Story heavily inspired by the works of the ever elusive @permanenttrade / @its-yours-now / the infamous body swap account that I have fallen in love with. I’ll tag an account that reposts their stories as credit is very much due, I wouldn’t have written this without inspiration from them!
“Come on… you seriously can’t not be happy that about spending an entire year in Italy,” I poked annoyingly at my best friend Lydia.
Her and I were spending our last day together before she disappeared for an entire year to “study abroad” in Italy, a decision her parents made for her after she came out to them.
“Ry… I’m being serious,” she responded with a sigh, the classic serious Lydia sigh she always gave before starting to lecture me on something — Virgos, am I right?, “I’m only going because my parents want me to be more, you know, ladylike. And supposedly, my Nonna is the ladiest of them all.”
I bit my tongue and looked to the side, wistfully and longingly. I’d been practically seething with jealousy (not really of course) ever since she told me about her trip to Italy. I knew it wasn’t under the best conditions or for the best reasons, but still… not even being the least bit excited? That’s upsetting. “I know… you know I would kill to get out of this place, even for a month. Italy would be the perfect escape, seeing all the beautiful sights and immerse myself in the beautiful culture and—”
“See all the beautiful men?” Lydia interjected with an annoyed look.
I smiled, my own very classic Libra smile, “Of course!”
Well maybe after this conversion camp,” she says with air quotes, “I’ll see what gets you so excited about them.” I also get a good laugh, especially from the air quotes. “You know Lyd… I don’t think you’ll ever be anything but a pussy-eating-lesbian — and no crazy grandma can change that.”
Lydia laughed, we always knew how to make light of our darker situations. “Don’t worry, you’ll be having so much fun during senior year that you won’t even be thinking about Italy or me.”
I rolled my eyes, “Senior year being fun without my best friend? Not thinking about you? Never.” We had always done this together, since the day we met in elementary school. We were each other’s first kiss, then ironically the first person we came out to, and I never imagined I’d graduate without her. I sighed, “Even if your grandma fucking sucks, enjoy Italy, for me.”
She smiles at me, a genuine smile, the kind you give to a friend that you might never see again… or the kind you give to a dog you’re about to put down. She then looks to the side pensively, then down at her torso. A deep thought has crossed her mind, I can tell because I know her better than anyone else. “You know Ryan, I wasn't sure if I wanted to do this, but… there’s a way we can both get what we want.”
My recently threaded eyebrows furrow with confusion, “What do you mean?”
She clenches her jaw, almost regretfully, as if it were a mistake that she spoke. “I… I don’t know actually. I don’t think… well maybe…”
“Lydia just spit it out.”
My best friend of 11 years, well really 21 since we always say that we’ve definitely been connected since birth, goes quiet, before speaking softly, in a low quiet voice that not even the wind can hear. “I can switch bodies with people.”
I have no words, simply staring at her with a blank expression. I know one thing for sure, Lydia doesn’t lie, she’s probably the most god awfully honest person on Earth, and that’s why I’m even more shocked when she begins to explain herself.
“There’s been a few times you might know. Like when I almost failed my drivers test… when she told me I didn’t pass I got so emotional I accidentally got into her body and… well… I changed my score to passing.”
“I knew it! You freaking cheater! You suck at driving— I even bet with Kaylie you weren’t going to pass!” Still my lips curl together in a smile almost automatically, impressed at my do-gooder best friend.
“Yeah yeah… well… do you remember that one time Henry Atwood shat himself at prom? Right after calling you the f-slur?”
I simply nod in bewilderment.
“That was me…” she admits sheepishly.
My jaw drops and I jump up. “No fucking way. You’re lying to me right now… is that why he kept saying he didn’t remember doing it?!”
She looks down embarrassed, “You know I don’t lie… he was just being so fucking rude to you! I got so angry that I just kept thinking about doing something to him and suddenly I was in his body!”
“And your first instinct was to shit yourself?” I say laughing, she smiles shyly,
“No. I shat myself because I was so scared that I jumped into Henry’s body with hundreds of people around!”
We both die of laughter there, almost forgetting the reason why she shared this secret with me in the first place. She shares her stories about other accidental swaps, even the purposeful ones that I go quiet at in shock, and she explains how she figured out that she was even able to swap with an online friend in England once. Our shared amusement quickly passes however, and our conversation goes quiet as a tension fills the air.
She clears her throat, “So Ryan, would you want to switch bodies with me?”
Still processing everything I stammer my way through a response, “I mean… shit… I just don’t know how it would work.”
Lydia nods, but a nod I’m familiar with — her plan nod. She does it when someone’s brings up a question she already has an answer for, always prepared and calculated. When we get high and I get the munchies, she gives her knowing nod and says Taco Bell — and of course I applaud her ability to make decisions for us. She begins explain her elaborate plan, which she notes she had developed over the last few months ever since her parents told her she was going to Italy for a year. She’s been practicing her body swap abilities, and has figured out a way to swap with someone else and have it be automatically maintained, and even make them forget they ever swapped somehow. After online research, Reddit threads, thinks that the only way to make a swap permanent is by having sex with your original body, which we both laugh at since that'll never happen. She also confirms with me that sexuality and attraction are transferred with our consciousness, so of course, she says I’m allowed to get with as many Italian guys as I want — which would also help her play straight while there.
She walks me through the plan, we’ll swap bodies after she lands and settles down, using a strong focus on me to connect our minds. Then, me being already very feminine, pretends to absorb all of Nonna’s ladylike knowledge and “straighten out.” She lives my life here at home, make it through my senior year, work my job, etc. Once summer starts and “she” comes home, we switch back.
I have to admit, it all sounds airtight to me. I can’t lie and say that I’ve never imagined what it’s like to be a girl. How easy it probably is to date, fuck, etc. With gays it’s always chaos and confusion over straight guys, nonbinaries, bottoms, tops, guys too feminine, and I’ve gotten tired. Lydia is smoking hot too, a total 10. We always said that we’d be a hot couple if it weren’t for our, well, gayness. Guys constantly hit on her due to her feminine exterior, but her masculine behaviors and personality (as well as her homosexual affliction) quickly send them away. Plus, who wouldn’t wanna escape their boring life for months in Italy? And so… I look my best friend of 11 years in the eyes and say, “I’ll do it.. Just promise me we'll switch back if I ask, no matter what.”
She jumps up and hugs me, smiling and repeating "Thank you" and "I promise" over and over again. Together, we joke, we laugh, and we plan for the rest of the day about what our lives will look like for the next year until we see each other again, and she goes home. Lydia tells me that I’ll likely feel a sudden nauseous when she swaps with me, and that it’ll be sudden but cool — at least she hopes as she’s never been on the receiving end.
And so, I await this sudden feeling she said I’d have, and four days after Lydia landed in Florence, it happened.
I was lying on my bed stalking her location through Find My for the hundredth time when the tingle started — soft at first, like static under the skin of my scalp. Then it deepened into a low, nauseating pull behind my eyes. The room tilted. My stomach flipped. I tried to sit up and the world simply… switched.
One second I was staring at my ceiling. The next I was staring at a different ceiling, softer light filtering through lace curtains, the air smelling of old wood and rosemary. My body felt wrong in every possible way. Lighter. Smaller. Soft in places that had never been soft. I sat up too fast and nearly fell off the narrow bed. My hands, delicate, nail-polished hands braced against the mattress. I looked down.
Breasts. Actual breasts, rising and falling with every panicked breath under a thin white tank top. My stomach was flat but curved differently. My hips flared. Between my legs there was nothing familiar at all, just a soft opening where my cock should have been.
I scrambled off the bed and almost tripped over a pair of Lydia’s sneakers. The bathroom mirror was tiny and slightly warped, but it was enough. Lydia’s face stared back at me. Same blue-green eyes, same freckles across the nose, same short hair. Except the expression was pure Ryan terror. I touched my cheek with those unfamiliar fingers and felt the touch. I opened my mouth and Lydia’s voice came out, softer, yet still even a bit more masculine than mine, cracking on the first attempt at, “Holy shit.”
I spent the next hour locked in that bathroom learning the new body the way you learn a foreign city—by getting lost in it. I pulled the tank top off and stared at the breasts. They were heavy in a way that felt both natural and completely alien. I cupped one and the sensitivity made my knees weak. Lower, I pushed the cotton shorts down and sat on the closed toilet lid, spreading my legs like I was examining a science project. The soft folds, the little hood of the clit, the entrance that was already slightly damp from pure adrenaline. I touched it experimentally with one fingertip and a sharp, bright spark of pleasure shot up my spine so fast I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
So this was what it felt like. Not the clumsy, mechanical rubbing I was used to. This was direct. Immediate. My own body answering me.
I came twice before I managed to put clothes back on and text Lydia from her phone.
Me: It worked. I’m here. You’re… me.
Ry Ry: I know. I just woke up in your bed and almost screamed. Is this what a dick feels like? Weird.
We FaceTimed that first night for three hours. I showed her the view she was missing out on from Nonna’s guest room window — terracotta rooftops, the Duomo in the distance. She showed me my own face looking back at her, already a little different somehow, the usual softness around the eyes replaced by something sharper. We talked about how weird it felt to hear each other’s voices coming out of the wrong mouths. She complained that my body kept getting hard at the worst times. I told her that sitting down felt like I was always slightly open, always aware of the space between my legs.
“I can’t believe you’re six-two, 8 inches, and a bottom,” she said at one point in the later weeks, laughing, “and you’ve been walking around with a fucking cannon between your legs that you never even use. I’ve jerked off twice already just because I can. You waste this thing.”
I flipped her off through the screen. She only grinned wider.
The first weeks were a crash course. Nonna was delighted that “Lydia” had finally decided to lean into being a proper young woman. She taught me how to make pasta by feel, how to walk in heels without looking like a newborn giraffe, how to sit with my knees together. I learned the hard way that periods were not a cute monthly inconvenience—they were a full-body mutiny. The first one hit me three weeks in and I spent two days curled up on the bathroom floor texting Lydia in all caps while she, back home, was apparently having the time of her life in my body.
We talked every single day at first. Morning check-ins, late-night FaceTimes after Nonna went to bed. She would complain about how easy everything was as a tall, conventionally attractive guy—how people just moved out of the way, how professors assumed competence, how girls smiled at her for existing. I would complain about the constant low-level awareness of being looked at, the way strangers felt entitled to comment on my body, the way my own reflection still startled me sometimes.
“You’re living the dream,” she’d say, half-jealous, half-mocking. “Hot Italian guys everywhere and a pussy that actually works. Meanwhile I’m over here trying not to bend your cock in half every time I sit down wrong.”
I told her about the first time I let an Italian guy kiss me outside a bar in Santo Spirito. How his hands felt huge on my waist. How the kiss itself was fine, even nice, but the second his palm slid lower I got spooked and ghosted him. She told me about how stressed she was from work, how weird it was taking sociology classes, about how she was thinking about going to the gym,” and it didn’t feel completely wrong.
September was still daily. October was every other day. By November her replies took longer. Sometimes a full day. I asked her why she was always at Fraternity Row, and a few days later, she stopped sharing her location in December—“battery drain,” she claimed. I didn't want to push it. In January, my Instagram was wiped clean of every rainbow caption, every mirror selfie in crop tops, every story highlight labeled “gay panic.” Simply now, a blank profile picture and no posts. When I asked about it she said she was, “tired of social media.”
Sometime in late January, after another string of unanswered texts to the number that used to be mine, I finally cracked and messaged Kaylie from Lydia’s phone. I kept it casual "Hey girl, how’s everything back home? been thinking about Ryan a lot, is he doing okay?" and her reply came almost immediately, bright and a little too careful, "omg lydia!! he’s actually doing really good, like weirdly good? he looks so different now, and he’s just… different, you know? in a good way though. he was also being weird with me but lets just say, i straightened things out hehe" I stared at the screen for a long time, rereading that one word straightened and feeling a low, uneasy twist in my stomach that I couldn’t quite name.
By February I was the only one still texting.
I kept sending updates anyway. Pictures of the Arno at night. A rant about Nonna trying to set me up with the grandson of a family friend. A long, drunken voice note about how much I missed my old body — the weight of it, the simple ease of existing without being constantly aware of my own softness. She left it on read.
The final call came in late March.
I was sitting on the windowsill of the guest room, legs dangling, phone pressed to my ear. Her voice — my voice, but different. It was almost, strange how weird I sounded. She was quiet this time, almost in a hush, like she couldn't speak where she was.
“I miss you,” I said, which was true and also a lie. I missed the version of her that still talked. “I miss my body too. I can't wait to come home.”
There was a long silence. Then, quietly: “Yeah. Me too.”
After we'd hung up, her saying she had to go somewhere and would call back, I couldn't help but shake the feeling something was different. Not just with her, that I already knew, but with me. That same feeling I had when we swapped returned, this low static humming, but this time, it was different. It felt, complete. The hair on the back of my neck stood up all day. A low, electric wrongness settled in my chest and stayed there the rest of the night. I chalked it up to homesickness.
After that call the silence became absolute.
I spent the remaining months in Italy going through the motions. I made friends with a group of girls from the language school. We got tipsy on cheap wine and danced in piazzas. I let a few more guys kiss me. I never went further. Every time someone’s hand slid under my shirt I thought of Lydia and stopped. I told myself it was respect. Really it was fear — fear that if I let myself enjoy this body too much, I might not want to leave it.
But I did want to leave it. Desperately. By the time summer arrived I was counting days like a prisoner. I wanted my height back. I wanted the solid weight of my own shoulders. I wanted the sensation that happens when you piss through a dick back. I wanted to stop feeling like a tourist in someone else’s skin.
And finally, the day came when I finally did. Summer was here, I bid goodbye to Nonna, my friends I'd made that I promised I'd keep in touch with (which would be Lydia's problem now), and the country of Italy itself. I’d “grown” as much as I could in a year, even grown out Lydia’s hair long, and before I knew it, I was at the airport. The plane ride home was pure dread mixed with something that felt dangerously like hope.
That text from Kaylie… it was all I could think about on the plane ride home. I had no idea what to expect really, what had Lydia been doing in my body for the last year, and why had she become so distant?
After being picked up by her parents at the airport. I endured their long talk about how proud they were that I stayed the whole year, how different I seemed, how mature, how feminine, and honestly I just sat and nodded. They weren’t wrong, I’d essentially ditched the “Lydia” act as soon as we swapped and just was myself, but I definitely wasn't taking this as far as Lydia was. Once the conversation about my time in Italy had finally gone down, I twiddled my thumbs somewhat afraid to ask the question that was on my mind. I contemplated, huffed a bit, and finally just blurted it out in the middle of my mom’s retelling of how she had moved around her plants in the garden. “So I moved the daffodils to the other side and—”
“— So have you guys heard anything about Ryan?”
My mom looked at me a bit shocked but nonetheless obliged an answer to my abrupt questioning, “Yes sweetie, he’s looking more handsome these days! Well, I only saw him during spring break for a bit, I think before him and his new frat buddies went to Cabo he stopped in town to see his parents and said hi to us. Why do you ask? Do you two still not FaceTime everyday?”
My eyes widened in shock, frat buddies? Lydia rushed, pledged, and joined a frat in my body? What else had she done? “No of course we do! I just wanted to make sure he was still coming to see you guys.” I lied through my teeth. I was going to need to have a serious conversation with her.
My dad chuckled, “Ah you kids. He doesn’t stop by much anymore ever since you left. He does seem different though, a lot less, you know than usual. You know we always hoped you guys would get married, maybe that might happen now!”
I shook my head instinctively, a lot less gay than before was what he meant. Just like Kaylie said, something was different about me, and it was all Lydia. I stared at our chat, scrolling up to her last responses and reading down. I started to see a difference I hadn’t before. It was normal up from when she left in August, to everyday conversations in September through November, then suddenly dry spells, days without responses, that ‘stopped sharing location’ notification, to messages fully ignored. From February on, it had just been me texting into the void.
I typed out "Hey, landed a bit ago, on the way home. Super excited!" and immediately erased it. A bad feeling sat heavy in my chest. I shoved it down. I just needed to see her. To see me.
I didn’t even unpack. The second we got home I was out the door and down the street to Ryan’s house. I knocked harder than necessary, heart hammering.
I had half expected it to be my parents saying that I wasn’t home, that they had no idea where I was, that I had gone missing and that explained all of Lydia's weirdness — but it was me. My body, standing there shirtless. Shirtless… and ripped?
I’d forgotten how tall I was, as I looked up at my face. My body's eyes widened and softened in a way I couldn’t read, eyebrows raised and lowered in mixed emotions. My lip quivered. Why was I hot?
She opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
The rest of me was almost unrecognizable. She’d changed everything. I scanned the rest of me, almost unrecognizable from my old self, as if my body was some sort of video game avatar and she had altered all of the base customizations. My hair was grown out to a length I’d always hated, a length that Lydia always said looked good on me. It was that classic southern fuckboy look, a messy nest of curls at the top with a mullet poking out at the back. Not to mention this new mustache and scruffy-goatee-look she had going on… it was like… it was like she had turned me straight.
The silence had become unbearable, and so I decided to do it. I took the initiative, the same way Lydia would always do.
“Hey Lydia.” I said curtly.
My body seemed to shake whatever had come over it and walked forward, still shirtless, and from what I could tell slightly damp, and hugged me. It was a long, slow hug, I could feel ever muscle in my old body tighten as I was squeezed. Yep, definitely sweaty. She ran my fingers through her old body’s hair, taking in how long the pixie cut she always kept had grown out. I unintentionally gulped when he did that — it almost gave me butterflies. She moved closer to my ear and in a low, masculine voice, one I didn’t even know could be produced from my larynx, spoke softly, “Hey Ryan.”
She let me in, and I walked past her into the house I’d grown up in. I missed it beyond words, breathing in that same smell my living room always had. She told me that my parents were on their annual trip to New York to see my aunt, it was this time of the year.
The awkward silence between us continued. Neither of us knowing what to say. I mean what can you really say when you swapped bodies with your friend, and it feels like they’re taking it for good.
My body clears his throat, and breaks the silence, “So… how was Italy?” Her voice echoes through the empty living room, in a manner that sounds unrecognizable to me. All the flamboyancy I once had, all the flair, gone. She sounded straight.
I look at Lydia, my best friend of 11 years, and an anger wells up inside of me. “How could you?” I could feel tears finally begin to well up in my eyes, and begin fall down my cheeks.
She rushes over to me, “Fuck I’m so sorry Ry… I just… I just couldn’t handle it anymore.”
Her arms, my arms, hold me tight. They’re stronger than before, the muscle she’s packed onto me giving her strength I’d never had. I clasped my hands onto my face to cover my sobs, and broke down right there.
After I’d stopped crying, we calmed down for a bit. She made us hot chocolate like she always did, except now in my body, and we caught up. She explained to me that she didn’t ghost me because she wanted to steal my body, but rather to stay focused on living my life without reminders. She just needed, as she puts it, ‘peace to be.’
I wasn’t the only one she had done it to, she mentioned doing it to Kaylie, and other friends I’d had. Apparently things in my life had caught up to her quickly, and she felt a strange feeling she never had, the loss of control. She was overworked from my job, under-slept from classes, and all alone.
“I did what I needed to survive as you Ryan,” she said, sipping slowly and carefully on the piping hot chocolate. The loneliness had hit hard. The job, the classes, the constant low-grade panic of living someone else’s life. Joining SAE had been about finding a place that made sense. The gym had been about control, and what shocked me most, “I came out as bi.”
My jaw dropped, and I laughed not out of amusement but from utter shock, “You didn’t.”
“I’m sorry man, I had to. I told you sexuality transfers over, and I couldn’t pretend to be gay anymore, especially not with the brothers,” she explained.
I breathe in sharply, trying not to cry again. She went on, about how everyone reacted to her saying “he” was into girls now. She told me everything, speaking in this douchebag frat boy accent, stretching and flexing muscles as she talked, and all I could think was how this caricature of me, seemed so much more… right.
I abandon the thought as soon as it arrives, “So… did you… do it with a girl?”
Lydia averts her gaze from me, to the side, then down at her shirtless torso, clenching her jaw pensively. “No… I was too embarrassed to.”
Something felt off about it, and a sinking feeling began in my stomach, but Lydia never lies to me so I pushed it away. “Okay, it’s fine then.”
She looked at me now, her eyes scanning me with a curiosity. “Would it be so bad? I mean, I said you could fuck a guy as me.”
I rolled my eyes, tilting my head at her response, “That’s completely different and you know that.”
She sighed, and shrugged, “Well… did you?”
“I… tried, but it didn’t feel right. There were some guys, some kissing, but I just masturbated all summer… if that’s okay.”
This got a big laugh out of Lydia, and honestly out of me too, the situation just feeling so strange and ridiculous. “Dude don’t even sweat it, I think I’ve jerked off twice a day since being in your body. God I had no idea being a guy would make me so horny…”
The laughter falls silent then, and we go quiet, simply staring at each other’s bodies for what feels like hours. For some reason, my eyes begin to wander down towards my shirtless torso, slicked with sweat, and down towards the gym shorts, to my crotch. There, I see a print, my print, and from what I know about my own dick, loose and semi-hard. A strange sensation arises within me, the same feeling I get when I see a hot guy’s shlong, the same feeling I get when I can’t wait to rip off his shorts and slurp it down. I bite my lip.
Lydia must’ve seen me staring for too long, and quickly she grabs a pillow from the couch and puts it on her lap. “Fuck I’m so sorry. I’m telling you dude, I don’t know why I’m so fucking horny all the time.”
I break out of my trance, and giggle a bit to ease the tension, as she laughs it off and continues sipping her hot chocolate. I mirror her, and we continue forward — yet something about seeing my own manhood for the first time in months lingers in the back of my mind, something more than just missing it.
We continued to chat across each other on the couch for hours, both of us feeling some sort of normalcy return while knowing how weird it is to look at each other and see ourselves. I told her about Italy — the girl friends, the almost-hooks-ups I never followed through on out of some twisted sense of loyalty, how much I’d missed her even while wearing her face. She told me about the transformation, the frat, the strange ease of moving through the world as a tall, conventionally attractive man.
I'm not exactly listening, instead I watched the way the living-room light caught on the new muscle of her forearms, the way my old cock — her cock now — is probably begging for release under that pillow, shifting beneath the thin fabric of the gym shorts when she moves, and I felt a tension forming in the soft, traitorous place between my legs. I couldn't handle this anymore.
Eventually the question I was most afraid of slipped out.
The burning query inside of me that I’ve needed to ask, now even more required after seeing everything that’s changed with my old self. She almost chokes on her now-cold-hot chocolate when I bring it up. “Are we switching back?”
Silence returns between us, before she sets her mug down and looks at me, in my eyes, her eyes. She breathes deeply, and nods her head, and says one word, “Yes."
Relief hit so hard I almost laughed. She laughed too, softer... quieter. “Fuck, I really thought you were gonna say you didn’t want to anymore.”
Her mind went elsewhere for a moment, the same Lydia look she had when she was in the middle of planning something. Then, she studied me for a long moment, and nodded. “I promised you we would. Let's do it tomorrow, I just need tonight to put a few things in order."
I was about to say something in rebuttal, but she didn't allow me, continuing on, "Let's make it a night to remember. Have fun in downtown together like before, in each others bodies, then we switch tomorrow. I swear.”
I should have said no. I should have insisted we do it right then. Instead I looked at the version of myself sitting across from me — confident, built, settled in a way I’d never managed — and felt something complicated and hungry twist low in my stomach.
“Okay,” I said. “One last night. You better not make me swap into a massive hangover.”
A few hours later, I’d shown up just like she’d asked, at 8 pm so that she would have time to “get some affairs in order”. No doubt about it, she’d always been responsible enough to make sure she’d set everything straight. I, on the other hand, had been ready to swap back without a second thought. I knocked at my door again, a familiar feeling to earlier that day, but instead found my old body with a fresh haircut, showered, and changed already.
She hugged me again, this time less tense than before, and I could smell a foreign cologne I’d never dream of wearing emanating from a jacket that I’d never purchased. I looked good, really good. Even smelled good.
We pulled away from the hug and just looked at one another, a deep eye contact beginning as we took each other in. I stared at myself, into my chocolate brown eyes I’d once wished were Lydia’s blue-green, and breathed in. I asked her about what affairs she needed to settle, and she gave a simple response, "Needed to get some stuff from my boy John." Whatever that means. I did my best to settle the thoughts and shake the feelings I was having, the same ones constantly creeping up on me since Italy, and just gave Lydia a bright smile. She returned it, flashing a small, cheeky one right back at me. We continued into the house, and I just repeated to myself.. she promised.
We laughed, taking a few shots of whatever liquor my parents had in the cabinet as we got ready to go out on the town.
“Let’s take our pic. You know our pre-pic.” Lydia says as she grabs my phone from her pocket. I noticed that she had changed my case from the one with rainbows on it to something simpler, a white and black one. Lydia had always been a clear case kind of girl, so it struck me as odd that she’d purchase one so… plain. She could see I was staring at my phone now, analyzing it for further detail, and she chuckled a bit, “Sorry, had to cover up the pink a bit y’know?”
I nodded, and continued on, not wanting to make this whole thing any more strange that it already is. I posed for the picture, and for a second I could see the old us. We’d always done this, a picture in my bathroom mirror before we went out and got crazy drunk — well, I got crazy drunk. She was always the responsible one, only one drink in ever, there to take care of me when I needed it.
He snapped the picture, and we both could feel how strange it looked. How weird it felt that I was the shorter one, how my body had no makeup on, a goatee, and clothes I’d never worn, how we’d even swapped our signature poses — how we almost looked like a couple.
We left my house, her driving us in my old Lexus that was clearly redecorated, or rather undecorated, into what looked and felt like a straight guy’s car. All my cute pink accessories had been taken out, my rainbow wheel cover removed, and my funny little bumper stickers (like “Honk if you’re gay” in rainbow lettering) peeled off as if they were never there. I silently looked around my car, scanning for what else might be different, removed, before she spoke again, “Haha sorry, had to change it up or my boys would think it was weird. All your stuff is in the trunk though.”
I swallowed it up again. We made our way through the downtown area of our city, towards the section we’d always gone to, the gay bars that we’d been sneaking into with fakes even before we turned 21, before suddenly we took a turn onto a different street. I shot a glance over at her confused, but she kept my eyes on the road, continuing on to a different part of downtown — the college one. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to make things even weirder for her on the last night in a life she clearly had clearly become so accustomed to, but I couldn’t shake the thought that it was my life too.
We ended up in an area of downtown that I vaguely remembered, the side with the college bars that my friends from university liked, but I always hated. Filled with stuck up sorority girls, douchebag frat guys, and all the other students who seemed too popular to talk to. She parked my car, and we walked quietly towards ‘The Blue Room’ named after our college color. I’d been here once before, hated it, and had no idea why I was here again. It was a popular spot with students due to it being an amalgamation of things, a few bars around the venue, a loud club atmosphere, seating and tables, and lots of horny students looking to fuck. Not a word was spoken between us, barely any eye contact either, before she confidently strode past the line of clamoring students excited to get inside and get wasted. I had no idea what to do, simply following behind her, it was either that or face the eyes of the people in line watching us as we walked past. Did Lydia really think she could get us in?
We reached a scruffy man at the front of the line, burly and clearly exhausted of the youth in front of him, likely a million fakes snapped in half tonight. His eyes shot up at Lydia, in my body, as she walked up to him with confidence. I expected a dirty look from him, but instead, she was met with a huge smile and a handshake I didn’t recognize.
“Yoo what up Ryan!? Back to your old hunting grounds my guy?” The bouncer asked jovially, turning his full attention away from the girl who he was about to check’s ID and towards Lydia.
Ryan chuckled, and did that stupid fuckboy move where you put a hand on the back of your neck and act all nonchalant, subtly flexing an armpit and a bicep all at the same time. “Haha you know me too well man but nah, I got a special friend back in town tonight, wanted to show her around.”
His eyes looked past him, then towards me, and he did that half-nod-half-smirk thing that guys do when they see their boy with a hot girl. Fuck this. The bouncer leaned in slightly to say something just to Lydia, but still had to speak loud enough over all the music and noise of the line. Lucky for me, Lydia always had excellent hearing. “Is that the friend you brought last time? Man that chick was all over you dawg!” The bouncer egged on, punching my body’s muscled arm as if to congratulate me on scoring again.
I was shocked, what the fuck. I guess Lydia had really done more than what she admitted. I knew it. She didn’t even look at me to confirm whether or not I’d heard the bouncer, or maybe she did but didn’t care, and responded simply with a ‘no’ by shaking his head. “You’re so funny bro.” They sealed the conversation with another handshake, and quickly, Lydia gestured for me to follow her inside as the bouncer stepped to the side and let us in.
She grabbed my hand and pulled us into the Blue Room, I watched as she scanned around looking for a place for us to settle. In my peripheral I saw a packed house, lots of people dancing and making out, people yelling “chug chug chug!” at the bar, and a few younger students on floor passed out as friends rushed to get them water. Lydia parted the way like Moses, a confident 6’2 man really makes your journey through a thick crowd so much easier. I couldn’t help but notice girls turning to each other and biting their lips, or watching as a few younger frat guys said “YOOO IT’S RY-MAN,” as we passed.
She’d turn to smile at them, then continue on, but all of their attention was kept on my old body, and nothing on me. I tried to ignore all of it, wanting to focus on what had just happened outside. I wanted to bring up what had just happened, how we’d just skipped the line at a bar I’d been to once and hated, how the bouncer seemed way too friendly with me, and how she had lied to my face about going out with girls, but I just stared at myself dreamily. His was strong arm guiding me to a more comfortable spot in the venue. His grip was firm, protective, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was safe with him as long as he was here. I did what I had been doing all night, and pushed the feelings aside.
We got to the upper floor of the Blue Room that seemed more like a nice restaurant versus a bustling club. The music was still loud, but not as much as it was down there. She pulled out my chair and sat me down at nice, secluded table in one of the back corners, and we just started to talk.
“How are you liking it so far? This is probably my favorite place ever.” I shot her an annoyed, discomforted look. He sighed, “I know you probably wanted to go to The Backdoor or something but, I figured why not show you what I’ve been living like for the past few months.”
I gave a small laugh at the name of our favorite gay bar, The Backdoor was definitely what I was expecting tonight. “I like it… it’s different. It’s very… Lydia-Ryan. Fits my new vibe.” I say, loud enough over the volume of the music but quiet enough so I’m not exposing the body swap to anyone — not that any of these drunk people would hear.
She laughs at that and looks to the side, then around at the walls of the spot we’re at, clenching her sharp jaw line. It’s almost like if she’s fully taking it in, as if for the last time. I could feel a stir from within me as I looked across the table at my old body, under this blue incandescent light. Him, looking around the room, this handsome frat guy that the bouncers know, other students shout hi to, all of it felt so foreign but so right. I break the silence between us, and her concentrated scanning of the room. “So what was all that about some girl with the bouncer?”
Her eyes widen a bit, “Damn I forgot how good my hearing is.” She pauses for a second, unsure of how to proceed. Finally after a few seconds, she shrugs in a way that says ‘fuck it’ and continues on, “I took Kaylie here. I ran into her after I’d sort of ghosted for a while, and then she asked to catch up.”
I looked at my old body with an even more confused look now, “So you… took her to your favorite club and then…?”
She looked at me and gave that same shrug again, “She kept saying I looked good, different, and one thing led to another. She had too many drinks and so we…”
I sat there shocked. I couldn’t believe it. My best friend had had sex with my other friend. I almost wanted to vomit at the thought of it Kaylie and I… but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even imagine it, because I could barely picture what I used to look at like at this point. I raced through my memories for an image of me before the swap, but there was nothing, almost as if I remembered yet forgotten it. All I could picture was this new Ryan and Kaylie, and that didn’t feel all that wrong.
I opened my mouth to say something, unsure this time of how to proceed. One thing did cross my mind though, and it ended up being what left my lips. “I need a drink.”
We made our way to the bar on that floor, and of course, the bartender knew me, well, her. She greeted her with a flirtatious smile, and this time, I was even less excited to see myself knowing someone. I shot a look at Lydia. Really, even her. All I got was a guilty smile and a shrug back. Lydia told me to head back to the table while she brought our drinks, and so I listened. I lost vision of Lydia for a while, as people began to surround the bar, looking for liquor. I trusted her of course, we had a code, always watch each other's drinks.
She came back after a while, a somewhat guilty look on her face. It didn't matter to me, I just needed alcohol.
And that’s where it started. One drink after another.
I downed them, drink after drink after drink, and the night quickly blurred. One minute we were at the second floor bar, with the bartender making ‘fuck me eyes’ at my old body, and the next on the bottom floor with a group of people I didn’t know.
Lydia had my hands on my waist, pulling me tight as we danced to the club music. It vibrated through me, and my body felt both static and full of energy.
I’d never been this drunk before, something felt so wrong. I tried my best to shrug it off, convincing myself that it's because I’d never drank so much as a girl. In my old body, being 6’2 meant you could do as much as you want, but as Lydia, this much alcohol might be a death sentence.
We were handed shot after shot, friends of ‘Ryan’ passing us drinks as they arrived from the bar area.
I knocked back a shot, my old body looking at me concerningly, I drunkenly shouted, “YOU ALWAYS hick DO THIS… NEVER HAVE FUN hick TOO RESPONSIBLE” over the now much louder first floor music. She gave me a sly smile back, “Only one drink ever, you know me.” I’d almost forgotten, but there she was, Lydia the Chivalrous. I think it made her even more handsome as a guy. I came into consciousness to the sound of chanting, next to my old body in the middle of a dance circle.
Everyone shouted “RY-MAN” over and over again, some stupid frat nickname I assumed, as I watched myself dance like a drunken idiot in the middle of a group. I watched as Lydia started to take her jacket off, giving some sort of strip show to the hungry, cheering crowd. Before I knew it, I was biting my lip.
I woke up again this time to a touch, not a sound. A feeling, a sensation, a warm flutter in my stomach. Hands on my waist. I could tell I was still in the middle of the dance floor, warm bodies jumped and roared all around me.
It was dark. I was leaning into someone, my hands traced a strong back, and the jarring smell of masculine cologne and sweat filled my nostrils. I couldn’t move though, I only could look up at who I was holding so tightly onto. Frantically I looked up, only to meet the same chocolate brown eyes of my old body. It was me— not a stranger, to both my surprise and partly delight. He was smirking, already looking down at me, and I could feel panic arise within me. I tried to push away embarrassed at my weak moment, but couldn’t, and as quickly as the embarrassment came, it left. I didn’t want to leave his embrace. I was nestled against his abs, using his strong chest as support for my head.
I was feeling it again, how weirdly right this felt.
I couldn’t remember why this could be wrong.
All I could think about was how I could get high on the way he smelled right now.
How badly I wanted him to take me home.
I could feel him move down to my ear, and he whispered something I can’t remember. I only remember nodding, and not just hearing, but feeling his chuckle. A hearty chuckle, coming from his chest, I leaned further into him — taking it all in.
I felt it then, the hands previously on my waist moved and slipped like snakes, slithering towards their final goals.
His left arm wrapped me tightly, pulling me so close to him I could feel his heartbeat. It was steady, it was calm. The opposite of mine. I could feel it pulsing through my body, almost enhanced by the drunken state of mind I was in. It only got louder as I could feel his right hand make its way down my torso, hidden by it being between me and him. I could feel it slither and slipped further and further down my front side, towards my belly button, then past my pussy, and right back up the black skirt I had pulled from Lydia’s drawers, and onto to my panties.
Another rush to my head, this time stronger. I could feel his fingers, stroke me through my panties, now wet, almost stenciling the way my lips parted. He stroked back and forth a few times, teasing me, I moaned quietly, so that none of the people around us could hear, but enough for him to.
It was the ‘go-head’. His fingers began to climb their way inside me.
Two of them. My fingers. Index and middle.
Curved slow movements before quick rapid ones, before back to slow. He knew what I liked, he knew what I needed. This was his body.
One finger caressed my clit, playfully at first, then with intention. This seemed beyond a sort of knowing. The kind of biological knowing a man has naturally — the kind to please a woman. This was trained, skill expertly administered, something I’d never had in my own body that he’d mastered in months.
My breathing was quick, thoughts raced in my mind. No man had ever gone there, touched her in this way, touched me in this way.
How is he doing this? Why is he doing this? I need him to do this.
People could see this. Are people watching? I don’t care if they watch.
Did he do this to Kaylie? How many times has he done this? I don’t want him to stop doing this.
My thinking only exacerbated the feelings I was already having, the idea of people watching me, the idea that he’s done this before, the idea that they’ve probably all seen Ry-man, frat fuckboy, do this before to countless other girls — it only made some sick part of me even hornier.
My head was still buried in his chest, eyes shut, breathing in and out as his fingers still plopped in and out of me at record speed, rubbing the inside like a wet paint roller on a wall with pleasure I’d never even imagined, in ways I’d never even attempted since body swapping.
My juices ran down my thighs, trickling towards my legs, I could feel the wetness dripping from me like a college slut in a bar. And well, that’s exactly what I was.
I could feel the arm he was using to wrap me tightly leave my waist and move towards my hair, and suddenly I was pulled out of the dark comfort of his chest and back into the neon blue of the club dance floor. His hand gripped my hair, tugging my head back in a way that made me more far more horny than it should have. His fingers still paced back and forth inside me while I quickly scanned around me as I was brought into the light, no one was looking at us. Everyone was far too drunk, too lost into their own worlds to see me getting fingered in the middle of the floor.
I looked at him, and he was staring down my top, at my hidden breasts. His usual soft smile from before had been replaced by a domineering, starving smirk. He looked up my face from my tits, as all I could do was roll my eyes back in pleasure as he continued to roll now three of his fingers inside and outside of me.
Suddenly I felt wet lips crashing hard against mine, and my eyes widened in terror at the kiss. Lydia Ryan pulled back and gave me the same devilish smirk that he had on before, and instantly I reached my hand to the back of his head and pushed him back down for another kiss.
There, we sloppily made out as his fingers made love to his pussy, and mid kiss, I came.
Squirting all over his now three fingers inside of me. My breath hitched, my hips jerked forward, and slowly I felt his fingers leave me victoriously, like soldiers moving out of a surrendered enemy camp after winning the war. The alcohol hit me again, and I blacked out again right there.
I woke up to a soft, familiar surface god knows where. There was a soft light coming from my right side, partly illuminating the room I was in. My eyes adjusted wearily to the darkness, and I realized where I was.
I was in my room — my old room, except it looked nothing like it anymore. Gone was all the feminine decoration I had before, my pop-girl posters torn down, my fairy lights once strung along the wall now empty, it looked more like a straight guy’s room.
As I continued observing what had changed in my room, the door opened quietly to Lydia entering in from the hallway. “Oh hey you’re awake.”
I turned, and instantly remembered flashes of how I got here. A drunken dance floor make out, the fingering, passing out and being princess carried to the car, driven here instead of home. “Hey…” I replied shyly.
She stands at the edge of the bed, shirtless, only in a new underwear I didn’t recognize. My body towered over me, I really felt small now. She probably had to get a whole new wardrobe after doubling my body in size. She looked at my face, then to my braless tits, and then down at my legs, observing me as if I was some wonder. I blushed, and realized it then, I was completely naked. I panicked, looking up and down, around, then back at Lydia. I could see it then, her underwear beginning to look heavy, a weight forming there where it should have been flaccid at the sight of an almost naked girl.
I started, “M-my clothes… Lydia… I don’t think-”
“Then don’t.” She cut me off. She took down her underwear in one go, and suddenly a familiar view sprung to life in front of me. All 8 inches of my cock stared at me, beckoning me forward, begging me for release.
I looked up at her... at me … no… at him. How fucking sexy he looked in this lighting, how much he had given me on that floor, how much he deserved a return in favor.
I sat up straight, that familiar feeling of butterflies and pleasure returning inside of me. Except this time, the fear was gone. I made my way over towards the edge Ryan was standing at, and began.
I wrapped my soft, supple lips around his heavy cock, taking it all in as I worked the head. I teased it a bit, the same way I did sucking cocks before, but Ryan wasn’t one to be teased.
His manly hands wrapped around my chin and head, and with one quick motion, shoved my head down his full length. I choked, eyes watered as it touched the very depths of my throat. He moaned gutturally, and I could feel the meat get even harder while inside my warm mouth.
My eyes looked up at him, and again his eyes said it all. ‘I’m in control.’
I relinquished it all right there, every thought I had of returning to my rightful place in my body — except it wasn’t. It was his rightful place in his body now, and I was in mine.
A few more seconds of throat fucking me into letting me now service him completely. I could hear him saying things as I brought my lips down his shaft again, nose brushing against his hairy bush I’d always kept short before. His expression contorted into his manslut-gooner face.
“Fuck you’re being such a good girl for me.”
I continued up and down again, bobbing my head in accordance with his statement, his rules. I wanted to show him he was right. I wrapped his thick, veiny meat around my lips like a vacuum seal and sucked, his hips buckled in response.
He pulled my hair back, and suddenly his cock was free from my throat. His eyes met mine, “You’re so much better than Kaylie. I didn’t know dykes took cock so well.”
His voice echoed in my mind, hairs on my body stood up to full mast, senses overloaded with pleasure. I didn’t know this could be so fucking hot. A memory flashed through my mind, his fingers inside of me, and I realized how much better this could get.
“Ryan,” I moaned, looking at him with lustful eyes. Just his name. His rightful name. The name he took from me. The body he won from me.
He knew what it meant, we’re best friends after all.
“Lydia,” he said, following in my stead, but he gave more, “Doesn’t this cock look so much happier when it’s being used? Instead of flopping around while some faggot fucks your hole.”
I looked at him, then at his cock, full mast, veiny, blood pumping, previously unused — now happy. All those times it was neglected due to my preference for bottoming, now it stood tall. A king calling to be worshipped. “It looks so happy.”
Ryan forcefully grabs my head, pushes my face right up to his dick. My head is squished against his smelly pubes and his hand, and I stare at it, admiring its veins, its color of its skin, the way it throbs in pleasure at finally bring seen. “Tell it you’re sorry.” He says this, not a request, a command.
The words leave my lips faster than I could think it, “I’m sorry.”
He releases me from his grasp, and I already know what to do. I go lower than before, bringing my face directly under his staff right at his balls. I open wide, one musky egg sized ball fitting in my mouth, then going for another. I massage them inside, my tongue brushing past it as I suck and swallow, stimulating the sperm inside. He throws his head back in pleasure, I watch.
I watch as he moans, throwing his head back as his heavy muscled torso rises and falls, breathing in and out, up and down, the same way he had fingered me on the dance floor. I’m star struck, lustful, I’m in love.
After a few moments of this, he pushes me off, and gets on the bed, he beckons me over and I crawl to him. I get on top of him, my wet, throbbing pussy still aching from the orgasm I had earlier, dripping my juices all over his abs. He’s strong enough to hold me, he’s a 6’2 210 lb man now, and that makes this even hotter.
He looks me in the eyes, and I look at him, knowing that something he had been waiting for all night, maybe all year, was about to happen.
“You’re a horny lesbo slut who’s gonna turn straight off this big cock right?”
I nodded, I had nothing else to say. He had this smirk, a face that said he’d won. Sex looked good on him. I was ready to give my body up for good, he deserved it. My thighs trembled as I began to mount myself over his condom-less manhood, bringing my legs up and strengthening my core as I guided his fully hard 8 inches to my bottom, towards my lips, then inside of me.
It was over, he was fully inside me. The swap became permanent — and I couldn’t be happier.
I had been used to riding men, but never like this, never with the organ made for pleasing a manhood. I wanted to do this for him, give him the pleasure he earned for building my body into something I never could, but my legs gave in quickly, this body never had the practice. He took over, placing his strong hands on my hips and began thrusting upwards instead. I screamed in pleasure, the same feeling I had from when he fingered me returned, this time with what felt like quadruple times the dosage.
He fucked me like that for minutes straight, in a way that flaunting the core strength he’d built, turning that body into a slut fucking machine.
“Fuck,” he groaned, ramming his full manhood into me repeatedly, “I’ve never fucked a pussy so tight.”
I contracted, tightening it even more just for him, I wanted him to feel good. I wanted him to know that he deserved this.
The way he shlopped in and out of me, teasing my virgin lesbian pussy with his tip, pinching my tits as he thrusted upward. I was in heaven, eyes rolling into the back of my skull with each stroke. This is what we were now, straight fucking breeders, and the freedom never felt so good.
When he came for the first time, we paused to make out, ravenously eating at each other like our last meals were each other’s tongues. Though as we hit a slowing point in the bedroom, the question that had been haunting me all day crossed my mind once again.
I wanted no, I needed to know just how much he’d done with that body. “How many girls have you fucked? Truthfully this time.”
He looked at me, grinning ear to ear. “21 since we swapped.”
I held back what I really wanted to say. Manslut. “How many of them made you cum more than three times in a night?”
There was my mission then.
We returned, I pounced on him, I wanted to show him why I’d be the last woman he’d sleep with. The stink of sex filled our nostrils yet again as we intertwined, our body’s pheromones colliding in a natural battle of man versus woman, and with the way he was drilling me, woman was losing.
We switched again, fuckinglike rabbits in different positions, anything to find out how deep his dick could get inside of my cock-virgin pussy. One where he lay on top of me, me pushed down into the mattress, suffocated by full weight of his 200 lb body, his cock barraging me from behind. I came in that position just from the thought of how heavy he was now, how fucking manly. Another where he held me up, squishing my face against the bedroom wall. I came there from remembering there’d once been a Lady Gaga poster in that exact spot.
I’d never felt anything like this, an ecstasy I had no idea was possible for the human body to experience, and I didn’t think I could live without it again.
It was in the way my juices splashed against our thighs as he nailed me down. In the way we kept eye contact as he switched to his mouth, making love to my aching pussy with his tongue, showing me just how much pleasure I could receive from one orifice. Fuck he looked so sexy drenching his slutty mustache and goatee with my cum as I squirted for the fourth time that night. It didn’t stop there, I found ways to rejuvenate his member back to life after he came each time, both of us still raring to go as if we were repopulating planet Earth. After all, I knew his body better than anyone else.
We kept going until sunrise, until I collapsed in his arms. We had to have beaten a record that night, the most amount of times a lesbian had been made cum by a gay man, and the amount of times a gay guy had been made cum by a lesbian. Except, we weren’t that anymore — we were Ryan and Lydia. Now, and forever.
The next morning I woke up to an empty bed. This time, for the first time in a year, I woke up in a body that felt like mine.
I looked down at my naked body, down at the supple breasts, down at the curves and folds, this pussy, all things I once found foreign now felt like its clicked into place. From my left side, I could hear a phone buzzing with notifications, and I panicked realizing that Lydia’s my parents might be worried sick that I didn’t come home.
Standing up, I could feel my nether region aching from the insane sex I had last night, but I pushed through regardless to check. Two phones sat face up on the oak nightstand, both his and mine — except his was the one buzzing alive. I ignored all thoughts I had of my parents and decided to snoop, after all this used to be my phone. Muscle memory typed in my password, and as it unlocked my face broke into a girly smile realizing it was still the same. Lydia’s birthday. My birthday.
I went to iMessage, and found the notification culprit. A group chat named ‘SAEaters.’
John: Ry-man’s gotta be passed out from all that pussy he got last night
Luke: Bro theres no way he didnt get some
John: Yeah that pill makes girls go crazy for sum dih
John: I still can’t believe he came to get it out of nowhere yesterday
Zach: yeah it’s crazy cuz he never needs it either… must be some chick
I closed his phone in shock, dropping it back onto his nightstand, thankfully with no crack. He… drugged me? I needed to talk with him. That fucking crosses a line. Did I fucking give up my body just because I was high off my ass? Was everything we had last night only because of a fucking pill? I stomped over to the bathroom, the shower still running loudly, and found the door cracked open. I took a pause before opening it, I needed to see his face. As I placed my hand on the door to push it open, the sound of wet shlopping and low, manly sounds stopped me in my tracks. Was he…
I stormed in, and found him with his arm propped up against the shower wall, stroking his cock furiously, fully erect and moaning. He turned to look at me, but instead of being a criminal caught in the act, his eyes were lustful and hungry, like a predator finding its prey.
“Fuck baby… I’m so happy you’re here.”
I just stared at Ryan like a deer in headlights, really taking in the sight now fully illuminated by the daytime. His wet, ripped body, girthy horse dick, and his cocky fuckboy smile. He was right, he really had become so horny he couldn’t live without busting his breeder seed every day. All the anger left my body at that moment and turned into something else, something new, purpose.
He opened the shower door knowingly, and I quickly made my way over, instantly on my knees.
“Looks like you’re ready for round two,” he flirted, one hand holding the shower doorframe and the other around my chin, his rough, calloused fingers tracing my soft lips. They’d once been dainty and feminine, acrylic nails attached at the end, now they were the hands of a man.
Pushing my long hair out of the way, I nodded, no words needed to be said, I eyed his dripping cock, the way it twitched with thickness as precum oozed like a geyser soon to erupt.
“Wait, I have to tell you something though,” he said abruptly, pausing our moment of lust.
I cut him off, “I know you gave me something, I don’t care.” I really didn’t at this point, I just wanted to slobber all over his dick. Now.
He laughed, “Oh fuck haha no, not that. Well sorry about that but it wasn’t what I meant.” He brushed off drugging me as if it were nothing, it aroused me in a way, him exuding this unapologetic frat boy energy.
Ryan looked at me, in the endearing way he always did, then smiled in a way as if holding a laugh back, “I made our swap permanent after you called me that day from Italy. Hearing my own voice again after avoiding you, it just felt so foreign to me, and I knew that I could never go back.” I raised my eyebrows in surprise, and then looked at the fully erect cock in front of my lips, watching it harden even further and drip with precum as he admitted to he stealing my body months ago. “So… I knew that once you got back, I didn’t need to fuck you to seal it. I just needed to fuck you to make you know it.”
I took in a deep breath, and rolled my eyes. I looked back up at him, a fire in my eyes. He looked anxious, in a way I’d never seen him before in my life. There was a tenseness between us before he spoke again, “Can you… forgive me?”
I shrugged, and placed my hands over the fuckstick in front of me, begging for attention. “How’s this for forgiveness,” I said, putting my lips over his bulbous cock head, lathering his entire length with saliva as I went down, twisting with both hands as I came back up. I watched his eyes roll, head fall back, and groan in pure pleasure. I didn’t want the details of it anymore, I just wanted this.
After a while, things settled down for us. We told our parents that we were together now, and neither pair were surprised, saying they always believed we’d find our way to each other. My parents were especially happy to find out that year in Italy actually worked, and rushed to call and congratulate Nonna on her success — Ryan and I got a good laugh out of that. I made him reach out to all his sluts, including Kaylie, informing them that their services weren’t needed anymore. He got a lot of angry texts that day.
Soon, we found routine together, gym sessions together where he showed me how he trained himself into the man he is today, dates just like the hangouts we used to have. He was the perfect man, the same kind of responsible and caring he always had been for me, just with the rough sex now. We had it twice a day, and every single session was better than the last.
One day, Ryan asked if I wanted him to wipe our memories, so that it would feel like it was always this way, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to remember every single time he fucked me, that it was once my useless gay cock finding purpose in breeding her tight lesbian pussy, all thanks to a year apart.
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