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The Summer Swap (alternate ending) Synopsis: With the help of some moonlight magic one summer evening, a guy has a very unique 'first time'. (This is an alternate ending - and quite dark.) [email protected] ********************************************************************** The Summer Swap (alternate ending) It all started as a blessing, a chance to experience the other side. Now, I realize it was a curse. Thanks to that magical moonlit evening so many years ago, I have a unique understanding of women, and I've been told - by a considerable number of women - that I'm one of the best lovers they've ever had. The big problem is that it's not satisfying - not to me. But then, I'm jumping ahead. It's best to begin at the beginning. Her name was Linda. Like every school, we had a girl who was very ... outgoing. That was Linda. She was very petite - even tiny. Five feet nothing, one hundred ten - and a considerable portion of that was her boobs. She had double D cups on her small frame, which made her appear quite out of proportion - and consequently quite inviting. Very curly long red hair that always seemed to have a lock or two out of place - like an innocent schoolgirl with a hint of mischief. I realize now that it was all done strategically, to give the desired alluring appearance. Linda flowered early, which meant that she was the object of attention of all the sixth grade boys, as well as the object of derision of all the girls. By the time she was a freshman in high school, she was sporting a rack of C-cups. They say that girls who develop early are either hypersensitive and shy, or they are outgoing as all sin. Linda was the latter. She told me she lost her cherry sometime in the seventh grade, never to look back. By the time she was a freshman, she had a reputation as a goodtime girl. It was said, and probably truthfully, that if a guy couldn't get laid with Linda, he was either a eunuch or gay. Linda didn't seem bothered by her reputation; there was almost nothing that rattled her. She was always happy and friendly, and through her experiences, she'd developed a rapier wit. Woe to the poor soul that decided to insult Linda. She'd happily skewer anyone mercilessly - and then, if it was a guy, she'd give him a chance to redeem himself in the back seat of her dad's Impala. I, on the other hand, was always very shy around girls. When I turned nineteen, I was still a virgin. Sometimes, it bothered me, and I really wanted to experience the joy of sex that the guys were always talking about. When they'd get into the locker-room talk, I'd just shrug my shoulders and smile, pretending that I knew what they were talking about. Once, when I was pressed on the topic, I just smiled and said that a gentleman never discussed details. But truth be known, my curiosity wasn't overwhelming. I was just too damned decent to score. More times than I can remember, I could have taken advantage of a drunk girl at a keg party, but it just didn't seem right, and I ended up taking the girls home so they wouldn't be violated - at least not while they weren't awake to say whether that's what they wanted or not. The girls started treating me like an older brother. Of course, that was the kiss of death as far as dating went. In a college dorm, I was talking with one girl in her room, and she told me that she had to change to go out with the girls. She just asked me to turn my back - that was how much she trusted me not to peek. And she was right - I could have turned around and gotten an eyeful, but I didn't. That reinforced my reputation as being 'safe'. Don't as me how, because I can't explain it, but one summer when I was working at home, Linda and I got to be friends. And that's when I discovered that she was as lonely for true friendship as I was for female companionship. No one treated her like a person. To them, she was an object, a pair of tits and a snatch for an hour's romp. She went on dates as often as I did, which is to say never. Guys wouldn't waste movie money on Linda. The most they'd spend would be a drink or two - just enough to get 'in the mood' for the bedroom or backseat games sure to follow. Imagine her shock - and mine - when I found myself asking her to a movie. It was a Friday night in June, and almost everyone in town was going to some stupid rodeo. I despised rodeos, so I didn't go. I bumped into Linda as I was walking home from the malt shop. She asked if I was going to the rodeo, and I answered no. I asked if she was going, and for the briefest of moments, she had a look of disappointment when she also said no. Then I asked if she wanted to go see a movie (I should remember the name of the movie, but somehow, I've forgotten). We saw the early movie, then we went to a Dairy Queen for ice cream afterwards. As we talked, I realized that she wasn't nearly as happy as she let on. And what was more, she told me that she finally felt like she was with someone who wasn't going to treat her as a sex object. I know I blushed, and I tried to act put off; it isn't every day that the town slut infers that you probably wouldn't try to take advantage of her. We drove around for a while, listening to tunes and talking. I learned that Linda had a keen insight into people. She knew, from observation, that I really didn't fit in with the macho guys, the jocks and studs. She knew I had some secret hobbies that guys would consider wimpy, even if I was self-confident enough to not worry about what others thought. And she was pretty certain that I was a virgin - and curious. I told her of course I was curious. Wouldn't any guy who was a virgin at nineteen be curious? She laughed at that answer. Then she told me what I'd had secreted in the depths of my soul. She knew - somehow - that my fascination for breasts was because I'd always been curious about what it felt like to have them. She knew that I'd wondered a time or two what sex was like - for the woman. Then she surprised me. She asked if I wanted to take a stroll around the lake. It sounded nice, so we drove out to the lake and parked the car. I didn't try to hold her hand; instead, I offered her the crook of my elbow - just like a gentleman would. We walked and talked for quite a while, enjoying the warm summer evening and the moonlight glistening off the water. When we stopped to sit on a bench, Linda leaned over and kissed me like I had never been kissed. I was so startled that I nearly fell off the bench. When she broke the kiss, she was smiling while I sputtered. What was she doing? She just smiled some more and told me that she found it very nice that I treated her like a person, and that made her want to show me her gratitude. She wanted to be loved like a woman, not like a whore. My mind raced. One the one hand, I was going to get laid for the first time. On the other hand, something didn't seem quite right. Then Linda kissed me again, her tongue forcing its way between my teeth. Somehow, she'd climbed on my lap, and I felt one of her breasts rubbing against my chest. Any reluctance I had was rapidly vanishing, and when she lifted my hand and placed it on her boob, I knew I was going to get laid. Tiny gold lights danced on the lake, sparkles of moonlight reflecting from the ripples on the water. Around us, the gentle breeze nudged some of the leaves, making them rustle in a steady soft background chorus. After we stripped, she pressed me to the ground and climbed atop. Under the twinkling stars, we joined in a way that I'd never experienced. It was a magical night, I knew, a time of lost innocence. And yet, I had no idea of how magical it was to be. As my watch beeped the midnight hour, we both exploded in our passion, a simultaneous burst of primal pleasure that seemed to overwhelm every fiber of my body. Never had I imagined that it would be so wonderful, nor so powerful. As the last vestiges of my explosion wracked my body, I felt myself go tingly from head to toe, as if every nerve was being overwhelmed by the power of what I'd just experienced. I collapsed breathlessly, and even as my consciousness faded, I saw that Linda was being overcome by her passions as well. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds before feeling returned to my body and I began to regain my senses. I knew that our mutual pleasure had been powerful, but I never realized it could be so disorienting as well. For one thing, I felt the cool night air on my sweaty back, which made no sense. I should have felt the grass beneath me. Two soft pillows - Linda's magnificent orbs - were pressing into my chest, lifting my torso above hers. Somehow, I reasoned quickly, we'd rolled over in the midst of our coupling. But something else seemed wrong as well. I clearly remembered the feeling of my body penetrating into her warm cavity, the feeling of being inserted into something external. This didn't feel like that. It felt similar, but there was no external component - it seemed to be internal. I moved my arms and levered my body up off Linda - and proceeded to get a couple of extraordinary surprises. The pillows lifted, and were now pulling downward off my chest, as if - somehow - Linda's breasts had become attached to my chest and had lifted off her body. There was the most distinctive tugging on my torso, with a bit of sway, similar to what I'd always imagined breasts would feel like. It didn't make any sense. At the same time, I saw in the faint moonlight hair cascading down around my face, and I felt long locks brushing across my shoulders even as the amount of hair in my periphery increased. I frowned. Then I looked down, and in the dim light, I saw what appeared to be myself - beneath me! I panicked. I suppose the reaction was normal; who wouldn't panic when confronted by this set of strange circumstances. Every bit of physical evidence suggested that the impossible had happened - that I'd swapped bodies with Linda. And even as I started to ask what had happened, I heard the voice echoing in my own ears - it was Linda's. I felt the masses dangling beneath my chest move with every move I made. I felt the warm afterglow of sex - but inside me rather than external to my body. I felt something firm impaling me, restricting my motions from within. I saw Linda's hair, looking brown in the moonlight, cascading around my face and shoulders. I sat up, then, realizing what I was feeling at my waist, I moved, feeling the strange sensation of a semi-erect male organ withdraw from inside me! I wanted to scream, but something prevented that. Maybe it was my rational left-half brain, maybe it was a realization that my long-standing curiosity about a girl's feelings were come true, or maybe it was something about the magic that had caused this. In any case, I just scooted back, away from the male body which was sitting up with a broad grin on it's - my! - face. It took Linda a long time to explain what had happened - at least enough to calm me down. It had something to do with our simultaneous passionate explosion, the one that had occurred at almost precisely midnight under a full moon. When she tried to explain, I scoffed, until she reached over and cupped a breast. Eventually, she convinced me that it was an old family curse that her family had carried for generations. An orgasm at midnight under a full moon would cause a woman from her family to swap with her partner. Okay, I told her, swap us back. That's when she got a strange look - she couldn't do it by herself. It was magic, and a condition of the spell was that it took an intimate act to accomplish. I was beyond embarrassed. To get back into my body, I was going to have to have sex - as Linda. But then Linda explained that she wasn't exactly comfortable in my body, just like I was unfamiliar with hers. To make a long story short, I finally resolved that I was going to have to experience sex as a woman. I allowed her to mount me, and we were both quickly overcome by the changes in our bodies. I found that having breasts licked and kissed was extraordinarily arousing. I also discovered that simply having a male organ inside my new cavity, while stimulating, wasn't nearly as exciting as I'd imagined it to be. On the other hand, I discovered - with Linda's help - that there was a spot that was far more sensitive than anything on the male body, and that it seemed to be connected directly to the pleasure centers of the brain. We explored each other's bodies for what seemed to be hours, each time bringing new discoveries of sexual excitement and pleasure. Alas, despite our best efforts, when we were finally too tired to continue, we were also still changed, apparently stuck in each others' bodies. I found the act of dressing, an action that I did without second thought on a daily basis, to be a challenge. Linda laughed as I struggled with her bra, trying desperately and what seemed at times futilely, to corral her large bosoms into her bra. It was not so simple as most guys would imagine, at least not the first few times. It took some doing to comb the grass and brush and tangles out of my 'borrowed' hair - Linda cautioned me to start at the tips and work up toward the scalp so I didn't accidentally create major tangles. It was difficult to walk in Linda's heels - at first. By the time we got to the car, though, I was able to walk reasonably in them. Still, despite the fear and stress of the situation, we were able to joke that heels weren't a skill I wanted to get used to. It was strange to be dropped off at Linda's house. It was stranger still to go inside and try to act like I was Linda. If it hadn't been so late, or if Linda hadn't given me at least some clues, I'd have been too terrified to even try. But we were stuck, at least temporarily, so we had to try to act like each other. I distinctly remember that, as I lay in bed waiting to sleep, scared that the change might be permanent, scared of being discovered, scared of a thousand unknowns of our change, I contemplated how the sexual experience had differed from what I'd previously imagined. I'd guessed that it was good, but I'd underestimated at how good it really felt. Unable to sleep from my worries, I eventually distracted myself by exploring Linda's body, and finally, exhaustion from a series of self-induced pleasure let me drift off to sleep. The rest of that first weekend I lived in a fog, sometimes barely aware of what was going on around me. Linda's family went out of town Saturday morning to an uncle's birthday party. Of course, that meant that I went along. I tried to call Linda before I had to go, to see what - if anything - we could do about the trip and changing back. But 'my' father was not to be put off; I had to go. Dressing, traveling, meeting family, attending to chores like daily sanitary rituals - all of that was new to me, and because of the inconvenient timing, I couldn't talk to Linda to get through it - or to try to reverse the change. I was like Twain's Innocent Abroad, a Yankee in a foreign land with no knowledge of the language or customs and a missing guide. To protect my sanity, I think, my brain simply refused to deal with most of the situation. I do recall that during the time we were confined to the car, Linda's dad had some very harsh words about Linda's behavior. By the time we got home, I realized that he thought of his daughter as a tramp, and that he'd disown Linda if not for Linda's mom. Even that situation wasn't good; Linda's mom drank, quite heavily at times, as an escape from her emotionally abusive husband. She stayed only because of Linda and her younger sister Karen. No wonder Linda sought affection from others; she certainly didn't get much from her family. I discovered one other noteworthy item from the overnight trip. While I was lying in my aunt's guest bed, worrying and fearing the unknowns of the change, I distracted myself with more exploration, and it was much later that I finally fell asleep, exhausted but sexually contented. The female experience was so completely unlike the male counterpart, and capable of rapid-fire repetition, that I couldn't help but to take advantage while I had the chance. At least, that's the way I rationalized my behavior as I was doing it. When we got home, I immediately called Linda - at my own house. A few minutes later, Linda arrived in my car, and the two of us drove back to the lake. I had a little hesitancy, but like Linda, I was eager to swap back. Besides, I think she'd been experimenting as much as I had, and we were both a little curious to repeat the adventure. Not only did we not change, but the skies were partly cloudy and the heavens opened up, drenching us as we coupled on the grass. We were sopped, muddy, and miserable by the time we got back to the car, and Linda was highly frustrated. She'd brought me to the precipice of passion, then hurled me headlong in, while she'd been interrupted by the rain, leaving her short of the explosion she'd sought. Soaking wet and cramped, we managed to complete the act in the back seat of the car. Still, we stayed in our new bodies. The magic was not working. As we caught our breath, Linda speculated that it might be the full moon which triggered the magic, and since it was two days after, it wouldn't work. Or it might have been because we were in the car that the magic wasn't doing its thing. In either case, I was going to be stuck in Linda's body, and she in mine, for another twenty- six days. As we huddled together, Linda asked if I wanted to try something else. I was curious, and when I asked what it was she was thinking about, she took that as a yes. With a twinkle in her eye, she taught me yet another way that a woman could receive pleasure. I was gasping for breath by the time she finished, lost in a world of nonstop pleasure. And then she asked me to return the favor for her. To this day, I really don't know why I did it. It was strange, both erotic and homosexual. There was no reason for me to want to fulfill her request, and every reason not to. And yet, something about the experiences of the preceding days had thoroughly piqued my curiosity about a woman's sexual experience. Performing oral sex was but one facet of a woman's sex life, I knew, and though the idea disgusted me, at the same time it thrilled me. By being asked to perform such an act, it was an acknowledgement that I was well and truly a girl, capable of sex as a girl - in all aspects. I was magically given the opportunity to discover what my curiosity had always sought. I'd never known just how deep the curious stream ran until I confronted it, and I discovered to my surprise and shock that I was willing to follow it to its conclusion. As we drove back home, Linda commented that I seemed to be really getting into the role. I know I felt embarrassed, and at the same time, pleased with how I'd performed. I didn't say anything, which prompted Linda to laugh and then suggest that we do it again the following night. The weeks passed slowly, dragging on seemingly forever. Every day brought a new experience, from selecting clothing, to adjusting to being much shorter, to having a quarreling sister and an alcoholic mother. Linda's job was simple - she ran a cash register at the local hardware store. I'd always wondered why she selected the clothes she did for her work; I discovered it was at the behest of the owner, who thought Linda's cleavage would be a pleasing distraction to his customers. Evenings were a living hell. At home, Linda's father and mother were unbearable. The girls in town were scornful - at best! Insults, both real and implied, were the lingua franca of any attempts at dealing with other girls. Guys were embarrassingly frank about the body I had and what they wanted to do with it. I found it hard to be around anybody. Linda was my refuge, my solace, and I began to wish for time with her more and more. She knew what I was going through in her life. For her, the change was far less severe. With her new status as a conquering stud, she mingled with the guys very easily, and I feared that she was getting to enjoy it too much. After the change, we were spending a lot of evenings together. At first, I was reluctant to experiment. Slowly, however, I gave in to the temptations of Linda's very excitable body and we began to have sex more and more frequently. It was a welcome escape from the horrors that were Linda's life, a few moments of pure pleasure to shut out the rest of the world. Even when I experienced her menstrual cycle, the evenings didn't end. Linda was insistent on oral sex, and even other things that I'd previously considered kinky or strange. Though it was pleasurable in its own way, I found anal sex to be a poor substitute for the real thing. I did find that oral sex with Linda was becoming less and less objectionable with every act we performed. Still, I was grateful, in a way, for the bleeding to end so I could return to vaginal sex. As the twenty-ninth day approached, signaling the return of the full moon, I was almost giddy with anticipation. As the day wore on, I found myself getting more and more sexually aroused in preparation for the evening. Finally, Linda picked me up and we headed out to the lake. I knew, from the bulge in her trousers, that she was as eager as I was, although I wasn't sure it was for the same reasons. As the midnight hour approached, we slid from our clothing and began the foreplay. About a quarter to, give or take, I mounted her. Early in our swapped experiences, Linda would have ejaculated within moments, not being used to the sensations on the male organ. Now, however, with nearly a month's practice, she had learned better control, and we both approached climax as my watch ticked away the seconds. Just as the hour approached, and with it our mutual climaxes, a cloud brushed the moon, obscuring it from view. We both exploded in orgasm, and when we caught our breath a few seconds later, we both realized that we hadn't swapped back. I was still Linda, and she was still me. I cried. I wept bitter tears of irony. For years, I had wondered what it would be like to be in a woman's body, to experience the joys and delights of the sensual and fairer sex. Now, I'd had the opportunity, and though I found it quite pleasurable, it appeared that I was stuck, at least for another month. We tried again, then a third time, and slowly, we realized that the clouds obscuring the moon had somehow interfered with the magic. At least that's what I was telling myself. The impending relief of changing back to myself had made living with Linda's family bearable. Now, with that rescue snatched from my grasp, I found myself battered and rocked emotionally. The cruelty of her home life was now my burden, and an escape - any escape - was vital to my very existence. I began to spend more and more time at the pool hall, out of the reach of the catty remarks of the other girls and safe from Linda's father. It was one night at the pool hall that I discovered something else. I was playing a game of pool with Hank and Linda, and when Hank goosed me, it was curiously pleasant. I know I should have reacted angrily, but the emotional vacuum of Linda's life was taking its toll on me, and Hank's touch indicated desire. It was an indication that he wanted me - I knew it was purely sexual - and I was needing desperately to be wanted. Unlike the other girls and Linda's family, Hank was not pushing me away or insulting me. A few moments later, he copped a feel, and I found myself liking it. It wasn't much later when Hank and Linda walked out with me. The two took turns with me, and for over an hour, I had people treating me as an object of desire rather than derision. The emotional relief of being wanted, coupled with the pure sensual arousal of the sex, made it a very powerful experience for me. The experience with Hank started a pattern. Night after night, I found someone - anyone - who would give me some attention in return for a little sex. I wanted - needed - an escape from the hell I otherwise lived in. And I found it. At first, it was only with Linda. Then after Hank, I realized subconsciously that any male would do to give me physical and emotional pleasure. I had more and more sex, with more and more guys. One night, I ended up doing three at one time. Any thought that I was acting like a slut or a cheap whore was overwhelmed by the need to feel wanted and needed. I had something the guys wanted, and they let me know. At the same time, the sex was becoming more and more fun and desirable. An overnight family trip left me without a sexual partner one night; that alone was devastating and left me nearly in tears of frustration and desire. I craved the attention that sex gave to me. One afternoon, at the hardware store, the owner asked another worker to take over the cash register. He asked me to do some inventory in the stock room. I thought nothing of the request - at least not until he came in the stock room with me and closed the door behind him. Then I knew - he wanted me. I'd thought his innuendo and suggestions were just jokes, but they weren't. I knew he was married and had kids, and I knew it was wrong, but at the same time, his attraction to me made me feel wanted again. I let him take me, then I gave him oral sex as a final act. It was two days later that his wife came into the store and cornered me in the restroom. To say that she was furious was an understatement. She warned me that I'd better never do her husband again or she'd kill me, and from the look in her eyes, I knew she was serious. I felt tiny and helpless; she was taller and stronger than me and I knew that in her rage, she could have inflicted serious harm on me, even without weapons. And then, to my utter horror, I found myself saying that if she couldn't keep her husband sexually satisfied, it wasn't my fault. It was a stupid act of defiance, and I knew even as the words left my mouth that she was going to get even more angry. But thankfully, instead of attacking me, she stormed out of the restroom. I stayed inside, locked behind the door and shaking for several minutes. It wasn't pleasant. Even four guys that evening didn't make me feel any better. I was quite rattled by the encounter. The next day, the store owner called me aside to apologize. He knew his wife was a hothead, and he hadn't wanted her to know of our little encounter. He seemed very sorry, and before I knew what was happening, we were having sex yet again. Later that night, as I told Linda what had happened, she laughed and said that the affair had been going on for quite some time. She told me not to worry, then went on having her way with me. For the first time since the swap, I felt cheap - but only a bit. A few weeks, and more guys than I could remember later, the full moon was approaching yet again. By that time, I seldom went home except to grab some leftovers and to change clothes. I hated Linda's family and their torment. I hated the way the girls treated me. My only solace was being sexually desired by the guys, and I was myself needing whatever comfort I could derive from that. This time, everything went perfectly. Linda and I swapped back to our rightful bodies. She seemed a little disappointed, but she was less unhappy when I took her - for the first time in months as a man. We went home, and I lay in my own bed and slept soundly for the first time in months. Linda got cold toward me for some reason. I thought we'd been really good friends, but suddenly she didn't want anything to do with me. No matter what I said or did, she acted as though I didn't exist, or like I had the plague. I wondered if it were from the shock of being dumped back into her hellish family life, or if it was because she really didn't want to be a girl again. I didn't know, and Linda wouldn't talk to me to tell me. She seemed instead to retreat to more and wilder sex than I had remembered. Sadly to me, our friendship seemed unable to survive our swap and it faded as we went our separate ways. I went back to college at the end of the summer, and Linda went on with her life. For some reason I couldn't figure out, I was miserable. I had my life back, but it was difficult to feel popular or liked or that I fit in. It was what my life had always been, and it shouldn't have been as disconcerting as it was; nevertheless, it was not easy. I met a girl who seemed interested, and we started dating. For a while, it was the most exhilarating time of my life. But then, inexplicably, it got ... boring. Sex was ... unsatisfying. She loved it, and wanted more and more, and I did enjoy making her happy. Still, I wasn't satisfied. I couldn't explain it. We dated for three years, and then we got married after I got my degree. For the first two years, we seemed the model couple. But I finally hit the point where I couldn't continue the pretense. While Sandra was a very good friend, I wasn't satisfying her as a lover. She felt incomplete, and I was forced to agree. We divorced, and after much counseling, I realized that the problem was me. After the divorce, I spent a lot of time - and money - at strip clubs. The larger the stripper's breasts, the more I liked watching. I found a growing fascination with their exotic underwear, especially their bras. I had a good assortment of Victoria's Secret and Fredrick's of Hollywood catalogs and magazines highlighting large-busted models - all well-worn from my frequent perusal. At the clubs, I dated a couple of the girls, spending lavishly on them and treating them well, and the sex was pretty good - for them, that is. I still didn't get much emotional satisfaction out of it. Something was missing, and I couldn't figure out what. And all the while, I kept thinking about Linda. I knew I hadn't fallen in love with her, but she had been a special friend - at least before the swap. A few years later, I met a very nice girl and started dating her. We got engaged, and I thought my problems were over. I convinced myself that it was just a phase I'd gone through, and with my girlfriend being very conservative and wanting to wait for marriage, the sexual aspects of our relationship were not a problem. But before we got married, we started some pre-marital counseling. My old problems came up, and I started some solo psychological counseling. I still couldn't confide to my counselor the body swap episode; I knew that was an unbelievable event and I just didn't want to bring it up. After a long delay and a lot of counseling, I had to be honest and break the engagement. I knew that I'd been lying to myself that the problems were over. It wasn't just a phase - it was still there, and would have caused us problems. I didn't know the cause, but I did know what it would do to us. I was surprised when my fianc? was relieved - she'd known there was something I was hiding, and she was thankful that I was honest enough to confront it before we'd committed ourselves to a marriage that I wasn't sure I could stay with. I fell into a funk - wondering what was wrong with me. I began to drink heavily. I started frequenting the strip clubs again, and though I was interested in the girls, I wasn't getting aroused sexually. One night, as I sat watching a lesbian porno flick on my VCR, a light clicked on. I realized that I watched girls with envy, not with lust. I started to wonder what had happened during those two months that had left a trail of many tortuous years of cheap relationships, one-night stands, and broken hearts. Or even if it _had_ happened. The memories were vague, dreamlike, not quite real. I began to wonder if it was all some bad nightmare, some twisted fantasy of my mind tormenting me, my own personal demon working overtime. And even with this new realization, I remained fearful of resuming counseling. Was I unhappy as a man? I didn't know. I began to wonder about my own sexuality. Perhaps out of curiosity or fear or desperation, I began to explore the Internet, and I discovered an entire subculture of transgenderism that I'd never known about. I discovered a treasure trove of information about transsexuals and sex change operations. I found numerous sites of transgender fiction and I pored over the stories. I felt a curious satisfaction - the stories _felt_ good to read. It was as if something in me was being satisfied by those tales of magical and science-fiction sex changes - satisfied in a way no woman could ever come close to. I read tales of force feminization and bondage, of implants and she-males. They were very powerfully arousing, and they released a lot of pent-up sexual energy through the fantasies they held. In my real life, I went on living my unsatisfying life. There were women - always women - who were so pleased to let me love them. They were so satisfied by my attention. And curiously, they seemed to be after me, especially the strippers. Still, none brought me joy, let alone even a contented satisfaction. My ability to perform sexually was, curiously enough, actually increasing, but only when I imagined myself in the situations in the stories while I was making love to my partner. Even then, the fantasies had to be more exotic to keep me aroused. Something was still missing. I remember the painful embarrassment the first time I bought a bra in a department store. My intense curiosity eventually forced me to ignore the stares and odd looks and to buy a piece of lingerie for myself, just like in those damning and exciting stories. As soon as I got home, however, the humiliation turned to profound joy as I donned the bra and stuffed the large cups full of wadded up socks. Almost instantly, I was aroused, and I had a satisfying orgasm - the first one in a very long time. After that first experience, I began to accumulate an assortment of lingerie - bras, panties, corsets - all in large sizes suited and used for my story-reading-while-masturbating sessions. I'd started with socks stuffing them, progressing to balloons and then water-filled balloons, and finally I purchased breast forms and a very expensive Hollywood prosthetic false breast. With some time, I could apply the prosthetic and some makeup and have very realistic appearing breasts. I procured a wig and some makeup. I used my sewing skills to make a couple of dresses and a teddy to fit my very large frame. Still, it wasn't satisfying. I hated myself for doing things that seemed ... queer. On the one hand, I had the illusion that allowed me to get some sexual satisfaction. On the other hand, I knew that it was merely an illusion. The question lingering in my mind was always whether I'd be happier as a woman. I hated the answer I always found - while sexual reassignment surgery was an option, I knew that I'd never be the kind of girl I wanted to be. I had to face the fact that I'd be a butt-ugly woman. I was well over six feet in height, large boned, and my face could be described at best as rugged. Even the finest cosmetic surgeons would never make me look like a pretty woman. Even if that was what I really wanted, which I really didn't know. And about this time, I realized that my preference in stories was on magical and science fiction changes which left the 'victim' in a truly female body rather than on a feminized man's body. They were an escape, and I began to spend more and more time in this fantasy world. Though I started and stopped and restarted and again halted my counseling, I'd never been able to confess the body swap from that summer. That particular experience was locked away firmly, and I could never convince myself to tell someone and get the relief that unburdening my soul would have provided. I dreaded being labeled a kook, or a crazy, a victim of some demented fantasy that _couldn't_ have happened. I imagined a fate of straitjackets, padded cells - everything from Cuckoo's Nest. Despite not revealing the swap nightmare, I was starting to get some understanding from the various counselors. They talked of gender dysphoria and other technical terms that all boiled down to one thing - I was obsessed with being a woman. And as long as I held that fixation, I wasn't able to have a meaningful relationship with any woman. I was jealous of the women I met. That was why I couldn't get any satisfaction out of sex. That was why I needed the transgendered fiction stories. That was why I fantasized about changing into women, of having a woman's breasts and vagina and body. I felt wholly inadequate as a man and longed to be a woman. And yet, I didn't want to be a woman, because I knew I couldn't become a real woman. It was a psychological dilemma. Finally, between counselors, between bouts of dark depression and alcohol abuse, I decided on a drastic step. I went back to my hometown and started to search for Linda. She was the one who was the object of my dreams and fantasies - her delicious little body inhabited by my soul. She had given me that intoxicating taste of life as a woman, and it was reasonable to conclude that she might be able to help me get those feelings back. Linda could do for me what no surgeon could - make me a real woman. To do so, however, she would have to give up her body, to swap with me. Would she? Would she give up her life in exchange for mine? I didn't know, but I had to find out. The trip was a waste. I started with hope of finding some satisfaction, no matter how much I tried to suppress them. I didn't want to get my hopes too high, for fear of them being dashed. But I couldn't avoid feeling hopeful. It was bitterly disappointing to discover that Linda's family had moved years before. She - and her family - were gone, and no-one knew where they'd gone to. I spent many months and not a small amount of money trying desperately to track them down. Internet searches became my obsession, my entire reason for existence. The days and weeks passed slowly, and as they passed, I discovered that the false breasts and bras weren't doing anything for me anymore. My ability to feel sexual pleasure all but vanished. I _had_ to find Linda. I _had_ to get changed into her body. When I found her folks, I felt elation. Hesitantly, I called and asked if they could tell me where Linda was. Their answer was a crushing blow, a defeat which overwhelmed me and sent me into the depths of despair. Linda had committed suicide many years earlier. As I hung up the phone, I remembered the agony of her family life, and I knew what had driven her to such a misery that she'd be willing to take her own life. Her family hated her, I realized. She wasn't welcomed at home, and so she had to look for acceptance elsewhere. Coupled with her curvaceous assets, she found a tool of desirability, which in turn increased the scorn from her own flesh and blood. It was a vicious circle, and I'd been a part of it for a mere two months during which I'd found myself doing exactly what Linda had done. And in the end, it overwhelmed her. And I couldn't help but feel that I'd played a part. I hadn't tried very hard to break through that wall she'd erected between us. If I had, would she have gone to such an extreme? If we'd been able to resurrect our friendship, would things have been different - for both of us? Guilt piled upon the disappointment and despair. The days blurred into months, the months into years. There was no joy, no happiness, no satisfaction, only the constant ache of being out of place. I began to doubt my own sanity. Had the swap actually happened, or was it just some twisted dream, a product of my strange obsession? I didn't know, couldn't tell any longer. What was real and what was fantasy? The one person who could have helped, who could have confirmed whether the swap had actually taken place, was gone, unable to anchor my grasp of reality. The stories continued, but even they were no longer any help. My lingerie stash, destroyed in a fit of frustrated rage then carefully rebuilt many times, was a terrifying reminder of my problem. I quit dating, returning instead to the strip clubs for an attempt at some social interaction. My uncertainty has become its own nightmare, a living hell of existence. What happened - if indeed it did - so poisoned my life that it's no longer worth living. And if it was but a dream, some twisted fantasy born of my subconscious mind, then I can't help but admit that my own mind is so disturbed, so warped, as to make life unbearable. There is no happiness, no peace from the torment of the nightmares. Though women like me, I find that I can't reciprocate. The pills await. All that remains is to finish this journal, and then to deliver myself from my own nightmare. Though being a woman may seem a horrible fate to some, that fantasy is far more desirable than the mental anguish of having tasted life on the other side that has since haunted me. Or of realizing that it was all a bizarre twisted dream which refuses to release its grasp and which torments my every waking moment, and that I am, in fact, quite completely insane. Neither option is bearable, so all that is left is to say farewell. FIN