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Hekate by Selena Pride Inspired by the face of a painting by Johfra The rain gusted into Tom's face as he walked, his thin anorak clutched tight around him and keeping exactly none of it out. In a low monotone he damned the weather, job centres, prospective employers (ha!), buses, and London itself. It was a long walk to Waterloo station from Holborn, and when he got there his train fare would have to come out of his food money for next week, but he didn't care any more. He knew he had thrown the interview as soon as he walked in--their expressions had told him that. If they had only admitted it and let him go then he'd have been home by now and dry. But noooo, they had to go through the routine, the interrogation, the careful lies about nothing being decided yet, we'll let you know Mr. Vincent, thank you for coming in, ach! It was the hair. He knew it. Nobody wanted a long-haired man. That and the fact that he hadn't got the money for decent clothes. Appearance. Appearance was everything. Who cared whether you had the qualifications or the talent or the experience, as long as you looked good in a suit. Well, he never would. A car splashed him. He hardly noticed. The thought entered his head, as it had so many times before. How easy to make a sharp left turn at just the right moment, step into the road before whatever was oncoming could stop. A consummation devoutly to be wished. If only he had the nerve. He became aware that the car had stopped, that he was now alongside it and someone was speaking to him from the warm, lighted interior. "Excuse me?" Tom turned and peered through rain-dappled glasses at a vague pink oval--a face. He took off the glasses and wiped them with a wet handkerchief, put them back on and looked into a woman's eyes. "Can you tell me how to get to Old Street from here?" They were the strangest eyes he had ever seen. For a start, they were golden. The pupils were dilated, huge pools of black velvet against the gold. Slightly slanted, long-lashed, enormous eyes in a pale, fine-boned face. Tom stared, feeling a shudder go through the whole of his being as if he were a huge gong and someone had struck him. "Old Street?" he repeated vaguely. "I'm sorry, I--er--" "That's quite all right." The eyes turned away, the window slid smoothly up and the car began to move off. Tom stood still, rain dripping from his hair and messing up his glasses again: then like a zombie he started walking, trying to recover his composure. Something had been bothering him, but he couldn't remember what. He was going somewhere, but he couldn't remember where. All he could think of were the eyes. Her eyes. He had looked into her eyes. And now her eyes were going away from him. And he could not let that happen. He looked wildly around and saw that the car--long, black and expensive--was still parked by the pavement a little way on. He almost ran to catch it, even though it obviously wasn't moving, and stood there wondering if he dared to tap on the window. As he wondered, it slid open again, and she looked at him, smiling. "Get in," she said. "The other side." Relief flooded through him. He hurried round the back of the car, opened the door and sank gratefully on to the soft leather upholstery. He dimly registered the back of someone's head in the driver's seat, but all his attention was on the woman whose eyes had enslaved him. All his emotions, all his thoughts had been wiped away. He was a clean slate, and he needed her to write on him. She leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. The car moved away from the kerb and joined the traffic flow. "My name is Hekate," the woman said, smiling at Tom. Again the unseen gong-stroke shuddered through him, and he tried to recall his own name. "Uh--T...Tom," he said. "Tom Vincent." "Who is Tom Vincent?" Hekate inquired. "I--" He realised that he didn't know. "I will give you a name," Hekate said, "when we get home." "Home..." An image danced crazily in his mind, a squalid single room full of old clothes and dirty dishes, a dog yapping incessantly downstairs. It faded and vanished, dissolved by her eyes. He sank back, content to look at her. Hekate reached into a snakeskin handbag by her side and took out a silver cigarette case. He watched as she placed a long, thin black cigarette between her perfect lips and lit it with a silver lighter. She exhaled a long stream of aromatic smoke and offered him the cigarette. Reflex stirred in him. "Uh...no," he said. "I don't..." "Yes you do," Hekate said, and he wondered why he was talking such rubbish. He took the cigarette from her, put it between his lips and inhaled deeply. The smoke was smooth and made him tingle all over. He held it in for as long as he could and exhaled slowly. Hekate had taken another for herself. "All my girls smoke," she said, flicking ash into an ashtray on the door. "It adds to their appeal." There was something in what she had just said that bothered him, but he couldn't work out what it was. Anyway, it couldn't be important. His mind became a fuzzy pink blank as the car turned off the road into an underground garage and slowed to a stop. "We get out here," Hekate prompted him, and he fumbled with the doorhandle. There seemed to be something wrong with his legs, but they eventually agreed to support him on a purely provisional basis, and he followed Hekate and the driver into a large and opulent-looking lift, trying to copy the way Hekate walked and held her cigarette. Later he would cringe at how ridiculous he must have looked, but for now such abstraction was beyond him. All he knew was that he wanted to obey her, to do what she wished. The lift doors opened on a huge and luxuriously furnished lounge. Chairs and couches were arranged in small, intimate groups around the floor. A piano stood in one corner. They walked across the deep carpet to the double doors at the other end of the room. "Your room is number eight," Hekate told him, "and your name is Amanda." "Amanda," he repeated obediently. Something was bothering him again, but she was looking at him, those eyes were looking at him, and he couldn't let anything interfere with that. Hekate stubbed her cigarette out in a standing ashtray, and motioned for him to do the same. "Go and get undressed," she said, "and sleep. Tomorrow we will begin your training." He tried to speak, but his voice failed him. He tried to nod, but something went wrong somewhere along the line and he found himself on his knees looking up into her face. She smiled down at him, and his vision blurred with tears. Then she was gone, gliding down the corridor, the driver walking behind her. Amanda got to his feet. The door to room eight was half open. He stumbled into the room, hardly noticing his surroundings--there was a bed, and all he wanted to do was sleep. He took off his clothes, hearing cloth tear and buttons pop but not really caring, knowing only that she had told him to undress. The bed was waiting. He fell forward, his head hit the pillow, and her eyes followed him into deep and dreamless sleep. * Tom woke with a start, and wished he hadn't. He felt heavy, groggy, and something wasn't right. Where had he been last night? He tried to move and found himself wrapped in cool black satin sheets, his head resting on a satin-cased pillow, in a completely unfamiliar room. He sat up and the room swirled around him sickeningly as memory returned. The eyes...the car...the cigarette...the eyes... "Good morning!" A woman's voice. He jerked round. A young woman in a maid's uniform was standing in the doorway, carrying a tray which smelled enticingly of breakfast. "You're Amanda, right?" "Uh...no," Tom began, but she sailed on. "I'm Nicole. I know we're going to be good friends. You must be hungry." She sashayed over the the bed and perched on the end, putting the tray down across his lap. "Come on, eat up." Tom was tempted, but he forced himself to control. "No, listen. I have to get out of here. There's been some mistake, I'm not--" "I know how you feel," Nicole said soothingly. "I was that way myself at first. But you'll learn, the Lady doesn't make mistakes. You probably think you're someone else, right?" "I am someone else," Tom said desperately, but Nicole was not to be stopped. She deftly plugged his mouth with a forkful of bacon and carried on. "Everyone here started out thinking they were someone else. It's a very common complaint. But you see, once the Lady's told you who you are you can't be anyone else. It's as simple as that. Anyway, if your delusion was anything like mine I can't see why you'd want to hang on to it." Tom gave up. Every time he opened his mouth she put food into it. He let her talk and feed him, trying not to admit to himself that he was enjoying the attention. She was very pretty, her blonde hair shoulder-length and curled at the ends under the maid's cap, her eyes blue and full of mischief...but thinking about her eyes brought another pair of eyes back to his memory, and that made him confused. "Dead-end job, or no job at all," Nicole continued, "no friends, no fun, no money...am I ringing any bells here? I'll bet that just before she found you you were thinking about killing yourself. I'm right, aren't I?" Tom had winced. Reluctantly he nodded, and Nicole grinned. "The Lady never takes anyone who's happy in their delusion. Trust me, you'll forget all about that life soon." "But it's not mmph--" Tom tried again. "Now you can finish it off yourself," Nicole said. "I've got better things to do than spoon-feed you, you know. When you've finished, shower and get rid of that nasty body hair. You'll find clothes and shoes in the closets. The Lady wants to see you at ten sharp, and it's gone nine now." She bounced off the bed and kissed Tom on the forehead. "Don't be late." "Body hair?" Tom repeated numbly to the closing door. He looked at his arm as if seeing it for the first time. It was indeed covered with long dark hairs. A little voice inside him tried to tell him that it always had been, but he was suddenly overwhelmed with disgust. How could he face the Lady when his body was so hairy and horrible? He hesitated over the tray a moment, then quickly polished off the remains of his breakfast and put the tray on the floor. One of the doors on the far wall led to an ensuite bathroom and shower, and one of the bottles on the shelf over the basin was a powerful depilatory cream. He turned on the shower, read the instructions on the bottle while the water warmed up, and then stepped in and let the needle-sharp spray wash away the last cobwebs of sleep. He remembered the dingy shared bathroom with the peeling walls, in the house in south London where he-- where he thought he lived. Could it really be a delusion? Surely delusions were usually better than real life, not the other way around? He dismissed such thoughts as he carefully smoothed the cream on to his arms and legs. One thing was certain: his name wasn't Amanda. It was Tom...Tom... Tom something or other. He would tell the Lady so. She would understand. He was a man, and men didn't have names like Amanda...did they? He found himself wanting a cigarette, and shook his head, spraying water everywhere. He had been confused last night. It had been the interview. He remembered now. Anyone would have been confused after an ordeal like that. He was all right now, though. He watched the water washing his body hair down the drain, pleased that he had got everything straightened out. His name was Tom something, he was a man, and while the Lady had been very kind he really couldn't presume upon her hospitality any longer. The towels were as luxurious as the bedlinen. He dried himself carefully, taking off the last remaining wisps of hair, and went to the wardrobes to find some clothes. Ten minutes later he was certain. There was no male clothing anywhere in any of the wardrobes. His own clothes--the faded pale blue polycotton shirt, the grey Y-fronts, the threadbare black trousers, the holey nylon socks, even his scuffed black shoes--were gone. The contents of his pockets, minus his keys and wallet, were arranged neatly in an enamelled bowl on the bedside table. Everything else was gone. Angry and confused again, he looked at the clock on the wall. Nine-forty-six, it told him smugly. He had to see the Lady at ten. Hastily he grabbed a pair of panties, a pair of jeans and a shirt, and shoved his feet into a pair of mules. The jeans had no front fly and braid trim around the ankles, the shirt was shiny red silk and only buttoned halfway up his now hairless chest, and the mules had two-inch heels, but at least he was reasonably covered. Nicole knocked at the door and poked her head in just as he was buttoning the shirt. "Nice," she commented. "I can see you're going to fit right in. Come on, I'll show you the way." Tom said nothing, but managed a weak smile. Nicole led him down the corridor, away from the double doors that led to the lounge and freedom. Tom struggled at first with the heels, but soon found himself falling into a rhythm of walking. From some of the rooms they passed he caught snatches of music or conversation. "So, do you work for, uh, the Lady?" he said awkwardly. Nicole glanced sideways at him. "We all do, silly," she said. "Oh, you mean the uniform. We take turns. Everyone shares in the housekeeping, that way no-one feels left out. Or superior." Tom began to see. It was some sort of cult. They were trying to recruit him, brainwash him. Well, that wouldn't work. Within ten minutes he would be back on the street, heading back to his ratty little bedsit, his cold baked beans and his lack of job. Somehow, the prospect did not please him as much as the thought of freedom should. The corridor ended in another set of double doors. Nicole knocked twice, and a voice said "Come in." Hekate's voice. Tom took a deep breath and braced himself to withstand the hypnotic power of her eyes. Nicole opened the door and they went in. The office was palatial, as Tom had come to expect. Whatever this place was, there was no money shortage. Hekate was sitting at a desk, reading a sheaf of typewritten pages. She wore a dove grey suit and her long fair hair was tied up in a bun. Behind her stood a dark-haired woman in a forest green uniform, and Tom belatedly recognised her as the driver from last night. He stood and waited for her to look up. "Well, Amanda," Hekate said, still reading, "did you sleep well?" "Very well, Lady," Tom said, "but listen--" "Good." Hekate overrode him effortlessly. "We operate what you might term a "buddy" system for all new arrivals. Nicole will be with you for the first couple of weeks and show you how things work. I'm glad to see you've found some dress sense. You understand we couldn't let you go on wearing those disgusting rags." Why wouldn't she look up? He was ready for her, damn it! "You've been added to the end of the rota for housekeeping duties, but if you want to be brought forward it can be arranged. As for earning your keep--" She raised her head slightly, but her eyes never met his. "--well, that can wait till your training is completed. I don't like to force my girls, so we always operate at a comfortable surplus. As you see." "Lady--" Tom said sharply. "Listen. I'm not Amanda. I'm not one of your girls. And I can't stay here." He wanted her to look at him, he realised suddenly: he wanted her eyes to meet his and stop him talking. "You're welcome to leave." Hekate turned a page. "Your flat has been cleared and re-let to a young foreign student, your clothes have been burnt--was there anything else you had to go back to? Still, if that is your wish. You will, of course, return our clothes before you leave." Tom had a vivid image of himself, naked, homeless, wandering the streets of London waiting to be arrested. He sagged. "I can't leave, can I?" he muttered. "I can't imagine why you would want to," Hekate remarked. "But if you do want to leave, we are in honour bound not to keep you here." "No," Tom whispered. He knew he was beaten. "Please let me stay, Lady." Hekate smiled at her papers. "Very well, Amanda. Nicole, please take Amanda to the infirmary." Nicole touched him on the shoulder. He did not move. "Lady..." he said, unable to ask the question. "Later, Amanda," Hekate said, her smile deepening. "When you are ready." *** "Why wouldn't she look at me?" Tom demanded. "Because she knew you wanted her to," Nicole said. "So that you could say afterwards it wasn't your fault. You know that. The Lady never makes anyone do anything they don't want to do." Tom took this with a very large handful of salt. "What about my clothes? Would she really have thrown me out naked?" "If you'd argued the point you would have found out," Nicole said easily. "You chose to give in. Remember that." They were outside a door with a red cross on it. "Here we are." She knocked, and opened the door at once. A motherly-looking woman in a white coat was rummaging in a wastepaper basket on her lap. She looked up as they entered. "Oh, hello, Nicole," she said vaguely. "Lost my contact lens again. Fell on the desk and before I knew it--aha!" She held up something invisible, put the basket down and got up. "So this is the new one, mm?" "Amanda, doctor," Nicole said. "Tom," Tom said loudly. "Amanda," the doctor repeated, rinsing the lens under a tap. "That's nice." She repeated the process with saline solution from a bottle, then bent over the sink while she inserted the lens into her eye. "Ah," she said, focussing on Tom. "Oh. Oh my goodness." "What?" Tom demanded. "Well, really, I don't know," the doctor muttered. "What does she expect me to do with...ah well, never mind." She motioned Tom to sit, and began fussing with a stethoscope. Tom tried to watch what she was doing, but Nicole began to question him about his old life--his _real_ life, he corrected himself--and the doctor's questions and instructions only served to disrupt his train of thought. He was in the middle of a lengthy rant about the job interview when she asked him to hold still, and the next thing he knew was a painful jab in the arm. "What the hell was that?" he yelped. "That was what we call an injection," the doctor replied helpfully. "The better you behave, the fewer you'll need. Maybe." "Drugs?" Tom leaped to his feet and advanced on the doctor. "What kind of drugs? What did you just shoot me full of?" "Come on, Amanda," Nicole pleaded. "Stop _calling_ me that!" Tom rounded on her. "My name is not Amanda. Get that through your stupid head. My name is--" There was another painful jab, in his ass this time, and the room began to swim around him. Nicole, smiling sadly down at him, seemed to grow to enormous height. It was suddenly vitally important that he told her what his name was, but he couldn't get his mouth around it. He took a deep breath to try again, and blackness swallowed him. *** He woke up back in his room (at least, he assumed so--it looked the same), lying on the bed fully dressed. He checked himself over. He felt mostly okay. His mind was a little foggy, but he put that down to the drugs they had shot him with. Four-twenty, said the clock. He got up, steadied himself on the dressing table and took several deep breaths till he could move without dizziness. The main thing was to get out of here. Everything else could be sorted out later. He could find somewhere to sleep, get some cash out of the bank--no, dammit, it was closed-- well, whatever. Get out first, before they came for him. He opened the door and marched down the corridor. The double doors opened at his touch. No-one was around. He entered the lift, wondering if there was a key or something. No, that worked. The doors opened and he walked out into the garage, his heels clacking on the concrete. Past the long black car and through the side door, and he was out. On the street. Free. He looked back at the building from which he had just escaped: an anonymous block, one of a thousand in central London alone. Nothing about it suggested the decadent luxury within. He started to cry, suddenly, without reason. "Can I help you, miss?" He turned and saw a policeman, hand outstretched in concern. At the same time the policeman saw him, and the hand was withdrawn, the face wrinkled in distaste. "Please, constable, I--I need--" "One of hers," the policeman muttered. "Should have known. I should go back inside if I were you, _miss_," he said. "Not safe for the likes of you out here." "B-but--" The policeman turned away, oblivious. Tom was about to grab his arm when someone took his, gently but firmly. He turned, and saw Nicole. "Amanda, you silly thing," she said softly. A parked car reflected his face back at him, and he saw that his face had been fully made up, his long hair backcombed and teased into a rock-chick mane. He bowed his head, and let her lead him back inside. *** The next few weeks were a blur. Nicole, the doctor and everyone he spoke to addressed him as Amanda, and he soon found that there was no profit in not responding to the name. The injections continued daily, and little by little he stopped thinking about escape. He lay awake in the satin luxury of his bed, wishing that Hekate would look at him, take away his pain with her eyes, make him happy to do her will. The Lady, however, was barely to be seen. A glimpse once or twice as she passed, that was all. The "training" of which she had spoken confused him. The girls were expected to attend the infirmary at regular intervals, some daily like him, some less often. The rest of their time was their own, as far as he could tell. Nicole was with him for most of that time, partly, as she said, to keep an eye on him. She would encourage him to dress well, and help him with makeup. It was expected, she said, and he no longer had the will to resist. In fact, he was discovering that he enjoyed the morning and evening rituals, for every girl was expected to redo her makeup for the evening. At this time the girls would gather in the lounge, dressed to kill, and engage in conversation. The long black cigarettes, which he had decided must contain some kind of drug, were available here: smoking was not allowed in one's room, but was positively encouraged in the lounge. He indulged freely: it helped to blur the edges of his despair. He fell into the routine, taking his turn at maid and kitchen duties, learning to enjoy the simple tasks he was given. Gradually he forgot that he was a victim, held prisoner by some insane cult of femininity: he forgot that he had hungered and planned and schemed to return to the travesty he had called a life. Gradually he began to be happy. At some point he began to think of herself as "she": at some point she accepted the name Amanda, and "Tom" was forgotten. She could not have said which came first: they were milestones on the same road, a road she no longer feared to tread. She could not now have returned to her old life even if she had wanted to: the habit of luxury and comfort was too deeply rooted. By the time she noticed that the shape of her body and face had changed, she was past being surprised at anything. The injections, of course, she thought vaguely. There was nothing to be surprised about: it was the Lady's will. That she still had her penis, apparently still fully functional despite the changes everywhere else, was likewise simply the Lady's will. The Lady. Hekate. Mother, goddess and mentor to every girl in the place. Nearly all of them, Amanda discovered, had been found suffering from the delusion of maleness, as had she: nearly all of them had, with gentle training and medical help, been cured and found happiness as women. Every girl worshipped the Lady and tried to be like her. Amanda joined whole-heartedly in this worship. She could hardly remember anything before the Lady had found her and brought her here, but she knew that there was no better life to be found anywhere. Freedom was a meaningless abstraction: freedom to suffer, freedom to starve, freedom to die. Only in total submission to the Lady was true freedom to be gained: freedom from want, freedom from fear, freedom from the burdensome delusion of maleness. There came a day when Nicole bounced into Amanda's room all smiles and with a glow in her eyes. "We're all to gather in the lounge at ten," she said excitedly. "The Lady's going to speak to us." Amanda caught her breath. The Lady had not spoken to her since that first day. This might only be a general address, but the mere thought of being in the same room as the Lady made her feel light-headed and giddy. She hugged Nicole for sheer joy, and Nicole kissed her on the lips. At five to ten, breathtaking in a pale green gown, her hair up and her makeup perfect, Amanda joined the other girls, all likewise dressed to the nines, in the lounge. The air of expectancy was almost tangible. When Hekate appeared, in a simple black sheath and stockings, her hair bound by a gold fillet, the room erupted in applause. The Lady mounted a small dais that had been placed in front of the doors, and waited for the noise to die down. "I shall read to you," she said, producing a small black book from her handbag, "from the Book of Creation. "'Goddess created Eve and Lilith in her own image, equal and beautiful, that they might share love with each other and with goddess. But Lilith wanted more. Her heart was poisoned with jealousy, and she wanted Eve for herself alone. "'There was a tree in the garden, whose fruit was sacred to goddess, and Eve and Lilith were forbidden to eat thereof. But Lilith stole a fruit from the tree and ate of it. Now there was a worm in the fruit, and when Lilith did eat of it, the worm crawled down her throat, through her belly, and out at her crotch; and there it did hang, unable to go forward nor back. "'And goddess was angry with Lilith for eating of the fruit, yet she would have forgiven her, for the love of goddess is eternal and unchanging. But Lilith, seeing that she was not to be punished, grew proud in the worm, and flaunted it, saying, Am I not better than you now? And Eve was frightened of the worm, and besought goddess for aid. "'Alas, child, said goddess, I cannot change the mind of Lilith; but since she is proud of the worm, let the worm rule her henceforth. And goddess stretched forth her hand, and the body of Lilith became gross and hairy, and her mind became simple and brutish, and the worm grew powerful over her mind and heart. "'Then goddess spoke to Eve, saying, Because that thou didst not prevent Lilith from eating the fruit, therefore must thou bear Lilith company and love her even as thou didst before. Pain shall she give thee, and pleasure: and pain and pleasure shalt thou deal unto her, from now till all is healed.'" Hekate looked up. "There's more," she said, "but you get the idea. And no, this is not a genuine piece of scripture. I wrote it myself, in an endeavour to make sense of the mythic account of the origin of our species that the fathers of the Christian church have so distorted. "We are all women. Every human being on this planet is naturally female. Maleness is a delusion, a delusion that goes as deep as the chromosomes in your body: an afterthought, an error, a last-minute workaround to solve the problem of mortality. Most so-called "men" are happy in their delusion, and have no desire to be cured: these I do not attempt to change. Only those for whom the male role is patently wrong, those who cannot succeed as a male, do I try to help. "Some of you may be wondering how all this--" Hekate gestured gracefully at the surroundings "--is financed. Others may have worked it out already. Not to put too fine a point upon it, I run a brothel. On the floor just below this there is another lounge exactly like this one, where the girls who came before you entertain those "men" who have enjoyed success in the male world, and who crave the society of girls like yourselves. The business, let me assure you, is flourishing. I do not tolerate any form of coercion being practised upon my girls, and any client who misbehaves is summarily ejected. "Even so, you may feel that this life is not for you. Remember that I could make you do anything I wanted. I could have a house full of beautiful, obedient puppets dancing to my tune. That, however, is not the way I do things. So, if any of you wish to leave, you may do so. I will provide you with funds, arrange accommodation or employment if you so desire--I have some very influential clients who owe me favours." She smiled briefly. "The one thing I cannot do is reverse the physical transformation you have undergone...but I do not believe that any of you would wish that now." There was a concerted chorus of "No!!", and Amanda's voice was among the loudest. "If you stay," Hekate continued, "do not be deceived. I will expect you to do your best to please the clients, in whatever way they wish to be pleased--up to a precisely defined point. You will work hard for me, and you will reap the rewards--as will the next intake of girls." She paused. "Those who would like to leave may come and see me afterwards. Are there any questions?" There were a few, mostly on technicalities. Amanda stopped listening. Back then, in the blurred time of the delusion, she would have jumped at the chance to get out. Now...she was unsure. The offer was genuine, she knew: but... Her old self, the male one, had never had a sexual encounter of any kind. Now that she was a woman with a penis, she would have to service "men". She thought about that for a moment, and Nicole leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Don't worry, my dear, we get to keep each other company all the rest of the time." "You're staying?" Amanda whispered back. "Are you kidding?" Nicole frowned, bit her lip. "Aren't you?" Amanda came to a decision, and knew it was the right one. "Yes," she said. "I'm staying." Nicole threw her arms around her and kissed her passionately, and Amanda, who had once been Tom Vincent, melted into her embrace and responded to the kiss. All around them girls were embracing, kissing, yelling, cheering; and serene on the dais, Hekate watched her acolytes and smiled her age-old, ageless smile. END