In the end, the girls couldn't have been nicer about it. They swore
blind as soon as the week was over and Wednesday morning rolled round,
we'd all find ourselves... ourselves again. Fun though they'd already
had in our bodies, the fact that Rob and I were clearly straight seemed
to have taken some of the fun out of it, as did the slow realisation
that they'd just lost a decade and a half off their lives. They wrote
down their passwords for their phones, cashpoint codes, Instagram
logins, everything. In return, we gave them the same as long as they
promised to lay low for the next seven days and not ruin my and Rob's
careers or reputations, such as we had. My initial plan, that we stay at
our home while they go back to theirs, with enough clothes to last the
week, was quickly shot down as impractical. If anyone from the
university spotted us, all hell would have broken loose. Rob and I would
have to go back to Francesca and Banshari's and stay there and out of
trouble, and pretending to be them, until after the weekend. They were
even nice enough to call an Uber for us, cheerily waving us off from the
front door.

"A week?" hissed Rob, poking his chest with a bitter finger as we
climbed into the back of the Uber. "I have to haul these things around
for a week?" Luckily, the Uber driver didn't seem to be listening and
drove off the second I'd closed the door.

"I'm not sure what choice we have," I said, annoyed at how helpless I
was sounding.

"And the minute we go round that corner they'll be at our cocks, I
guarantee it." Thank God the Uber driver was distracted trying to tune
in to some bhangra station.

"I'm sure they won't," I said with a confidence I didn't entirely feel.
"Mutually Assured Destruction, isn't it? Imagine how much more they have
to lose from nude pics on Instagram than we do." Although looking back
as we drove away, I could have sworn I saw Francesca in my body slip a
hand around Banshari in Rob's waist.

Ooookay. Briefly, I caught the Uber driver, who'd now found a station he
approved of. peeking back at me in the rear-view mirror, his gaze
sliding down to where the cardigan had come loose and it was all too
clear I had nothing on under the t-shirt. Gritting my teeth and pulling
the cardigan back around me, I stared out of the window as the houses
got larger and more expensive.

Francesa and Banshari's place felt a lot colder and emptier when we got
back. I closed the door behind us. I never wanted to go back out there
again.

"Right," said Rob, sticking his list of passwords to the fridge with a
magnet. "I'm having a shower."

"Oh," I said. "I mean, I suppose that's okay."

He stared at me. "We're stuck like this for a week," he said. "There's
basic stuff we have to do."

I couldn't disagree. In fact, I'd been desperate to use the toilet ever
since we'd got in the Uber, but I'd been holding it for as long as I
could.

"You're busting for a slash, I can tell," said Rob. "Go on, I'll have my
shower after."

"Ugh, fine," I said.

It wasn't like I'd never taken a piss sitting down before, obviously,
just that some of the plumbing had been... rearranged since I last had to
go. I tried not to think about it as I stared straight ahead and let
Francesca's body take care of business. When I was done, I dabbed
cautiously with a wodge of tissue, flushed and washed my hands. See, not
that different really. Then I looked in the mirror and saw a girl in her
early twenties staring back at me. For the first time, I noticed her
large dark eyes under the blunt fringe had a slight hazel tinge. No
crow's feet, no dark circles underneath. I lifted one finger up and
poked the side of my face, watching Francesca do the same thing in the
mirror. Incredible soft skin, not an open pore to be seen. She had nice
lips too, fuller than mine but not overly pouty.

I opened her mouth wide. "Ahhhhhh," I said and stuck Francesca's tongue
out. It was very pink and surprisingly pointed, like a cat's tongue.

"Can I have my shower now?" called Rob from outside the door. "Thing
about big tits is, they do get sweaty."

"Oh, dear god," I said, but I opened the door. Rob came in, already
stripping off Banshari's top. Then he started fiddling behind his back
to undo the bra.

"Christ!" I didn't know where to look.

Rob rolled Banshari's eyes. "Rugby club rules, mate, we can't get too
precious about this stuff, we're sharing a house for a week, we're going
to see everything."

"We shared a house for three years and I never saw you naked before!" I
protested, then paused. "Apart from that one time."

He smirked. "This is an easier sight on the eyes though, be honest,"
Banshari's clothes were a pile on the floor now, a pair of flower-
patterned panties the last item to join them.

"I'm not looking," I said, putting a hand over my eyes.

"Seriously," I heard Rob say. "I'm all for respect and privacy for
female students and everything, but I'm pretty sure they've made our
bodies do stuff we never signed up to. I reckon they're more guidelines
than rules at this stage. So, let's just get over it."

Warily, I removed my hand. There, in the bathroom, stood Rob, or at
least, Rob in Banshari's body. It was definitely one of the curviest
bodies I'd seen, but also surprisingly compact. I could well believe
Banshari was, as Rob had said, a good sprinter.

"Nice arse, too," said Rob, giving me a twirl. He moved a hand down
between his legs. I wished he wasn't looking straight at me while he
felt around. "Okay," he said. "That's different. That's really
different. That's going to take a bit of adjustment."

"Right then," I said loudly. "I'll leave you to it."

He laughed, the most Rob-like sound I had heard coming out of Banshari's
mouth that morning.

"Go on then, bugger off," he said. "Might want to get a cup of tea or
something, I'm going to run a full diagnostic."

"Oh Jesus Christ," I said and shut the door behind me.

Undoing the cardigan, I dropped it onto the bed and took a cautious
sniff of Francisca's armpits. Okay, yes, a shower probably was in order.
Probably a change of clothes too.

Of course, she had an entire drawer of underwear. Expensive stuff, by
the look of it. The feel of it too. I dangled one gauzy item from a
finger, not even entirely sure which way round it went. I tried to
imagine what Francesca was feeling rooting around in my chest of
drawers, choosing from a job-load of Fatface boxer shorts. Katie had
made me get rid of all the briefs quite early in our relationship, so I
suppose it could have been worse.

I sat down heavily on the bed, thinking of the mini-break I'd planned.
What a waste. It had been a long shot anyway, truth be told. I knew
Katie was going to be at a mentoring social event which I'd got myself
booked onto it as well, my plan being to have a chat, keep things light,
then casually bring up this trip I'd booked while we were still a
couple. Bit awkward now, but if she fancied coming, just as friends, who
was to say we couldn't patch things up? And then... although I wouldn't
say this part out loud, maybe leave as more than friends again.

Well, clearly that wasn't going to happen. Katie wasn't going to run
back into these arms. I mean, they were nice arms, but still.

I stretched out Francesca's arms and flexed them, such as I could. I
hadn't exactly been at Rob levels of fitness before, but I could have
managed a couple of press-ups, if forced. There was some tone to
Francesca's physique, but I could hardly see myself lifting anything
heavier than a large glass of wine for the next few days.

Laying back on the bed, I heaved a huge sigh. Francesca's legs were
aching, probably because I'd been trying to walk like a dude all
morning. Seeing Rob wiggling away in front of me had made me try and
ignore the different hip arrangement, just stamping along like normal,
but it felt like I'd strained something. Groaning slightly, I lifted one
leg up, then watched, astounded, as it raised up with almost zero
effort, then right up and over my face, as far as the jeans would allow.

Holy shit. Francesca was bendy. For the first time since I'd woken up,
the spirit of experimentation seized me. Undoing the jeans, I peeled
them off, then stood next to the bed, enjoying the feel of the cool air
against my skin. Then, slowly, hardly daring to believe this was
possible, I slowly moved my legs apart, lowering myself to the floor in
a perfect split. Bloody hell.

That wasn't all I could do. Leaning over, I placed my palms on the
floor, straightened my legs, pushed myself forward and a second later, I
was doing a handstand. Wobble free - Francesca's sense of balance was
incredible. Well, almost: the oversized t-shirt fell over my face, and I
tipped over in confusion, but whereas in my previous body I would
probably have broken three bones and a lot of furniture, in this one I
rolled neatly back onto my feet and stood up again, although wincing and
holding my chest because: ouch. The first thing I needed to do when I
got out of that shower was, like Rob, find a decent bra. Man, those
things moved around. How did women get anything done?

I stood up. Francesca's face in the mirror was flushed, half her hair
now out of the scrunchie, but she looked justifiably proud of herself.
Clearly, what this body lacked in strength, it made up in flexibility.

From far away I could hear something that sounded simultaneously
familiar and completely alien. I tiptoed out into the hall, closer to
the bathroom, where over the sound of rushing water I could hear
Banshari's high, natural singing voice tackling one of Rob's favourite
rugby songs, with considerable gusto. Someone had cheered up since the
Uber drive.

It wasn't long until Rob knocked on the door. He didn't wait for a
reply, just pushed it open and stood in the doorway, wrapped in a big
pink towel, damp hair all over the place.

"All right, then?" I asked cautiously.

Rob lay back on the bed and sighed. He smelled great, something
strawberry-ish, a shower gel maybe.

"Well, that was different," he said staring up at the ceiling with
Banshari's big dark eyes, then stretched out his fingertips, examining
them. "Urgh, her fingers have gone all pruney."

I looked at him, shocked. "You didn't..."

"What? Urgh, no, I was a gentleman. More or less. Just wanted to see how
it all fits together if you see what I mean."

I didn't, to be honest, but never mind. "And does it? Fit together?"

Rob frowned, thinking. "There's a lot to get used to, put it that way."

"Well, sure," I said. "Apart from a different set of, um, equipment, and
being a completely different body shape, there's also... you know."

Rob rolled onto his front, winced a bit, tugged the towel and up and
stared at me. He looked genuinely confused.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," I ploughed on, "you're not white anymore."

"Oh," he said. "That. Does it bother you?"

"Course it doesn't bother me! I'm just thinking it must be different,
that's all."

He looked genuinely offended. "I'm just a few shades darker now, that's
all. Christ, do you want me to write an essay on it?"

"No, I don't-" And then to my surprise I found myself laughing. "Oh,
bloody hell, this is so weird."

Rob chuckled. A proper Rob chuckle, albeit at a higher pitch. I couldn't
help noticing he'd stopped trying to force Banshari's register down now.
Maybe it was giving him a sore throat.

He poked me with a finger. "Your turn. You can't hand that body over in
a week all stinky, you know."

"Urgh," I said and stood up. "Fine." And then, surprising even myself,
I pulled the t-shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor, then bent
over, rolled down Francesca's pants and let them follow suit.

"Well, all right," said Rob, appreciatively.

I stood for a moment, naked in another person's body, a person fifteen
years younger than me and very much the opposite sex. I could feel
everything: the hair that had worked loose from the scrunchie hanging
around my narrower shoulders, a weight that had never been there before
around my hips, but also that slight gap between the tops of my thighs,
a chill against my nipples, doing their thing again thanks to the draft
coming up from the door Rob had left open, and the pull of gravity on
Francesca's breasts. Nowhere near as big as Rob's, but I could feel
their weight nevertheless.

Cautiously, I put my hands to my waist. It was barely there. Sliding my
fingers down a little, I could feel the hips widening.

"Nice arse, by the way," said Rob appreciatively.

I turned to him. There was nothing to hide now. Swallowing, I looked
down between Francesca's legs.

"I don't know what I expected to see," I heard myself say, mildly.

He nodded at me. "Very neat," he said approvingly. "Better keep up the
routine unless you want it to go all big and Seventies-style for when
she gets it back."

Francesca had a carefully trimmed patch of hair, just above... well,
let's just say "above." I stroked the soft almost-curls with a finger
and felt that warm ticklish ache again, the same as when I'd woken up,
thinking about Katie in an Italian four-poster, but this time I knew why
there wasn't any accompanying stirring. Not externally, anyway.

I suddenly felt warm and flustered. "All right then," I said rather
more loudly than I'd intended. "Into the shower. Then maybe then we
should both try getting dressed?"

Unlike Rob, I didn't take the opportunity to explore my new, um, setup.
It didn't feel right, somehow. Buy a girl a drink first, I thought, as I
stepped under the warm water spray and laughed, except it came out as
more of a high-pitched giggle and that combined with remembering a
student last year who'd had her drink spiked meant suddenly this didn't
feel funny anymore.

To be honest, once the exhilaration of being able to do the splits had
worn off, it had made me realise just how alien this body really was. I
thought of that moment just after waking up that morning, that sense of
utter disconnection between mind and body (also the title of a module I
was planning to run in the next academic year), then slowly becoming
aware of fingers and toes, even if I hadn't yet realised they weren't my
fingers and toes. My software, finding itself running on new hardware,
struggling to get all the subroutines up and running. Or something. But
where did Francesca's hardware end and my software begin? Maybe it was
better to just not think about it.

After washing my newly long hair and getting as much conditioner into it
as it could hold (Katie had often told me at great length about the
importance of using conditioner on long hair, red-blonde in her case, I
still didn't know if the colour mattered), I stood for a moment, letting
the hot water run down places they wouldn't have run down the previous
day, and placed a hand flat over my stomach. Dimly remembered diagrams
from school biology lessons swam into my mind, tangled Fallopian tubes
and ovaries that looked more like eggplants, and for a moment I could
feel all that going on, doing its stuff beneath the layers of skin and
fat and muscle. I wasn't sure I liked it.

Eventually I decided enough time had gone past to be able to rinse the
conditioner out and finally I was done. Except I wasn't, because I had
to work out how to wrap a towel around this body without it coming
undone, and then when I was back in the bedroom, I had to put on someone
else's clothes.

By the time I got downstairs, Rob had got it all sorted, sitting on the
frankly enormous sofa in the front room, bare feet up against the low
wooden table, bottle of beer in one of Banshari's small hands, cheering
on the football. It could have been any Sunday over at our house, except
he was wearing a short flowery dress that didn't reach his knees. Also,
because his legs were splayed apart in his usual Rob fashion, I was
getting a full view of his choice of Banshari's underwear that morning:
purple with white polka dot spots. Although that wasn't even where my
gaze was being drawn.

"You and Banshari finally getting acquainted?"

He frowned at me then looked down to realise his hand, the one that
wasn't holding a beer bottle, was clutching his right boob.

"Huh," he said carefully removing it. "Didn't even know I was doing
that."

I shook my head then helped myself to one of the beer bottles on the
coffee tables. Annoyingly, it took considerably more force than usual to
prize the lid off with the bottle opener.

"I like that they're beer drinkers," said Rob, taking a long gulp.
"Helps me settle in." He took another look at me but said nothing.

"What?" I said annoyed, mainly because the beer tasted horrible. I made
a face and put the bottle down. I wasn't sure they were beer drinkers at
all. Probably left behind after a party or something.

"You look like a children's tv presenter," said Rob, turning back to the
television.

I looked down at myself. Now I was really annoyed, mainly because Rob
was right. I'd gone through a heap of Francesca's clothes, ignoring
everything that was strappy, or low cut, or just flimsy, and hadn't been
left with a whole lot. In the end, I'd chosen some short denim dungarees
over some leggings and a t-shirt. And a bra, obviously. I'd found a
sports top that didn't have any annoying clasps and could just be pulled
over my head, although on the first attempt I'd got Francesca's long
hair caught up and ended up a confused swearing mess.

I looked at Rob. "You're seriously just going to sit there and watch the
football?"

He nodded. "Bigger telly than home. Why, do you think we'll end up
checking out their arses or something?"

Silence for a moment as we both looked thoughtfully at the screen.
Finally, I said, "They're just arses."

"Same," said Rob, relieved. "Was a bit worried for a minute."

"I mean," I said. "We can't stay like this for a whole week! We've got
to work out how to undo this whole... situation."

Rob frowned at me. "Have we? The other way of looking at it is, this is
kind of an opportunity, isn't it?"

"To do what?" I really didn't like how high my voice had just gone. "Sit
around and compare cleavage?"

Rob smirked. "I'd win."

I took a deep even breath. "I don't think I can deal with this."

Rob put his bottle on the table and turned to me. "Honestly, I think
this could be good for you. You've always put women on a pedestal. You
definitely did with Katie Spending a bit of time on the other side of
the fence, getting a new perspective, sort of thing, it'll be good for
you. It's only for a few days."

"What I don't understand," I said, "is how you're so calm about this.
You should be freaking out more than me."

"I should? Why?"

"Because..." I was spluttering now. "Because you were six foot five! Not
an ounce of fat on you! And now you're five three, if that and... let's
just say that dress is doing a lot of vital support work."

Rob grinned and put both hands to his chest. "Yeah, but thinking about
it, I've always really liked tits, you know? I still remember Rebecca
Addison, year eight, let me touch under her PE kit round the back of the
sports hall. God bless you, Rebecca Addison, wherever you are."

"Blimey," I said, "you've really come round. I didn't know you liked
boobs so much you were missing a pair of your own."

"It's not what I would have chosen," he said. "But turns out it's like,
the most comforting thing ever. Any time I feel down, I can just grab a
handful, it's incredible. I don't see how women ever get bored."

"And what if they're saying that about our penises right now?"

"Well, that's a thought," said Rob. "But currently, if it's only for a
few days, I'd have to say: fair trade."

"Wow," I said. I was impressed, but also a little concerned. Having a
different body was bound to affect the mind. Were we going to slip into
our new roles a little too comfortably? What if by the weekend we'd got
so used to being Francesca and Banshari we didn't want to swap back?

"Fuck are you doing, ref!" shouted Rob, turning to me in despair. "Hey,
pull my finger."

Normally I'd have ignored him, but something told me to obey his
instruction. I tugged on his finger, Rob immediately letting loose with
a fart that his old body would have been proud of.

"There we go," he said. Okay, maybe he hadn't changed that much.

"What are we doing to do about food?" I asked. Rob pointed wordlessly at
the fridge.

It turned out to be incredibly well-stocked, so we didn't even need to
worry about shopping right now, although I couldn't see jars of olives
and expensive cheeses lasting the entire week.

Rob picked up Banshari's phone and started scrolling through it. "Bloody
hell," he said. "There's every food delivery app known to man on this
thing. Or woman," he added quickly, "I checked out her bank account too.
Let's just say we won't be living off supermarket noodles this week."

I'd forgotten about the phones. Putting Francesca's password in, the
first thing I saw was a selfie, obviously. Her and Banshari, pulling
faces in a nightclub, both covered in glitter.

"Awwww," said Rob, peering over my shoulder. "I quite fancy getting some
sparkles on."

He looked at me, down at the phone and back at me. I instantly felt
worried. "What?"

"I'm just saying," said Rob. "We don't have to stay cooped up here. We
could go out on the town. It is Friday night, after all."

"Noooooo," I said quickly. "Not happening."

"All right," said Rob. "Fine. But I think we should take some advantage
of this opportunity."

"I mean, I suppose," I said. "But not tonight, eh?"

I flicked through a magazine that had been left on the kitchen worktop,
one of those about relationships and makeup. Hey, maybe it would come in
useful after this was all over. Like Rob said, get a new perspective.
Except it seemed to be mostly about blowjobs and yeast infections,
neither of which I was ready to think about right now, so instead I
started scrolling through the pictures on Francesca's phone.

There were a lot of them. Francesca at college, at home, which looked
like somewhere leafy in the Home Counties, pulling faces at the camera
which were goofy, but also not so goofy you couldn't tell she was very
attractive. Banshari was in over half the pictures. And then I saw her.

I'd scrolled past before I realised what I'd seen, so had to work my way
back again, and then there she was: Francesca, looking pretty much as
I'd seen her in the bar the previous night, but in one of the
university's meeting rooms, so holding a glass of wine rather than
anything brightly coloured and interesting. But more importantly there,
right next to her, stood Katie.

"Bloody hell," I whispered, and poked at the picture until she filled
the whole screen. Katie, in a smart skirt and jacket over a white
blouse, red-blonde hair pinned up with just a few tresses loose so she
didn't look too severe (she'd told me she did that on our first proper
date). I realised for the first time we would be the same height now.
Francesca and Katie were a similar build too, probably even down to shoe
size. Looking at the two of them, Francesca with a wide smile, Katie
more demure but with a smile threatening to break out any minute, one
could see how a Francesca could grow to become Katie-like, or how a
younger Katie could have been very like Francesca. Katie had freckles
though. I couldn't imagine Francesca with freckles. She'd probably have
them lasered off or something.

A poster hanging in the back advertised the university's mentoring
scheme, and that was when I started to think this week might hold some
interesting possibilities after all. Because clearly casually asking
Katie to accompany me on a mini break to a posh hotel wasn't going to
happen, not this week at least, but a whole new possibility had occurred
to me. Hardly daring to hope, I brought up Francesca's calendar on her
phone and there it was. Friday, 10am, Inkpen Hall: Mentoring Scheme
Social, att. Prof. Kathryn Holden.

Bloody hell.

Because now I had a plan. Francesca and Katie already knew each other. I
could go to the social, as Francesca, and see if I could worm the
slightest bit of information out of Katie about our relationship. Girl
talk. What had gone wrong, what could be mended, what adjustments could
be made, under what circumstances could it start up again. It wouldn't
be easy - what lecturer would be happy to dissect their previous
relationship with a student? - but anything I could get would be useful.
Maybe, just maybe, this insane situation that Francesca and Banshari had
managed to create out of some nonsense on the internet could work out to
the good after all. What if it was... destiny?

But for this to work, she'd really have to think I was Francesca. I
couldn't say I even convinced myself at this point - I found myself
jumping at the alien reflection every time I passed a mirror - so that
was going to need some work. And I didn't have long.

Of course, I could start by not, like Rob, sitting with my legs splayed
apart. I brought my knees together, then, remembering that Francesca,
unlike me, didn't suffer from short tendons, tucked my heels underneath
me for that full demure look. Bringing up the photo app, I looked
straight into the camera. No pouting yet, but I reckoned I could carry
off one of Francesca's signature looks, according to her Instagram
history. Sorry, "Insta" history. I raised one eyebrow for that slightly
mocking, quizzical look, then tilted my head to one side and even pulled
my shoulders back a little - Francesca never hunched over. A clicking
sound, and it was uploaded to the gallery. "I don't know," I added in
the text box below. "Feels like a no makeup kind of day."

Thirty seconds later, it had got four likes.

I put the phone away after that, a little unnerved by its power and the
rest of the afternoon was quiet, almost mundane. After the match had
ended, Rob and I decided that housework was going to have to be done.
The house wasn't a complete mess, but altogether it felt too much like
winding up at an AirBnB that hadn't been cleaned up after the previous
guests. If we were going to stay here for an entire week, we should at
least try and make the place comfortable.

The first problem we ran into was that Rob, who'd traditionally done all
the high bits, no longer had that as an option. The second was that, to
put it crudely, his boobs kept knocking things over. The first time a
glass went off a worktop and onto the floor was pretty funny, as was the
next, to be fair, but I could see he was struggling.

"Short bloody arms," I heard him muttering.

"Yes," I said, "that's definitely the problem." A moment later I felt
considerably less smug when I accidentally walked into a cloud of polish
I'd sprayed more enthusiastically than I intended onto a wooden coffee
table.

"Sneeeee!" I heard myself say.

Rob looked over at me in alarm. "What the hell was that?"

I tried to glare at him but sneezed again. "Sneeee!"

"Oh my god," said Rob, quivering now with barely suppressed laughter.
"It's the sound a baby rabbit would make if you punched it."

"Why would you punch a- snee!"

Rob had to sit down he was laughing so much.

"Oh piss off," I managed finally. "I'm doing upstairs now."

A couple of hours later, we were sweaty and tired, but done. We'd even
hung out the first lot of washing, for which we'd carefully read the
instructions: a first for both of us, and now underwear and tights were
drying all over the house. I even recognised the clothes Francesca and
Banshari had been wearing the previous night, with a flash of
irritation. Not only had they stolen our bodies, we were literally
having to sort out their dirty laundry.

Still, eventually we were done and could collapse on the sofa with a
virtuous glow. And then: "Oh wow, Rob," I said. "Your hair."

Rob put his hand up to the tangled mess that was Banshari's hair and
sighed. "I haven't got a bloody clue, mate," he admitted. "I've been
having buzz cuts since I was thirteen, go into town, fiver every third
Saturday, job done."

"Don't move," I said, returning from the bathroom with a de-frizzing
spray and a solid-looking hairbrush.

"What do you want to watch on telly?" I asked. "This is going to take a
while."

In the end, Rob chose something educational from the history channel and
sat in front of me while I leaned on the back of the sofa behind him,
spraying his hair and slowly brushed it into something resembling a
workable shape.

I worked in silence for a good twenty minutes, the presenter rambling on
about castles and guilds and barons, and for a while I forgot everything
else. The detangling spray was good stuff and teasing out the tight
curls was surprisingly absorbing. Also, Rob smelled great. More of that
fruity shower gel, I guessed, but also Banshari's skin itself had a
clean, fresh scent. And then I realised I wasn't the only one finding
this satisfying.

"Rob," I said quietly. "Are you purring?"

He stopped instantly with a guilty cough, then turned back and grinned.
"Sorry, it just feels lovely, it really does."

"Okay," I said, feeling a little uneasy. "You're not, you know, getting
too into this, are you?"

He laughed. "Am I getting a lady boner, are you asking? Mate, I've
already had enough experience today to know the difference, and no, I'm
not. It's just, you know, we've never been exactly intimate, have we? As
mates, I mean?"

I considered the question. Even just a day ago, it would have made me
feel incredibly uncomfortable, but now I thought I could answer
honestly."

"It's always a bit weird, for blokes, isn't it?"

"Not always," Rob said promptly. "Me and the rugby lads, we're always
sharing beds, having baths together, all that, s'nice."

"Okay," I said cautiously. I'd never really understood the whole male
bonding thing. I hadn't been into sports at school, and the English
department was mostly female anyway, so it was best to keep a
professional distance. The only other dude I shared lecturing duties
with was in his mid-fifties and looked like a heron. I couldn't imagine
sharing a bath with him.

"All right," I conceded. "But doesn't anyone ever worry it seems a
bit..."

"Gay?" finished Rob helpfully. "You know three of the blokes on our team
are gay, right? And Richard's always willing to help out if they're
short-handed, if you know what I mean."

"Oh," I said startled.

"Jesus," said Rob. "All those books and poems and you haven't worked out
you can be close to someone physically without it having to be sexy?
Slide down here behind me."

"Um, okay," I said, and slid cautiously down the sofa. My thighs were
around Rob's waist now, my lower stomach against the small of his back.
In a normal situation, of course, I'd right now have my dick pressed up
against his arse, but for obvious reasons, that wasn't a concern right
now.

He did smell really nice though, I thought, as he took my hands in his
and he placed them over his chest.

"Wait..." I began, alarmed, but Rob tutted. "Shush," he said. "Just feel
them. I'm not getting off on it, I promise, I just want you to
experience the magic."

Oh god. But I was experiencing the magic. Something about them just felt
incredibly comforting, like I was encountering something primal. Without
realising it, I'd pressed my face into the back of his neck, breathing
in Banshari's scent, letting her long hair fall around my face as though
I'd fallen into another world, somewhere soft and calm and wonderful.

"Mmmmm," I managed.

"All right," said Rob, "Time out. It is actually getting a bit sexy
now." He patted my hands, which I removed reluctantly, then turned to
face me. "I've been wanting to give you a massive hug ever since that
thing with Katie, but you're so uptight, I thought it would do more
damage that it would help."

"To be fair," I said. "You didn't have magical tits before."

"Good point," he said and swivelled round to face me, holding out a
handful of hair. "Do the front now."

By the time I was done my arms were tired and it was growing dark
outside. I'd got Rob's hair looking like he'd just stepped out of a
salon though, so that was something.

Banshari's phone pinged. Rob picked it up. "Get in!" he breathed.

I frowned, wary. "What is it?"

He showed me the phone. A hockey match against a rival university
tomorrow morning.

"Hockey!" He sounded delighted. "Used to bloody love that at school.
Better check out where Banshari keeps her kit. Not picked up a stick in
ten years, but I reckon I've still got it. Or she has. Muscle memory,
isn't it?"

I gaped at him. "You're not seriously thinking of going?

"Too right I am. Can't leave her team without their star player, can I?
That settles it, early night for me. And you can come and cheer me on
tomorrow and all. See you in the morning."

"Right," I said. "Well, okay then." A good opportunity to hone my
Francesca impression, at least, shouting encouraging things at my
flatmate Banshari as she did... whatever hockey players do. I was at
least grateful things had gone this way round. I barely knew one end of
a hockey stick from the other.

"I think I'll go and have a bath," I said to an empty room.

I lowered myself into the hot water, noting idly that I was smaller now,
so my normal level of bathwater was suddenly much deeper. Also, I could
slide right to the end of the tub, lying practically flat rather than
having to bend my legs in half just to get my hair wet. It was like
being a kid again. Although the view was decidedly different from when
I'd been a kid. Apart from anything else, the tips of Francesca's
breasts were fantastically visible above the water, large pink nipples
sticking out through the foam. Uneasily, I waved my small hands around
until I'd covered them up with bubbles, although that didn't look much
less ridiculous.

I lay back in the water, staring up at the ceiling, Francesca's long
hair waving slowly in the water around me. That was going to need some
attention before I went to this thing on Tuesday: every photo of
Francesca showed her hair looking thick and full and shiny, which I was
starting to realise was why the bathroom had at least thirty bottles of
stuff stacked on every surface.

Just as Rob seemed genuinely psyched up with a sporting event to look
forward to, everything seemed better now I had a plan. I felt bad I
hadn't shared it so far with Rob, but he didn't need to know everything.
And now the body I was in seemed less like some terrible mistake I was
being forced to walk around in and more like... a means to an end. A
disguise. It was only temporary, after all.

I was starting to feel a little flushed now. Maybe Francesca didn't like
her baths quite so hot. Luckily her toes were as flexible as the rest of
her, and I managed to twist the cold water tap on for a moment without
having to sit up. I gasped a little as the cool water flowed, then
turned it off again.

I found myself wondering what the real Francesca and Banshari were
doing, right now, in our bodies. I found myself not even minding too
much the thought of them getting cosy together as long as they kept it
off the socials. Pleasantly drowsy now, I thought of the last night
Katie and I had spent together, I hadn't known it would be the last
night, of course, but perhaps even if I had, I wouldn't have done
anything differently. We'd gone out to a play, which had been terrible,
and had laughed about it all the way to Katie's flat. I'd meant to cook,
but after a glass of wine we'd fallen into bed together. The sex had
been undramatic, but good, and then we'd fallen asleep, me curled around
her, my arm over her side as I breathed in the smell of her hair.

I heard a soft, feminine gasp from a long way away, and for a moment I
thought I was still in the memory of that night, and then I realised my
left hand was cupping one breast, a thumb moving slyly around my nipple,
while my right hand was between my legs, one finger slipping into the
soft warmth within, and now I wasn't just me, I was Katie too, and I
could feel her growing pleasure as she unfolded beneath Francesca's
fingers, insistently circling something small but firm I hadn't
encountered before, her breath quickening then catching in my throat as
her nipples stiffened, my feet pushing back against the end of the bath
and in her bed at the same time.

And then I sat up in the bath, gasping, warm water sloshing between my
legs, feeling each bubble as they slid down my body and back into the
water.

"What the fuck?" I heard Francesca's voice say, but it was me that said
it.

Twenty minutes later, once I'd got out of the bath and my legs had
stopped wobbling, I wrapped myself in a huge fluffy towel and searched
with shaking hands through Francesca's stuff for some form of nightwear
that wasn't borderline lingerie or covered in ironic pictures of kittens
while trying not to think about what had just happened. Not that it
hadn't been nice - it had been more than nice, it had somewhere close to
deeply pleasurable. I just wasn't sure how much I'd been involved in the
process. I'd started out thinking about me and Katie, then everything
had gone hazy, and by the time I'd realised Francesca had somehow got
involved, it was like I'd been pushed out of the picture entirely, like
neither of them needed me anymore. Which stung a bit, if I'm honest.

Eventually I found some clean underwear and cotton tartan pyjamas that I
could pretend were exactly the sort of thing I'd wear on a normal night,
if I ignored the fact the sleeves and legs were just slightly too long,
draping over my hands and feet in a way I was sure was designed to make
the wearer looking helpless and adorable. Fine. It was all fine.

"Night, Rob," I called out of the bedroom door, but to no response. I
could already hear gentle snoring: clearly something he shared with
Banshari, although her snores were quieter and, it had to be said, a lot
cuter.

I walked round the house, following my usual routine of checking the
door was locked, all the windows closed, no gas on, all the lights off.
Two young women, living alone, couldn't be too careful.

"All right, then," I said to myself. Climbing into bed, I pulled the
duvet over me and lay as still as I could, hands firmly by my sides. I
decided to think manly thoughts: having a teenage kickabout with my
mates back home, my first kiss, drunk, at a party with a girl who had
braids in her hair but whose name I couldn't remember. It must have
worked because eventually I fell asleep.