Different Strokes

by Alan C. McDonald

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Ma/Ma, Consensual, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Science Fiction, Cheating, Oral Sex, Transformation, .

Desc: Sex Story: Man, woman. Woman, man. What's the difference? In this odd story, not the usual one.

"A man's a man for a' that."

Robert Burns

He looked at her. Him. Whatever. And shrugged. He wanted the experience just as badly. There was no doubting it. But things were not, unfortunately, as simple as Janice seemed determined to have him believe. He tried to explain why.

"We don't know if it's all okay", he said. "It might not be as simple as we think it is. I mean - yours might not do what mine used to do and mine - well, it might not work like yours did".

She - yes, for simplicity's sake he would call her she - grinned back at him. "Sometimes", she said, "you make do with what you've got".

Garvey could sympathise with that. But he had some problems. "There's too much we don't know", he pointed out. "I mean, do I have a womb? Ovaries? All that sort of stuff? Can I get pregnant? And what happens if I do? We haven't been told to keep control for a day or two just because the government wants to kill our fun, you know".

Janice cocked her head to one side, looking for all the world like a quizzical parrot. "As recently as last Friday", she reminded, "you fucked me over that desk. And I don't recall objecting. Nor do I recall you worrying overmuch about whether you left me up the duff. You just dumped. Like you always do. Always, Jack. Am I wrong?"

He flushed a little. "No", he admitted. "Although I don't remember you being too anxious for me to pull out either. But anyway, that's not the point. It isn't that I'm worried about getting pregnant, as a concept. In fact, pregnancy would be an experience".

"An experience", Janice mused. "Well, yes. I suppose you could call it that. If you were particularly insensitive".

Garvey cringed. He remembered that Janice was the mother of a two year old little boy, and had suffered a particularly difficult delivery. Even though the child hadn't been his, he'd still had to live through the story at least fifty times since. "Bad choice of words", he allowed, but he wasn't going to be diverted and he ploughed on, "Nevertheless, like I said, pregnancy's a side issue here. I'm talking about injury. We don't know if it's safe. And the scientists aren't going to take that long. We should wait".

"If it hurts, we'll stop", Louise said, then chuckled, adding, "I was told that once. It was a lie, of course, because it did hurt. I was a virgin. And he didn't stop. The bastard."

"I'm a virgin", Garvey pointed out. "Well, I suppose I am".

Janice considered this, then allowed it. "Yes, I suppose you are. So fine. I'll be gentle".

Garvey studied her and couldn't help but laugh. She was grinning, and he loved it when she did that. Her teeth were even and white, the tip of her pink tongue poking experimentally between them. He'd come in that mouth, many times. Once whilst running a sales meeting, with Janice on her knees, working on him urgently beneath the desk. Her hot, wet tongue circling him down there, caressing him, fattening against the length of him.

When he'd come, it had been with such power that she'd almost choked. He'd felt his body strain upward, had been forced to close his eyes as the orgasm swirled through his hips. Perhaps he'd even moaned. When he'd been able to concentrate again, he'd found two of his local agents on their feet, questioning his health.

Oh, yes. He loved that mouth. And watching it now, he knew that he should under normal circumstances have been struggling with an erection. That was what ordinarily happened when he paid such close attention to her. Unfortunately, he realised with a great sadness, such pleasure would never be his again.

In that morbid state, he let his gaze wander more freely over Janice's body, recalling that it wasn't only her mouth that sent him into a frenzy of excitement. Everything about her was gorgeous. Which was exactly why he had fallen in love with her.

She was a tall girl, dark haired and willowy with a smooth, full figure, a flat, fit stomach and long, slim legs. Her eyes were big and brown, her eyebrows trim and arched beneath bobbed brown hair. An expressive, oval face with a broad mouth, making her seem continually amused.

She'd been his secretary for two years and his lover for eighteen months. The second had simply - well, happened. And the strength of his feeling was such that he had expected he would one day leave his wife for her. Now, though, the relationship, like all sexual relationships of any nature throughout the entire world, was open to question.

"I really would rather wait", he stressed. Then, seeing the disappointed flicker in her eyes, he added hastily, "Jan, if I'm going to explore this, and I want to, then it'll be with you. But this is too big for games, you know. Can't you see that?"

She shrugged. "I can see where you're coming from. But I don't feel I can wait. Because of this thing, mainly". She nodded briefly downwards. "Between my legs. Sometimes I think it controls my every move".

Garvey grinned. "I know exactly what you mean", he assured. And suddenly, now that she'd drawn his attention to her new body part, he found that he was looking at her in a different way.

Beneath her cream silk blouse, as usual, her lovely breasts were ready for him to weigh and fondle and caress, the big brown nipples waiting to be teased into hard, swollen buds. But now those breasts were all that allowed her to proclaim without contest her femininity. Her succulent, tight vagina, a luscious furrow which he had ploughed and erupted within more times than he could remember, was no longer there to be claimed. Instead, hanging between her firm thighs, flattened against her knickers by the tight span of her black pleated skirt, was a penis. A big one, maybe, or a small one. Perhaps, judging by what she'd said, a semi-erect one. But a penis nonetheless.

It was the oddest of thoughts, both obscene and erotic. Garvey was enticed by her. Even though he had never had a homosexual fantasy in his life, he wanted to suck that erection, feel it spurt in his mouth. He wanted to hear her feminine groans of pleasure as her hips jerked against him in the most masculine way.

And there, he realised, lay the answer.

He could do that. He could risk that.

As he considered the thought, he felt a wave of pleasure in the muscles of his stomach, a fluttering sensation that he had never previously experienced. Added to this, there was a strange, sticky wetness between his legs, so noticeable that he wondered whether that wetness would soak through the material of his pants.

He touched the area gently. The pressure felt good, made him slightly weak at the knees. "I think I'm on heat", he suggested.

Janice looked a little jealous, reminding him that she would doubtless be suffering a sense of loss. Nonetheless, she was eager to help. "What are you feeling?"

"Itchy", he disclosed. "And a little bit light headed."

"You are, as you say, on heat", she confirmed with a smile.

"What about you?", he wondered, letting his eyes stray once again to the front of her skirt. There did seem to be a slight bulge there, but he couldn't be sure. "How do you feel?"

"Uncomfortable", she said. "And very, very needy. I wish you'd reconsider, Mr. Garvey. Otherwise, I might have to look after the problem myself."

Garvey smirked, as he always did when she played the employee and employer game. "I have a compromise", he told her, "which might remove the need for that. Come here."

Garvey, as usual, was by his desk, and Louise was standing by the door, shorthand notepad in hand. It was, the real world being as it had been, a standard male/female business setup, and Garvey wondered idly, as he watched her secure the lock to prevent interruption, whether that too would soon change.

She sashayed over towards him, still every inch a woman in her movements. He offered her his chair. She sat obediently, letting her legs drift open as she settled. It was a common posture for her when sex was even a remote possibility, but he decided not to tell her that there was no longer any need for it.

He stood before her. Through the office window, he could see the city of Liverpool yawning at the start of a long day, a carpet woven of greys and browns, with the dark Mersey River curling a distinct thread across it.

The view from the eighth floor of the Thompson Building was always spectacular. Every day, his clients would have their conveyances and divorces delayed whilst he took time to study it. But today, it looked a little different than usual. Today, the streets were all but deserted. More deserted even than on a winter Sunday afternoon.

Everyone, of course, had known that this day was coming, and most had decided to deal with the change in the privacy of their own homes. Some, like Garvey, viewed that change as disturbing but interesting. Others were looking forward to it. Many were horrified, and extreme reactions, even suicides, were expected.

Garvey had agreed with his staff, including Louise, and also with his wife Emily, that the day would as far as possible be treated like a normal one. He sincerely believed that this was the best way, the safest way, to handle things. Busy people had less time for thought and more time for adjustment.

He didn't understand what was happening, of course. Only scientists and he suspected precious few of them had any inkling.

But he'd read the newspapers like everyone else, and he had a grasp of the basic idea.

The space opera scribes had been right, The universe was a place of infinite possibilities. Because of that, by some lamebrained scientific principle which obviously happened to be true, it seemed that there were infinite earths. There would be, for example, an earth where he had not been persuaded by his father to go into law and had instead achieved his ambition of becoming the front man of a heavy rock band whilst still retaining his own teeth. There would be an earth where he'd married Louise instead of Emily.

Recently, a joint space mission between the USA, the Russians and the European Community had cocked up the testing of a new propulsion method referred to in the best Star Trek tradition as a hyperlight drive. This had, in the phrase beloved by Tony Blair. who almost certainly hadn't a clue either, "ruptured the fabric of space." The "rupture" had opened the way to a parallel universe and a parallel earth, an earth where, apparently, exactly the same kind of testing had been going on.

None of this would necessarily have been a problem if the rupture had stayed where it was. Or rather, if it hadn't stayed where it was. Unfortunately, whilst the earth continued its inexorable journey around the sun, the rupture defied even Star Trek's laws of physics and waited exactly where it had been opened. It was solemnly announced that the planet would enter the rupture, or as Blair christened the event would "cross the probability horizon", within days.

To their credit, governments mobilised and co-operated enough to get a manned space flight organised, and three lucky astronauts got the chance to see what the rest of us were in for. Communication across the horizon was known to be possible, because limited radio transmissions had been picked up, and there was even a hope that the alternate earth might be sufficiently technologically advanced to help avert the disaster.

Jack Steele, Anthony Rozhenko and Victoria Albert bravely went where no man or woman had ever gone before.

Within minutes Jackie Steele, Antonia Rozhenko and Albert Victoria reported back.

It seemed that the newly discovered world was an exact duplicate of the familiar one with, as far as could be established at such short notice, inhabitants all present and correct, living the same lives, married to the same people, holding down the same jobs. Macdonalds and Coca Cola operated profitably. Irish fought English. Tiger Woods wasn't poor. More generally, women were still regarded as women, and men as men. Women still had breasts, and men still, more often than not, had hairy chests.

But below the waist, it was a somewhat different matter. Men had the plumbing, and ladies the rod. Early indications were that men carried the babies, although contact had been lost with the astronauts before any real detail could be confirmed.

One thing which had been clear was that the parallel earth had comparable rather than superior technological status. Not only that, but it was heading for its own version of the probability trap. There was going to be, in one of Tony Blair's few understandable pronouncements, "a swap."

There was still confusion as to why the physical change had occurred, why the astronauts had not crossed the border but remained just as they were as far as bodily construction went. The party line was "adaption to conform", and was supported by some paper by Stephen Hawking. That part of the overall theory, in truth, had always seemed a bit thin to Garvey, who preferred a more metaphysical explanation, but he was prepared in company to go with the flow.

As the terrible day approached, the government started to give pep talks. It would be a bearable change. Really. Piece of cake. Just a little adjustment. Even for the old. Might be a good thing. As long as everyone stayed calm, helped out. Crap, Garvey knew, but he also knew that there was nothing of value to be said.

Ten minutes ago, at eleven AM on this wet Thursday morning, the planet had entered the crossover zone.

Garvey had been dictating. Louise had been scribbling away. Both of them had been nervous, glancing occasionally at their watches. Both had been trying to pretend otherwise.

The trandslation had, as promised, been painless, which was a relief because, until it happened, Garvey hadn't been able to believe that it would be. In truth, there was no sensation of note. Only the odd looseness in his pants implied that anything had happened at all.

Louise had gaped at him, had almost immediately, though self-consciously, squeezed her groin. "That", she said, breaking the ice, "is not very comfortable."

"You didn't bring Y-fronts", he teased.

She shook her head mournfully. "Should have thought of that", she admitted.

"It's easy after the event", he told her, with mock seriousness.

She'd suggested a coffee then. To celebrate. And he'd agreed, expecting that the loo, rather than the coffee machine, was her intended destination. It was likely that she'd want to study her new toy.

He'd misread her. It soon became obvious that it was he who she wanted to study it. Briefly. Then she wanted to use it.

At the door, she'd stopped, turned. She'd reddened slightly, and when she spoke she seemed to be having difficulty with her breathing.

"Let me, Jack", she'd proposed tightly. "Oh, go on. Now. Please. Don't say no."

It was the start of the conversation which had led him to his big idea. The start of the conversation which had placed her on his chair, legs slightly apart, while he stood surveying the empty city, his buttocks resting on the lip of his mahogany desk.

Now, he returned his gaze to her.

She still, he was delighted to note, looked achingly feminine. Her calves and knees were as shapely as ever, and for once they were not protected by tights. At least she'd thought ahead in that regard. Her eyes were heavy with passion and her hair was slightly in disarray. Her lips were parted as she waited for instruction.

He was happy to be still in charge. But, as with office status, he wondered how long that would last. A cock was a powerful instrument. It didn't like to take orders.

"Get undressed", he hissed.

Her breathing quickened, the order seeming to shock her. "The lady bit?", she challenged tautly. "Or the man bit?"

"Downwards", he suggested.

She started to work on the buttons of her blouse. Nimbly. He watched her hands, and she watched his eyes. The garment opened, revealing a flimsy and lacy white bra, barely enough to keep the weight of her breasts from popping free. She pulled the blouse down her smooth, creamy arms, then reached behind her back, popped the catch, making the breasts jerk forward. With a sigh of pleasure, she worked the bra off, tossed it at the side of the chair.

He had never seen her nipples quite so engorged. High and proud on her flushed breasts, they looked like cherries on strawberry ice cream. The slickness between his legs became uncomfortable, and he felt weak at the knees. He wanted her. Desperately. In just the same way, as far as the lust was concerned, as he often had in the past. But also in new ways. The emotional content of the need, particularly, seemed stronger than ever before. And the warmth in his hips and lower back was wonderfully new. He found himself lifting his left foot slightly, rubbing his knees together to trap the increasing tension.

No doubt because she knew what he was going through, Louise apparently resolved to tease him. "I'm having second thoughts", she said, her marvellous leer taking a familiar lopsided appearance.

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