve also gets into a blissful lesbian fling with another woman. A while later, her dream run ends. Eve hypnotizes herself to find that she has two targets in life: revenge against her archrival, Dylan Smith, and impregnation by his seed. Will she succeed in her designs?

Feminized in Himalayas

Chapter 1

The Legend of the Stag

Summer was coming to an end. The leaves of the chestnuts, maples and birches were slowly deepening into mysterious hues of red and yellow. A magnificent stag, weakened by age and injury, walked on painfully. He was in the winter of his life, yet had a sort of stateliness around him; in the regal way the antlers stood over his head and the erectness with which he held his back. His left leg, which he assiduously dragged behind him, left a trail of blood along the forests, hills and dales. This is exactly where the wolf had sunken his teeth with the intention of devouring. However, the stag had been miraculously saved by a mountain lion that had attacked his predator.

The wounded stag walked deeper and deeper into the subtropical pine forests. The firs and weeping cypresses cast an ominous shadow around him, almost as if they were portending his death. ‘If this is the end, so be it’ he stoically uttered and trudged on. Far away, he beheld a beauteous meadow replete with rhododendrons and wide variety of wild flowers. The sight brought out a deep-seated poetic melancholy within him. He reminisced his youth when his antlers had been stronger and upper canines huger. The stag had been handsome, strong and virile; yet had chosen to live a life of celibacy. He hadn’t locked horns with any other stag nor won and impregnated any shy doe. He had, in his youth, been chosen as the Lama of the herd and had guided them both personally and spiritually. Upon beholding spring in a parallel world, he was filled with a sense of regret at never having mated. He felt sorry about not having imprinted his seed on any doe. ‘This is it’ he thought as he made his way up the tortuous paths ‘I am going to expire without leaving any of my existence….’

He walked on in a daze, without realizing that he had reached the edge of a cliff. He continued to move and came tumbling down the slopes. The descent felt endless until he found himself in a warm, soothing liquid pool of water. ‘I have fallen into a hot spring’ he exclaimed, then added ‘I stand corrected; I have fallen into THE hot spring’.

The legend of the hot spring was an old one. It was rumored to lie somewhere in between Sikkim and Nepal; heavily guarded by the thick foliage of forests and the towering barriers of hills. Nobody—man or beast—had ever seen it with their own eyes. There wasn’t a wall or any kind of a physical barrier segregating the fabled spring from the rest of the world; but it had a mysterious, forbidding quality to it that had made birds, animals and humans apprehensive of going near its precincts. However, all the locals—birds, animals and humans—had heard of its existence from their grandmothers and other ancestors who went further back than that.

The stag realized that he had fallen into the hot spring that no animal, bird, human or reptile had dared to venture close to before. Contrary to the dark ominous notions that surrounded it; he found the waters of the spring to be very relaxing. The fact that even trees desisted from shedding their leaves into it made the waters of the spring the cleanest, purest and most crystal clear myrtle the stag had ever seen with his centenarian eyes. The calm ripples of the water were a balm on his wounds. The temperature of the water was just right: a woozy amorphous warm neither too hot nor too cold. He felt like a tiny wee embryo within his mother’s womb; nurtured concealed and protected from the rest of the world. Accordingly, the stag assumed a fetus like position and let himself go. Soon, he felt himself sucked into a deep, soothing quagmire of a slumber.

His eyelids fluttered open. The early morning dew was damp against his skin and the raucous chirping of birds loud and clear in his ears. He felt free of the torpid fatigue that had engulfed his body and spirit the previous day, making him sure that he would die. He felt fresh young blood coursing his veins. His hide had turned indisputably smoother and more delicate. The stag was taken aback to see that the wound inflicted by his predator had miraculously healed. In one liquid spritely motion, he jumped on a rock that stood beside the isolated stream. Poised expertly on it, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. What he beheld was the most astounding thing that he had ever witnessed in his life.

Instead of his own ancient reflection, he saw a young doe. His rugged fossilized hide had been replaced by softer, more feminine skin typical of the female of his species. The majestic antlers had fallen off to be replaced by tender, light bay fuzz. The ears were not as huge as they used to be but had turned into a more compact, shell-like shape; the insides of it tinged by a pale pink hue. The stag’s old weather-beaten muscular body had reshaped itself into a singularly youthful, smaller, petite, softer contoured body, typical of the female of the musk deer species. His old gargantuan penis had disappeared into a female musk dear’s internal genitalia. He noticed that he had a single seat of teats. His prominent upper canines had given way to gentle tusks.

‘Golly, check me ought’ thought the stag in his mind ‘I’ve turned into a young doe’. Suddenly, he was acutely conscious that the mating season was on and he was ovulating. Yes, he found himself as fertile as the earth; ready to be sown with seeds, reaping a bountiful harvest in time. Acting on some mysterious impulse, he went and stood a coy distance away from his herd. The creatures in his heard didn’t recognize him as their philosopher and spiritual mentor. They took him at face value—as a young female deer that had attained puberty and was ripe and ready to receive the seed of life.

The herd comprised of two candidates in their reproductive prime. One of them was a tall muscular stag of the musk deer species whose antlers had just ossified into hard bone beneath the protective sheath of velvet. As soon as he saw the nubile doe, he rubbed the velvet off his antlers: a gesture symbolizing that he was ready to mate. Just as he was going to approach her; he was accosted by a rival in the form of a huge swarthy Asian black deer. The new contender’s horns were just as impressive. The two withdrew their front limbs inwards, lowered their heads menacingly before locking horns in a dead-lock. The shy young doe watched breathlessly; curious as to which of the two would finally win her. The dead-lock gave way and the stag of the musk species emerged the winner. He approached the fecund doe and embedded his seed deep within her. Ten months on, the ploughing resulted in the harvest of two new born fawns.

The old stag’s dream was fulfilled. He had passed on his genes.

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