I stretch out in my bed as I wake up. A victim of the dismal economy, this is my first day of unemployment, and I silently run through a checklist of things I need to do today. Something is wrong, though. I feel funny – not sick, but strange. Different. My eyes snap open and I realize the ceiling is wrong. In fact, everything is wrong. Fully awake, I climb out of bed, and am immediately thoroughly disoriented. I am a 55-year-old man, and yet I’m standing in the bedroom I had in 1975. It’s decorated differently, though. No cheap painting of two ships rounding a lighthouse, no wall rack with my BB gun, pump action .22 and shotgun on the wall. In fact, it looks like a girl decorated this place. Then the memories rush in, I see myself in the mirror, and a cold rush travels down my spine as I realize my world has just changed.
I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment, stunned. This is an insane dream, and the knowledge it is a dream hasn’t propelled me to wake up, the way it usually does. I’m in an 20 year old girl’s body – an attractive body, too, I note – and I turn myself this way and that, noticing how it feels to move in this new, yet somehow familiar, body.
It is August 15, 1975. Saint John’s bazaar starts this afternoon. My junior year in college will begin in a few weeks, and I’ll need to go shopping for school clothes and supplies soon. Somehow I know all this. I know my name is Stephanie, not Stephen, and I have a younger sister Patty, not a brother Patrick. I have a lifetime of memories of being a man, and at the same time 20 year’s worth of memories of being Stephanie seem to lie just underneath the surface of my consciousness, bubbling up as I do, or say, or think about anything.
I let my hands cup my breasts through the long nightshirt I’m wearing. My nipples come to life immediately, and the sensation is unlike any I ever felt as a man, although I’m aware I have felt it before. Sighing softly, I let my hands move under the nightshirt and flow up my body, aware I have basically no body fat, and an incredibly fit torso, and I’m suddenly cupping and squeezing my breasts and teasing my nipples. The sensations are different but familiar, and definitely feel great, and I start to let my hands travel over the rest of me, when I hear a knock on the door, followed by my brother bursting in, sounding just as confused as me.
“Steve? What the hell is going on?” he says, urgency and confusion in his tone. I turn to look at him, careful to pull my hands from under my shirt and as we face each other, we instantly realize what happened. For weeks now the Internet had been abuzz with news that “proof” had been found that parallel universes did exist. In fact, it seems that fortunetellers and psychics had actually had glimpses in to one or more of these universes. Some scientists had even claimed that travel between universes might be possible, and others posited that for some reason, it was becoming easier to slip between universes. And now Patrick and I were in one of those parallel universes, 35 years earlier, and as females. Silently, we stare at each other, as the realization sank in, then we both start to speak at once. “Steve! This is …” “Another universe – but,” “We’re girls!” “Yeah,” finally getting a full sentence out, “I think its ’75, so I’m off to college in a couple of weeks. That makes me 20 and you – 18? 17?”
“Eighteen,” He confirmed, sitting on my bed. “This is too weird. I’ve been lying in my room thinking this was the strangest dream I’ve ever had. Look at me.” I did, noticing Patty was a female version of his male self, much as I was a female version of my male persona in some universe far away from here. Taller than I am, he – she? - is slender, with long straight golden blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Always smarter than I am, she seems to be the same here, too. Like twins, we have always completed each other’s sentences, and shared thoughts and impressions. Now she says exactly what I have been thinking. “You know, I remember everything about being a man – and everything about my past life. But I also remember growing up as a girl. It’s August 15, 1975, and the bazaar starts today. It’s like someone else lived eighteen years in this body, and now I have her memories…” “And mammaries,” I interject, giggling. (Giggling? Since when do I giggle? Since now, I guess.) “And mammaries,” Patty agreed, giving them a squeeze. “At least I’ll never be bored again. Football practice starts Monday, he noted with a grin. I guess I won’t be playing this year.”
Sitting on my bed, we start to plan out how to act casually in front of mom and dad, and as we do, memories of what we usually wear and how we behave come rushing in. I pull on my customary morning flip-flops and we walk down the hall to the kitchen.
Dad was already at work, and mom was in the kitchen, relaxing with a cup of coffee when we walk in. Realizing neither of us had ever drunk coffee in front of her before, we suppress the urge to raid the coffee pot and say hello as we pour glasses of orange juice.
“Bazaar tonight,” mom reminds us. “Everyone gets money and buys their own dinner.” She was looking out the kitchen window, towards the grove where the bazaar would be held, as she mutters, “Remember to be in by 11, Steph. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still living under my roof. And keep an eye on Patty while you’re over there.” “No problem,” I say as sweetly as I can. “I’ll keep her away from the beer stand.” I get a smile for that line, and a reminder to walk the dog once I am dressed.
Once she was out of the kitchen, Patty and I look at each other, and she pours a mug of coffee, drinking half of it and handing me the rest. “Mom always could make a great pot of coffee,” she says with a grin. “True, bro – er, sis,” I reply, drawing a smirk from my former brother. “This is going to get interesting,” I say softly as I wash the mug, dry it and put it away. “Have to be careful … “
Looking behind me, I realize Patty had walked away while I was at the sink, and I wipe my hand, deciding a visit to the bathroom was in order.
Buddy, our beagle, greets me as I started down the hallway, and I take a moment to play with him. He, at least, seems unaffected by the changes, and gleefully licks my chin as I kneel and give him a good behind-the-ears scratching. Leaving him, I walk into the bathroom and find my toothbrush, looking at myself in the mirror as I brush.
I guessed I was 5’7”, and since I had grown to my adult height by 8th grade in what Patty and I had already agreed to call the other days, I assume this will be my permanent height now. I also have the same sun bleached light brown hair as I had then. Brown eyes were the same, too. Full lips, a bit redder than before, but basically the same shape, and cheekbones like I had before, although in a definitely more feminine face, my nose graced with a few freckles. Not bad – I’m pretty, if not drop dead gorgeous. Spitting out toothpaste and rinsing my mouth out, I drop the toothbrush into the holder and look at myself in the mirror for a moment, and then pull my nightshirt up and over my head, setting it on the counter.
Looking at myself in the mirror more intently now, I am surprised and delighted with my new body. Shapely, but more athletic then voluptuous, I have very nice legs, pretty feet, and a flat tummy with just enough definition to remind me I work out every day. My breasts aren’t huge – B cups - and my nipples are the lightest tan, the aureoles maybe the size of a quarter, the nipples themselves not erect now, but definitely looking good. I am wearing white cotton panties, a full cut, definitely for sleeping comfort, and I slip them over my hips and let them fall to the floor. My tan lines tell me I have at least one fairly skimpy bikini, as I stare at my crotch. The hair there is darker than on my head – no sun bleaching there – the shade my hair would assume this winter. The patch was trimmed on the top and sides to accommodate a swimsuit, and I knew the length was trimmed a bit also.
Smiling at my reflection, I let a fingertip trace its way up and down my pussy lips. It feels amazing, and I suddenly realize that I was going to really enjoy some aspects of being a woman. Slowly, I cup my breasts and watch my hands in the mirror as they tease my breasts, then go to work on my nipples. I sigh as I realize I am on the receiving end of the kind of pleasure I’d given in the other days, and pay particular attention to my now-erect nipples, pulling them and twisting them, and all the while getting more aroused and wetter.
Wetter. It is hard to imagine not having a penis, but I don’t have one any more, and my vagina is definitely getting wet. A finger up and down my pussy lips leaves my fingertip glistening with my fluid, and I bring it up to my nose for a sniff – OK so far – and then to my lips. I taste great, if I say so myself, and smile broadly at myself in the mirror. Now three fingers circle my lips, then run up and down them. I feel my leg muscles tighten and my heart rate increase. Slowly, almost shyly, I slip the middle finger of my right hand between the folds, and inside. Now my knuckle is between my lips, pushing them aside as I work my finger around, getting used to the way it feels. I have a dim memory of doing all this before – apparently whoever inhabited this body before was quite the horny little girl – and in no time at all, my finger is drenched in pussy juice, and it is all over my hand, my lips, and even parts of my upper thigh. I start to finger fuck myself with my right hand, while my left finds and teases my clit. It is not the prolonged tease and recover, build up and cool down session I want, but I have no time for that now. Instead, I am abusing my pussy, working my clit with my thumb and forefinger, swaying and almost losing my balance, finally coming to rest leaning back against the wall, legs spread wide, hips moving as I work my new body harder and harder. The sensation is amazing, and it consumes my attention, until I hear a knock at the door, “Coming out soon? C’mon, I need to go …” It is Patty, sounding insistent. “I’ll be right out,” I call, my voice sounding different…almost trembling. Back to the matter at hand: Leaning back, eyes closed, my hips bucking working hard to keep from moaning, I can finally take no more and as I come I am wracked by wave after wave of an orgasm more intense than anything I ever felt as a male. My eyes closed as the final rush comes, and my entire body tenses, then spasms. I can see stars through my eyelids, and electric rushes I never imagined as a man.
Finally, it ends. Weakly removing my hand from my crotch, I grip my left breast as I suck the juice off my middle finger, my pussy tingling as the sensation subsides, my legs rubbery. Quickly flushing the toilet and washing my hands, I dress and spritz the bathroom spray, open the window to hide the smell of sex, and finally open the door, only to have Patty almost knock me over in her haste to enter. As the door slams behind me, I murmur, “You’re welcome,” and laugh as I head back downstairs to my bedroom, my body so amazingly alive and graceful, even if I do have that freshly fucked weak in the knees feeling all over.
Time to get dressed and start the day …
(Please add threads. I'd love to see this story head in some new directions.)