Friday, June 03, 2022


I've had a few days to process this but it's still got my head spinning. The idea that my world has been "turned upside down" doesn't even begin to cover it... inside out and backwards too.

All weekend we were somehow revitalized. It was like we were kids again, all over each other. Like I said, any problems we've been having, it was like we totally agreed to leave them back home and be our best, most loving selves. We made some truly lovely memories walking along the beach and seeing the town and just getting back to being the versions of ourselves we loved most.

It was Wednesday, right in the middle of our week away. We came home from the bar, tipsy and falling all over each other -- honestly, tearing each other's clothes off.

We got into bed and turned out the lights and started messing around. I was on top of her, doing, well, what I do, when I suddenly felt strange. I thought maybe from the booze, maybe something I ate, I didn't know. But something happened to me that is never a good sign. I kind of... fell out of her.

She asked what was wrong and stammered, "Oh, just a little off rhythm or something, let me..." you know, you get to a certain age, you become a little self-conscious about performance and making sure all the equipment works. Hey, it has happened before. But in my head I'm trying not to freak out, but I know that this is not right. I'm raring to go.

I've gone totally limp... I reach down and realize... it's not even there anymore.

"Babe?" asks a strange voice. My own voice freezes in my throat in response.

The light clicks on and Laura's there, but... she's changing. Her hair was suddenly short-cropped -- it's like it's been sucked into her head. Her facial features were shifting too, her nose and jawline widening, her breasts flattening into her body. Her shoulders are starting to look, comparatively, like a linebacker's pads.

It happened slowly yet quickly. Suddenly long dark hair was flowing down from the top of my head. I realized I didn't have a dick anymore...... and she did.

She -- or is it he now? -- grabs me with a thick paw. My arm is like a noodle.

"Marc," she says, her voice now a low baritone. I'm frozen. I know what's happening before I know what's happening, but I don't believe it because it's not possible. The hair on my chest tingles as it fades away and my pecs -- soft as they are -- begin to sag into a pair of breasts.

"Laura...!" I gasp, my voice clearly not my own. I'm shaking, I don't know what to do.

I collapse into her arms and we just... hold each other until it's done.

It's a few hours of shivering in the dark before I realize I have to pee badly. I try to convince myself it's all just some weird dream but the situation won't let me. I disentangle myself from the person who was Laura and stand. My legs are wobbly. Oh God, I think... I don't really have a dick right now. I try not to think the word "anymore." This could be... temporary... somehow?

Biological needs come first. I relieve myself, very reluctantly obeying my new physiology. With every step across the room I can feel a pair of unfettered breasts bobbing around my chest, reacting to every slight movement. I sit, rest my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, combing through my abundant new hair and try to get a handle on what's just happened.

I go to the mirror and... she's pretty, if not any sort of beauty queen. A young, bright-green-eyed woman with good cheeks. I realize my hips are very wide and my breasts aren't small either, I've got an hourglass shape.

I throw up, just barely making it back to the toilet, with chunks landing in my new hair. Yuck.

Laura sits up in bed and calls out to me. Her new voice is rough and sandpapery and hard to associate with the person I married. She has salt and pepper hair and looks significantly older than I do now.

"I found something," she says.

A woman's luggage and a note written in rather impressive penmanship, from Chantelle Carey, 26-years-old from Albany, NY. Single, no kids...

Fresh out of law school. I gulp.

I'm trying to work out what is worse, being a woman or being a lawyer again. If I'm being totally honest, lawyer wins by a country mile. Unexpected tears fall down my face. I give in, curling up in the fetal position. After everything from these last five years, this... this is too much.

It wasn't until the next day that we ascertained Laura's identity, Damon Schmidt, 46, also from Albany. His luggage was in another room so if they were here together, they weren't trying to make it look like they were.

He's married. I ask Laura if she's okay with that, and she only asks whether I see a choice.

I tell her there's always a choice, a mantra of mine from when I quit my job. She makes a sour, scrunched face, which, on Damon's, looks very weird and not as cute as when she did it.

We've had a few days to wrestle with this.

Tomorrow, we embark.

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