Kazimer the Man
© 2017 MCVT June 4, 2017 Arranged marriage nightmare becomes something very quite different.
Mcvt2017@gmail.com
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Adult Content; 100% fiction, tg, FF/MF, MF, inc, drug, slow. ===============================================================
Even when I was very young, I knew something I was different. The first inkling of my differences started before I began school. It seemed the world was trying to force me into some foreign shape; I resisted, but was unable explain my discomfort.
A mental health specialist defined the strange feelings I had - but they weren't sure. I was so young. They thought I might be homosexual - and though they didn't make a big deal about it, saying it wasn't a mental illness - it was a sin in my religion. My family's beliefs are a lot older and held a stronger grip on my family than any kind of therapy!
Their diagnosis made more sense to me as I moved into adolescence. No feelings about becoming or wanting to be a male - I had no interest in boys or any males. Didn't hate them, but didn't feel any real connection with them.
As a teen, women enthralled me, and as I grew that feeling became stronger.
Since my family came from a rural area between Asia and Europe, my desires were a big deal. Religion ruled our lives; our laws were based on religious tenets. Our people still practiced these ways. Homosexuals are publicly flogged or lynched.
Anyone other than a heterosexual was a source of shame in the family. To "come out" meant being cast out of our community or worse - like cast off a building.
Some homosexuals in my extended family committed suicide, started using drugs or drinking their secrets away. Every family from our area carried those secrets but kept them hidden. Some homosexuals from our clan cast themselves out of the family by escaping, changing their names and living in large, metropolitan cities.
These were the "forgotten" family members - seldom spoken about, and then, in whispers.
Lesbians who couldn't escape the family lived in silent, sad arranged marriages bearing the children their families expected with little joy. They were never named as lesbians or homosexuals, they were only called "wives," "mothers," and later "grandmothers."
Mom carefully explained this to me and tried to help me though she didn't really have any answers for me except to get into college so I could support myself if needed, but marriage was an ordeal I'd have to endure. For how long - she didn't know.
"We'll find a way. There will be happiness for you, my dear, even if it's only with your children."
I wondered how she could be so quietly supportive against the centuries-old prohibitions. Together we explored the internet, and carefully erased our tracks to keep our secret.
Mom and I kept my secret from my father - he was a leader in our community and had wide following. Even as an innocent child, I would have shamed him and my entire family here and back home if there was a whisper of mental health counseling or homosexuality. We were the successful, perfect refugee family under his leadership.
Through my school years I used sports as a way to diffuse my sexual energy, but that was a difficult time. I played on the girls' teams. Traveling and showering with them tested my restraint and my resolve to keep my tightly guarded secret.
But I had no choice other than to stay silent.
During my ninth year in school, I was on the volleyball team and ran track. My grades were good, and I was doing well. My parents were proud, but I carried my burning secret deep inside and it was a difficult year for me.
A new student at school caused that difficulty. He name is Kazimer, and he was a peculiar student. He came as a refugee from Wyzira, like my family. Always quiet, studying hard, and keeping to himself, Kazimer had to keep his head down the whole semester.
With black, wavy hair and the eyes of a gazelle he was a target for all the bullies. Kazimer was short and slender with pale, almost transparent skin. His voice was slow and soft. Though he didn't speak often, he smiled shyly and was always ready with a handshake. I couldn't figure out why, but he had a strange manner about him.
Our families attended the same prayers and spoke the same odd dialect from north of the Urals. Our parents became close friends sharing news and resources. I noticed that among our parents, Kazimer's parents were very quiet. His dad kept a sharp eye on his son, though Kazimer was very polite and often appeared overly timid.
During high school, our parents decided we would marry during after our first year at the university. They made an announcement after prayers. I couldn't voice my discontent in front of my father, but later my mother cried as I told her it would never work out.
"Mom, I'd rather be single, leave the country and teach somewhere I can live with my own wife. Please help me get out of this."
The situation seemed futile - my future was out of my control; my pillow was stained with tears.
"No, my sweet Angela. Things could work out - let's see what happens. Kazimer could turn out to be very understanding. You could learn to love him, like I learned to love your father."
That was the first time I'd heard her hold any hope for my happiness in her voice. But it was only a molecule of hope. I wanted my own wife. Mom kept me close, and we continued search online for lesbians who posted anonymously online about how they coped in their forced marriages or living secret lives.
Kazimer and I studied together for our college entrance exams, and though he was as bound by tradition as I was, he didn't say anything, just smiled and patted my hand.
"I'll be a good husband, you'll see." He'd whisper when he saw me rankling with the arranged marriage plans. He was patient, but what a fool - I shuddered every time he said that!
"Kazimer, I don't hate you but I really don't love you. It's just that - well, I don't have the right feelings for you. There's a good chance I never will."
I tried explaining. "It's something deeper inside me. You'll never understand." I dodged admitting my homosexuality.
"You don't know my heart either." He would remind me.
Our parents planned a big wedding here, and we would honeymoon with his family back in Wyzira after a traditional marriage feast.
That summer was completely planned for me by my family - I suspected my dad thought I would try to run away from my fiancé - so a family member was always with me.
My mother had quietly given me an idea of the relatives who were like me; of the women in my family in my same position, and several of the men. Still, our religion required my marriage and the pressure mounted.
Mom and I went back to the mental health clinic and I was prescribed medications to allay my anxiety. Mom carefully slipped one under my cereal bowl every morning at breakfast. She was aware of the suicide rate...
My father escorted us to the courthouse for our marriage license and we were married in a grand party with dancing and music. Mother cried silent tears as they stood with Kazimer's parents chatting and sharing photos, enjoying the music and dancing that evening.
My heart fell as we exchanged vows. I faced the ground and whispered my promises - I was lying - forced into committing a sin.
Kazimer held my hand, turned us to the crowd of family and friends and smiled accepting the hugs and handshakes. At least he didn't kiss me.
As the banquet started, Kazimer sat beside me quietly, holding my sweating hand. His voice continued to softly reassure me that everything would be all right.
I couldn't resign myself to this marriage when I wanted a woman to love, and had been dreaming of a life with an Amazon, or a sleek, feminine wife who knew what I wanted before I asked.
"I don't love you." I kept answering him.
"You might. Be patient with yourself."
I continued sulking and telling him I didn't love him.
He finally told me. "Patience!"
After our wedding we were rushed to the airport for our next, traditional wedding with his family in Wyzir. With a gentle smile Kazimer ordered me a glass of wine on the plane - a taboo drink in our families. My mountain of sins was building by the moment.
He said nothing more, but smiled and let me sleep through the long flight.
Kazimer gently draped the burqa over me in plane before we exited. Then, he found my hand and led me toward his family.
Culture shock! Wyzir was nothing like our town in the Midwest.
It was old, and smelled odd - like a million years of sandy dust and camel dung. The skies were clear and blue, and the air was hot and so dry. Every corner had several street vendors hawking newspapers and magazines; used goods or candies. Women in full coverings filled the streets like strange, swaying specters. There were plenty of vehicles, and lots of honking and yelling in the traffic. Near the edge of the town center, camels and goats were being sold by an old open-air market shaded with cloth awnings. Behind it all was the nasal call to prayers droning every several hours.
Kazimer's family were well-respected country folk, red-skinned men with deep creases in their face and their beards long and full. The women were quiet, only peeking out the thin slits in the black coverings they wore until they entered their homes.
At their walled compound, my new in-laws and more family smiled at me and welcomed me warmly, but there was a cool hush from the grandparents - as if they were expecting trouble. I was somewhat westernized - that rankled a lot of them.
I steeled myself for our second wedding celebration. Through the dancing and the music; polite conversations flowed between the large group of kin and neighbors.
Traditional music played and I smelled some of my favorite foods cooking. But I sat quietly with the women, nodding politely and trying to keep my anger in check.
There was leering, though they looked away quickly, from the men knowing I would be taken that night - Kazimer's virgin. My face burned with humiliation, and I kept my eyes down when they stared.
Kazimer watched me and only gave me an understanding look. He didn't particularly like some of the comments from the men either. Though he stood with them and listened attentively, he'd never been "one of the guys" at school or in the university.
I was expected to be a virgin, and I was - that didn't upset me. I could stain the sheet, though I would have preferred my wife have the honor. It was the sex with the expectation of almost immediate pregnancy I dreaded.
My heart wanted a woman to love. The thought of a hard penis entering me when I wanted the softness of a woman and her taste on my lips burned in my chest.
My dreams were broken into sharp, jagged chards through this ordeal. Longings and real life were in direct opposition - the heavy weight of custom dismissed my yearning. I felt no arousal about sex when I looked at Kazimer, not even a bit of curiosity - only a growing bitterness for my entrapment by an ancient concept.
Kazimer continued to be reassuring, but I ignored him now and kept my head down. This was not my shining moment - I fought back tears of self-pity as the evening continued.
As the celebration ended, tears burned my eyes.
I was led to the bedroom with my new husband. The word "husband" stuck in my throat. I wanted to leave - to run into the desert and die there, body shrinking inside the burqa that would become my death shroud.
Kazimer tried being gentle with me, holding me lightly as I undressed. I had heard his father tell him to move slowly and remain reassuring no matter what I did. That made me feel like an animal being corralled - as if I was a horse whose spirit had to be broken and reshaped into a dull domestic pack animal.
Beside the bed was a decanter filled with dark liquid. He poured a small glass of it. "This is a special drink for wedding nights. Every new couple shares this... It's from our vineyard."
He lifted the glass to my lips as tears ran down my cheeks.
"No. Please - I don't want it."
"Yes, my wife. You must."
"We'll pass this night in peace together." He spoke softly, almost embarrassed to tell me what we both knew. I was being drugged.
I drank the whole glass in one swallow, undressed and lay on the bed resigned to my fate and hating the traditions that brought me here. My mind wandered across the hillsides and over the desert and I slept deeply, numbed to what would happen.
Sometime the next day I felt Kazimer's fingers caress my face. He had tears in his eyes, but he was silent.
"You are good to me." Was all he said. "You are a good wife."
I was naked, and there was blood on the sheet beneath me and I felt stickiness between my legs.
Kazimer had risen earlier, droplets of water from his shower still glistened in his wavy hair. "Let me take you to shower."
It was done. I remembered nothing of it. I now had to take on the yoke of our customs and be a wife to a man I didn't want.
"What happened?" I asked.
"You were my wife." He said softly. "A beautiful, loving wife."
I started crying while he held me for a long time.
The after effects of the drink lingered in my head, and I admitted I could never love him. My own words stunned me as I heard them spilling from my lips. He just pressed my face into the smooth skin of his chest and let me cry while I told him I didn't want a man, I loved women.
"The feeling is so deep, it's in every part of me. I'll never be your wife. I don't want a man - I want a woman. I didn't ask for these feelings, they were there when I was born."
"I know that..." He said softly, and sat beside me. "That's why I asked for you."
That puzzled me. "What?"
He turned to me, watching my eyes and he brought my hand to his groin. "I know you want a woman, and maybe I can comfort you the way you want. No one can command love, and don't want that kind of arrangement between us."
At his groin, I didn't feel a penis. My fingers opened his robe slowly.
Where his legs joined there was a sparse scattering of hair but strange, slick streaks of skin where none grew. Scar tissue.
I inspected his oddly shaped genitals. It appeared he had labia, off-centered and uneven that revealed a large clitoral hood, and a clitoris about the size of a marble. Was that his penis?
"What happened?" I asked.
"After so many centuries of cousins marrying cousins..." He began. "You know - congenital problems. Doctors here didn't know how to address my gender ambiguity. There were several surgeries, until finally my parents told them to stop."
He explained that he had small testicles at birth, and was called a son. His testes, though, didn't grow, and his penis didn't develop but a clitoris and labia did. The family couldn't start calling him a daughter when he was already in school as a boy.
He remained their "son" and had dealt with his changes quietly until the men in the countryside started questioning things as he grew toward manhood.
That's when and why his family immigrated.
"I wanted you because you wanted a woman. That was clear to me when I met you - you are a terrible actor." He chuckled, "Through high school, I saw you lusting for women. I saw how you talked to them and touched them - practicing your seduction. I wanted you to seduce me and you thought I was a oddity of a man. I guess I am, you were right."
"We're moving abroad after we graduate, Angela. You can have your woman, and I only ask you to be discrete. I may not be the woman you want, and I'm more of a woman than you know. I'll be something an effeminate husband, if that doesn't bother you. Because I'm neither - not fully man or woman."
In the heat of the afternoon I considered how all of this information would change my life. His body was not masculine, but not a woman's. He said he loved me, and he was gentle with me... But I wanted a real woman. He would let me have that in a covert way.
That, in itself was respect and love - I only had to appear as his wife. I went back to bed, confused and still sad. The weight of tradition still weighed on my heart until I felt Kazimer's lips on my stomach. He gently opened my legs and kissed me I pushed him away.
His hands and lips opened my cleft and I felt light, gentle brushes of his tongue and his fingers, slowly exploring me and very tentatively.
I tried to turn away.
He stopped and told me, "For so many years, I've wanted to kiss you and take you. I'll take you as another woman would; I want to make love with you like the passionate lover you dream about while your fingers arouse you at night. Close your eyes. Use your fantasies to imagine the one you want. I need comfort now as well as you - it has been as difficult for me to reveal my secrets to you."
He made love with me gently until I moaned in the endorphin waves of an incredible climax, then he took me in his arms again.
"Will you give me a child?" He asked softly.
That brought me back to earth quickly, "I have to, don't I?"
"No. I'd love to see you pregnant, and I would love with you all the way through - and help you birth our child. That will be as close as I could ever come to realizing birth through my own body."
He waited. "We don't have to decide that now. I want you to love me first, if there is anyway you could love me."
As the afternoon came, Kazimer taught me how to please him. Exploring him closely, I found he was right - neither fully male nor female. I had not married a woman, and clearly not married a man. Yet he responded to my touches with moans and sighs, with little twinges and jerks.
His orgasms were deep and profound, and he held me against him thanking me again and again, whispering. He described to me the changes his body had felt and the sweet release of sexual tension.
It was very much what I had imagined being with a woman was like.
Quiet, gentle and deeply exciting, and I enjoyed hearing him gasp and moan with pleasure. He took me again as I imagined a woman would and it was more than I had ever fantasized about - wet and warm and sensual.
When we showered, readying for dinner, I asked.
"What happened last night?"
"I held you in my arms and kissed you while... My brother Ali came and..." Tears filled his eyes. "I love you."
Fin.