My wedding?

I was backpacking through Europe and decided to go hitchhiking that day, even though I had been warned against it. 

I thought, as a young, healthy, strong man, what harm could come to me? 

After all, I wasn't a defenceless woman. 

I was soon picked up by a greasy-looking man in a delivery truck. 

I communicated that we were heading in the same direction, and he confirmed it. 

The journey would take three hours, so I was relieved not to have to make the trip alone.

About halfway through, he offered me some of his lunch: a cup of coffee from a flask and a bit of bread. 

Not wanting to be rude and feeling quite hungry, I happily devoured the bread and washed it down with the sweet and delightful coffee. 

I must have drifted off because when I woke up, I was in a nightmare.

I found myself no longer in the truck with the greasy driver but instead as a woman in a wedding dress, standing next to a man. 

I was informed that we were now married, and I had to obey him no matter what, or there would be consequences. 

As I sat alone in the room, tears flowing down my face, my wedding dress feeling out of place and frightening, another woman entered.

She reassured me that everything would be okay. 

She was heavily pregnant and spoke flawless English.

I asked her what was happening, and she explained that the poor girls from these villages wanted to escape their tragic lives. 

To do so, they had been kidnapping foreign tourists to swap into their bodies, then selling the tourists—now trapped in women's bodies—to men as wives or playthings. 

I looked at her in disbelief, asking how they could let this happen and whether nobody would stop it. 

The woman stroked her belly and replied, "I wasn't always a woman. I was once like you—a young man backpacking across Europe. 

Then I was picked up while hitchhiking, and I woke up here, married to a man. That was almost three years ago. 

This is my second child, and I am quite happy in my life here, even though it consists of cooking, cleaning, raising children, and satisfying a relentless man. 

Things could have been a lot worse. 

I've heard stories of people who rebelled, fought back, and tried to escape their new lives, and I know how they ended up."

She continued, "If you want my advice, stop crying. 

Accept your husband and your marital duties. 

Trust me, the first time is hard, but after that, you will grow to Love it. These men can be decent if you treat them right and keep them happy." 

After she left the room, I had a lot to think about. 

Her words lingered in my mind, and I gave up all thoughts of escaping or trying to get people to believe who I really was.

Although I didn't like the idea, her words held a certain truth. 

I had to adapt and do what was expected of me.

I stood up, wiped away my tears, and asked the woman watching me for help to tidy my makeup. 

Then I joined my husband in the marital Suite, where he introduced me to a world of pleasure and ecstasy beyond my imagination. 

Could I really believe that a woman's pleasure could be so profound and transcendent? 

I was beginning to think that I could grow to like this body, this life, and my new role in it after just one fuck.