(Reproduced image in case of link rot: https://i.imgur.com/OzLK8wq.png)
One moment, you were sitting in your chair at your desk in your bedroom. In one hand was your cock, furiously stroking the shaft for all its worth. In the other hand was last September's edition of the nude magazine featuring your favourite porn star. The lamp next to your desk was dim, just enough to see the nubile starlet while not alerting your sisters or parents to what you were doing. This wasn't the first time you've rubbed one out like this, but what happened next was truly unexpected.
And in the next moment, before you could climax, your perspective changed. No longer were you sitting upright in a chair. Now you were laying on your side in bed. An aching pleasure like a warmth coursed like electricity throughout your body. Your heart beat rapidly, your breath drew labored and heavy, and your toes scrunched up beneath the bed sheets.
You moaned softly, muffling your mouth into the pillow now resting against your head. Oddly, you felt something tugging at your head as you rolled onto your back.
Wow!
That was the best orgasm you'd had in a long time.
And you don't feel tired at all... almost like you could do it again.
But... why were you in bed? And why did the digital alarm clock on the nightstand read 05:30?
Wait a minute... you don't own an alarm clock!
As the clouds occupying your post-orgasmal mind dissipated, these dissonant thoughts gradually trickled in until you realised something was terribly wrong. With your left hand, you felt only an emptiness where your erect cock should be. Even worse, in its place you felt a mound of hair and a fold of very sensitive skin giving you tingles as your wet fingers grazed over it. With your right hand, you were holding a smartphone -- the only thing illuminating an otherwise dark room. A chill ran down your spine as you see the image on the phone. The image is unmistakable and thoroughly disturbing: your body, shirtless, making a suggestive pose in front of the camera. You recognise the photo taken at the beach last year, taken by your then-girlfriend Sydney. And to your horror, you recognise the image hosting website that photo was now plastered across, no doubt viewed and commented upon by countless people.
That bitch! How could your ex spread a picture like that online!!!
You leap from the bed, balling your fists intent to get even with your ex. But the jiggling on your chest makes you stop. So does the hair tickling the back of your neck and shoulders. Using the light from the smartphone, you search for a switch and turn on the lights in your new bedroom.
It looks nothing like it should be. A young woman's clothing was strewn about the room -- some bras, a pair of striped knickers here, a pair of denim jeans folded there across the bed board. Pink bath slippers lined up next to ballet flats, wedge heeled sandals, pumps, and stilettos. Posters of male musicians, finely chiseled male actors, and other lightly dressed heartthrobs dotted the walls. It wasn't a large room, but every inch of it screamed late teen/early twenties woman.
But it was the vanity table that drew your attention. On the wooden tabletop sat dozens of bottles, tubes, containers, brushes, pencils, and packs of gels, lotions, creams, and palettes of makeup to suit any occasion it seemed. You stared back, open mouthed, at the mirror affixed above the table. A bleary-eyed woman with golden blonde locks of hair and unwashed makeup on her face stared back at you, equally aghast.
"I... I'm a woman?!" Your voice cracked -- not your own deep voice, but an airy soprano with a distinctly sing-song lilt. You coughed and touched your neck. The woman in the mirror did the same. She was wearing a short-sleeved white top with the English flag emblazoned on the front. Her breasts were creamy, full and topped with quarter-sized nipples, which were evident jutting out from the thin fabric. Clearly she wasn't wearing a bra. Her red spankies also left very little to the imagination. You even saw the faintest trace of camel toe!
"This can't be happening..." You grunted, looking down and running a hand along your new butt and thighs, tracing every curve and contour. They felt even bigger than they looked, as you turned around and bent over to get a good look. Then you walked around the room, feeling your thighs rub together and your hips pitch and wiggle with each step. Between your new breasts, arse, and hairless legs, you felt like a bowl of Jello ready to spill out of these ridiculously small garments.
Fetching this woman's smartphone, you angrily dial your old phone number. After a few rings, you hear your old voice answer the other end of the line.
"Hello? Um... Who is this?" It asked meekly.
"You know right well who this is!" You exclaim. "Who are you and wot the 'ell did you do to me?" You grimace at the thick cockney accent flowing naturally from your mouth. Her top wasn't the only thing unmistakably English it seemed.
"I don't know..." It muttered shyly, "All of a sudden, I became this guy. Are you him? Did we switch bodies?"
"Yes, are you the English gull who was just wanking off to my body?" You replied tersely.
You could hear the embarrassment on the other line. "W-well, you were j-jerking off too you know..."
"Never mind that! Can you fix this?" You supposed you should feel flattered that a woman was 'getting off' to a picture of you, but that could wait. If she did this -- switched your bodies -- on purpose, then she would know how to switch back. Unless...
"Dude, I don't even know what happened! My name's Cassidy Ellington. I'm 20 years old and live alone in an apartment just outside of London." She explained.
"Charmed," You stated, "That explains why it's five thirty here. You live in California by the way. I reckon we'll need to tell each other quickly about our lives, right? That's how they do it in the cine anyways. I've got two sisters, Jessica and Melissa. My mum's called Clara and my dad's called Jack."
"Hang on," Cassidy interrupted, gathering a pencil and paper before asking you to repeat these basic facts again. You told her about your classes, friends, and activities at school. She told you about her own job, friends, and hobbies.
What, exactly, is Cassidy Ellington's profession?
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