What sucks is how short I feel now." We were getting ready for regular Saturday errands, and Lindsey was examining herself in the mirror. She strained up on tip toe before falling back down to her heels. "I've always been short, and it was nice to get a taste of the air up there."

"Well, you don't have to be short." I came up behind her, my head fully visible above hers.

"What do you mean?" she asked in neutral tones.

"Just buy taller jeans. Like, not mine, but women's jeans. We did the whole cross gender thing, but I bet the spell works on anything."

"I bet you're right. Hey, Alex, did you want to go shopping today? Like, clothes shopping?"

"You know, I think I would."

We spent way more money that we should have, but by the time we were done, we had all sorts of new clothes to try. Lindsey bought pants for taller legs, shoes for smaller feet, and with an impish smile, bras for larger breasts. She also bought a sports bra with barely any cup at all, saying that she'd run more if she didn't go bouncing all over the place every time she did.

As for me, it was tough to find guy clothes that did more than make me bigger or smaller, I did manage to lose a couple of inches off my waist. My greatest find was a kind of muscle shirt, obviously intended for a guy with a much more developed physique than mine. My body quickly grew to adjust, however, leaving me feeling more masculine than I had in my life. And at Lindsey's suggestion, we also picked up a pack of Magnum condoms.

Groceries were an anticlimax after that, but I think our minds were entirely focused on getting home and transforming. We did so in separate rooms to maximize the reveal.

I felt powerful and strong with my new athletic shape. The extra girth of my penis didn't hurt either. But my changes were nothing to what Lindsey had managed to do for her body.

She had been short before, but now she was a few inches shy of my own (slightly augmented) height. Her legs were shapely, emerging from a perfectly-formed ass which curved out behind her most enticingly. Though well formed, her breasts had never been large; now, they were massive, with thick nipples and wide, dark areolae like silver dollar pancakes.

The next two weeks were full of the best sex we had ever had. We experimented with every permutation of wardrobe, though in most cases we went for exaggerated sexual features that would have been almost a deformity in real life. But we stuck to our own genders, neither of us quite willing to broach a subject we had not discussed since it happened.

See, this is why communication is so important in a marriage. I was making the assumption that she did not like to think of her husband as a feminine creature begging for sex. Turns out, she thought that I was being weird about the entire experience and was ashamed of the way I had behaved.

The fact that I'm telling you this now, though, gives away that we got it all sorted out in the end. We were lying in a state of post-coital bliss. Lindsey had just gotten through a series of what appeared to be mind blowing orgasms. Meanwhile, I had taken a somewhat dominant role in our lovemaking, tying up her wrists with part of her robe.

"So you seemed to enjoy that," I said after we caught our breath.

Lindsey wriggled under the sheets. "You had quite the time yourself."

"Yeah, not bad." My tone was light, but as I said it I realized I meant it. On one occasion only had I experienced a female orgasm. By the sound of it, Lindsey's was ten times that. I had to admit, I was a bit jealous.

"Men have it made with the whole domination thing," Lindsey said, snuggling into me. We had switched up domination roles before, but although she had initially been excited at the idea of tying me up, the result had not satisfied her.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you've got the whole...," she mimed a thrusting pelvis, "that thing going for you. It's like, powerful and direct. You stab with the sword, not with the scabbard."

I squeezed her arm in appreciation of the metaphor. "Yeah, but you get to let go, you know? Be uninhibited. I never get that."

"You didn't seem all that inhibited just now."

"Maybe that's not the right word. I'm just on the whole time, you know? It's a performance, and thinking about that makes it hard to just be."

"Whereas I'd like to perform more. It's like I'm a backup singer, not part of a duet."

We were quiet for a moment. "It kind of sounds like you'd like to... swap parts again."

"Maybe." Her voice sounded small. "Yes. I've been thinking about it. But I know you weren't that into it, so, you know...."

I rolled over to face her. "What do you mean? I literally begged you for sex, and then humped you to pieces. How is that not being into it?"

"Well yeah, but then I...." Her voice cracked a bit. "I took you. I had never felt like that before, like I wanted to own you, to use you. And then you never talked about it, so I just figured."

"Isn't that what you were just saying you wanted? To be dominant like that?"

She shrugged. "Not if it means something bad for you."

"Well, I'll tell you a secret." I whispered. "I kind of loved it."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. I've been thinking all about it too since. A lot." I quirked a smile. "Sometimes, it's nice to be used. It makes you feel needed, almost necessary. Yeah, I would totally repeat that experience. Ten out of ten, would be fucked by you again."

We talked for another hour after that, planning how we would do it. Another shopping trip was planned, as well as the date and time of our next cross gender experience. We had a three day weekend coming up in January, and we were going to spend all weekend swapped.

Time passed way slower than it should have. I found myself eyeing Lindsey's clothes with envy, like a toy I wanted but wasn't allowed to play with. At those times, I did some shopping. I did it online, to save embarrassment at the register. No reason not to; I knew it was all going to fit. By go time on Thursday night, I had more than enough wardrobe to last me the weekend, and then some.

Lindsey was in much the same shape. Amazon packages arrived for her as often as for me. We had agreed to leave the details a surprise. I couldn't wait for them all to be revealed,

Once we both got home from work, we rushed off to separate rooms to effect our transformations. Lindsey graciously allowed me the use of our bedroom, going herself to the guest room with its smaller mirror.

I stripped, put away my clothes, and retrieved my girly things from their place under my side of the bed. My heart beat wildly, and to my consternation, I found that I also had quite the raging boner.

Best to deal with that immediately. I broke the plastic on a pack of cotton panties. They were a medium to Lindsey's small, but still felt quite diminutive. They narrowed my legs and made short work of my erection.

I scrutinized my butt in the mirror. It looked good, if not as full as I would have liked. I had a plan for that, though.

Following the theme of underwear, I went to the bra next. The band size was two inches larger than Lindsey's normal size. Internet research had uncovered that larger band sizes, even at the same cup size, resulted in larger breasts. The DD cups paired with the larger band ought to fill me out without looking like my boobs were stapled on.

Wonder of wonders, I got the clasp engaged behind my back, first try. My arms went through the straps, and for a moment, the cups gaped openly away from my flat chest. Then my nipples stiffened and began to spread, pushing outward. They actually grew a bit more than I had supposed, filling not just the cup but spilling out over the top like bread allowed to rise too long. The bra still fit without pinching or cutting off circulation, but it had given me an immense bounty of cleavage. I examined my reflection. Eye catching to say the least.

Next came the dress, a skin-tight, form fitting creation in cream and pink that I had actually had custom made to my requested measurements. I stepped into it, zipped it up the side.

There was the butt I was looking for. The dress fit perfectly, rounding out at the small of my back before being drawn tightly together at mid thigh. On top, the square cut neckline made no attempt to hide my breasts. If anything, they were more prominent now than when they were just in a bra.

Next for accessories. My shoes were strappy sandals with a significant heel. Once they were on, my legs quickly took on the desired shape, with a nicely turned calf. I put on Lindsey's wedding ring plus a few more rings I had found online, and finished with a necklace, a pendant that rested atop my cleavage at just the right spot.

By this point, my hair had lengthened to my shoulders, but it stopped there. YouTube tutorials had shown me how to put it up, and I had chosen a style that required it to fall halfway down my back. It took three tries, but I made a creditable job of it. The hair lengthened to fit the style.

Finally I prepared my earrings. My ears did not start pierced, but all it took was the gentle pressure of the sharp tip in the right spot, and they slid right through. It was my first time to wear earrings, and oddly, the sensation struck me as stranger even than the shoes and boobs.

I kept makeup to a minimum, just some eyeliner and a bit of lipstick. I could just about handle those. Any more might have risked getting into clown territory.

The final product, I had to admit, was as sexy an example of youthful womanhood that I had ever seen. I was elegant, but elegance draped over sexuality. I looked like the girl who is killed by the villain after James Bond seduces her in the first act.

My feelings at this moment were hard to describe. In part, it was the fun of seeing a completed Halloween costume or cosplay, and barely being able to recognize yourself. I was totally disguised, and no one I knew would know it was me. There was a sense of freedom in that, like I was suddenly unburdened by responsibility.

But there was more. I felt attractive in a way I never had as a man. I was desirable, sexy. By the looks of it, my body was built for one thing, and lushly prepared for it. The mere thought threatened to soak my panties, but it was hard not to notice.

I took a few laps of the room, both to get used to the heels and to my own smaller stature. I was shorter than my male form, but only by a few inches, counting the heels. My balance felt off, something I attributed both to the shoes and my rather top heavy weight distribution. Throwing back my pelvis and taking shorter steps helped, and coincidentally gave me a sultry, hip-swaying gait.

I decided to delay no longer. I opened the bedroom door and almost ran headfirst into the man waiting there.

He had on a tux, black coat and white shirt, with a vest in deep blue. His hair was short and immaculately placed, and he wore a small, closely cropped beard.

He was taller than me by a good six inches, broad shouldered, and tanned. He held out a single red rose to me, which I took a little breathlessly. "We have reservations for 7pm at La Fayette," he informed me, offering a hand. "I would be honored if you would accompany me to dinner."

I stood on tiptoe and brushed my lips lightly on his cheek. "I would love that."

The obvious examples of role reversal I expected. Lindsey paid for dinner, he held open he door for me, and loaned me his jacket to cover my bare shoulders on the way back to the car. Other, more subtle differences, I had not expected. Lindsey was offered the wine to taste and approve, but it was my glass the waiter filled first, my order he took first, my plate that was delivered first. He called me "madame" and complimented me on my appearance, for which I graciously thanked him.

I got plenty of stares, too. One teenage boy, dining unhappily with his parents, barely took his eyes off me. His father was little better, though a bit more subtle. On a trip to the bathroom I could feel the eyes of the diners on me, either lustful or envious according to the preferences of the individual.

My voice sounded high and tinny in my head, but Lindsey assured me it was perfectly normal. His own was deep and rich. He spoke quietly so that I had to lean over to hear him better, though he admitted long after that he only did so to encourage me to open a larger proportion of cleavage to his view.

The most embarrassing moment happened when I got too enthusiastic with a piece of bread. A fair-sized piece broke off and fell right down my top. Fishing it out in full view was not an option, and so I took another walk to the ladies room to deal with it.

Any lingering feelings of shame or discomfort were washed away on a tide of wine, food, and conversation. Getting up from the table at the end of the night, I was treated to a firsthand lesson of the difference in alcohol tolerance between the genders. Since Lindsey was driving, he had ceded the last glass to me, and the combination of more wine and less body mass made my high heels a more difficult proposition than it had been a few hours before. But with Lindsey's arm as a stabilizer and his jacket keeping me warm, I made it to the car in good spirits and with my bare legs only half frozen by January temperatures. Lindsey did not seem to be cold at all.

"You know," I told him as we pulled onto our street, "you might be thinking that you would be taking advantage of me if we, you know, did it."

"Is that so?"

"Uh huh." I placed a slender hand on his thigh. "And you're right. But you know what else? I want to be taken advantage of. I want you to take me. Make me feel like you own me. Demean me. Make me feel all dirty."

"The safe word is 'swordfish,'" he said with a grin. "I totally respect your right to be disrespected."

We pulled into the driveway, and I felt like I was floating as I walked to the door. Lindsey unlocked it, let me in, and closed it behind me.

Suddenly, I felt myself roughly pushed against the door. His immense form blocked me off from any means is escape as his head came down, his lips met mine. His kiss was rough and the beard scratched at my face, but despite these small discomforts I felt a sense of elation, not to mention a warm, ready feeling down below.

He turned me around and leaned his own back against the door. One hand roughly pulled my skirt up above my ass. His fingers dig into my ample flesh, eliciting a low moan from me, whenever he let me come up for air.

"Stay right there. Don't move." He knelt and pulled my sodden parties to my ankles. "Lift your feet." I did as commanded, and he tossed the discarded underwear away.

"Over to the couch. On your hands and knees." I complied, presenting my ass to him. I heard a zipper, the rustle of fabric, and then he was inside me.

I was more than wet enough. I found that from behind he was not directly stimulating my clit, but that the sensation of his forceful thrusts were arousing in their own right. He slapped my right ass cheek and I cried out. I believe he waited for me to use the safe word, but when I did not, he did it again, harder.

He slowed and withdrew, but did not come yet. Instead, I was instructed to remove my dress and bra. I did so as smoothly as I could. Meanwhile, he also finished undressing, and sat upon the sofa with his penis standing up like a massive monument to manhood.

"Suck my dick."

I did not hesitate. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the fact that I had just been roughly fucked from behind and this was nothing in comparison. Or maybe I relished the slight sense of humiliation as I knelt before him and took his cock in my hand. I stroked once, twice, then took as much of him into my mouth as I could.

He tasted partly of pussy, a flavor I knew well, but also of a dark and musky flavor. It was almost savory, like sautéed mushrooms, but also spicy. The flesh of his dick was softer than his raging erection had led me to believe, and from experience I knew how sensitive it would be, but also where rougher treatment would be appreciated. I stroked his shaft and sucked and licked, making noises of pleasure I did not need to feign.

He had been holding the top of my head as I serviced him, but now he raised my head up. I stood and he pulled me to straddle him. Without being told, I took hold of him and guided him into me. I settled down with a cry, enjoying the sensation of being impaled upon his massive cock.
Once I had slid down the length of it, I began to work my hips. This time my clit was directly stimulated, and it quickly brought me to the point of orgasm. When my movement faltered he took it up himself, continuing to thrust into me as my muscles turned to jelly.

After the orgasm passed, he gave me a few moments to recover. Then, he began to thrust again, faster this time. My breasts bounced madly, flying up before thundering down. It almost felt as if there were a real risk of them coming off altogether.

I expected him to come at any moment, but still he waited. Instead, he flipped me onto my back, one of his legs kneeling on the couch and the other braced against the floor. His thrusts were slower now but intensely forceful.

I could sense his building orgasm through the change in his movements. They became more frantic, more insistent. Suddenly, he withdrew from me, and I felt a white hit wetness spreading across my stomach and breasts. One drop of salty liquid landed in my mouth, and I swallowed it before my brain had a chance to tell me what it was.

He stood over me, cum still dribbling from his cock. Our eyes met. "Swordfish?"

"Swordfish." The boyish look of worry that suddenly appeared on his face was so endearing, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get the words out. "That was, by far, the best sex I have ever had in my life."

"Same here."

"You totally fucked me."

"I totally did."

"High five."

We slapped hands. There was no awkwardness, no worries. We cleaned up and snuggled in a glowy stupor until the passage of time reminded us that we had to get dressed, or risk turning back. And neither of us were ready for that.

I awoke the next morning in easy stages, that perquisite of weekends and holidays. My limbs were pleasantly heavy, the covers warm and soft. Next to me, my husband radiated heat and snored softly.

Contrary to my expectations, there had been no period of confusion when I awoke, no stunned rediscovery of the changes to my body. If nothing else, I had gotten up to pee twice in the night, and that process itself was a vivid reminder. Every time I turned over in bed I felt the shifting of my breasts; whenever I moved my legs, I felt the sheets slide across their hairless surface. I had pulled my hair back into a low, rough braid for sleeping, and several times I puzzled over what I was doing sleeping with a rope until I remembered.

Summoning up a bit on energy, I rolled to the other side of the bed, pressing myself against Lindsey's side. He had always been a heavy sleeper, but at my touch he murmured something and blinked his eyes gradually open. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." I nestled into him. He rested a hand on my thigh. It felt casual and possessive and nice.

"What's the plan for today?" I asked.

"Coffee to start with."

"And you're going to cook me breakfast."

"What, you want breakfast in bed?"

"I never said anything about bed."

"And then I suppose that you'll want me to do the dishes. You know, kitchen stuff is woman's work."

I slapped him playfully. "Twelve hours with a dick and you're already acting like one."

His arm wrapped around me tighter. "Making irrational accusations. Just like a woman."

I let my hand trail down his chest. "More muscles than sense. Typical man."

He was rubbing my butt, now. "Just like a woman, all you can talk about is boys."

My hand reached his crotch, only to find him fully erect and tenting the sheets. I wrapped my fingers gently around it. "What are you thinking with, your brain or with this?" He kissed me. "Right answer."

Our love making was not nearly as frantic as the night before. To be honest I was still a bit sore from the pounding I had received, and perhaps he knew that, because when he entered me he kept his strokes slow and sensual. He paid special attention to my breasts, bringing each nipple to exquisite hardness under his fingers or between his lips. He did not limit himself to the nipples, either, but let his hands cup and stroke me, alternately stroking and squeezing the heavy flesh.

I did not come exactly, or I don't think I did. I was learning that my plumbing did not operate in such a binary sense as I was used to. As a man when I came, I got a receipt. As a woman, I simply rode his cock, let him fondle my boobs, and enjoyed the sensations that were filling my body. My most satisfied moan emerged when I felt him climax. I worked my hips on him to draw out the last few spasms, and then settled down atop him, my hair spilling around us like a privacy curtain.

We spent the next half hour in bed, until worry that we might change back drove us out to get dressed. My pajamas consisted of silk pants and a matching shirt that buttoned up the front. The top sloped down my boobs and went straight down from there, leaving an unfamiliar gap between fabric and tummy.

The small differences like that, the emergent properties of my changed form, were the most surprising, and frankly most interesting part of that morning. My normal coffee mug felt huge, and I switched to a smaller one for a second cup, which it turned out I was too full to drink. Even the silverware felt large and clumsy, and I realized just why Lindsey always picked out a teaspoon instead of a soup spoon for her cereal. Smaller utensils for smaller hands and a smaller mouth.

My hair presented a nearly constant distraction. At dinner I had worn it up, but the end of my braid fell into my cereal twice. Lindsey laughed when I tucked it down my neck into my pajama top, but it worked.
Lindsey had his own changes to deal with. He banged his knees on the table, his hip on the corner of the dresser, and his head on the ceiling where it came down in the middle of the stairwell. I had long since learned to duck there, and actually maintained the habit despite my shorter stature.

The shower felt different too. Mainly, it was odd just how high above my head the shower head was positioned. In just that short space, the water lost a bit of pressure and a bit of heat, leading me to turn it hotter than I usually did.

I had a habit in the shower, just a series of motions I had repeated so often I didn't think about them. Wash the left side of the balls, then down the left leg, right side of the balls, then down the right leg. Efficient, effective, and at the moment, impossible.

Oddly enough, I had not thought a lot about my vagina. During sex, it had occupied a substantial portion of my mind, of course, but not otherwise. What I had come to realize is that having a vagina was not the same thing as merely lacking a penis.

Since middle school I had been accustomed to the many moods of the penis, from random boners to turtling in the cold, from freeballing in boxers to the restraint of tighty whities.

My vagina was way more subtle. I rarely thought of it, until it suddenly decided to ooze a bit of wetness for no discernible reason. There was no sign from the outside, of course, and the amount was so minuscule that my underwear wicked it up immediately. But if that was normal, that meant that all the women in my life were fully accustomed to this happening, that it had probably happened right in front of me hundreds of times and I never knew.

Lindsey laughed when I told him later. "Oh yeah. And that's just normal running. You could get turned on and be soaking down there, with no one the wiser. And don't even get me started on periods."

The shower gave me a chance to explore my new body at a more languid pace. While long hair and different plumbing were strange, I had to admit that my tits were perhaps the biggest things to get used to.

It's just that they were always there. I bent down to get some hair out of the drain, and they hung down with me. The inner part of my upper arms brushed against them all the time, especially when they were unrestrained by a bra. They were not bounded by the width of my torso, but had a tendency to spread out to the sides. When I got an itch on the left side of my chest, under my left boob, I first punched myself in the right boob while moving my right arm over to scratch it. I then managed to punch myself again in the left boob, forgetting that if the itch was up under the fold, the boob would have to be lifted to give me access.

Even lifting my arms above my head felt different. You don't think about the fact that you tighten and stretch your pectorals to make that movement, but it's brought home to you when you feel the twin weights shifting on your chest as they are pulled up by the motion.

At least I got to try something I had always wondered about. Hefting my right breast, I directed my nipple towards my mouth. I dipped my head and took it between my lips. I sucked.

Huh. What an odd sensation. They were bigger than my male nipples and way more sensitive, so from the boob side they felt enormous. But in my mouth, they felt no different than Lindsey had herself as a woman.

After the shower, I dried off and wrapped a towel around me. After my third try it stayed, but I could not manage the towel on the head trick.

I looked so domestic, so feminine. At first I was pleased, but a bit of reality started creeping in. I was a man, but I looked like this. I did the things I did last night. What did that mean?

Lindsey was in the bedroom as I exited the bathroom. "So here's a question," I asked. "Are we like, gay now?"

He frowned in consideration. "I don't think so," he replied finally. "I mean, homosexuality is supposed to be genetic, right? Not a choice per se."

"Right."

"So in these bodies, presumably our genetics are heterosexual. I mean, if I changed back right now, would you want to have sex with me?"

I considered it. I had certainly seen enough lesbian porn in my life, but in reality? I thought about going down on each other, of kissing each other's tits, of... I don't know, wearing a strap on? Getting fucked with a strap on? None of it sounded appealing. "Honestly, no. That doesn't do it for me."

"Because you're straight. As a man you're straight because you fuck women, but as a woman you're straight because you fuck men." She laughed. "Or just one man, I hope."

"Definitely." I moved in for a hug. "But you know, as a man, I definitely had fantasies." I had not planned to talk about this, but we were being honest, and I needed to get it off my chest. "Like, fantasies of being a woman again, and you being a man, and... well, kind of like last night."

He did not pull away as I had feared he would. "And you think I didn't think of that too? I mean, this whole weekend is kind of like a wish fulfillment of that."

"I know, but...." I struggled to put it into words. "Are you sure you're not, like, ashamed of me? Like, maybe in wanting that I'm not enough of a man for you, or... what?"

Lindsey was struggling not to laugh. At my question, she snorted back a giggle and said, "I'm sorry! It's just... I'm looking at this beautiful woman wearing nothing but a towel, and she's asking me in her delicate soprano voice whether she's enough of a man for me."

"But that's my point!" I wailed. "I'm just afraid that after this, there's something wrong with me."

Her amusement dried up immediately. "Let me tell you something. I love you. You, whatever body you're wearing. And you love me too." I nodded. Were these tears in my eyes? "I mean, you just admitted your deep dark worries, and it involved you having a sex fantasy about me! If that's the worst you do, then I'm a pretty lucky woman. Man. Whatever."

We started to get dressed. "You know, I think this whole thing is naturally more traumatic for you than for me," he said. "I mean, women wear male-style clothing all the time. It's like without ever changing our bodies, we have a choice to live in either a feminine world or a masculine one. I can go out in a T-shirt and jeans, or in a dress, and both are acceptable."

"But not for men."

"Exactly." He pulled on his jeans, and I took a moment to admire his butt when he turned around. "You have no way to safely explore your feminine side. Some guys just utterly reject it, you know, and are all hhhhhhuuuurrrrnnnnggggghhhhh," he flexed his biceps, "manly men. Others may just train themselves out of thinking those things, or just feel ashamed for thinking them."

"So, you really don't mind me using this time to explore that feminine side?"

"Mind? I think it's awesome." He slid into a T-shirt, which hugged his muscular chest in a most distracting way. "I think it'll make you a better man in the end, and a better human being."

"Right on. In that case, time to enter full girl mode." I shimmied off the towel. "Think I qualify?"

His eyes, which roamed up and down my body, lingering in a few strategic locations, were all the answer I needed. He came in for a kiss, but after a few seconds, when his hand slid down to grab my ass, I broke away.

"Well, you've already got the turning-down-sex part of womanhood figured out."

"Hey, I just showered! Plus I'm still a bit sore from the last two times in the past twelve hours." I opened up my underwear drawer and pulled out a black bra. After a moment's thought, I grabbed the matching nylon panties. "But just so you know, this is what you've got waiting for you tonight."

He watched me hungrily as I put them on. A glimpse of myself in the mirror was enough to confirm that they suited me very well. I pulled on my own pair of jeans and a stretchy black sweater with three-quarter sleeves.

"How many bras did you buy?" He asked, looking past me into the drawer.

"Just the one," I replied. "Didn't figure I'd need more for just this weekend."

"Well, these aren't mine." He held one up. The cups were far too large for Lindsey's female form.

"And now that you mention it, I never put any of my girl clothes in the drawers." I bent to retrieve the box under the bed. "Look, here they are. Except for what I wore last night, since we left that downstairs."

We locked eyes, then both of us started opening drawers. In mine, I found nothing but women's clothing, all in my current size, and none of it familiar. These were not Lindsey's things. They were mine.

He found the same situation, jeans and slacks and shirts and bulky sweaters. "It must be the blessing," he said. "That was the other part of it, remember, that we would always have clothes? I think it changed our clothes into these."

"It did a thorough job of it," I told him. "I guess it will save us some money."

"So long as we can change back."

"Do you want to try now? I mean, if you're worried."

After a moment, he shook his head. "No. No, let's keep going. I'm having fun like this, and I don't want it to mess up our weekend. You?"

"I'm game. I think it's kind of cool, actually. It's like, before we had gone on a trip or something and only had as much stuff as fit into a suitcase. But now, it's like we're back home. Like we belong."

Normally I drove us everywhere, but Lindsey wanted to give me the full feminine experience, and apparently that meant letting the man drive. I did not mind, actually. Despite what he had said about all women getting both worlds, I wanted him to get the full masculine experience too. He certainly seemed to enjoy it, opening doors for me and buying me lunch at Wendy's, and generally behaving like a gentleman. It was quite endearing, actually. Many times in the past, I had wondered what it was that women saw in men, especially the sort of attraction that wasn't physical. Now I got it, or had at least started to get it. To have a person full of such strength and energy, of such capacity for anger and violence, protecting me and doing things for me and using all that energy for me... well, that was very attractive. I found myself wanting to be more attractive for him, wondering if he liked my sweater. Did the way the seatbelt cut across my boobs look weird? He did keep glancing over at them. But no, my male brain told me that if he was sneaking glances, it was probably because he liked what he saw.

After lunch we went to a park and took a walk. I was wearing sneakers, not any sort of heels, but something about my gait just seemed inefficient. It wasn't just the shorter legs, although I had to call Lindsey back like a puppy whenever he got too far ahead. No, the difference was in my hips. The simple way I was built made them swing back and forth. Not to mention how my boobs bounced with every step. The bra did its part to keep them from swinging around, and the sweater did its part to restrain them. I even had on a jacket -- not something I had bought, but one I found in the hall closet -- but all three layers only acted to keep them firmly in one spot. The vibrations of my footfalls still sent ripples through the flesh, like that cup of water in Jurassic Park.

"That was awesome!" Lindsey said when we got back to the car. "Man, I remember that trail being longer."

"My back hurts." I pushed my shoulders back, which made my spine crack audibly. The two culprits of my back pain jutted out in consequence. "How did you deal with these?"

"For one thing, I had a lot less to deal with." He started the car. "You might try a sports bra instead next time. Or even both."

"Both?!" I tried to picture wearing a sports bra over the one I had on now. "Yeah, I guess."

"Of course, no need for there to be a next time. It's raining tomorrow, and then it's back to work." Back to normal, he meant. "Did you want to go home? We can always get groceries later."

"Nah, I'm fine. It's already feeling better. Anyway, If I'm supposed to be exploring my feminine side, there's no need to be a pussy about it."
Lindsey chuckled and turned us out onto the main road.

Sore back aside, I was still having a good time with our transformation. The teenage stocky boy called me "ma'am" when I asked where the specialty tea was, and I enjoyed the delicious sense of being noticed by quite a few of the men in the store. I wouldn't have called myself vain, but it was quite the ego boost to be pretty.

The pride I felt had another source too, but it took the entire length of the grocery, from produce to frozen foods, for me to analyze what it was.
People saw me as a woman. They treated me like one, and considered it normal for me to act like one. And I liked it. It felt normal and right and comfortable. I had not been unhappy as a man, but then again, I had never had a choice either. It was as if I had grown up without air conditioning, and just got used to the heat. Now I had stepped inside a nice cool house and found it comfortable.

How much of that was my body telling me everything was normal, and how much was my brain telling me this was better? The question made me uncomfortable, and I shelved it. I wouldn't know that until I changed back.

That evening, I cooked us dinner. Nothing fancy, just a stir fry and some store brand egg rolls, but we enjoyed it. We even dressed up a bit -- I found a red, Asian inspired dress in the closet, and we made jokes about cultural appropriation and how white we looked trying to eat rice with chopsticks.

We took a short walk around the neighborhood after dinner. I looped my arm around his elbow as we walked, leaned my head against his shoulder when we stopped to look at the moon.

"Remember on our honeymoon, when we saw the iguanas?" Lindsey asked.

"Oh yes." It had been in Costa Rica. A bit of late night stargazing had led us to some sort of gathering of the lizards, who were soaking up the last bit of warmth from the rocks near our resort. "You were very brave in chasing them off."

"You mean that you were."

"Oh, duh." I had a clear memory of taking of my shirt and waving it in front of an iguana that was taking too close an interest in our blanket. Just behind it was a shadow of a memory, a different memory, in which my new husband had been the one to do it. I tried to recall more detail, but it evaporated like a dream.

We continued to reminisce. The conversation turned to other trips we had taken, and then to our upcoming cabin rental in June. We were going to the mountains this time. We each had two weeks off work, and a cabin all to ourselves. I had no more unusual memories, and I decided that the confusion was just some weird way about how the brain worked. Maybe the memory had been stored as boy-did-this, girl-did-that instead of self-did-this, not-self-did-that. By the time we arrived back home, I had forgotten about it.

"So, my handsome husband, I'm going to go change into something more comfortable. Care to meet me upstairs in ten minutes or so?"

"I love it. But just what am I supposed to do until then?"

"I dunno. The dishes?"

I did not require the whole ten minutes to change. My "something more comfortable" consisted of a filmy bit of a nightgown I had found earlier. It was black, with a sheer and lacy front through which my nipples showed quite plainly. From the bodice, it clung to my waist in silky folds before ending about an inch down my thigh. A matching thong barely obscured my vaginal lips. Atop all of this, I wore a black silk robe, which made hints at preserving my modesty while actually doing nothing of the sort.
I arranged the bed artfully and assumed a pose, one leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee. It provided a platform on which to drape one languid arm as I lounged back against the pillows.

My heart beat faster, and I felt the beginnings of heat down below. The day had been pretty much perfect start to finish. It needed only this, another time of intimacy with my partner in life, to conclude the day.
I had just started to get impatient when he came in the door. My self-consciousness melted away at his grin. This time, he did not make protestations that I could say no or back out. He slipped off his shoes quite smoothly and lay on the bed next to me.

We made out with a zeal more consistent with our dating and engagement than our marriage. It was an exploration of each other's bodies, newly unfamiliar and yet still fully willing. My thong was removed first, and the tie of my robe unknotted to reveal the silky bit of nothing underneath. I felt fleshy and sensual and wonderful. I also felt fertile, if that's the right word. Not like I was ready to have a baby, just happily aware that I could receive his seed, that it was right and good and natural for me to do so.

Lindsey was fully naked now, but I was still wearing both articles of clothing, leaving me in a state that felt paradoxically overdressed. I moved to take off the robe, but he stopped me. "Wait there." He disappeared briefly into the closet, and returned bearing a pair of very high heels, with straps that laced up to my ankle.

"Isn't it kind of backwards for me to be getting more dressed?" I asked.

"Not if it's the right kind of dressed."

I slipped them on. He was right, having on the heels made me feel delightfully dirty and playful. Finally, he tugged me up to a sitting position and literally disrobed me. He tossed it to the floor, but not before removing the tie. He leaned me back, looped the tie around my wrists and fastened me to the headboard.

I could have slipped out in three seconds, but the feeling of restraint got me intensely wet. My chest rose and fell faster. Lindsey spread my legs, but instead of mounting me, buried his head in my crotch.

The moan that escaped my lips surprised me with its intensity. I had never known that a tongue could feel so good! I tensed my legs, but he pushed them apart with his hands. I felt fully at his mercy, exposed and submissive.

I came almost right away, and then a second time, and a third, unless that was still part of the second. At the last he withdrew, leaving me a shuddering mass of excited nerves.

He rested with me, still unsatisfied himself, as I recovered. When I had, he asked me to stand. My knees were wobbly, but I managed it.

He positioned us in front of the vanity, a low set of drawers topped with a mirror. It reflected a few framed photographs, a jewelry box, and the two of us. Lindsey stood behind me, towering over me. He raised the nightgown up, over my head. We were both naked now. We looked into each other's eyes in the mirror as his hands began to caress my body. He kissed my neck, sending the small hairs there standing on end.

My heels thrust my ass out behind me. I pressed it against his engorged cock, relishing the hardness of it against my softness. With a motion, he indicated for me to bend over. I did so, bracing my elbows on the top of the vanity and arching my back. Thanks to the extra height of the heels, I was at just the right position for him to slide into me.

I was no connoisseur, but I decided right then that I loved being taken from behind. The feel of his pelvis impacting the cushion of my posterior, his grip on my hips, the angle at which he stimulated my vagina. As I was positioned, my arms actually restrained the bulk of my breasts. The were squeezed together, a solid line of cleavage connecting chest to vanity. The wood varnish was cool on my nipples.

For a while longer, our eyes were locked. Then his closed as his own ecstasy built, which gave me the chance to look at myself.

There I was, bent over the furniture, getting a good deep dicking. What a difference between who I was at that moment and the man I had been just a few days before. My eyes roamed on while my mind continued to appreciate the sensation in my lower half. Lindsey tensed, increased his tempo. With a final great thrust, he came into me, just as my eyes fell on our wedding photo.

"Swordfish!" I cried. Lindsey blinked in confusion and withdrew from me. Semen leaked out of me and ran down my legs, but I paid it little attention.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Look at this!" I handed him the photograph. We were standing under a whitewashed arbor covered in roses. The bride held a bouquet, which she was studying with downcast eyes and a secret smile. The groom was looking at her, with one hand resting gently on her white lace-covered arm. It was a pose that I had seen almost daily since our wedding, but there was one great difference. In this photo, I was the bride.

Lindsey stared at it dumbly. "This is... this is not the way it happened." His penis deflated, and a dribble of cum dripped unheeded to the carpet.

"It's changed." I grabbed another photo, one of me and my parents as a child. A little brown-haired girl stood where a boy once had. She wore a little red dress with flowers. I loved that dress, I thought. I also knew that I had never seen it before.

"Look at this!" He went to his nightstand and retrieved his wallet. Inside was his drivers license. "Justin Martin." Martin had been Lindsey's maiden name. Justin was an old family name on his side. I remembered her suggesting it if we ever decided to have kids.

I kept my purse next to my own nightstand. I opened the front flap and drew out my own wallet. "Since when do I have a purse?" I said, but knew the answer as soon as I asked. I got this one for my birthday from my sister Evie. She was way more fashion conscious than me, and had gotten tired of me lugging around the old canvas bag I used in college. "Mine says Penelope Martin. Except, I think I go by...."

"Penny. You're Penny."

"Justin, I'm scared. No, Lindsey!" I shook my head. "What is happening to us!"

He swore. "The spell. Babe, there were three parts! The clothes change us, we always have the right ones, and...."

"Our lives fit the clothes," I finished. "The magic isn't. Just changing us. It's changing reality. But why now?"

"I think I know," he said grimly. "Magic needs energy to work. Normally it gets it from just pure background thaumatics, but there are other sources." He pulled on his boxers. "Like sex."

My mind reeled. "So every time we had sex...."

"The spell fast forwarded. I bet we didn't even need to wear pajamas to bed last night to keep our forms."

"I don't follow." I was getting chilly, and put on my actual bathrobe, the big fluffy one that Justin got me for my birthday last year. Or no.... I shook my head to clear it.

"Sorry. It makes magical sense, but you weren't raised with it. Imagine that the transformation is like rolling a barrel up a hill. When we have on the clothes, it's like a force pushing it. But the slope gets steeper and steeper the further up you go, until there is not enough force to push it any higher."

"It just stays there."

"Right. Equilibrium. You take off the clothes, the force goes away, and it rolls back. The longer the force was applied, the further up the hill it went, up to equilibrium at least."

"I get it! So that's why the longer we wore the clothes, the longer we stayed changed, but only up to a limit of about a hour."

"Right. But then there is sex. That is like shooting the barrel out of a cannon. It's not a constant force, but a single impact that pushes it way up. Eventually, it will roll back down."

I paused. "So I should take this off, then, right? Eventually we'll change back."

He shook his head. "It depends if we're still on the near side of the hill. If the sex pushed it over the other side...."

"...then the barrel is rolling down to a new normal. One in which we were always like this." I tried to understand the situation, but my head was a whirl of new concepts. "But how do we know which side we're on?"

"We still remember who we were before. That means we haven't hit the bottom yet. And look!" He pointed to my childhood photo. The boy was back. "I think we're actually balanced on top. We just need a nudge to roll back down."

"Like what?"

He shrugged. "I need to think. In the meantime, I think we should watch the wedding video again. It might help to hear the exact words of the spell."

We flipped on the television downstairs. I made us tea while Justin popped in the DVD. "Hey look," he said. "This is weird!"

I popped my head into the den. He had hit play from the beginning, and we were watching the start of the ceremony. Up on screen, I saw myself in my white dress, walking down the aisle. The camera panned to the altar, where I stood again, as a man, waiting.

"It's been cutting back and forth like that. Sometimes me, sometimes you." He hit rewind, then play. This time, it showed both versions of him.

"We sure got our money's worth on that videographer," I said, and returned to the kitchen to fetch the boiling kettle.

By the time I returned with two steaming mugs, he had reached the toasts. Justin's Uncle Rodney was standing to give the toast. As Penny, I sat next to him, looking up with a bright-eyed smile.

"Ladies and gentleman, honored guests, friends and loved ones," Rodney said, "Please permit me to say a few words in benediction of the happy couple."

"Something is wrong," Justin said. "He's sober."

The speech continued, with no slurring or stumbles all the way to the end. "That was the real blessing," Justin said in alarm.

"Back it up and try again."

"I am, but you don't understand. In the Justin and Penny reality, they received the real blessing." He seemed to look inward. "I remember now. He was at my bachelor party two nights before. He got totally wasted, and swore off alcohol for a month."

"Whereas Lindsey didn't have a bachelor party, and Alex didn't invite him to his. So he got drunk at the reception...."

"...and fucked up the blessing," Justin confirmed grimly. "You know what that means?"

I thought I did, but I needed him to say it. "What?"

"If we roll down to the bottom of the hill, there's no going back. We'll be stuck this way forever."

I shuddered. I liked being Penny, and the longer I stayed this way, the more normal it felt. But to have my identity stripped away, and without my consent, was a fate I did not want to suffer. "I guess if I dressed in my Alex clothes, and you put on Lindsey clothes, wouldn't that tip us back in the right direction?"

He laughed bitterly. "Sure. But where are we going to find them? All your old stuff got turned into Penny clothes, and mine are all Justin things."

"Then I could just wear your guy clothes!"

"It might work, but if they used to be Lindsey's, they might just tip you over in the other direction. No, it has to be something that actually belonged to you, that hasn't changed."

Suddenly, I had it. "Our wedding rings! We exchanged those." I examined mine. "It still looks like yours. Check the engraving!" The inner surface of the ring had been engraved with our initials. "AML LDL!" he read out excitedly. "Alex and Lindsey Lightfoot! They haven't changed!"

I shucked off my robe, and Lindsey ditched his shirt and boxers. We pushed the rings into each other's hands. I slid the large men's ring onto my finger, and waited. Nothing happened.

Justin had my ring at the tip of his ring finger. It was too narrow to do much more than pinch around the nail. "If this works right, my finger should shrink to fit it. But if the new version of the blessing is in force, it will work the other way. The ring will change to fit the finger, instead of the other way around."

I held my breath. Our future was balanced on the edge of a knife.

Suddenly, I felt cool metal encircling my own finger. I held up my hand to show him a grossly large finger, which fit the ring perfectly. At that moment, the other ring slid onto his finger, which had slimmed to just the right size.

Our transformations back into Alex and Lindsey took until around noon on Sunday. Progress was slow at first. For a time our fingers were all that seemed to change, but by midnight or so that evening, I noticed that my bust had lost some mass. Another hour, and our heights had equalized.

I can't believe we slept, but we did. Upon waking, the change had still not reached what I considered the real tipping point. That is, I still had a vagina. Around 11:30 that morning, I discovered that our wardrobes had reverted to normal. We debated for a time whether to use them, but I think we were both tired of being naked at that point, and were ready for the ordeal to be over. Within fifteen minutes of donning my usual male attire, I was fully myself again.

We had sex that night, though not because either of us really wanted to. Lindsey thought it might anchor us more firmly in our current forms. She never came, and my own orgasm felt more mechanical than sensual. But after a night of sleeping in the nude, we began Monday morning as Alex and Lindsey. And that, for a time, was that.