No commercial use is permitted without the express written consent of
This work may be shared only as a complete and unedited whole. It
must include any prefaces, author's notes, embedded information (such
as images), references, etc, that were part of the original
publication. All copies thus shared must include, and are subject
to the full scope of, this copyleft notice.
Distribution (other than as noted above), in any form, using any type
of media, is forbidden, without the express written consent of the
References to this work in general, or to characters, scenes, dialogue,
or plot elements unique to this work, are permitted, as long as the
original author is acknowledged.
Re-use of general ideas or plot-lines in other works is permitted, and
even encouraged. Inclusion of specific elements of this work in
other works (including, but not limited to, characters, dialogue,
verbatim copying of any part of this work) is not permitted.
Prequels, sequels, fan-fics, or any other extensions of this work
are not permitted without prior approval and express written consent of
Cooking For One
It's Friday evening, and I'm prepping all the ingredients for my World-Famous Fried Rice. Hey ... I think it's pretty good. Woops. No onions. Damn! Now, I don't know about you, but for me, onion is essential to fried rice.
Wait a minute! I bet Marcy can help. And that would definitely be easier than going out to the store and back. First, a quick check to make sure all the stove burners are off. Then another to verify no meat is on the counter (the cats believe the 'no cats on the counter' rule only applies when I'm looking). Finally, I slip out the door and across the street.
Marcy answers on the second knock. Whoo-boy. She's in her bathrobe. And obviously fresh from the bath. Barefoot, hair still wet, and smelling oh-so wonderful. Now, to fully understand my response, you need to picture Marcy. She's the original 'girl next door'. Blonde hair (the real deal, not from a bottle) falls in golden waves down her back. She stands maybe five-two and can't weigh more than a hundred pounds. She's got more curves than a country road, and in just the right places, too. Add it all up and you've got a package most women would kill to have, and all men would kill to ... well ... have, if you get my drift. Now, if that isn't enough good-looking packed into one mortal woman, two ice- blue eyes, one cute little up-turned nose, and a double handful of freckles put the icing on that sweet slice of cake. Every time I see Marcy I have this urge to howl. Umm ... tell you what ... let's just keep that between us, okay?
Did I mention she's also the sweetest person I know? Next time you're flipping through the dictionary, look up 'good neighbor'. Yep. That's a picture of Marcy, right there. Cuter than all get-out, isn't she?
Her face lights up in big smile. "Mitch! C'mon in." When I hesitate, she reassures me. "Don't' worry. You're not interrupting anything. I just finished a quick shower. If you're looking for Karl, he's away for the weekend. Business." She steps back, clearly inviting me in.
Oh yeah. Can't forget about Karl. He's the live-in boyfriend. Showed up about a month after Marcy moved into the neighborhood. Real nice guy. Around six-two and maybe 220 pounds, most of it muscle. Which is why I keep all outward signs of my crush on Marcy buried deep. Real deep.
I step inside and she closes the door. As she slips past me, I have to close my eyes for a moment. The very sight of her wearing nothing but a robe is threatening to make my desire evident, and in a most embarrassing way. That doesn't cut off my other senses, though. My nose picks up the warm scent of fresh-scrubbed woman, and a hint of whatever she uses on her hair. I clench my teeth in a Herculean effort to subdue a moan.
"Mitch? Are you alright?"
My eyes fly open to see Marcy peering up at me, a concern look on her face. And perhaps a glint of amusement in her eyes? Oh God. Please tell me I didn't moan out loud. I clear my throat, desperately trying to remember why I'm here. Uh ... right! An onion.
Before I can get my mouth working again, Marcy puts her hand on my arm and steers me toward the kitchen. As she moves, the top of her robe parts just enough to provide a tantalizing view of some first-class cleavage. My eyes are drawn to that hypnotic, shadowy canyon, the softly curving walls jouncing heavily with every step she takes. Immediately my mind shifts back into neutral, with the gas pedal floored.
I can't tell if she's naively ignorant of her affect on me, or just enjoying a bit of fun at my expense. Part of me doesn't really care. All right, pretty much all of me doesn't care.
"You look like you could use a nice glass of wine. I usually enjoy one right about this time of day, myself." She turns to me. "Would you prefer white or red?"
I wrench my gaze back to her face. Not fast enough, I suspect. There's just the tiniest upturn at the corners of her mouth. First, I'm relieved she's not upset. Then I'm embarrassed that I've been caught. A warm flush starts creeping up from of my collar.
I manage to croak out, "Uh ...", before she grins and says, "Right. Red it is."
Appetizers For Two
Marcy pours two glasses while I attempt to explain the reason for my visit.
"Relax, Mitch. Let's just sit and enjoy our wine for a little while."
With that she leads me to the sofa in the living room. She sure isn't making it easy for me to relax. Sitting there, with one leg tucked under her, looking far too fresh and perky for my comfort. And smelling so good. Her robe keeps sliding to the side, showing far more thigh than my blood pressure can stand. Not to mention the way she leans close as she talks, and lays her hand on my leg as she emphasizes points.
Did I mention how good she smells?
Before I know it, I'm on my second glass of wine, and she's close enough for me to feel her warmth. Then her lips are right there, turned up toward mine, so close. Her hand is still on my thigh. She smells simply incredible. And those lovely red lips are just drawing me in.
We kiss. About three seconds past 'yowza!' I remember Karl and try to pull away. She isn't having any, though. Hands cradling my head, she maintains a lip-lock on me, and I end up flat on my back, with her on top. I don't put up much of a struggle after that. I mean ... would you? If you had a warm, wriggly, nearly naked Marcy pinning you to the couch? Yeah, I thought not.
By now my jeans are bulging, and I'm close to making a sticky mess of them. Marcy swivels around and undoes my belt and zipper, shoving my pants down to my knees. One hand rings the base of my cock, squeezing just enough to keep me in check. The other softly cradles my balls. Then I feel a warm, wet pressure ease down over the head. Oh God! She scoots that lovely tush of hers back into my face. Well ... I can take a hint. Flipping up the bottom of her robe, I spread her thighs and press my tongue between her lips. She moans, sending excruciating tingles through my already overloaded nerve endings. It's just too much, after wanting this for so long. I erupt violently, feeling as though a thousand gallons are forcing their way out of me. When I finish convulsing, I do my best to return the favor. It takes her a little longer, but she gets there, with some very interesting moans and shrieks along the way.
Once the preliminaries are out of the way, we stumble to the bedroom. Both of us seem to be feeling an urgency that's overwhelming. Now, I know why I'm hot and bothered. I mean ... hell, it's Marcy. I'm just not sure what has her all fired up. I mean ... it's me. I wisely decide not to think about that second part too much.
The Main Course
I swiftly shuck the rest of my clothing, while Marcy, already sans robe, rummages through the nightstand. Turning, she sways toward me, fanning several square foil packets before her. She has a devilish grin on her face.
"Well, Mitch. How many of these do you think we'll need?"
I appear to think it over. "Do you mean all at once, or one after the other?"
It takes her a beat to get the joke. Then she laughs. I immediately feel myself getting hard again. Marcy laughs with her whole body, and that makes for some pretty interesting visual effects.
"What say we try one first and take it from there?"
I allow as how it's her funeral, which has her laughing again. She quickly wraps up Little Mitch, turns and falls backward onto the bed, pulling me down on top her. I work my way down from her lips to her breasts, taking my time. It's not long before she makes it clear she's ready. I push slowly into her and she whimpers as she flexes her legs around mine, trying to pull me in deeper. We take it slow. This time, the orgasms aren't as earth-shattering, but feel somehow deeper and longer. Better.
I manage to use two more of the foil packets, one with her riding me for all she's worth, and the other as I take her doggy-style. We're both exhausted after that, and quickly fall asleep.
I wake to the feel of something cool and wet on my stomach. Marcy is squeezing some sort of gel from a tube, making a small, clear blob just above my navel. I'm not sure if I'm dreaming or if this is real. What the hell. Humor's been working so far. Why mess with a winner?
"If that's hair gel, it's way off target."
Marcy jumps, apparently not expecting me to wake so soon, then grins and continues with her odd ministrations. "Bear with me, Mitch. This may seem strange, but I think you're going to enjoy it."
She lies down next to me and squirts some goop on her own tummy. Turning to me, "See? We'll be doing this together."
With that, she produces two golf-ball sized lumps of what appears to be tan clay. One she presses into the clear jelly on my stomach, then does the same to herself with the other.
So far, this has to be one of the least sexy things I've ever done in bed with a woman. "Uh, Marcy? I'm not sure what's supposed to be happening here."
"Just lie still. Once the nanites activate, they'll move pretty quickly." Her eyes find mine. "They're going to spread over every square inch of you, so don't freak out." She speaks the last three words firmly, spacing them out. My alarm must have been evident, because she immediately reassures me. "They won't harm you in any way. Trust me. Everything they'll be doing to you they will also be doing to me"
A tickling near my navel draws my attention. The clear gel has disappeared, and the bottom of the tan lump is foaming. Before I can react, it slumps, flowing swiftly into a thin pancake. The pancake spreads, rapidly expanding over my torso. I look over to Marcy, but she's not going to be any help. On her, the mysterious material is quickly approaching her breasts and pubic area.
I reach to peel it away.
"That won't work, Mitch. Once started, the process can't be stopped."
I try anyway. Not only can I not pull the strange stuff off my stomach, some of it sticks to my fingers, where it continues to spread. Okay, we've just gone from 'weird' to 'campy horror flick'.
"Marcy, what the hell is this crap? I'm getting a real bad feeling about this."
She turns to look at me. On her, the mystery goop is approaching her neckline on one end and the tops of her thighs on the other.
"Okay, here's the Cliff Notes version. This material is really a special nanite organism. It's programmed to operate in several stages. As a safety measure, it can only be activated by that clear gel I squirted on our stomachs. Once activated, it envelopes a person completely. That's the first stage. Then it sends out nano-scale tendrils to sample DNA and that information is recorded and stored. That's the second stage. The tendrils retract and the material releases from the persons' skin. That's the third and final stage. It can be easily peeled off after that."
She faces the ceiling again. "It won't hurt. It won't do you any harm. And it will be finished in a few minutes. Please trust me. This is all leading up to something really amazing, okay?"
I stare at her, watching the weird stuff flow up her neck and under her jaw. At the same time, I can feel it creeping up my neck and the arm of the hand I used to try and remove it. If she weren't going through this with me, I'd be scared stiff. As it is, I can't help wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into. And if I've ever really known my 'good neighbor', Marcy.
Strange Gets Redefined
True to her word, a few minutes later I feel a crinkling sensation all over my body. And when I say 'all over', I mean everywhere. Looking down at myself, I see a flesh-colored sheath covering me. It feels very much like I'm wearing a second skin, made of a sheer, rubbery material.
"Okay, now what?"
The mattress shifts as Marcy carefully climbs out of the bed.
"Get out of bed slowly. The material, let's call it a 'skin', is fairly strong and elastic, but it can be damaged if you're too rough with it."
I ease out of bed, imitating her cautious motions. She moves so we're facing one each other, a few feet apart. With her eyes on mine, she places her fingertips on either side of her navel.
"There's a tiny opening at the navel. Slowly pull on both sides."
She demonstrates. A small opening appears. When it's about two inches in diameter, she hooks her fingertips inside it. I follow her example. The 'skin' looks a lot like latex, but feels more like spandex.
She pulls until she has an oval as wide as her waist. Then she slides one hand into the opening, snaking under the 'skin' down her thigh until it reaches her knee. What she does next surprises me. She raises her knee, then slides her arm outward, bringing her knee up through the opening. Next she stretches the opening down over her foot, freeing her entire leg. She does the same with her other leg. The opening in the 'skin' now rings her waist, with the empty legs hanging limp and hollow beside hers. Waiting until I catch up, she then wriggles the 'skin' up to her armpits and proceeds to work, first one arm, and then the other, out of their sheaths. Rolling the 'skin' up her neck and off her head is the easiest part. Once done, she holds out the empty skin for me to see.
After I finish shedding my own bizarre 'skin', she lays hers out on the bed and takes mine from me.
"Let me hang this one up for now. We won't need it until later."
"Uh ... not to sound stupid or anything, but exactly what will we need them for?"
"It's simple, Mitch." She points to the 'skin' on the bed. "I want you to put that on."
She grins mischievously. "I want you to get into my 'skin'."
But ... why?! And how? You're much smaller than me. I'll never fit into that one."
"Yes, you will, Mitch. Trust me. You've seen how stretchy that material is. Besides, what's the worst that can happen? It won't work?" She starts to pout. "Please? Will you just try? For me?"
What can I do? She obviously has her heart set on this strange game. And I can't see the harm in trying. I just can't see the benefit either, other than it will make Marcy happy. Shrugging my shoulders, I give in.
"Okay, I'll give it a shot. But don't be surprised if this doesn't work."
Her face lights up and she gives a little jump and claps. "Oh, thank you, Mitch. Here, let me give you a hand."
Remember how I said Marcy laughs with her whole body? Well, the same thing happens when she claps. Everything jiggles. That sight alone was worth agreeing to her weird request.
Widening the navel hole, we work it down over my head, then ease the 'head' of her 'skin' over mine. Marcy helps me lineup the eye, nose, and mouth openings. The ears, of course, are rather tricky, so they take a while. The fit is very tight, it's a good thing the material is so elastic.
The arms are only a little easier. It takes some wriggling to get all the fingers right. After that, we wriggle the opening down my torso and over my hips. Here's where I figure it's going to come apart. With my wider chest and waist, and longer torso, I have to be putting a serious strain on her 'skin'. And I still have to get my legs in there.
Amazingly, it works. We're able to expand that opening and slip one leg, and then the other, inside. Again, there's some patience required in getting all the 'little piggies' in the right places.
Marcy steps back to inspect me, while I stand there, feeling somewhat foolish. And a little turned on. Maybe I'm just weird, but the sensation of being so fully encased in such a tight, stretchy 'skin' is somewhat arousing. On top of that, there's a certain element of the forbidden about this. I mean, I'm wearing something that was made for ... no, strike that ... made from the body of someone considerably more petite than my lanky self. To my chagrin, Little Mitch is rising to the occasion, proudly poking out through the 'pussy' of this 'skin' I'm wearing.
Marcy giggles. "Hmm ... guess we'll have to do something about that." She kneels and takes me into her mouth. No subtlety here. She's going for quick results. Within thirty seconds she's tucking a smaller, softer Little Mitch back inside the 'skin'.
Before I have a chance to ask why she so badly wanted me squeezed into this full-body condom, Marcy takes my arm.
"Uh ... where are we going?"
She doesn't answer - just leads me to the bathroom.
"Okay, Marcy, if this is a prank, you've got me good. Is this where you take embarrassing photos of me? Because, frankly, I don't see any other reason why you would truss me up like this."
She's all business now. "You need to get into the tub and lie down."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Please, Mitch, it's important." She's got that pouting little girl look again. Hell, what would you do? I climb into the tub and stretch out, with my feet under the faucet and my shoulders propped against the back.
Marcy pulls another paste tube from the cabinet. Similar to the one she used in the bedroom, except this one has a red nozzle. It's only when she prepares to poke me in the navel with it that I decide enough is enough.
"No!" I grab her hand with the tube. "Before we go any further, you're going to explain just what the hell is going on here!"
She leans back and looks me in the eye. "Have I done anything harmful to you, Mitch?"
"Uh ... well, no." Before she has a chance to continue, I push my advantage. "Look, if this is some kind of kinky fantasy or some role-playing game of yours, let me in on it, okay?"
Her eyes light up. "Oh ... of course. Well, it's definitely a ... a role-playing kind of thing."
"And my role is ...?"
"When the 'skin' you're wearing is activated with this red gel, you'll be transformed into a copy of me."
Wow. I did not see that coming. My estimate of Marcy's mental state just swung from 'sweet' to 'full-blown mental case'. I start to lever myself out of the tub.
"Mitch, wait! Please? Can't you just play along? For me?" The pleading face is back. I have to admit, weird as this is, I'm tempted to go along, just to make her happy. Who knows, maybe I'll enjoy sex while wearing this bizarre suit. There is one thing that's bothering me though. I know ... I know, you're probably thinking, 'Only one thing?'
"Okay, Marcy. I'll play along, on one condition. Tell me what the second 'skin' suit is for."
"Oh, that. Why that's so you can transform back, silly."
Whew. She's really taking this role-play deal to the limit. Maybe my best bet is to go along with her weird fantasy, and then look for the first opportunity to skedaddle. With some reservation, I lie back down in the tub.
"Okay, Ms Mad Scientist. Transform me!"
She gives me a hard look, like maybe she isn't too pleased with my choice of words. Then presses the nozzle of that tube into my navel. The tip slips under the 'skin' and she starts squeezing. Bright red gel blossoms, cold against my stomach. Marcy keeps working the tube until it's empty. When she removes it, there's a very tiny 'pop' as the opening closes. Before I have a chance to make any witty remarks, a fizzy, tingly feeling starts at my navel and slowly spreads outward. Looking down, I can see the red gel rapidly dispersing under the 'skin'. I look back at Marcy, who's watching the process as though it's the most fascinating thing she's ever seen.
"You swear this won't hurt me?"
Her eyes are solemn as she replies, "I promise, you won't feel a thing."
It's then that I realize my abdomen is numb, and that the lack of feeling is growing at the same rate as the spreading gel.
"What have you done?" I try to get up, but the red stuff has reached my hips and shoulders, it's numbing effect already weakening my arms and legs. "Marcy! Why?"
"The change is painful, Mitch. So all your pain receptors must be blocked. Also, motor nerves are damped, to prevent any damaging convulsions." She brushes my cheek with her fingertips. "Don't worry. In a hour or so, you're going to wake up as me." She grins. "My very own twin."
All I can do is stare at her in horror. That damned red stuff must have reached my neck, because I can't even turn my head. My vision narrows, until all I can see are her lips, moving to words I can no longer hear. Then even that blurs and fades.
Not In Kansas Anymore
Someone is calling my name. The fog clears slowly. I try to shake my head, but it seems mired somehow. I lift it slowly, forcing my creaky eyes open. What is dragging at my head? I see a blurry mixture of pastels, which gradually focus into a inside view of the bathtub at Marcy's. Wait a minute. How do I know it's Marcy's, and what the hell am I doing in it?
Marcy's head moves into my field of view. "Hey, baby. How are you feeling?"
"Ummph. Marcy? Wha ...?" My mind fills with questions. Why am I here? Why does my voice sound funny? Is something wrong with my ears?
"What am I doing ..." What the hell? Something is definitely wrong. That is not my voice.
Her hands reach down. "Here, let me help you."
As she eases me to a sitting position, I look down for the first time. Oh, SHIT!! This can't be real. My head feels light, empty, like it's going to float away. Everything below my neck is too small, and it's the wrong shape. Worst of all, it's the wrong sex. I look at Marcy, back down at ... at ... the impossible, then back to Marcy.
"This is not ... How could ... What ..." My strange new voice falters. There are so many questions, I don't know where to start. Not that it matters. Nothing can possibly explain this ... this nightmare.
Marcy takes my head in her hands, steadying me. "I know, my first time was quite a shock, too. And I invented the process."
My mind grabs that one phrase and holds on tight. "F-first time?"
"Oh yes, silly. I've gone through this myself many times." She flashes a wicked smile. "You know what they say about variety. Why live only one life, when you can live many?"
She must be insane. That's the only possible explanation. I'm at the mercy of a beautiful lunatic.
"Here, let's get you up. You need a bath, you know. Waste residue from the nanites and all the pretty changes they made."
She helps me to my feet. I'm startled, seeing Marcy eye-to-eye, instead of looking down at her. I'm nearly ... I mean, I used to be nearly a foot taller than her.
Marcy starts the shower and steps in with me. Now, I've always dreamed of taking a shower with her, but somehow, I imagined the circumstances would be quite different. She begins to soap my body and I'm surprised by two very odd things. The first is how much dirt is running off me. The second is how sensitive my skin has become. Somehow it feels natural to grab a sponge and start working on Marcy.
"How did I get so dirty?"
She starts laughing. "That's the biggest concern you have right now?"
I shrug. My breasts lift as I do, causing some unusual sensations. "Gotta start somewhere."
"Okay. While the nanites were doing their work, waste products accumulated, and were basically sweated out through your pores. The sweat helped rid you of waste heat, too. So many nanites all working at once generates a lot of heat. I had to run a cool shower over you so you wouldn't cook. You also had many large, loose bowel movements during the conversion."
She gives me a no-nonsense look. "Think about it. You're now, what, seventy, eighty pounds lighter than you were before? Where do you think that all went? Take a good look at yourself ... Marcy."
That last bit is a splash of cold water in my face. Why is she calling me Marcy? I look down. That's why. My body is an exact copy of hers. The slender arms. The perfect breasts. The narrow waist and curvy hips. The vertical lips where my cock and balls should be. The trim legs and small feet. Every square inch is smooth and hairless. Even the polish on my finger- and toe-nails matches hers.
"This is impossible! I'm Mitch! Underneath this suit I'm still Mitch! You ca ..."
Marcy interrupts me. "It's not a suit. It's you. That 'skin' suit became one with you, changed you, molded you into Marcy. Into me. A perfect DNA-based copy of me. Right down to the last cellular detail."
"But that's just looks. Just appearances. Inside I'm still me ..."
She grabs my chin, turns my face toward hers, and speaks in a commanding tone. "Don't think. Just answer. What's my favorite color?"
"Pink." That doesn't prove anything. All girls love pink, don't they? So why do I have this deep-down certainty it's correct?
"Where did I attend grade-school?"
"Peterson Elementary." Where the hell did that name come from? I never attended such a place. I can't think of anybody who did. And yet I know that answer is right. How? How do I know?
"When is my next period due?"
"In about three days." Oh God! Did I really just say that? She's smiling in a way that tells me I've passed a test. But that's simply not possible! How can I know these things?
"See? The knowledge is there, waiting to be called on." She pulls me close under the warm shower, her hands caressing my body. "You are me." She kisses me. "You are Marcy." Another kiss. "You wear Marcy's beautiful body." Kiss. "You have Marcy's memories." Kiss. "You are everything that is Marcy." She pulls back and gives me a naughty grin. "So, my sexy twin. What say you and I get dried off and have some fun?"
Who knew it took so long to dry long hair? Marcy and I finish washing and quickly rinse off. But the hair! First the wring-out. Then the blot dry. And then careful combing and passes with the blow-dryer. It's an art, a discipline. One that somehow manages to feel both new and natural at the same time. It's a strange kind of duality. Part of me insists I cannot know this, and another part of me is so comfortable with it, as though I've done it all my life.
We help each other, twins moving in perfect synchronicity. There is no need to speak. We each know what to do and how to do it.
So many questions are bubbling up in my mind. Yet my fear and curiosity are damped by this bizarre experience. The smallness, the strangeness, the otherness, of this body. The hints of other memories and habits lurking below the surface, waiting to be called forth. To say I'm overwhelmed is a huge understatement. This is too much to handle at once, and I begin to wonder if I'm losing my mind.
Marcy retrieves a new bottle of wine and pours us each a glass. "Here, this will help."
"I'm not so sure." I look at the glass in my hand, then at her. "Alcohol, at a time when I'm doubting my own sanity?"
"Trust me." She looks down, hesitating as though embarrassed. "I know, I said that before. I also know how big an adjustment this is. But I think you'll really enjoy it." Her playful grin comes back. "Just think of the many new and interesting things you'll learn."
With that, she puts down her glass and melts up against me. Her hands slip under my robe, gliding across my this unfamiliar body I now inhabit. Her lips brush mine as she murmurs, "Right now you need to feel, to touch and taste and smell. Fill your senses, learn to be comfortable as Marcy."
One hand traces patterns on my back, while her other cups and massages a breast. Sensations I've felt many times before, now subtly altered, slowly fuel my desire. Her mouth attacks mine and I succumb, returning her passion with my own. And yet it's not quite my own. I sense my responses are different, in a way I can't put my finger on. At the same time, something deep inside me knows this is right. This is good.
We stumble to the bed, unable to keep our hands off each other. Briefly, I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror, two petite, curvaceous blondes, human mirrors of each other, kissing, petting, and moaning together. For a moment, part of me feels like an observer, watching from a distance. That part is quickly submerged by the heat building inside me. Inside us. There is only Marcy and myself, her perfect twin. Understanding exactly what the other wants, needs.
Again and again, Marcy surprises me with how strange and wonderful sex can be for a woman. There are similarities to what I've experienced as Mitch, but there are some amazing differences too. It helps that I'm with someone who knows this body from the inside out. As I can't help but know hers. We feel each other. Sense each other. Know one another, in a way that borders on telepathic.
The heat, the energy, the fire builds. We grow ever closer, until the distinction between us blurs. It's so incredible, the long, tantalizing buildup, the delirious eternity teetering on the crest, and the silent thunder of release, ebbing slowly to a warm, all over glow.
Finally, we lay exhausted in each others arms, the combined effects of wine and sex lulling us to sleep. Just before I drift off, I realize that the strangeness is gone. Marcy's body ... my body, feels so very good. It feels ... like it's always been mine.
The sound of the shower shutting off penetrates my sleepy haze. Rolling over, I open my eyes ... and freeze in panic. There's a man coming out of the bathroom! A naked man! Nonchalantly toweling his hair dry, as though he owns the place.
Without making a sound, without even breathing, I burrow into the blankets as best I can. My mind is freaking out. Who is this man? Where the hell is Marcy? And where are my clothes?
Despite my eyes being closed, I can hear him pad over to the bed. SHIT!! What do I do?!
He flips back the blankets. "Hey, sleepy-head! There's still some hot water if you want to grab a shower."
I do the only thing I can do. I scream. A very loud, very high-pitched, very girlish scream. And scoot back against the headboard as fast as I can, pulling the blankets with me.
He grins. "Why so shy? It's just me, your friendly neighbor, Mitch."
An icicle spears my gut at those words, because I recognize that voice. My voice. Well ... Mitch's voice, since I don't seem to be myself right now. Without thinking, I pull the blanket out and take a quick peek downward. Yep, I'm still wearing Marcy's body. As if the golden mane tickling my ears, shoulders and back wasn't clue enough.
My eyes raise to meet his. He's just standing there, waiting for me to figure it out. Wearing my Mitch-body, and my Mitch-face.
"How ..." I want to ask how he can be Mitch, when I'm supposed to be Mitch. A small part of me suspects, well ... knows the answer, but I'm really squashing that part down hard. Because that answer has implications I just can't deal with right now.
He speaks with my Mitch-voice. "You know how, Marcy." He says that last word quietly, but it hits me like a physical blow.
I can't look away from his Mitch-eyes. I want to look elsewhere, anywhere, but at those eyes, that face, that body that should be mine. Those eyes are relentless. They hold me, hypnotized, as I'm forced to acknowledge the truth, a truth so terrible it numbs the mind. I do know how. Marcy used the other skin-suit. The one made from me. The one that was my ticket back, my escape from this smaller, softer body. But that just can't be! Because that means ...
He nods as he sees the realization dawn in my eyes. "That's right. You can never return to your old life. You are Marcy, now and for the rest of your life." He chuckles. "Her life."
I'm screaming, "No! NO! You can't do this to me! You can't..." But it's only in my mind. I want the words to come out, to beat against him, to force him to change us back to the way we were. But no sound comes out of my mouth. In fact, I'm having trouble breathing. Things get blurry, and then fade to black.
I wake slowly from a pleasant dream, one in which I'm snuggled close to someone who is caressing me, and murmuring gently into my ear. Silken hair brushes my back, and as my mind clears, I realize it doesn't belong to my companion. The roving hands are too rough to belong to a woman, and the curves they're following are definitely not a mans. A large, calloused finger presses between my legs, slipping easily into my moist cleft, jolting me fully, frighteningly awake.
"Let go!" I struggle against the arms enclosing me, but they are so strong, and traitor that it is, my body wants him to finish what he started.
The bastard reads my mind. Warm breath tickles my ear as he says, "Relax, Marcy. Your body wants this, needs this."
I try again to resist, but it's only a token effort. My brain is screaming for escape, but my body yearns to stay within his embrace.
His one hand massages my breast while his lips nuzzle my neck. A thumb teases my clit, as his finger intrudes further, curling and pressing against me deep inside. My back arches of it's own accord.
He knows my body inside and out, and uses that to full advantage, building a fire within me that burns out all resistance. When he finally positions himself above me, I draw my knees to my shoulders. I want, no, I need him to fill me, as deeply and completely as possible. Feeling his hot, stiff prick pressing against my yearning pussy, I shiver and dig my nails into his back, urging him forward. Soon we're rocking together, each thrust of his met with a moan of mine. Together we ride the wave, higher and higher, until we both crest in a crescendo that seems to go on forever.
"I can't believe I did that." I was thinking how I'd just let a guy fuck me. No ... I didn't let him, I was a willing participant. Very willing. Just thinking about it makes me blush.
"No need to be embarrassed. You're a beautiful, horny woman. And since I used to be that beautiful, horny woman, I knew exactly which buttons to push." He looks over at me. "Besides, I've found nothing helps one settle into a new body like good ol' sex."
I don't know how to answer that. Especially since I'm feeling very much at home in this body right now.
I roll towards him, pulling the sheet up over my breasts. "I said, What now?"
He gives me a blank look.
"I mean ... how does this work? What do I do? I can't just take over Marcy's life, can I? I mean, surely someone will catch on."
He reaches over and tweaks my left nipple. A shiver runs through me as I coo.
"See? That was a Marcy response, not a Mitch response." Before I can say anything, he presses his lips to mine. I resist briefly, but find myself melting into his kiss, pressing back urgently, my breath mixing with his. A small moan escapes me.
He pulls away. "Again, that was all Marcy. You can't help yourself. Your body always knows what to do. And her memories are there, ready when you need them." He looks me in the eye. "In fact, it's not just easy for you to be Marcy now, it will become so instinctive over time that having been Mitch will become a hazy dream."
I want to protest. I want to find a way back. But how? Whatever technology he used to pull off this trick is way beyond my understanding. Or is it?
"Why this? Why me? Why change me ... us? This isn't just for kicks. There's something else behind this, isn't there?"
He looks away for several seconds, then back to me. "I guess you could say I'm a fugitive."
"A fugitive? Wh-what did you do?"
"I was too clever for my own good." When I look puzzled, he tries again. "I created this process ... the whole nanite-based bodysuit process. All of it."
"I don't understand."
"Research into this kind of tech takes money. Lots of it. I didn't look too close at my supporters originally, but when I realized the process could actually be made to work, I started thinking about the consequences. That's when I decided I wasn't comfortable with this kind of power being in the hands of any government agency."
"So what did you ... oh!"
"That's right. I took everything, files, notes, material, everything, and disappeared." He gives me a wink. "I'm sure you can figure out how."
More to myself than him, I whispered, "You switched with someone ..."
"To be accurate, the first time wasn't a switch." His face takes on a serious look. "That would merely have placed someone else in my dangerous situation. No, my first change involved ... let's call it ... borrowing a body."
"Just long enough to get away." He shakes his head. "The switching started later."
"Two reasons, really ... well, three, if I'm being honest. One, I get to experience multiple lives, you know, that variety thing I mentioned earlier. Two, it helps mask my trail even further ..." Here he pauses.
"And the third reason?"
He gives a soft laugh. "Cages."
I prop myself on my elbow and look at him. "Cages? What are you talking about?"
He tilts his head my way. "This may sound corny ... but not long after I made my escape, I started noticing people around me that weren't really living. They were just going through the motions. In a way, they were living in cages they had built in their own minds."
"So you ..."
"I began ... to help some people ... escape their cages."
"Is that ... is that what you did here ... with me?"
He sits up in bed, his back to me. "There is one more thing you need to know."
"And that is ...?"
"You can never tell anyone about this. Never. And I do mean anyone. If the authorities even think you may have been in contact with this technology, you will disappear into a secret government lab somewhere. Remember, they no longer have any of my research. That means anyone they find who has been through this process will immediately become government property. You will be sequestered, you will be studied, you may even be vivisected. The one thing you won't be is ... released."
We exchange a whole lot of silence while he finishes dressing. The reality, the permanence of my situation settled over me like a lead blanket. There's no going to back to my old world again. My safe, Mitch world, where I don't bother anyone, and no one bothers me. I look down at myself. I'm Marcy. In every way possible, I am Marcy. In a matter of hours I've been transplanted into a whole new life. And you know what? I'm scared. Absolutely terrified. What do I do when he leaves? Oh God. What the hell do I do? My need to delay his departure causes me to babble the first thing that comes to mind.
"So ... were you originally a man or a woman?"
"Sorry. It's not a good idea for you to know that. Or how long I've been running. Or how many times I have 'switched'. I will tell you this. I've always switched gender each time. And I've switched many times." He gives a short laugh. "Variety is the spice of life, is it not?"
"But what about all those people who've had their lives ... uprooted? What right do you have to treat people like that?"
He actually stops and looks pensive for a moment. "To be honest ... no right at all. But I honestly believe I've helped everyone I've ever switched with." A frown darkens his face. "In the beginning, there was one other option for keeping all this out of the wrong hands." He laughs, a quick, short bark. "I could have taken the lab, all my notes and materials, and ... myself, out in one big, glorious blaze." He looks down, unable to meet my eyes. His voice gets very quiet. "But I didn't have the balls for that. So I took the cowards way out. I ran."
He finishes buttoning his shirt and turns to leave.
"Where does it end?"
There's a long pause before he answers. "I don't know." He shakes his head. "I just don't know. Maybe soon. My trail should be pretty convoluted by now." Striding to the door, he puts his hand on the knob.
"And all the people you've switched with? What about them?"
He speaks softly, without turning around. "Don't be afraid to live outside the cage, Marcy."
The door snicks shut behind him.
Outside The Cage
Mitch moved away several weeks later. A nice couple with two young children moved in. I sometimes wonder how he's doing. If he ever managed to get out of that cage he built for himself.
Taking over Marcy's life was not the impossibility I feared it would be. I was so worried about how to deal with Karl, which was silly, because Marcy knew exactly what to do. All I had to do was relax, and let body and mind respond naturally. Same for the friends and neighbors. Being Marcy just comes naturally.
Funny thing is ... I love it. I love being the curvy little blonde that turns her man on so. I love that I'm now carrying his child. I love baking cookies for the neighbors, and filling in when the baby-sitter can't make it.
I love being the good neighbor.
So the next time you're flipping through the dictionary, look up 'good neighbor'. That picture right next to the definition - yep, that's me. Pretty damn cute, aren't I?
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos!
Click the Thumbs Up! button below to leave the author a kudos:
And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks.