A moment of joy as I remembered that this was what I had always fantasized about was tempered by worry that it was unplanned and unexpected. This reality was much clearer than any dream, yet I could not remember anything from the day before which would have caused such a magical transformation. I had met no wizard or genie, had made no wishes on any sort of artefact, had not even read any Fictionmania stories for several days. I pinched my arm, the usual test for dreaming, and it hurt.

"Anyway," I thought, "I might as well enjoy it."

I felt my breasts with my other hand. When I touched most parts of my body, today as well as yesterday, the primary sensation was of how it felt on my fingers. Now the primary sensation was of how my fingers felt on my breasts. Fascination at this kept me occupied for several minutes and I pushed the bedclothes further back to watch my nipples erecting as I fondled them. Then I remembered where else to look for changes and I gingerly felt down my belly towards my groin.

I was surprised to find that I was still wearing just underpants in bed but knew immediately they were not the same pair by the narrowness of the waist elastic and their silky texture. I put my hand further down, outside them, and confirmed the expected void where my manhood had been last night, then pressed my hand gently against my new vagina. Again, there was much more feeling from it than from my hand.

"This feels really good," I thought "but who the hell am I?"

I struggled out of the bed, which was made up quite differently to the one I had fallen asleep in, putting my slender little feet on the floor. There was a vanity with a large mirror but I had to walk a little before I could see myself. Now my whole body felt really different as my tits swung about. The girl in the mirror looked very young, maybe teenage, but otherwise pretty much what I expected and a total stranger.

"God! How old am I now?" I asked myself, "It must be on some document somewhere here."

There was a handbag on the end of the vanity, in it a wallet and in that a driving licence. There was a little photo of the girl in the mirror, the name "Jennifer Atkins" and a date of birth, which made me just 23, less than half my age yesterday - wow - it was good to be young again! I stretched and arched backwards when I read that. Then I began to worry again why this had happened. Why was that name a complete surprise?

"Hello Jennifer!" I said aloud to the mirror, startled by the high pitch of my voice.

"Hello Miss Atkins." I added, but then wondered if I might be Mrs Atkins.

I looked back at the driving licence - there was no slot for "Maiden Name" so it gave no idea. I rooted through the wallet and the rest of the handbag for further clues. The sanitary equipment startled me with the realisation that there would be a real fertile womb at the top of that very real vagina I now proudly carried between my legs.

In a drawer, I found a file full of documents including this girl's birth certificate, in the name Atkins, which was a relief. But I was "this girl" now and this was "my" birth certificate, though I could remember nothing of her (my) life up till this morning. Instead I remembered having a normal day yesterday as the man I was then. I began to wonder what had happened to my wife; would she wake up to find me gone or was I in some sort of time-loop now? Perhaps poor Jennifer was trying to make sense of my old life. Would she have been fantasizing such a swap? Unlikely, I thought.

A letter then caught my eye among the documents. It was from the manager of the "Sweet Dreams Restaurant" (new to me) to Miss Atkins, dated the day before yesterday, congratulating her on being successful in her application for the job of waitress. I gulped. This was one of my fantasies but the detail was frightening. The letter went on to say I should report for work at 17:45 this evening, wearing the uniform of white long-sleeved blouse with plain shirt collar and black knee-length skirt. I should be wearing shoes in which I could walk ten miles but not trainers. Well, at least I was starting a new job and would not be expected to know anybody. I wondered if I had suitable clothes already. If not, there was plenty of time before work to buy some. That would be fun - I was really going to enjoy clothes-shopping now I was a woman.

The girl's (my) clothes from yesterday were slung over the back of a chair with the bra on top. I felt I really needed it after rooting around my drawers with my tits swinging about. I knew how to put it on from watching my wife and soon I felt much more comfortable and secure. The top was a mauve T-shirt with a big neck and half-length sleeves. I pulled it on, flicked my hair out of it and looked down shyly at my cleavage, but not too much showed. There were light brown tights and a denim mini-skirt, but I thought I'd better change the knickers I'd slept in. I found plenty of various colours in a drawer and chose some very satiny maroon ones. I loved the way they fitted snugly onto my smooth round crutch. Perhaps I should have showered, but I couldn't wait to get out and about. Checking the tights for ladders I rolled them luxuriously up my smooth-shaven legs and over the knickers.

Thinking about how awkward this would make having a pee made me realise that I needed one now, so I looked around for my bathroom. There was only one door in the room and it was locked from my side so I put on the little denim mini-skirt before venturing out. I also pulled aside the curtain and peeked out of the window. I was shocked to see how high I was on the third floor, looking out into a dingy city yard between other four-storey blocks instead of the country garden, which had been outside my window last night. I thought the corridor outside might be dirty too, so I put on the pink trainers, which were under the chair.

My heart was in my mouth as I turned the key and then the knob and peeked out into a corridor which was surprisingly light, overdue decoration but quite clean. I had no idea what the other occupants were like, so I moved the key to the outside and relocked my door. I was annoyed to find no pocket in my skirt, so I popped it into my bra - it was ever so cold! I went left first, but there were only more bedrooms and a fire-escape that way. Going back, I found a door with the sign of a figure in a skirt on it only just past my room. The Gents was further on.

As I entered the Ladies to use it for the first time in my remembered life, I found a woman at the basins in a dressing-gown washing her face.

"Hi Jenny" she called cheerily.

"Hi..." I responded, thinking that I would have to listen out carefully for names I was supposed to know.

Locking myself in a stall, I was relieved that I appeared normal to other people but frightened that this dream seemed so very real. Lifting my skirt and pulling down my tights and knickers together I sat and began to pee. Part of me was delighted that it felt so normal and right to be female and part was terrified by the normality of it. Wiping afterwards was a new chore and I remembered my Mum telling my sisters "backwards only" to avoid carrying diseases between those various female holes, which were too close together.

The other girl was gone when I came out, but I thought I should be washing my face too; I should have brought my wash-bag and a towel. There were liquid soap dispensers on the wall however and paper towels so I did wash my face as well as my hands. There were two shower cubicles and a bath, too, I noticed. The Ladies was also well overdue redecoration. I mused that my new poverty, living in this block of bed- sits with a shared bathroom on only a waitress's salary, would take some getting used to. Was this permanent? If so, I would be much more ambitious than the old Jenny, I decided.

Back in my room, I felt a little hungry. There was a kitchen-corner with a kettle and a little hotplate-grill. There was no fridge, but I'd noticed a carton of milk on the outside window-sill earlier so I fetched it in and got myself a bowl of cornflakes. I put the kettle on for coffee too, but found I had only teabags; that would do. Suddenly there was a clunk from the corner of the room, the kettle fell silent and my clock-radio went out.

"Oh no, coin-slot electricity!" I groaned. I dug some coins from the bottom of my handbag and two of them got my tea back on the boil.

Passing the mirror, I thought my hair looked a bit wild, so I sat down and began brushing it through. This was an awkward, painful chore, but I loved having such long straight mid-brown locks. The job letter said I would have to keep it all off my collar so, when it was all brushed, I practised pulling it back and winding it into a bun. I knew that my fantasies of old had required me to get it suddenly cut short but now I wanted to enjoy wearing it long and down for as long as possible. That thought brought me back to the question "How long am I going to be Jenny?" - I had no idea and there was no clue anywhere. Would I wake up tomorrow back in my old life? Would that ever happen?

In any case I had my first evening of being a real waitress looming ahead. The prospect would have excited me as a man but already I was just expecting hard work. I opened my wardrobe and looked for white blouses. There was only a white hooded fleece and some white t-shirts on a shelf. I had no black skirts. At least I already had some black lace-up shoes that looked as if I could walk the specified ten miles in them. I would not have to wear a new pair in. OK, so did I have enough money for these clothes? In my wallet were only fifteen pounds cash and a credit-card. There must be statements for that somewhere so I went back to the documents drawer.

The state of my finances was alarming. I owed over three hundred on the credit card, I had a overdraft of forty in my current account and apparently no savings. I really needed this job. I looked back in the bank statements and saw I'd been paid only eighty pounds weekly by a supermarket I must have worked for and left three weeks ago. The rent seemed to be sixty pounds per week, so how on earth did I live? Then I noticed that the limit on the card was two thousand and there had been payments of over three hundred a month from some other job. What was it and did I still have it? The interest I was paying seemed crippling. I felt it wasn't fair to be dropped into this life without any knowledge. I was a woman with amnesia, really, a very poor woman too, so I sat on the bed and wept.

I struggled with my new emotions. I was angry because I had told myself that I could do with a man's clear planning mind to get over my difficulties. How could I be so patronising to my new feminine self, which I should be enjoying? I certainly had a woman's brain and feelings now, but only male experiences. Well, I would use them to live better. I still remembered all about cars, computers and business management, so surely I wouldn't have to be just a waitress for long. It would be hard, maybe fraudulent, to convince an employer of my experience but it was true that I had it. Anyway, I had to start the job I knew I had tonight, so I'd better go out and get further into debt.

I checked myself out in the mirror. My hair was nice now but I needed at least a touch of make-up. I found a pinky mauve lipstick in a drawer to match my top, which didn't stand out too much. There was pink nail varnish too but I didn't know what I'd be allowed at work so I didn't try it. I brushed on a tiny bit of eye-shadow but didn't dare try mascara - I had no idea how do it properly anyway. I put on the rather worn cream-coloured quilted jacket hung on the back of my door and I was ready to face the world, I hoped.

I picked up my wallet to put it in my jacket pocket, then thought I ought to wear my handbag. I suddenly felt vulnerable to having it snatched so I took my jacket off again, lengthened the bag's shoulder- strap and slung it across my chest before putting the jacket back on. I considered changing into the black shoes so they would match clothes I tried on, but decided they were too formal for my jacket and miniskirt so kept to the trainers. Locking my door behind me again, I headed off down the corridor to my right. I found the stairs half-way down, behind a fire door.

Suddenly, on the stairs, my legs felt freezing. Putting the tights on in my room had warmed them up surprisingly but now I wished I had worn jeans. I had thought that too cowardly and wanted to be proud of my slim, shapely legs and wear my skirt as a badge of femininity. Well, I was proud and found myself disappointed that the first men I passed hardly gave me a glance. Oddly, I noticed, women tended to stare for longer, perhaps because they knew it was more acceptable for them to do so, but it made me wonder all the time if I'd dressed correctly.

I knew where I was in the city from the address on my driving licence, which matched the name of the bedsit block I'd just left. I knew where the nearest shopping centre was, about four miles away, but I was used to driving and now I didn't have a car. At least I could find no keys in my room and only documents referring to a cheap car I'd sold two years ago. After walking a few hundred yards, I was getting used to the cold on my legs but feeling more and more self-conscious. I did enjoy the feeling of my long hair blowing in the breeze, the hem of my skirt around my thighs and the bra straps on my shoulders but even though I kept telling myself I looked perfectly normal, indeed quite attractive, I still felt scared and vulnerable.

In a large department store I headed straight for the ladies' clothing and scanned the blouses for a plain white one. While it was exciting to be here as a woman buying clothes for myself, I felt my poverty acutely as I passed some wonderful clothes. Eventually I found an acceptable classic blouse in white but was unsure of my size. I wished I'd read the labels in my wardrobe. I took an 8 and a 10 to try on, sought out a plain knee-length black skirt (just as rare) and took an 8 and a 12 (there was no 10) of those too. There was quite a queue for the changing rooms on this busy Saturday but there was a girl my age to chat to. She was also buying formal clothes for a new office job, but obviously had wider choice and much more money than I did.

Undressing in front of the mirror and putting on my new smart clothes aroused me a little sexually and that surprised me. I had been getting comfortable in my new persona and now I was finding male lust entering my female mind again. I told myself it was just remembered fantasies and to concentrate on the job in hand. That made me giggle as my hand had just brushed my nipple. I was surprised that, just as I had as a man, I was finding the stiff formal clothes very sexy, both on myself and the image in the mirror. Doing up left-facing buttons over my breasts was an exciting new experience. The size 8 blouse fitted by bust beautifully because it had tailored darts in the sides, but the size 8 skirt was too tight, while the size 12 almost fell off me. I would need a second shop, but that excited me now, while I would have been bored yesterday. Also there was only one of the nice blouses in size 8 and I wanted at least two.

The second shop was less expensive. They had a suitable skirt in size 10 and lots of size 8 blouses, but not tailored like my first one, so I found them too tight round my bust. I bought the skirt and one size 10 blouse. I would revisit the first shop in a few days to get another of those lovely tailored blouses. I was enjoying myself shopping, but would have preferred to be able to choose colourful clothes. I spotted a long evening dress in maroon and grey, which I really couldn't resist, except for the price tag, which would have doubled today's bill, but I tried it on just to dream. I was entranced by the graceful girl in the mirror, finding it hard to believe it was really me, even when I looked down into my exposed cleavage. I regretted not taking some glitzy shoes into the changing-room too.

I had been looking at the men I passed on the way to the shops with a new interest, which I hardly had to encourage. I now understood why girls called some young men "eye candy" and found I was strangely attracted to some older men too. Now, in my borrowed ball gown, I imagined myself waltzing with the middle-aged store manager I had just seen outside, looking down to check out the bulge in his trousers. As I stepped softly around the little room I felt a warm romantic glow, not particularly between my legs, though when I did wonder what was happening there, my little fanny seemed to be almost throbbing. I looked forward to a good wank when I got back to my flat but kept my hands well clear of it now because there was only a curtain between me and the public.

After a quick dream around a third shop it was lunch time. It had to be a dream because just the two blouses and a skirt had put almost another hundred onto my credit-card debt. So did lunch, as such, have to be a dream because I had to conserve my scarce cash. However, I treated myself to a coffee with a bun and a chocolate bar. I sat on a high stool in the window of the coffee bar. I still had to make myself show off my legs like that. I knew it was right to feel a bit shy and I didn't want to be a total exhibitionist. I soon found myself interested in men passing outside, wondering which of them I could fancy. The chocolate was a new experience too; my taste for it seemed much enhanced and I loved it.

Before I'd finished, a handsome young man came and sat on the next stool and I found myself returning his smile. I also found myself flattered that he chose to sit on the only stool on my left instead of between me and another young lady on my right.

"Is the cappuccino any good here?" he asked, to open a conversation.

"I don't know, I've only tried the latte," I replied.

I was very nervous and didn't know if I could trust him, but I was pleased that he was a stranger and I would not be in the embarrassing situation of not knowing what had passed between us before. I had passed a man in the corridor outside my bed-sit and been thankful that we had seemed to be only on nodding terms.

I found myself sweeping hair back from my face in an almost seductive manner. I was surprised that I could so easily fancy a man when I had been one only yesterday. I was also revelling in being young and attractive. This life might be really good, I thought, despite being so poor.

"It's very busy today, isn't it?" I tried as a fresh opener.

I was chatting him up already and I'd been a single girl for less than a day! I enjoyed watching him look me over, knowing from recent experience the exact effect on him that the bulging shape of my chest and the hem of my rough denim miniskirt against my soft nylon-clad thighs were having.

I found myself looking at the bulges in men's trousers with not a jot of envy, just a new keen interest in them. I wasn't really imagining myself being penetrated, either, just enjoying men for their differences from me. When the conversation in the coffee bar petered out a second time, I had to suppress a little anger at being so rejected, but was laughing at myself for being so optimistic, chatting up the first man to speak to me. In chagrin, I climbed off my stool, picked up my bags and set off home without looking back.

Luckily, there was a bus at the next stop going my way. Climbing aboard in my miniskirt and paying the driver out of my handbag with hair falling beside my face - it all fitted together so naturally, yet was all so new to me! I looked shyly along the bus, which was only half- full, so I wouldn't have to sit next to anyone. Only the women were looking at me and again I found myself disappointed. I had to remind myself that I was just an ordinary young woman. I sat near the front, by a window, with my shopping on the empty seat beside me.

As I peeked into the big paper bag to admire the bright whiteness of my new blouses, my hair got annoyingly in my way. I remembered being fascinated by young women on buses putting up their hair, perhaps because it was required by work or a stern relative at their destination. Now it was only 2pm so it was not necessary for me to wear mine up for another four hours but I wanted to do it anyway.

I had already noticed a frilly black elastic in my handbag, so I put it around my left wrist then grabbed and pulled all my hair back and up until I held it all in my left hand. I pulled the elastic over my fist and then pulled the loop of hair through, forming a high pony-tail - more fashionable than a low one these days. I would need a second elastic to make a bun for work because the end of my pony-tail hung well below my collar. When I looked around to see if I had excited any men, I loved the way it swung.

Again, only the women were watching me. An elderly lady immediately behind gave me a very approving smile. I returned it, but was annoyed that my action only pleased old ladies. Perhaps a man had been watching, I reassured myself, but had not wanted to meet my eyes when I looked around. When I took another look into my bag of new clothes, my new ponytail swung against my ear. I was delighted by the way it tickled me.

When I re-entered my bedsit-block I noticed a rack of numbered pigeon- holes. I located mine and extracted three letters. Two looked official, like bills, and one with a scrawled address, which I immediately tore open. I needed to know my relationships at once - did I have a boyfriend? The letter was a rambling five pages, starting "My dearest Jenny". I flipped quickly to the end to find "Your ever loving Mummy" and was relieved.

Being someone's daughter was a novelty indeed, but as I ploughed through the chit-chat on my way up the stairs, I found references to David which puzzled me until he was explained as "your little brother David" who was at Technical College. Being someone's sister was a novelty too and suddenly I felt it was a big brother I needed at the moment, though it was wonderful to have living parents for a change, but then today I was a completely different person, with different parents.

When I got inside my room, I sat down on the bed and finished the letter. There was no mention of my father, or even of any man in my mother's life. I would have to explore that carefully. As I was only 23 he ought to be around, so were they separated or divorced? Suddenly I spotted a little sticker on the back of the envelope saying "Mr & Mrs G H Atkins" and their address, at least a hundred miles away. Was he Geoffrey or George? Daughters were supposed to have special relationships with their Dads.

I couldn't wait to go "home" and visit these unknown parents. I looked around my shabby little flat, which ought really to be my home and once again dissolved into tears. At times, striding through town in my miniskirt, I had felt quite confident and strong, but now I felt almost hopelessly weak. As I struggled to pull myself together, I made myself remember how much I had wanted to be female and young. I would cheer myself up by trying on different clothes I might possess.

The first new garment I discovered in my drawers was a leotard. I thought it was my swimsuit until I found the sleeves. I had already stared at a book on Yoga with a nimble young lady on the front with her ankle behind her neck. Could I do that now? Quickly I stripped off my top, bra, trainers and skirt, leaving on my tights, and struggled into the tight but stretchy leotard. I was really pleased with what I saw in the mirror. I squatted down and pulled my ankle over into a full lotus with no pain at all, but when I tried getting my leg behind my head, I couldn't quite get it there. I could do full splits, though, and was really proud of the smooth curves of my very female crutch. I did a few sit-ups to tone my stomach-muscles too.

Although I felt much fitter than yesterday, I was soon out of breath and wiping sweat off my forehead. My hair felt greasy now, especially because I'd kept it up in its high ponytail during my exercises. I couldn't try on any more clothes until I'd showered. Remembering my intention to masturbate, I decided on a bath instead. I checked out the contents of my big wash-bag - it seemed to have everything I would need. I took a plastic beaker to pour water over my hair because I'd noticed that there was no shower-head in the bath. I found a large soft towel, though it was well-worn and stained with hair-dye, and put on my long pink towelling robe.

I was disappointed that the corridor was empty, surprised to find that I actually wanted to be seen so much. Mid-afternoon was a good time for hot water, however, and I ran a deep luxurious bubble-bath. Stripping off my leotard, tights and knickers, I climbed in and sat down, parting my legs to start rubbing my crutch. I tried to see what I was doing but found most of my fanny out-of-sight beneath me. There was no mirror in my wash bag. A little rhythmic motion brought a delightful pleasure, which soon jaded when I couldn't imagine what to fantasize. I thought about the man I had started to chat-up in the coffee-bar. Had he been more responsive that might have worked.

I knew that it would take much longer to cum than I was used to, but I was not prepared for the strange detachment I seem to feel from the process. Wanking as a woman was very nice, don't get me wrong, but it seemed a more mechanical process, much to my surprise. True, success was still dependant on my frame of mind, but I just couldn't seem to lose myself in a fantasy as I had before, and that didn't seem to affect the level of pleasure as much. I put my feet up on the sides of the bath, as if in the stirrups of a gynaecological examination. It crossed my mind that, if I had had real experiences of those, I would have found the position sexually off-putting, but of course I had not.

As my arousal slowly increased, my nipples tingled and swelled. Playing with them with my other hand was almost doubling the pleasure. I also found the lips on my face tingling and wished I had someone to kiss. These widespread sensations were really delightful, especially in their gradual increase, so that I was not sure when orgasm began. It just seemed to go on and on, with all parts of me, sides, legs, back, shoulders, tingling and longing to be held in their turn. I had been stifling moans for some time, glad that no one else needed the Ladies, when my fanny suddenly got sore and the feelings gently subsided.

So, that was a female orgasm! It was pretty good, but would probably be a lot better in a bed with a good partner. At least I hadn't made a mess in the bath, as I would've only yesterday. I giggled to think of the lady on the TV show who confessed that she'd thought the globs her son left on the side of the bath were conditioner, at first. It occurred to me, with my feet still up on the sides of the bath, that I could get pregnant now from one of those globs and I shuddered with fear, though I knew the chance was extremely remote. I had just got four fingers into my vagina, but a baby's head was another matter!

It was now time to wash my hair, so I stopped day-dreaming, put my legs back under the water and released my pony-tail. I bent forward over my now sore tits and poured beaker-fulls of water over my copious locks, then rubbed in shampoo.

It was such a big job now, all that hair. I had been so pleased with having it flowing over my shoulders in the wind as I walked to town. Tonight it would have to be wound up into a tight, high bun for my job. I knew I should get it cut, but I really didn't want to, now.

It all depended on how long I had to live as Jenny. So far there had been no indication at all whether or not my transformation was permanent. I wasn't sure why I wished that it was. I had a deep desire to settle down into my life as Jenny, which conflicted with guilt that I was abandoning the family and friends of my old life, but then did I have any choice? I had certainly not been offered any opportunities to go back.

If this was a one-day experience, then it ought to include a drastic haircut, according to my fantasies as a man, but now I wasn't a man and was very fond of my long straight hair and would really miss it, even though I'd only had it less than six hours. When I'd dried it with a towel in the bathroom and back in my room with my cheap electric drier, I fixed it back into the high ponytail, which I relished by tossing it around.

I got out my new best working blouse and now it looked a bit crumpled. I had almost an hour before I'd have to start off to walk to Sweet Dreams, so I dug out a polo-necked jumper and a pair of jeans instead, to wear while I got it ironed. I'd seen a guy coming up from the basement with a pile of ironing and my own iron was packed away in a box, so there must be irons for use down there. It was a delight to zip up the jeans over my smooth round crotch; I was surprised how feminine I still felt out of a skirt.

As I bounced down the public stairway in trainers, tight jeans, lumpy jumper and ponytail, I felt really happy. I knew I looked the typical young woman and it was delightful to be young and pretty. I was disappointed that I passed no one who might have admired my figure before I found my way to the washing and ironing room, which I had to myself. I filled one of the three steam-irons with water and switched it on.

Ironing a crisp white blouse reminded me of another of my old male fantasies, being a schoolgirl boarder. It didn't arouse me now because I wasn't male. I wasn't wearing another white blouse with a tie, either. The blouse did signify tonight's disciplined hard work, but not nights in a dormitory. I had no idea whether the other Jenny had ever gone to boarding school. Probably not, judging by the CV I had found; my school had been named by the area it was in.

I had started referring in my mind to the person who had occupied this body only yesterday as "the other Jenny" because I was wholly and undeniably Jenny now. I had only been addressed by name once, in the bathroom straight after I got up, but that was enough to confirm it for me. I would not now hesitate to look around if someone called "Jenny!" from behind me. Already the name I had owned yesterday seemed a distant memory and in any case impossible in my present body.

On my way back upstairs, someone did call me from behind. It was a good-looking bloke but sadly he didn't seem to expect more than my smile and "Hi!" before going on his way. My disappointment alarmed me. I knew I shouldn't be "forward" until I was more used to my new body; I could get myself into trouble. On the other hand it was nice to feel normal desires, at least they were perfectly normal today.

Back in my humble bed-sit, I still had plenty of time, so I didn't get changed right away but turned on the radio, found a music channel and tried dancing. I didn't have a telly; it seemed from the documents that I'd recently sold it. As with the yoga earlier, I was delighted how my supple body could flex and bend. I enjoyed feeling sexy, knowing that my movements would turn on any guy, but wishing that I had a boyfriend to share it with.

Putting on my uniform for work was nice, especially buttoning up my cuffs, which added an air of formality. With my hair pulled severely into its high bun, I put on my cream jacket again and set out on foot. This time I felt less attractive, so less vulnerable, but then I remembered how strict uniforms used to turn me on. How many men were like that? Were they the most dangerous? They shouldn't be if they kept their fantasies as fantasies and only wrote them down for Fictionmania, I thought.

Sweet Dreams was a fairly big restaurant. I knew I should use the back door so I found my way around the back through narrow alleys. A guy was arriving at the same time, dressed smartly as a waiter. "Hi, are you the new waitress?" "Yes, I'm Jenny" "Hello, I'm Harry". He was shaking my hand rather limply and I immediately wondered if he was gay - just my luck! He was wearing a rather effeminate bow-tie too. He opened the door for me to let me in. A narrow corridor led to a small staff rest-room, but before we could go in a big man in a suit came out of another door.

"Hello Jenny, you're early - that's a good start."

He must be the manager or the owner; I wished I remembered the other Jenny's interview. He was holding something out to me that turned out to be an apron, pale blue with white puffy clouds on it. I placed it over the front of my skirt and tied the straps at the back, then felt in its pocket. There was a notebook, a pen and something small and soft. Just then, another waitress appeared, already in her apron and, to my horror, wearing the same bow-tie as Harry, pale blue with white fluffy clouds, just like the one in my hand.

I did not need to be told to go to the mirror in the Ladies, button up my collar and fit the bow-tie under it. This was a big surprise, though it probably would not have been if I could have remembered the interview. I had been admiring my smart but relaxed image in my open- necked blouse. Now I felt constricted, disciplined, almost subservient; it was a real blow to my ego. I hurried back into the rest-room to find myself one of three identically dressed waitresses and there was Harry, his apron over trousers. The manager introduced me to the other two girls, Marie and Loren, then launched into a pep-talk that put me under great pressure to pick up the rudiments of the job before the end of the evening so that the others wouldn't have to carry me.

Loren was to be my mentor and I would mainly help her with eight of the twenty tables. Tomorrow lunch it would be five tables each as usual. Territories were not to be rigid and if help was needed anywhere it should be freely given. This was a very busy, fully booked Saturday night. We now had ten minutes to lay the tables before the first guests arrived. Loren took me into the kitchen to fetch the cutlery. There were six staff in there, four men and two women.

I certainly knew how to lay tables, though I had never laid so many places so quickly, but I needed tuition in folding the napkins into bishops' mitres. I did feel excited, watching my little hands working away in their crisp white sleeves, feeling my collar held tight around my neck by the elastic strap of the bow-tie and always aware of my bra- straps on my shoulders, but not the same sort of excitement I had felt about such experiences when I had only fantasized them. My excitement was genuinely in the novelty of this new job and my determination to do well at it.

The guests arrived and the tables filled up quickly. I helped by just handing out menus at first. I watched Loren carefully as she took orders and I was allowed to take for the fifth table to be seated. It wasn't too hard to keep a sweet smile on my face as I listened carefully, notebook in hand. I was desperate to make no mistakes. The work was hard by being fast and continuous, until the first wave of guests were all engrossed in their main courses. Then I found Loren and Harry sat at the table in the kitchen, so I got myself a glass of water and joined them.

Loren got up and went back out, saying that the Manager insisted on at least two waiters being out at all times. Harry turned to me and chatted quite flirtatiously. I was obviously wrong about him being gay; after all, we all had to wear the awful bow-ties. I was quite warming to him when three of the kitchen staff joined us at the table and we had to be sociable.

The chef, always in his tall hat, seemed to tell the manager what to do more often than vice-versa and this was explained by his referring to him as "The Floor Manager". One of the two sous-chefs was a woman, young like me, with her frizzy hair chopped off well above her shoulders, wearing the identical white tunic and trousers as the others, but I was pleased to note that hers buttoned to the left. One of the three kitchen-hands was a woman too, in her fifties. While the men, young but neither of them at all attractive, wore long white aprons over black t-shirts and jeans, she wore hers over a gingham dress and kept her rubber gloves on even to drink tea with us.

Rest-breaks at the kitchen table were infrequent and brief. I was soon footsore and longing to sit down as I rushed from table to table and to the kitchen. There seemed to be no time at all to use the little rest- room, we only met at the kitchen table. Suddenly, about ten o'clock, the Manager said I could take my meal-break of twenty minutes. Anne, the sous-chef, served me a nice plateful and ate hers at the same time. It was really nice to talk to a woman as a fellow-woman. She told me how hard it was for women to succeed as chefs. As a waitress I obviously ranked beneath her, but she could chat to me and not to the kitchen-hands.

When I kept putting up a hand to feel my bun, Anne asked it it was uncomfortable. I said it was a little and that it was ruining my hair. She suggested I get a shorter haircut like hers, but I said I loved wearing a ponytail. She took me to the Ladies and told me to let down my ponytail. Then she produced a big pair of scissors and chopped it off above my collar. I tossed it about in delight. Now I felt less constrained by my uniform. I was deeply pleased when Harry noticed the change and complimented me on it.

It was sometime after my meal that I had a terrible shock. I was carrying two dinners out to one of my tables when I glanced over at some new guests being seated by Marie at one of hers. I almost dropped the dishes when I recognised them as my wife and my old self. I turned straight back to the kitchen and put the plates down, shaking all over. Harry was immediately at my side to comfort me. We often have to serve people we know, he said. These weren't even at one of my tables, so I bravely picked up the dinners again and set off.

I couldn't help myself from staring as soon as I was out on the floor, but straight away I knew I'd been mistaken. The couple were facing me now and there seemed hardly any resemblance except in the woman's hairstyle to my former wife.

I even passed closer on the way back to make sure. What on earth had made me do that?

At each rest, I listened carefully for relationships. I worried, when Harry gave me so much attention, that Marie or Loren or Anne might be involved with him and resent it. Anne referred to a husband, Loren to a boyfriend and Marie treated Harry with cold disdain, so I felt easy chatting him up. At one point he laid a hand on my arm to emphasize a point and I enjoyed that touch so much it embarrassed me. He asked how I was getting home and expressed concern for my safety. He would have escorted me but lived much nearer in the opposite direction so asked Marie to give me a lift, to which she gladly agreed.

I kissed Harry quickly on the cheek in thanks for fixing up my lift. The action came quite naturally to me but I had an ulterior motive - I was always wondering if today was unique and I didn't want to go to bed without even having kissed a man. I felt a little forward doing it but he smiled calmly at me in return and I wished desperately to be able to get to know him for longer, maybe to get a date with him.

It was past midnight when the last guests left and I, as junior, cleared and wiped their table. Marie was waiting for me open-necked, so I pulled off my tie and left it in my apron pocket hung up in the rest- room. As soon as we got into her car, she released her bun, looking at me to do the same, which I thought a bit strange. Shaking out copious auburn locks over her shoulders she asked why I didn't let mine out too and I explained how I loved wearing a high ponytail. She smiled and ran her fingers through my ponytail then suddenly reached around and stroked the far side of my neck.

"Oh no!" I recoiled, almost screaming.

"Oh, I'm sorry, terribly sorry." she stammered, "I just wondered if you were up for it. Please don't take offence. My fault. I should have realised - you and Harry. I'm sorry. Please let me still take you home."

I felt so silly, getting Harry and Marie the wrong way around when it came to being gay. I also couldn't help being flattered by Marie's pass at me. I wished a man had done that today.

"Okay." I said sheepishly.

I managed to chat nicely with Marie during the short drive, as if nothing had happened, but I was terribly confused by my inner feelings.

She dropped me off outside my block, watching me find the outer-door key in my handbag and let myself in before she drove off. I was touched by her concern and by now free of embarrassment, so had no trouble turning my thoughts to Harry instead. When I got into my room I flopped down on the bed and closed my eyes, not to sleep but to recall Harry's lovely smile after I kissed him. Actually my bladder was bursting and I had to go straight out again for a sit-down pee in the cold, empty Ladies across the corridor.

I was terribly tired, but I dreaded falling asleep in case this was my only day as Jenny. I wanted to make the most of the time I had left. I needed to get to bed because my feet and knees were aching, so were my arms from all the carrying, but I wanted to have a good wank there rather than sleep straight away. When searching through my clothes earlier, I had found a frilly short nightdress, which I had dismissed, but now it appealed to me. Quickly I stripped off my now irksome uniform and pulled the gossamer-light garment over my head. Reluctantly I released my ponytail and shook out my shorter hair. Now it only just reached my shoulders, but it still framed my face and I could still hide sexily behind it. I admired my new, completely different image in the mirror; I found myself perfectly at ease with being ultra-feminine.

After cleaning my teeth at my kitchenette sink, noting that I only had one silver filling now, I climbed into bed. I puffed up the pillows against the head-board and sat up, mainly to stop myself falling asleep. I caressed my loose boobs through the thin nightie and was delighted by the effect it had on my nipples and on my fanny. I stoked myself down there too but, perhaps because I was very tired now, it didn't seem to get as good as it had in the bath. I couldn't stop worrying that I'd wake up back in my old life and I really didn't want that now.

My new life as Jenny was hardly a bed of roses, but then there were only a few little thorns, I thought. It was lovely to be young again, to be fancied and to fancy men, which was now perfectly normal. It would be hard clearing my debts, but tonight's twelve-pound share of the tips was encouraging. I had earned over thirty pounds which I'd get next Friday as well. I would be thinking of money on a much smaller scale now. I had made some nice friends at work. Even Marie was still a friend and Harry might ask me out if I was lucky. I had yet to experience PMS and the thought of pregnancy filled me with dread, but I felt sure I could handle them when they came.

I marvelled again at the magical transformation, which had happened to me last night. I had no idea who or what had caused it. It crossed my mind, with a shudder, that I might have been just Jenny all along and that some bump on the head had made me not only forget everything but also gain a delusion that I used to be a man. I even checked all over my scalp for bruises; there were none. There seemed no answer to the puzzle - I had no messages at all from whoever or whatever had transformed me.

I woke with a start, still sitting up in my nightie with the main lights still on and, checking the clock, only twenty minutes had elapsed. My initial joy and relief that I was still female (yes, I checked down there) changed to concern that it wasn't a full night's sleep when another transformation could easily happen. Rather reluctantly, I got up and switched off the lights and then flattened my pillows to lie down. If all was well, I needed my sleep before I had to serve dozens of Sunday Lunches tomorrow.

I reflected on my surprise this morning and wondered if I would have a similar experience tomorrow morning. I decided the bigger surprise would be to return to my old life. I would have to find out carefully if any time had elapsed in that world while I was away and, if so, what had happened during Saturday. It seemed more likely that the change was permanent, especially if it was caused by my reading Fictionmania. The only other possibility was that the "other Jenny" had forced a swap, but if that were true, she would surely have brought her new wife along to Sweet Dreams to mock me, as I had suspected when I mis-recognised that couple.