Gender Swapped Volume Three Page 2

  But now that face just fit with this body, it looked right.

  I looked like a woman. A bit of a tomboy perhaps with my short and shaggy hair, not the sort of girl you would picture throwing on a gown and going to a gala, instead the sort of woman you would see wearing jeans and a baggy shirt with no makeup. The type of girl that’s comfortable hanging with the guys.

  But still a woman.

  Still a little delicate, a little petite.

  I reached up to touch my breasts, my fingers connecting with the warm flesh and feeling the suppleness of them, the way the skin bounced and pushed back against my fingers.

  They were real. Real breasts.

  The first pair of breasts I had touched, and they were mine.

  I felt my fingers touching me too, a sensation that was entirely unfamiliar, entirely foreign and somehow so very exciting. A familiar sensation nibbled at the edges of me and I flashed back to that feeling I had had when I woke this morning. That need inside of me.

  And I pulled my hands off of my breasts while I stared at myself in the mirror with my eyes wide.

  What had been that expression that had just crossed my face, that had danced across it with a flash? Was it arousal?

  I touched my stomach, fingers idly tracing a pattern that gradually slipped downwards as they went. I felt the skin there, the firm muscles of my abs as I flexed and tensed, that oh so delightful calling echoing in my body louder and louder the lower I got.

  Should I?

  Should I give in?

  Should I just close my eyes and feel what it’s like?

  Should I keep my eyes open and watch?

  With a grin on my face that was hardly innocent my hand darted between my thighs. My fingers brushed gently across the lips of my sex and my whole body tensed in response, a flash quiver running through me and making me jump.

  I pressed on, dipping a finger inside between my lips I watched it disappear, my eyes locked onto the sight as I plunged it into me.

  And felt my body respond, felt the walls of my sex tense around my slender finger as it pushed ever onwards into me. Felt my whole body tense and quiver as uncontrollable and unfamiliar sensations rushed through me.

  I watched my body respond, watched my abdomen flex and tense as the muscles contracted, watched my breasts shake and my nipples harden, watched goosebumps break out across my skin. Watched my mouth open wide as my jaw quivered and trembled, my eyebrows furrowed as I felt the wet, tight hole between my legs surge with passion and need.

  My hand moved automatically, doing just what my body craved, just what it needed. My finger plunged in and out of that hole, fucking me hard and fast as my eyes raked up and down my reflection watching my body react with passionate glee.

  My body tensed, all at once and all over.

  I felt something wash over me, something powerful and entirely outside of my control. It rushed over me like a wave, like the tide crashing in and crashing over me, pulling me underwater and holding me there. It forced the air out of my lungs, made my entire body tense with it.

  I stared into my reflection, watching my entire body go rigid as my mouth went wide and shuddered, soundlessly riding out the wave of pleasure running through my veins.

  I trembled, my body vibrating as soundless heat ran through me, making my muscles scream with ecstasy. The feeling was so powerful, so overwhelming, that it was almost too much, almost more than I could handle. It took me to the very edge of myself and pushed me over, making me feel every inch of my body with potent realization.

  It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

  And then in a rush it was gone and I lost control over myself. I slipped to the floor, sliding to my knees and slumping with my back against the wall as a pleasing heat ran through my veins and left my whole body suffused with pleasure.

  I kneeled there on the floor, a silly and stupid smile plastered across my face.

  That was amazing.

  A giggle escaped me, light and airy and undeniably feminine. It was the giggle of a satisfied woman, and one who had done something very naughty.

  “Oh wow,” I whispered, and something about my voice seemed odd.

  It was the same voice I was familiar with, still slightly raspy, still undeniably mine. But it was lighter, higher. It was a woman’s voice, like the voice of a femme fatale in a black and white movie. The sort of voice you just knew came with trouble.

  And with the sound of it I stepped back into the reality of the situation. It was like all of a sudden the woman in the mirror registered as me, as myself. All of a sudden I realized we were the same.

  And it set off an anger in me.

  All of the warmth and goodwill my fingers had strummed into my body was lost as I stomped to my feet and slipped on my clothes. I dressed in a huff, no happiness or satisfaction present in my movements.

  Slipping the shirt over my head last I looked back at myself in the mirror and saw my old self staring back.

  With clothes on I could pass for a man, maybe a bit more feminine but still recognizably me. Which I supposed was about the only silver lining in this dark and stormy cloud.

  I stepped out of the bathroom and headed back to my room, shutting the door securely behind myself and sitting on the bed with a huff.

  It had to be the pills, it was the only explanation, the only thing that made any sense. It was the only variable that had changed.

  The pills had turned me into a woman.

  Was that what they meant when they said “Increased sexual characteristics”? Because this wasn’t what I had in mind.

  I looked up at the top of the dresser, at the pill bottle that looked so ordinary and yet so inordinately threatening all at once. It was ominous, looming over me like a monolith declaring the change, every present and undeniable.

  And the journal, the journal I was supposed to use to record my daily changes.

  What the hell am I supposed to write in that? Day 21: Woke up a girl. Ridiculous.

  I got up and crossed the room, grabbing the journal and staring at the front cover. Never had something so ordinary made me quite so angry before.

  Flipping through the pages idly, unconsciously, I noticed a phone number printed on the inside page. In case of emergencies call.

  I practically ran to my phone.

  Dialing the number I waited patiently as it rang, and rang, and continued to ring.

  Then a click and a prerecorded voice informed me that the person I was trying to reach was unavailable and away at a conference for the next 2 weeks. They politely requested that I leave a message and promised to return my call when they are back in the office.

  Fuck.

  I hung up the phone angrily, resisting the urge to throw it against the wall. The journal I had no such reservations about, and it made a satisfying thud as it slammed against the wall and fluttered to the ground.

  I started to pace my room and think about my predicament.

  I was a girl now, and hopefully that was something that was temporary. I mean I supposed I could go off the medication and hope I switch back, but what if that makes things worse? Conversely what if I keep taking the meds and I become more of a woman? What if my breasts get bigger, my hips get wider? What if I stop being able to pass?

  I guess this put a hold on my getting laid. I mean I suppose I could sleep with a lesbian, but this was a tiny town and everyone would probably know immediately that I had turned into a woman. I was hoping to preserve my identity as a guy here, can’t very well explain it away as if I was a guy one day, a girl the next, and then back to being a guy. Just didn’t make any sense.

  No whatever this was I would have to keep it a secret all to myself. Which means back to being a hermit.

  No party tonight.

  I had been really looking forward to that, had been eager to see what everyone was like when they really let loose. To going out dancing and finally being accepted by the people I had known for years.

  But this situation ju
st wasn’t going to make that possible, and I couldn’t risk some stupid rumor ruining everything for me with these people for the rest of my life. Nope, until I’m back to my normal self I’m not leaving this house.

  And I’m also not wearing these clothes anymore. While they did a good job hiding my new body they were also way too big for me. I was swimming in them and was liable to trip and fall down the stairs continuing to wear them.

  So I turned my attention to finding something a bit more suitable to wear.

  I went through all of my drawers and my closet, trying to find something that looked like it would fit while still hiding my new curves. Anything like shorts or a tank top were right out, those showed too much skin and made it perfectly clear that I was a woman. Anything too tight also went out the window, which meant a whole selection of clothes were out of the question as well.

  In the end I settled on something plain and unassuming:: a pair of boxer briefs, one of my baggier pairs of jeans, and a plain loose dark red t-shirt.

  I slipped them on, observing how the jeans kind of hung off my hips, how the boxer briefs were loose in the wrong places and tight in the wrong places too. I noticed how tight the shirt hugged me, specifically around the chest area.

  I knew even without looking that it was perfectly obvious just exactly I had on under this t-shirt.

  So with a sigh I stripped it off and pulled on a baggy button up shirt instead, doing up each of the buttons on the front and, looking down, feeling that I was at least decently passing for a guy.

  I made my way out of the bedroom, heading into the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror.

  My inclinations were correct, I was at least passably masculine. If you’d known me for a while, if you were familiar with me, you might think I was a bit softer than usual but you wouldn’t guess that underneath the baggy clothes was the curvy body of a woman.

  Which didn’t mean I would pass on first glance to a stranger.

  To a stranger I’m sure I would look like a bit of a butch woman, a woman who is covering herself up and doesn’t care too much about her appearance. Maybe just a woman on laundry day. But a woman nonetheless.

  I didn’t really know how to feel about that, I mean I was upset that this had happened at all. I’d much rather be back in my old body, back to my normal self.

  But on the other hand at least it wasn’t worse. At least right now I could pass as a man, and that was great.

  Plus there was a little voice in the back of my head that was excited and thrilled about this, if I’m being honest. It was a voice I was doing my best to ignore but it was piping up anyways, repeating the same statement over and over again so that it was damn near impossible to ignore.

  That orgasm was the best I had ever had.

  It really was, the absolute best orgasm I had ever experienced. Powerful and substantial.

  Normally, when I was a guy, my orgasms had felt like a shotgun blast centered in one particular spot. But this feeling as a woman was so much more. It vibrated every string of my being, made every bit of me mewl with pleasant heat.

  I couldn’t deny that I had enjoyed it, or that I craved to feel it again.

  So I didn’t deny it and I don’t deny it, the experience had been amazing but that it was also an experience I didn’t want to feel anymore. Because the last thing I needed was any sort of additional reason to stay in this body. I needed out of this body and back to my normal self as quickly as possible and that meant abstaining from any sort of motivation to stay in this form.

  So I locked all of those thoughts away somewhere deep inside of me and ignored them, choosing instead to focus on anything except for that.

  Heading downstairs I sensed instantly that I was alone, which made sense. From somewhere deep in the back of my mind I registered a note or a sentence spoken that explained this, something about everyone being out of town on business for the next week or so. That was fine by me, it meant I had the whole place to myself and meant that I wasn’t liable to be caught in any sort of embarrassing situations before I figured out how to fix this problem.

  I flopped onto the couch and flicked the television on.

  Flicking through channel after channel I think I only paused for a minute at the longest before going on. I’d probably made three trips through the channels before I realized what was happening.

  I was bored.

  I had gotten used to being out, to hanging out at the bar with old friends and reminiscing and enjoying each others company. I craved it now, craved their companionship.

  But I set my jaw and stood my ground. No caving, no giving in. I wasn’t going to go hang out with those people, it was too big a risk.

  So I clicked the tv off and got up. Pacing through the house I moved from room to room aimlessly, staring at sets of four walls and stationary furniture and realizing for the first time just how boring it really was to be by yourself.

  The pattern set in quickly, move into room, pick something up, put it back down, move onto next room. Living room to dining room to foyer to kitchen. Open fridge, nothing to drink, nothing to eat, close fridge. Move on to laundry room to basement to bedroom to bedroom to bedroom and sigh.

  So bored.

  Fuck it.

  I made my way to the front hall and stared at the reflection in the mirror.

  Turn to the left, turn to the right. I looked like myself. I convinced myself I looked just like I always had and that I was being paranoid. I convinced myself that no one would know.

  I convinced myself to go out.

  The trip was quick and familiar, a short walk through familiar streets with a bounce in my step as I thought about what was at my destination. I had spent so much time going back and forth in my house on whether or not I was going out that I was a little late showing up, but only fashionably so.

  All that meant was that everyone was into their second round by the time I walked through the front doors, which was fine by me.

  I’m not naturally an outgoing person, conversation doesn’t come easily to me at all so when you add to that a palpable sensation of quite literally not feeling comfortable in your own skin interactions can get a bit awkward. But 20 minutes and a drink later and I was happy as can be, keeping up with the back and forth of everyone around me.

  And the best part is that no one noticed, no one looked at me weird or anything like that. I like to think I would have noticed too, since I was hyper aware and paranoid of any sign that my cover was blown.

  But nothing, nothing at all.

  I was happy as could be and having a great night.

  Which is why I should have known that something big and bad was going to happen, because everything just doesn’t work out great for me. I don’t have that kind of luck.

  Of course something bad had to happen, and of course it had to be the worst kind of bad thing whatsoever.

  Let me explain something before I get too far into this. This isn’t a particularly big bar and it isn’t a particularly fancy bar. It’s a local bar which means it’s filled with local people who all know each other and are here every night.

  But being that it’s also one of the only places in town it means that there are an awful lot of different groups who all gather together in the same space. Those groups stay separate though, they don’t interact.

  So while the college age kids might be happy to see you when you walk in, the group of old-timers who just want to sit quietly and have their drink while watching the game don’t care and neither do the group of middle-aged guys playing pool in the back.

  If you come in you belong to one of the groups, there is no overlap.

  Except in very specific cases. Like say for example the scholarship winning quarterback who was handsome and successful. He would know everyone in the bar, and everyone would be excited to see him. Because every time he comes home it’s like the conquering hero returning from battle. He is lavished with gifts and praise by all.

  Well almost all.

  I had to
be the only person in the entire bar who wasn’t happy to see him. At least it certainly felt that way.

  A ripple of happy surprise bubbled through the room, the middle aged pool players leant on their cues to look at him walk in, the old timers peeled their eyes from the game to look at a real life sports star in their midst. A murmur of excitement as conversation turned from a hundred different individual topics into one central focus.

  Brad.

  They talked about how he’d been away at college and his team was fixing to rise up through the ranks, how he was being scouted for the big leagues, how he’d been touring around Europe on break on the dime of some rich someone who wanted to treat him just for the honor of being around him.

  The honor of being around Brad.

  I’d have a conversation about Brad if they wanted. Brad my next door neighbour. Brad the guy I’d known my entire life. Brad the guy I’d been compared to my whole life. Brad the guy who’d made my life a living hell and visited down a thousand and one little tortures on me my whole life long.

  Brad.

  Fuck Brad.

  Fuck him in his stupid handsome face, the way he was always the center of attention whenever he was in the room, the way the light quite literally seemed to focus on him, the way he always seemed to be in the spotlight.

  Fucking Brad.

  So while everyone turned their attention to him I turned my attention to my drink. I focused on that drink and the next and the next, steadily and quietly sinking further into my drink while I watched him sideways out of the corner of my eye.

  Laughing, joking, slapping people on the back. With a broad smile on his face he made his way from table to table greeting everyone just like they were old friends. The men stared at him with open admiration tinted with just a hint of jealousy. The women watched him with desire written all over their faces.

  And why not? Brad was the picture of exceptional. He was handsome enough to be a cover model, with high cheekbones and a strong and rigid jaw. His chin even had that stupid dimple in it. His hair was a dirty blonde that was swept back in a casual style but that didn’t have a single hair out of place. His bright blue eyes flashed in a way that spoke of mischievous glee.