The alarm blared and I groaned, not feeling ready to start the day yet. My hand groped around, trying to find the alarm, but instead found a large, warm body lying in the bed next to me. As I started to sit up, a curtain of blonde hair fell around my face and I blinked, realizing the alarm making so much noise was coming from the other side of the bed, not the side I was on right now.
"Turn the fucking alarm off," I heard a deep voice grumble from the body alongside me and I jumped in surprise, wondering what the fuck a guy was doing in my bed. And where was Susan? I glanced around, the hair smacking me in the face slightly as I did, before I suddenly looked down and yelled in surprise. I was wearing Susan's nightgown. Wait, no. I had breasts and I was wearing Susan's nightgown.
The man sat up, an immediate look of suspicion on his face, "Who the fuck -" as he glanced at me, and then screamed. I have to admit, hearing a man scream is a lot less scary than a simple yell of terror. But as I stared at the person who just woke up in the bed next to me, a creeping sense of horror emerged and took hold of me, my breath starting to quicken as I began to panic. I was looking at a duplicate of myself.
"Susan?," I tried asking, my voice suddenly shaking slightly, as I glanced around, wondering where my wife had gone to. "Susan? Suze? Where are you?"
The man looked dumbstruck as he gazed at me, like he was staring at a ghost. "Ed? Is that you?"
"Who the hell else would it be?" I snapped at the stranger. "And who the fuck are you?" I stuck my finger out, pointing. I was half-tempted to grab my gun and hold the doppelganger at gunpoint until the police could arrive, but something about the situation just seemed so weird that I never quite got around to it.
"It's me, Susan," the man who looked like me said, and I just stared in disbelief. "Why do you look like me, Ed?"
"Wait, what? Why the hell do you look like me?," I shot back at her. I turned my head, glancing at the floor to ceiling mirror we had in our bedroom, and almost fainted in shock. Susan's body stared back at me, an expression of confusion and horror on her face, as I gently ran a finger across my cheek, confirming it was real. "Oh my God. I'm you."
"How is this possible?," the person in my body protested. "This isn't real!" I had trouble disagreeing, but at the same time the evidence seemed to be staring us in the face. I wasn't much for make-believe stories. When I read, I preferred to read history books, but even that wasn't very common. And when I watched movies, they were action movies, sports movies, or porn. What? It counts. Not even the raunchiest porn I've seen had plot twists this wild - or a storyline so weak.
Shrugging, I felt suddenly distracted as firm breasts jostled up and down on Susan's frame - my frame now, I supposed - as I moved, and I paused, glancing down at them again. Hesitantly, I raised one hand, cupping a breast, only to get snapped at.
"Of course, thirty seconds into this and you can't help but fucking fondle a pair of someone's tits." My body - Susan, I guess - sneered at me.
"They're just right there, Susan. They caught me off guard. What else was I supposed to do?" I was defensive, but somehow blushing at the same time.
"How about treat my body with some dignity and not grope it?" Sighing, I just shut my mouth. Once upon a time, she didn't get pissed when I squeezed her tits. She actually loved it when I did. And then we usually got naked. "And what the fuck is this?," she said, gesturing at the tent in her boxers, and I swallowed uncomfortably.
"Come on, it hasn't been that many years. I know you know what a penis is," I protested. "It's pretty damn obvious what morning wood is."
"Well, make it go away," she said, glancing down distastefully. "It's painful."
"Yup," I confirmed, nodding my head. "Sure is. And I'm not touching it."
"I didn't ask you to touch it, I asked you to make it go away." Her voice, well, mine I guess, was getting nasty as she got angrier with me.
"And how do you think I do that each morning? Huh?" She, no, shit, I? He? Fuck, this is confusing. My body shrugged. "I go into the bathroom and masturbate because my wife doesn't have sex with me. That or you can take a cold shower."
"That's so fucking gross," she complained. "And what do you think about when you masturbate?"
I shook my head, that blonde hair bouncing around my head as I did. "We're not doing this right now." Mostly because I'm not going to tell you what - who - I think about. Because some of the time it's not you. "I have a bigger problem than your morning wood. I have to pee."
She, my body, stood up, frowning at me and crossing muscular arms across a broad chest, shaking its head in the negative. "You are not grabbing my pussy."
"Suze, I have to fucking use the bathroom. What do you want me to do? Piss myself?"
Disgusted, she sighed. "Okay, but I'm going to watch, to make sure you don't do anything fucked up." I rolled my eyes, starting to walk to the bathroom as she followed me. I reached the toilet, pausing, as I glanced down at Susan's body, blinking as I tried to run through the mental checklist. While we were - once - very sexual creatures, we never really made a habit of watching each other pee. And while I'd been in the room while she had, before, it's not like I watched the physical act of her urinating. So, this was going to be interesting.
Susan plants herself in the doorway as I raise the lid on the toilet, staring down at it with some trepidation. I glance at her, in my body, and see my familiar "You do what I fucking tell you - or else" scowl that I use at work so often. I gulp, finally learning what it's like to be on the receiving end.
"Ground rules. You sit, obviously. Or else you're going to spray like a broken sprinkler, and nobody wants that." I hike the nightgown, my cheeks burning. Audience participation week, y'all! "Wipe front to back, Ed. FRONT TO BACK. Otherwise, you'll give me a yeast infection and I'll kill you twice. Two squares if it's just pee. Four if you're feeling fancy. No need to overdo it."
The seat is cold. I hover, my thighs burning as I try to balance. She continues, "Relax your pelvic floor, not your whole damn ass. Think kegels in reverse. You know what those are?" I shake my head in the negative and she sighs in disgust. "And whatever you do, don't look. The first time you see my - your - labia in HD, you'll freak out. Just aim, stream, wipe, flush."
The stream starts, it's loud, mortifying. Susan winces at the splash pattern. "Jesus, Ed. Shift your hips forward a little, it's like you're power washing the porcelain there." I finish, wiping front to back slowly and carefully, only pausing when the tissue touches something that zaps, almost like static electricity on steroids and she sighs, finally giving an approving nod. "Now go wash my hands."
This is the least masculine I've ever felt, getting bossed around pissing by my wife. Although, staring at my reflection in the mirror as I wash my hands, I guess that makes sense. I don't exactly look masculine. I look like a 28-year old former cheerleader who kept herself in great shape, and I feel a stirring in my chest.
"Okay, now what I do with this?" Susan gestures once more at the morning wood, my proud erection refusing to go down despite the confused situation. I love my wife's body. Even despite our current marital issues, the sight of her never fails to get me going - and I'm guessing my body must just be reacting so spending so much time around this body, as it wears nothing but a nightgown. I shrug, breasts once more bouncing pleasantly. "I already told you what to do."
"Quit being an asshole, Ed. It's not like I'm asking you to get down and suck your own cock. Help me get rid of it." I shudder, the thought instantly repulsive, and yet a part of this body considers it. Fuck no. Gross.
I walk over to the shower, flip it on, and leave it on the coldest setting, "Your shower awaits, milady." I don't think she noticed what I did with the temperature, because she undresses, steps in, screams, and jumps right back out, one hand raised to smack as I cringe down, suddenly afraid. The mysterious reversal has a 230 pound man raising his hand, about to smack his 135 pound wife across the face, and the results are going to fucking hurt. Susan stops, arm inches from hitting me, a horrified expression on her face. "Oh fuck, Ed. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I wasn't going to hit you."
We both know that was a lie, but I'll move on. Well, her morning wood is gone now. So there's that. But shit, I almost pissed myself at the thought of getting hit by my body. She doesn't know how strong she is now, and that could have resulted in some serious damage. "Sorry about the shower temp," I manage, my voice somehow shaking a little bit. "I thought you saw me adjust it." She tries to give me a hug and I backstep quickly, still kind of spooked by the whole near-domestic-abuse thing, and she looks like she's going to cry. Fuck.
I allow her to hug me, and it's really fucking weird, okay? Suddenly, there's a giant naked man enveloping my body in a hug, and I feel so weak as his arms wrap around me, and my head is nestled into his chest. It'd be like if that Icelandic strong man guy gave normal-me a hug, I'm guessing. That level of complete disparity of size and strength. And as weird as it feels to be on the receiving end of a 230 pound confused wife in husband's body folding around a 135 pound former cheerleader with husband inside, the weirdest part is when Susan-as-me gets a boner, and suddenly that thing is pressed against my leg, rock hard and ready to go. Again.