Not the Girl of His Dreams

I'd wanted to be a woman my whole life. I knew it was impossible, but that didn't mean it couldn't be a fun fantasy all the same. Then, one day, out of nowhere, I got the letter.

It had no signature, no return address, nothing to trace it back to anyone. But it was addressed to me, and my eyes widened as I read.

Hi Paul,

I know your secret. I was like you once, wishing for a body I could never have. That's why I'm sharing this with you. Read the words below out loud and you'll trade places with the next person you touch. Just be careful, once you do there's no going back.

A million thoughts crowded into my head at the same time. Who was this from? How did they find out about the dirty shit I was into? Was this for real? Don't be stupid, of course not. But what if it was?

I spent the next two days unable to put the letter out of my mind. If it was meant as some elaborate trick, I certainly couldn't figure out why. By Friday night, I had to give in. I tucked the sheet of paper into my pocket and set out for a nearby bar.

I scoped out the room and spotted an absolutely gorgeous blonde. She was young, beautiful, and had a rack to die for. I'd always been a boob man. Was I about to become a boob woman?

"Hi, I'm Paul."

"Um, hey. Cindy." She seemed bemused that I'd even try talking to her. She was way out of my league and we both knew it.

"Cindy, I'll cut to the chase. You're stunning and I had to talk to you. Do you mind if I read a poem for you? It's in, uh, Latin."

"Yeah, whatever."

Without wasting another breath, I whipped out the letter and began reading. As I reached the end, the paper grew warm in my hand and almost seemed to glow. All I had to do now was touch her arm, and Cindy's body would be mine...

As I reached out, fate stepped in. Or more accurately, fate slammed into me like a runaway freight train, as something hit me from behind. We all landed on the sticky bar floor with a thud.

In a daze, I heard a familiar voice. "Are you alright?"

I looked up to see an extremely familiar face. My face. My old male face, that is. I shook a strand of blonde hair out of my eyes. Oh my god. Had it worked? Was I Cindy?

I reached up and took my former body's outstretched hand. As I stood, I saw Cindy brushing herself off. But then who was I? I looked down and nearly fell over again.

I was female, at least. But instead of the sexy, young form I'd expected, I found a doughy, old body stuffed like a sausage into a black latex dress. I realized I'd managed to hang onto this woman's purse. The ID inside read Deandra Mitchell, age 41, weight... fuck.

My stomach--no, my gut--churned. I stumbled past Deandra's concerned friends (apparently I went by Dee now) and made my way outside. I called a cab, giving the driver Dee's address. A huge, full-length mirror offered me nowhere to hide from my new life.

I unzipped the front of my dress. I definitely got those boobs I'd so desperately desired.

"Dammit, Paul, you fucking moron. You had one chance, and you blew it."

Dee had graciously done the favor of getting me drunk already. I made several attempts at a sexy pose, but all I managed was to shake my waddles of arm fat in the mirror as my fat ass peeked its way out of my dress.

I'd spent my life fantasizing about having the perfect female body, and the moment it was in my reach, it disappeared.

It took me a while to come to terms with my new reality. After a while though, I realized something. I could either lay around moping, or I could lay around getting myself fucked long and hard in every hole.


Ever since, things have been looking up!