“It must be really cool having a girl’s body; no, no, look I mean the way you walk. It almost doesn’t matter how you do it – okay Linda’s an exception, she walks like she’s a bricky with piles – but you know, normal girls. There are so many ways of walking and they’re all sexy. All we have is ‘manly swagger’ or shuffle. That’s it, and your, you know, yeah those, they rise and fall and look brilliant. And you don’t have a bunch of wrinkled bollocks to ruin your shape.
Nah, you girls are right cool”
“You think so? You’d swap would you? You’d like being stared at by skanky old gits like Mr Harrison as you walk down the corridor?”
“Mr Harrison? He’s okay, and he’s only 35 or so”
“He looks about 90! And you can see he’s got the hots, all the fuckin’ time. I’ve seen him reach into his pocket during lessons and re-arrange himself; it’s gross! Would you swap?”
“Wot, like in those movies where the girls eat a fortune cookie or some’at and wake up swapped round. That would be well cool, yeah”
“Come to mine and meet my Nan, she’s good at this stuff”
“Oh come on! It ain’t real, you think I’m stupid?”
Still, later that evening he went round to her house. He lived in a flat with his Dad and two sisters, he didn’t mind getting away, it could get a bit cramped. She lived in quite a big house in Buckstone Road, one of the better areas. He fancied her of course, and was hoping she was playing him along to get him alone.
But her Nan was in the sitting room, she smiled at him. “So you fancy being a girl? Janey told me”
“I’m not gay or nuffin, I just you know, think girls have it easy, and they look cool”
“Okay, we’ll swap you two for a week”
He laughed “Your Nan’s cool too,” he turned to her “You can keep a really straight face”
“Drink?” he was given a cup of bright red, slightly steaming soupy stuff, he was too polite to refuse.
When he came round 15 minutes later he was confused. “What the fuck?”
“Uh, uh! Girls don’t swear; leastways, not much.”
“What?” Janey looked down at him, or at least someone did. No! That was him looking down at him! He (Janey) held a mirror up to himself (Terry) and he saw a girl’s reflection. “Nah! This ain’t happening!” his voice was higher, shriller. He jumped up, and fell over. He wasn’t used to heels. He looked down at his feet and realised he couldn’t see them. Terry (or Janey, he was still confused) smiled; he could squeeze these whenever he wanted. Fuck, he did want to. He asked to use the bathroom and pulled off the tee-shirt, he struggled with the bra, he was used to looking at it when he unclipped a girl, now he had to bend his arms round. Fuck, fuck, fuck! How the hell were you meant to do this! When he got it off though he wasn’t unhappy with what he saw. He had great tits, which is to say Janey’s body had great tits. He gave them a good squeeze and yelped “Ow! That hurt!” A voice outside the bathroom spoke through the door.
“Dunno what you’re doing with my body, but stop it. It’s bound to be dirty” He had to get her in to help him put his bra back on.
“Why don’t they fit better, easier clips?”
“Because men design them for men to look at!”
It took some time to get used to what had happened. He’d been switched into her body, and she’d taken his. They had a week, each of them, to discover what it was like. This time next Friday they would switch back. Janey was having her own problems, the first time she needed a piss she decided it would be safer to sit down; later she tried standing and it took a while to get the direction right, her feet got wet. She screwed up her nose, it wasn’t quite so cool to be able to pee standing up after all; you needed skills learnt from childhood, skills that involved fiddling with yourself it seemed. She practiced over the weekend and by the end of the Sunday she had got it reasonably accurate (sometimes the hole stuck and sprayed! That was just so messy! But then being a boy you just walked off leaving a puddle or drips all over the seat. She couldn’t bring herself to do that, she wiped the seat). Having a crap was a learning experience too; she hadn’t expected that. Instead of wiping from the front, you had to reach round because of the bits in the way at the front. She done it ‘normally’ at first and was disgusted to realise she’d just wiped her penis with the toilet paper. Man! All these little differences. She also practiced the walk, no more swinging the hips, no more mesmerising, arse swaying; just a strut of the alpha-male, or the shuffle of the male not wanting to be noticed.
That first night the two of them, separately, did the obvious explorations. Terry started some vigorous rubbing and quickly stopped, that was bloody uncomfortable. He took it slower, gentler and started imagining and having more fun. It dawned on him that whenever he tried rubbing up a girl he tried to get her to cum as quickly as possible; now he started to understand why they weren’t always as grateful as he thought they should be. Janey had the opposite problem. Rubbing herself slowly and gently she found she couldn’t wait, she tried and tried to hold out, but ended up getting arm ache as she rubbed her cock as hard as she could and imagined she was fucking Tracey Van Damme – the latest big tit celebrity pictured in ‘Whoosh’ with her fingers provocatively pulling at her panties. She was starting to understand why boys tried to feel her tits; soft, squishy balloons of delight that had that delightful hard nut at the apex. She’d appreciate them more in future. She had noticed that some girls were attractive to girls and boys already, now she saw that it was because of their curves, their shapely, sexy proportions were just drawing on your sexual longing. She rubbed herself again and found that the second one was only a shadow of the last one; damn! Boys really were just one shot fucks! And that was even though she was imagining herself (male) fucking the living daylights out of herself (female).
The weekend in each other’s homes was illuminating. Janey found that Terry clearly got to see far more of his sisters than he normally let on. It wasn’t unusual for them to wander round in bra and panties when their Dad was out shopping or somewhere. Terry, she was fairly sure, didn’t fancy his 12 or even 14 year-old sister; but she wasn’t blessed with his history of growing up with them. “Oh my God Terr! Are you getting an erection watching me?” Asked the 14-year-old Kathy.
“No, don’t flatter yourself. I was thinking of a girl at school. Why would I get a boner about a flat-chested girl like you?” Janey joked back, and immediately regretted it. Kathy’s eyes began to fill with tears, of course, Janey had forgotten already how self-conscious young girls were. “Sorry, I was only joking. No not about that! I wasn’t thinking of you” which was a lie “but I could, you have a lovely shape”
“Don’t you dare you perv.” She had brightened up. Her big brother had admitted she could turn him on if he let himself. This was a bit unfair on Terry, who had never, ever, thought of either sister as a sexual partner. The younger girl, Sandie, now leapt on him and the two of them started tickling their brother. He found this even more of a turn on, and he realised that they knew that. They were testing the boundaries. He was stronger than them; he could easily have taken advantage; yet he didn’t. She re-assessed again, boys had to be in control of themselves more than she had realised.
Terry came down the stairs in a towelling robe, suddenly more selfconscious. Nan was there, the only other person who knew what had happened. “Hi, sleep well?”
“Yeeass” he replied hesitantly. In fact he had woken twice with Terry’s hand between her legs. The first time she’d been shocked, boy’s hands naturally cup their balls at night, but there was nothing to cup now, he hadn’t expected that. The second time ‘she’ rolled over and went back to sleep leaving the hand to caress the female body into dreams. Janey, in a boy’s body had the same problem, her hand naturally found it pleasant to cup the newly acquired ‘tackle’; she could see the attraction from a tactile point of view, visually though, no, they were no artwork (unless it was ‘pickled walnuts and dead snake’ by Damian Hurst).
.... There is more of this story ...