- Title: Forbidden Sanctuary
- Subtitle: Feminized on an Island Closest to Heaven
- Author: Yu Sakurazawa
Jared Wells is the protagonist of the story. He is from a conservative region in America, but aches to explore new cultures. Jared accidentally lands on Kito Island in Africa and is accosted by the Zorba Tribe. Chief Kave, the leader of the tribe, takes Jared home to his mother. The next day, Jared is forced to prove his masculinity by fighting with a lion. The young man fails following which he is dressed as an African woman. Jared is eventually feminized by the tribe. He is now called Zoya and is forced to marry the widowed Chief Kave.
Feminized on an Island Closest to Heaven
by Yu Sakurazawa
Chapter 1 – Trespass Sweetly Urged
I was jaded. I am from a part of America that had more church-goers than in any other part of the country. When the rest of the country was experimenting with new cuisines, we guys resolutely stuck to our hamburgers and French fries. We hated immigrants, even though generations ago, we ourselves had arrived from a distant country. Also, we were the staunch long-time loyalists of the Republican Party.
I was called Jared Wells at that time and was 21 years old. Since pre-marital sex was considered an abomination before God, I was still a virgin. My parents expected me to get married in a few years time, probably to some girl who, like me, was also blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Until then, I would just have to watch porn and jack off. We Americans believe in the “Do-it-yourself” or the DIY philosophy. I was sticking to the philosophy by catering to my sexual needs all by myself.
I was sick of this insular community, with its stick-in-the-mud attitude. I detested being a stickler for rules. I wanted to be free…and explore other regions and cultures: primitive and pagan ones, preferably.
This desire had been welling up inside me for quite a long time. Hence, I had been building a special sea kayak for a good three years. I had carefully ripped and attached plywood sheets, stuck panels at the sides and had stitched them sturdily. After coating it with fiber glass and varnishing it until it shone, the kayak was ready to sail.
I was no foodie, but needed fuel to survive. So, I packed umpteen cartons of milk, breakfast cereal, and canned fruit. I also made sure that I had stored numerous bottles of drinking water. I sailed southwards with no concrete destination in mind.
At first, I loved it. I had a natural affinity for water and had won many kayaking competitions. But after a few weeks of paddling on, I was scared. I worried about a plentitude of things. What if there was a mishap and the kayak collapsed? What if there was a severe thunderstorm, which would rip me and my kayak apart?
Nothing as catastrophic happened. I paddled on for miles, with the wind conditions and ocean currents slowing me down. I had a faint idea that I was moving towards Africa, but wasn’t sure. I was drifting the ocean. Days turned into weeks. My water and food supplies were dwindling. I fervently hoped to catch a glimpse of a piece of land. When I finally did, it was of an island. Had I not been a confident person, I would have been convinced that I was hallucinating.
But Kito Island (I discovered the name later), was no delusion. It was an exquisite piece of reality. Winds blew through the whistling thorn trees, making them tinker like a series of bells. Unique quiver trees and the upside-down baobabs grew alongside the whistling thorn. The skies were unbelievably blue and the clouds a fresh pure white. Elation swelled in my heart, as I saw a lovely deer leap among the lemon grass. The sound of a nearby waterfall reached my ears.
I was dumbstruck by the untouched, virginal beauty of the island. My town was also beautiful, but had a smoky shop-soiled look to it—an inevitable consequence of civilization. I assumed that the island was uninhabited and decided to explore it, hoping to find something to eat. I moored my kayak to a nearby tree, and gingerly stepped on the ground. On impulse, I took off my sneakers. The earth beneath my feet was soft and moist.
I frisked the island, searching for something to eat. I dug out a few red yams and radishes, and devoured them raw. I quenched my thirst by stepping into the waterfall and drinking its fresh, sweet water.
The gush of the waterfall had drowned the sounds of approaching footsteps. When I looked back, I was in for the greatest shock of my life.
At least fifteen ebony-skinned men stood in front of me. They were naked except for a loin-cloth around their waists. Their faces were painted red, and hair braided into tight dreadlocks. They wore beads and cowries around their necks. Huge bows and arrows were slung over their powerful shoulders.
A man of about fifty stood a step ahead of the entourage. He was tall and well-built, and had a strong imposing presence. I noticed that he was dressed differently from other men. The loin-cloth around his waist was pattered, and he had twice as many beads and cowrie necklaces around his sturdy neck. Also, he wore an impressive headgear of lion mane and ostrich feathers on his head. Going by the variation in attire, presence and personality, I guessed that the man was the chief of the entourage.
His dark eyes radiated fire. My heart leapt to my throat. My hands began to go cold and clammy. I was obviously the trespasser here. I had evidently stepped on an island that wasn’t supposed to be intruded upon. Fascinated and mesmerized by its beauty, I had foolishly overlooked possible dangers that might have lurked on the unknown piece of land.
The men continued to stare at me. Convinced that the guys wouldn’t understand English, I tried to haplessly explain my situation through gestures. Astonishment struck me like a whiplash when the chief said “Come with us” in a deep, rich baritone.
The English spoken by the semi-naked tribal chief was flawless.
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