Decades later, they’d celebrate the date when It happened.
There would be global parties, the kind that go on till the early hours and leave you drunk and lost, blearily trying to make your way home at 3am. Presidents would gather to shake hands and make speeches commemorating it all.
But at the time, things were very different. For those of us who were there, the Great Swap was terrifying.
I was in London when it happened. If I close my eyes and try, I can just about remember what I used to look like. Short, close-cropped blond hair. A square jaw. A young, muscular body.
In short, very different from how I look now.
I was in Britain as a student, doing some dumbass degree and trying to soak up as many British parties as possible. I’d been there for, like, 5 months and got pretty settled. I’d even had a British girlfriend for a while, a cute blonde called Sofia with a soft, pretty face and a curvy body, the sort guys like me used to go wild over.
Strange as it is to say now, I actually thought what happened was her fault. Like, at first. We ended on pretty bad terms. I kinda screwed around behind her back, and when It first happened, I panicked and worried that she’d found a genie or something, and made a cruel wish to get back at me.
Yeah, right. Like I was ever that important.
Still, at the time, it coulda been true. I was in class when It happened. Or rather, I was meant to be in class, but I’d wandered off to the restroom.
Yeah, I know. The biggest thing that has happened in human history and I basically missed it. No stories from me about the giant flash of green light everyone saw in the sky. No stories from me about turning to the people stood beside me and watching as they started to change…
Nah, if you want that stuff, you can go elsewhere. Trust me, there’s plenty of books on it. Me? I was just washing my hands and thinking about Sofia – again – when I suddenly felt It.
If you’re old enough, you probably remember It. Wasn’t nice, was it? That weird feeling that started in your gut, like you were about to be sick.
I remember even now that I doubled over the basin, just in case I was gonna spew. I heard later that the nausea wasn’t so bad for everyone, that it had some weird, genetic component to it. I felt worse than others.
But everyone felt what came next. When the sensation passed out your gut and into your skin.
The feeling that your entire body was starting to change.
If you didn’t live through it, you’ll have a hard time imagining It. Imaging how it felt to see your skin start twitching and rippling.
Imagining how it felt to have your bones suddenly start shifting and twisting.
Imagining how it felt to suddenly look up from the sink you were trying not to barf into, and find someone else’s face staring back at you.
OK, yeah, I know. It’s not really someone else’s face. It’s my face now, has been for most of my life. I’m so used to seeing its high cheekbones, tiny button nose and wide, innocent blue eyes that I barely even register them anymore.
But at the time…
Well. You can imagine how I felt. How panicked I was.
To my horror, I was clearly, visibly, starting to transform into a girl.
We’re used to the idea now. All those history books, those movies, the stories we tell our kids… If you’re young, you probably don’t see what the big deal was.
Lemme tell you, though. Right then, I felt like screaming. Or even crying.
Not that I’d have admitted it. One thing about being a man in those days was you weren’t meant to cry, even when bad shit happened. I remember being a kid and being told by my dad to man up after our dog, Chancer, died.
Compare that to now. Today, I’m the one who gets teary at stuff. The one who has to be held in her husband’s arms while these big, salty, girl-tears run down my cheeks.
I’m the one who buries her pretty little head against his broad, strong chest and whispers to him to hold me, like the silly girl I am…
It’s weird, y’know? Lots of girls my age still say they wish they had their boy bodies back, at least in public. Occasionally, I feel like I’m meant to, too. But then I realize I kinda like the way things are now. Kinda like being the one who gets held, rather than the one who does the holding.
Almost like it suits me to be the girl.
Not that I was thinking all this in the restroom. I was too busy shrieking as my entire body went crazy, too busy watching in the mirror as my male form disappeared forever.
I remember the weird itching in my scalp as my short hair suddenly became all long and flowing and shiny.
I remember the strange sensation of my bones rearranging: of my legs getting longer, my hips pushing out and my shoulders pulling in. I know some said it hurt, but it really didn’t for me. It just felt weird.
Lastly, I remember when my… y’know, my stuff changed. That heavy pressure in my chest, just before these pert little tits of mine came bursting out. That sorta wobbly feel as my butt got fuller and rounder. And that feeling as my… my thing gave one last twitch and went rocketing back inside me.
I had to stop writing, just then. The idea that I used to have a… a dick – smaller than my husband’s and less thick, but still a dick – is just so fucking odd now. The idea that I used to pee standing up is just… gross.
When I have a bath, even now, I like to look down at my girl-body. Like to see the soft space between my legs and my breasts, not as ripe as they once were, but not too saggy yet. I like the fact that I pushed a kid outta that hole down there. I like the fact that it’s the perfect size for my husband’s big cock.
Just think. If It had never happened, I’d never have known what any of that was like. I’d still be thinking with my dick, still thinking of girls as these weird things that needed to be conquered…
Anyways, back to my little restroom drama. After It was over, I’m sorry to say I did the clichéd thing and stared at myself in the mirror for what felt like forever.
I know, I know. But hear me out. I’d been so used to seeing a strong, handsome (I think I was handsome, or maybe I’m misremembering) and very male boy, and now there was this slender, willowy girl with an adorable face, shell shocked eyes and two boobies sticking out her chest, staring right back at me.
Maybe it’s no wonder I froze.
What else? I remember thinking that I couldn’t go back to class like this. I mean… what a dumb thing to think, huh? Even if It had just affected me, where else was I meant to go?
Luckily, It had affected way more than just me…
When I try to think back, the rest of the morning comes just in flashes, now. Frozen images. Snatches of sound.
The screams coming from the streets, as London’s citizens looked down at their new bodies in terror.
Pushing open the door to my classroom and seeing ten female faces gape back at me in horror, as the cute, big-boobed brunette wearing the same clothes as my male lecturer tried to restore order.
Everyone crowding around John’s phone when he gave a girly shriek, and watching in amazement as we realized it was global.
All across the world, beautiful women were blinking in shock, staring down at their formerly-male bodies and trying not to scream.
Newscasters in studios had started one sentence as sober, serious men, and finished it as stunning blondes with slender legs and fantastic tits.
Politicians had stood up in the Senate, and suddenly found themselves as dark-haired beauties with wide hips and a desperate desire to get pregnant.
Men who’d been groping women, mugging them, raping them, suddenly found that they were the tiny, helpless ones, at the mercy of big, strong men.
Coz It didn’t just affect us men, oh no.
At the same time we were squealing, and grabbing our new boobs in shock, the planet’s women were letting out shouts in deep, booming voices. Flexing their new biceps, feeling their stubble…
…and looking in wonder at the great, big things now swinging between their legs.
I might be wrong here, but as far as I know, no-one ever figured out why our genders were swapped in such an extreme way. No guy on Earth, no matter how old or fat or ugly, didn’t find himself trapped in the body of a stunning, supermodel girl. No woman didn’t find herself trapped as a handsome, muscular stud.
Oh, sure, there were differences. Some of us guys found ourselves with Double-H tits and statuesque bimbo faces, while some of us were suddenly short girls with flat chests, short hair and androgynous features. The girls, too, found their new bodies ran the gamut from beefcakes with shaved heads, to tall guys with dark, floppy hair and slender frames.
But, still. No-one was what we used to call ugly, not anymore. Even now, with most of us approaching our 50s, we still look young and beautiful.
Like I say, it’s a mystery.
There’s not much more to tell. Well, I mean, there is on a global scale, for sure. The way the old clerics in those theocratic kingdoms suddenly found they were the ones being forced to wear burkas and forbidden to drive.
The way those guys who openly perved over women suddenly found themselves walking nervously down the street at night, their tote bags clutched in their dainty hands, trying to ignore the way heads turned to watch them pass, leering over their boobs and butts.
The way loud college bros, like me, suddenly found ourselves as the pretty girls on campus, no longer able to sleep around without being labeled sluts.
And here we get to the last little bit there is to tell amid all this madness. The end of my personal story.
The day I met Sofia.
It was a month after It happened that we bumped into each other. After a fortnight of open panic, the world was – reluctantly – settling back down to normal again. I mean, someone’s gotta go to work, and put out fires, and teach in schools, and keep the economy going, right?
I was still clinging to the hope that I’d get my boy-body back, eventually. I was showering with my eyes closed, trying not to look in mirrors, trying to avoid all evidence of what had happened to me.
And then I met him.
I mean, I didn’t realize he was Sofia at first. How could I? All I knew was that when my stupid heels gave out and I dropped my textbooks, he was there to pick them up for me. There with his broad shoulders, thick biceps and reassuring smile. With his shaved head and muscles that would’ve taken years of intensive gym training to build.
As he handed me back my shit, I remember my mouth going all dry. I think I even giggled, like some stupid little schoolgirl. Inside I was horrified. I didn’t want to be attracted to men! Especially not big, powerful studs like this guy!
But then he started talking to me, and I couldn’t help but talk back to him, playing with my hair as I did so, and, next thing I knew, I’d arranged my first date as a girl.
I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t nearly drop out. The whole week was spent with my boy brain screaming at me not to get romantically involved with a-a dude while my girl-body did her best to ignore it.
When the night came, I felt like I was going mad. I’d had to uncover my mirrors to get dressed up, and squeezing my new body into a fancy little dress was uncomfortable in the extreme.
Not only did I feel like I was crossdressing, I felt like I was dressing up somebody else. I mean, this wasn’t my body!
As I added a last touch of lipstick in the mirror, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The girl looking back at me was gorgeous, but she wasn’t me. I couldn’t go out like this! It was ridiculous! I decided then and there to call my date and cancel and try and forget all about living life as a girl…
So, of course, I found myself half an hour later, sat opposite him in a restaurant, trying to ignore just how fucking horny the sight of his beefcake body was making me.
Jesus, am I glad I went on that date. It was just… just perfect, y’know?
Somehow, both knowing we were in the wrong bodies made the whole thing a lot easier. It was like we could talk about the weird feelings our new hormones kept forcing on us, knowing the other would understand.
Even when we finally figured out that he was Sofia and I was me, Harrison, it was still all cool. It was like, by switching gender, we’d been forgiven our sins. Like this was some fresh start, and the whole world was experiencing it with us.
When we left the restaurant it was sunset and London glistened with the last traces of that morning’s rain. And I did something I’d never expected to do, for as long as I lived.
Impulsively, I reached up and gently wrapped a slender arm round one of Sofia’s big, strong biceps. Felt his strength, his raw power. I remember resting my head on his shoulder and marveling that Sofia was now the tall, masculine one, and I was just the weak and helpless girl.
And I remember realizing, with a shameful little thrill, how good that felt.
So we hailed a taxi. And – somehow – found ourselves back at her apartment. And we went back to the room we’d screwed so many times in, only now it somehow felt different, even though it looked the same.
And we made love for the first time in our new bodies. I don’t wanna gross you out with the details, but I remember being shocked at how much pleasure my new form could feel. How being touched, like, anywhere by a guy who knew what he was doing would make me gasp and shriek like crazy. And Sofia knew what he was doing.
He could still remember being a girl himself.
Of course, all that’s a long time ago, now. All that crazy screwing, all that breathless exploration of one another’s bodies.
Today, we’re Simon and Harriet; an attractive, middle-aged couple living out in Surrey with our two beautiful daughters. And, like everyone else on Earth, we’ve almost forgotten what It was like. We’re used to our new lives. Happy.
Coz it’s not just us two who are cool with the changes. See, It didn’t just swap all our genders. It made all of us realize what life was like for one another. It made us see that ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ were meaningless, and that we were all just… well. People.
Oh, sure, there are some who push back against it. Those chicks who cut their hair off every morning, despite knowing it will magically grow back in 24 hours. Who put on suits and deliberately treat other girls like trash, openly letching over our butts and boobs even though we know their magically-altered minds only let them get turned on by men. The ones who keep talking about finding a cure, as if one could be found after all this time.
But most of us? We’re happy. We’re comfortable in our gender-swapped bodies, and we don’t want to go back. I mean, the idea of never again being able to lie in Simon’s arms as he gently penetrates me, me whimpering softly, trying to keep quiet in case we wake up the kids, is one that fills me with horror.
The idea of looking down one day, and seeing not my slender, curved body, but a hard, masculine one, is almost unimaginable.
So I’ll be at the celebrations tonight. I’ll be cheering and clapping as they make speeches and show archive footage of us all getting transformed like that. Wrapped up snug in Simon’s broad arms, a smile on my supermodel face, I’ll be watching.
And I’ll be thinking how glad I am that I got turned into a girl.
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Image via Pixabay. Public domain.