Trans-Sexed by the Buddha!

By K.C. Cave

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Text copyright 2017 K.C. Cave

License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental. This e-book includes descriptions of explicit sex and is for adults only. The stories in this e-book are completely fictional and are meant to be taken as fantasy. The author does not endorse or condone practices like incest, rape, or rough sexual encounters in any form. All characters depicted in these stories are 18 years old and above.

Brian drifted up toward consciousness to greet a new day. Flat on his back, he resisted the urge to move his hands between his legs.

These were moments to savor. Mainly, he liked the sensation of morning wood—his little, four-and-a-half inch dick straining at the sheet, making a tent, begging for attention. First thing in the morning, it didn’t take much to make it spurt.

Hey, what’s this? Brian raised his head and looked down his torso. No tent.

Then he remembered: The Buddha, the 45-minute meditation session, his supplication to a higher power for a change down there.

Ideally, of course, that would be a bigger dick.

He pushed the sheet aside. Raising his head from the pillow, all he could see was soft, brown, downy pubic hair.

No dick.

Slowly, he separated his legs. Sometimes it got stuck between his thighs…

That didn’t work. Gingerly, he reached down. Simultaneous with the realization that, in fact, a penis was not between his legs was a strangely pleasant sensation as his fingertips brushed something.

Okay, this is a dream. Just go with it. Brian explored the petite vertical slit nestled beneath the downy hair. It was slightly swollen, and he rubbed the two sides together with the tips of his index fingers.

Oh, yeah. Knees raised and spread, Brian found what could only be a clitoris. His fingers pinched and rolled, rubbing his lips together. After only a few moments of delicious fingering, the lips blossomed under his hand. He felt a firmness welling up inside of him.

It was if he was pulling an orgasm right out of his body. The warmth rushing from his sadistic hands flowed all the way into the depths of his aching pussy. Rocking on his hips as the orgasm gathered and coiled at the base of his spine, Brian could sense his clit swelling and pushing against the clammy nest of his palm.

It was an orgasm like no other that he had experienced in his twenty-three years. Wet, watery cum dripped out around his knuckles as he thrusted, his hips off the bed, and waves of sexual energy crashed through his body.

The delicious feelings finally ebbed. His flesh felt slack and loose as he swam up toward consciousness for the second time that morning.

Two hours and countless orgasms later, Brian examined himself in the bathroom, one foot on the edge of the toilet, holding a hand mirror. Yep. Instead of a dangly, pencil-thin dick and marble-sized testicles, Brian now possessed a pussy—a full-grown female sex organ that he could positively confirm thrived on attention..

Blame it on that damn Buddha.

The previous evening, he had found the package on the porch next to the front door, ripe pickings for any thief in his shitty neighborhood. Brian’s shift at the sub shop had ended at eleven and, following the usual kitchen cleanup and floor sweeping, he arrived home just before midnight.

Excited, he tore the package apart. Shit. It wasn’t the sitting Buddha inscribed with the Heart Sutra that he had ordered. Instead, it was the laughing Buddha, a Japanese caricature, the grinning fat monk with his hands on his enormous belly.

Well, he thought, when the Buddha delivers lemons, make lemonade.

He set the silly statue on the fireplace mantel, arranged his meditation cushion, and sat. As he relaxed, following his breath and emptying his mind, Brian rested his awareness on his genitals. It was a crazy idea, he knew, but for the last few weeks he couldn’t shake the firm conviction that meditation could solve a problem that had plagued him since puberty: his circumsized, under-sized penis.

The snickers in the high school locker room. “Hey, pencil dick…”

His graduation night mercy fuck and that damn Heather Bukowski snickering as she hiked her jeans over her hips: “I hope you felt something down there, because I sure as shit didn’t.”

Now equipped with a statue that at least reminded him of the real Buddha, his hope was that his wish would come true. That something would change down there.