The Great Shift: This Too Shall Pass free porn video

Permission is given to archive this story any and everywhere. I don't even care if you steal it as it shows that I have something worth stealing and the primary purpose of this was to see how good a writer I am. The Great Shift: This Too Shall Pass By The Last Boy Scout Chapter One Well, it was a dark and stormy night. Scratch that, too cliqued. IT was a normal day, one that had occurred a thousand days before and would for a thousand days more. Too boring. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, privet drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange our mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense. Too plagiaristic, I do NOT want to get that one mad at me. All the armies of hell and all the angels of heaven could not stop an author scorned, probably stick a lightning bolt up my butt. Oh hell then, I suppose it will have to be the truth. My name is Thomas A. Heinlein; please no Starship Troopers jokes, I HATED that movie and so would of he. On the day in question I was 21 years old, indeed I had just went past my birthday. Most other young white males of my age would still be crawling out of bed after a bender of biblical proportions, but as you will soon find out I wasn't like most other young white men. Even If I was inclined to drink, which I wasn't, turning 21 was no special event in England; the legal drinking age was 18. I and other visiting American students were legal the minute the plane touched the ground and many of them took advantage of that fact and could not be bothered with such mundane details as actually showing up for class for almost a week due to acute alcohol poisoning. But I digress. I had been in country for about two months now and had another seven left to go until my exchange program was finished. As a college student of Political Science, particularly in international relations, it was expected, though not required that I would spend at least one semester abroad. I had wanted to go some place exotic, someplace where few Americans had gone before, where I could learn and experience cultures that would aid me in any future endeavours. Egypt was my first choice, a fairly progressive middle eastern and Arab country which had the extra added bonus of being a historians wet dream, My other major was European History. But it was not to be, two men changed that. The first was my president in his, if you think it justified or not, recent adventures in that part of the world. The second was my father, who despite having little more role in my upbringing but a check book with legs forbid me to go to that, and this is a direct quote people "towel headed camel jockey run shiteheap of a country, which is about to be blown strait to hell". I was about to suggest since I was an adult theoretically that he could go perform a certain anatomically improbable act upon himself but self control got the better of me and I caved in and changed my application to Europe. I had wanted Italy so I could sift threw the sands of Rome, but all the spots in my program were filled. So, on January 15th, I found myself in the cold dismal land of the Beetles. Why the Anglos-Saxons- Romans-Goths-Franks-Vikings-Normans-Scots-Spanish-Dutch- French-Germans and Soviets would ever want to invade this sun-forsaken country is truly one of the great wonders of human history. And so there I found myself, walking down the streets of Preston Borough located deep in the centre of Lancashire about as far away from London as you can get and still be in England. The University of Lancashire, my current place of residence, was not one of the nations most prized educational institutions. Since my application got changed so suddenly Oxford and Cambridge were out, I couldn't even get a school in London where I would at least have the solace of a couple of West End performances. I was stuck in the booneys, the sticks, the exact land that Mel Gibson was running around bear assed nekid in, terrorising local English villagers. (Braveheart was not a popular movie in this town.) The English system was drastically different from the American one, where in America, a student could expect weekly assignments and dozens of papers over the course of a year, in England you had basically three. One paper, one test, and one "seminar presentation," which entailed little more than getting up and reading off a fifteen-minute paper. I was ambitions, and hooked up my laptop to a projector and gave a PowerPoint demonstration. The students in the glass practically thought I was a visiting god, uh! Wow! Cool! There were no due dates and students could turn in their papers and perform their vaudeville whenever they wished and naturally most waited until the last possible moment to put down the beer mug and churn out a piece of BS in as short a time as possible. And naturally of course, thought to be fair it wasn't always the case, I had completed all work in the first few weeks. The only thing I had left in my five classes was the semester exams, which were still five weeks away. Class attendance was not even counted, assuming of course any of the professors could have counted anyway. I was currently debating whether to not I should blow this open air Looney bin and spend the remaining time touring the continent. I wasn't worried about the tests, I was qualified, though not certified to teach most of the courses I was in, and even if I wasn't, I wasn't exactly learning anything from the instructors. My courses were "text based" and we were expected to learn our material from the readings. Which is a polite way of saying the PhD's in this country, or to be fair this university couldn't be bothered with actual teaching and expected students to educate themselves. The check book with legs, perhaps because he had felt guilty about denying me my first choice, had given me a generous stipend for my year abroad, coupled with my own earnings from summer jobs and the small trust my grandmother had left me I was well funded to go gallivanting across Europe and was on my way to see Derek. The "Yellowed Pages" was one of those hole in the wall bookstores that quaint little English towns have in abundance and the shop and its proprietor are probably the sole reasons I had maintained my sanity these past months. I was intending to see if he had any travel books and maps I could buy to plan out my invasion of the European continent and I also wanted to ask his opinion, at seventy five (or more, I never did find out his age) Derek had been to a lot of places and seen a few things. He could talk your ears off you if you let him, and I usually did. Where most people politely disengaged themselves from his boring stories I always found them captivating. True story, Derek and his mates, having found themselves unemployed after several wars and having lost his taste for civilian enterprise in the war before last, hired themselves off as a mercenaries in one side or the other in one of those nasty little fights that cropped up when Britain started decolonising Africa. He went into the Jungle with a short battalion of 250 men and 13 months latter walked out again without a scratch on him and only five of his comrades. "Well when we had about 30 left I started getting the idea that perhaps it was time to return to my native land. I probably would have stayed to the end but Wilkinson caught a packet and he was the man who had the tealeaves in his kit. I'm not a barbarian, I'm not a marine Tommy me boy, there are certain things a civilized person just can't live without so I fragged our captain and walked my men back to base." But of course he only tells those types of stories to people he trusted, 99% of his customers probably did their book buying totally unaware that the avuncular old coot behind the counter could kill them five different ways with just his thumb. I was crossing the roundabout (circular street for those Americans who have never been over here) when the whole world changed. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together and over the age of ten remembers where they were when it happened. There are as many personal accounts and self-published autobiographies as there are people, and almost as many explanations. Aliens did it, It was our whimsical God playing tricks on us, a 21st century tower of Babel, it was a government experiment run amok, it was a new weapon of mass destruction by Saddam Hussian, Elvis isn't dead and he did it, wanted us "all shook up." I'm not a scientist, and I don't know what to believe, and at this point it hardly matters, most people have learned to life with the Great Shift and move on with their new lives. But this is now, years after, this story talks about then, when we didn't know what the hell was going on. I was halfway across when I was suddenly wracked with dizziness and had the perfectly normal reaction of fainting. When I eventually returned to the land of the living it was to mild surprise. (The English habit of understatement has gotten to me.) I have read many accounts of people who did not know they had been switched right away. Some men claim that they even stood up and walked around for hours before they noticed that they were no longer men at all. For me, realization came immediately, somehow I had suddenly turned from a six foot tall, dark haired, large white male to a female, a woman, a double XX chromosome, a womyn, a baby making machine, a person of a feminine persuasion, a sit on the porcelain lifetime member, a what some of my crass friends in college had referred to as a life-support system for a pussy a... well you get the picture (The English habit of obsession had also apparently gotten to me.) I'm one of those persons that never feels strong emotions. Hate, love, fear most of these are alien concepts to me, perhaps because I never had sufficient emotions demonstrated to me by my family during my developmental years I never learned how to be afraid. Regardless, unlike some of the people around me I did not immediately fall apart into hysterics. (Those familiar with the Greek origin of that word will understand the irony.) All English cities have closed circuit television cameras and somewhere if you have sufficient initiative and really no life you can dig deep into the archives of Preston and find the tapes of Fishergate Street, which have been preserved for history. On it you will find cars overturned, buses crashed into walls, fire hydrants ruptured and spilling water in the air, people unconscious, and those who weren't, running and screaming, children acting like adults, adults crying like babies and off to the side under the shade of an oak tree you will see a thin, blond haired, blue eyed woman, fairly tall for an English girl, long skirt hiked up and sitting in a marital arts meditation calmly examining the chaos in front of her. Perhaps you have gathered so fair that I am reasonable educated and intelligent so it really was no great leap of deductive reasoning to understand what had happened. I was a man who was now a woman, judging both from the fact that I was in a different location than before and was wearing a skirt, long thankfully, blouse and glasses which I hadn't had since 8th grade I had not somehow been magically morphed into woman but had somehow swapped bodies with one. My hypothesis was further confirmed by the people around me who had also it seem suffered from a similar fate. People were examining themselves, some not too modestly, several were screaming "give me back my body!" or derivatives on that theme. Most telling of all was a cute little five year old girl in a flower print dress who most certainly should not have had quite that extensive a vocabulary and was told so forcefully by what apparently was the child's mother, unaffected by the event and panicked at the strange behaviour around her. If the situation wasn't so drastic I might have taken notes, the new little girls selection of colourful metaphors really was quite extensive and I was slightly envious of her good fortune. I took some time and took stock of my current situation. 1. Body: Swapped into female, small if still tall, otherwise weak. 2. Environment: Surrounded by other swapped people some of them visibly angry. 3. Status of people: Some of them physically violent, some of them strong, angry, physically violent men. 4. After further review: I discovered I was still alone, female and weak with crazy people running around. Solution: get the hell out of here and behind a locked door until situation resolves itself. After another three seconds going through my complicated analysis I could find no fault with it so I stood up and got the hell out of here. One of the lessons that Derek had drilled into me in our daily bull sessions was, KNOW YOUR TERRITORY, so I knew exactly where I was in relation to my former location and knew the shortest distance back there and to my flat. I immediately discovered a rucksack next to me and as no other item fit the bill I deduced this was owned by my bodies former occupant, this brought to home the fact that in order to get into my flat and behind its locked door I would need the key which was inside my wallet inside my pants about a quarter kilometre away. I ran, not well mind you in two-inch heels, but I still ran. While on the way I reviewed in my mind how I would convince the occupant of my former body to turn over my wallet, their was no certain way to convince him (or her) who I was and if the body didn't want to turn it over he could physically overpower me. It should be noted that in a crisis situation my already emotionally crippled mind becomes even more cold and methodical. Unlike the peaceful Vulcan's of Star Trek however I had little qualms with using physical force. I must look after myself, must insure my safety, to do that I needed my key, so when I meet my former body I will not give him the opportunity to deny me my safety but will instead amid the present chaos knock him unconscious. It was cold and cruel but I felt it was necessary. I was alone five thousand miles from home and everything I would need to see me through the next few months was locked inside a room my body had the key too. The occupant of my body was most likely English, a local, he had family and friends he could turn too and a life and a means of support here, I had nothing, my very survival depended upon that key. The question was, could I, given my present physical status, incapacity my body long enough to lift the wallet and get away. I had had limited martial arts training at home and Derek had taught me a few tricks he had always found handy. I wasn't feeling a lot of self-esteem at how quick I had turned into the stereotypical arrogant American who shoots first, shoots some more and if anyone is left alive ask questions. But my intellect overrode my emotions as it had always done before. Self-righteousness is a luxury for people safe beneath a blanket of protection. The entire moral argument was rendered a moot point however when I turned the corner around a local pub a discovered that my body had been crushed by a double Decker bus. You remember that old movie "A Christmas Story" where the kid wanted a little red rider BB gun and all the adults had said, "You'll shoot your eye out!" Well my grandmother, (the living one) is even more protective than my father whom I believed was just looking out for his investment. She had warned me always to look both ways twice in "that foreign country" because somewhere somehow she had read that the major cause of death or injury in England for American college students was death by double-decker bus. Apparently we can't be bothered to stop drinking long enough to notice that bus traffic over here is faster, bigger and on the wrong side of the road. Well grandma you were right, the bus got me. Perhaps it was the new female hormones travelling though my body, or perhaps I wasn't so emotionally dead as I liked to believe. At that moment I broke down and for several minutes I was indistinguishable from the people around me. Eventually I was pulled out of my reverie by the sight of a big Cro-Magnon looking bastard about ten feet away from me. He wasn't making any threatening moves, indeed, he was probably one of the children who had lost their childhoods but the sight of him still brought me back to reality and the threatening nature of my present circumstances. Gritting my teeth I walked to the lump that had housed me for just over 21 years and stole his wallet. I double checked to see my key was inside and then placed the wallet in my rucksack. Perhaps what happened next will sound silly but its part of my character. I love reading, my library back home rivals some schools, well, high schools anyway. And inside by own satchel were several books, one I was almost finished with and several I was looking forward too. In the aftermath of The Great Shift, chaos and pandemonium about me, I spent ten minutes cutting through the pinned down leather satchel to remove its contents and place them all inside my new rucksack all the while under the chassis of a 20 ton double-decker bus and sitting one foot away from my steadily cooling body. I freely admit, it's pretty strange, but we all had our own unique reactions to The Great Switch and judging from what I have read of other peoples accounts my own was far from the strangest. And after all, they were good books. After retrieving my precious artefacts, I began the long walk uphill to the flat complex (apartment complex) that serves as the universities dorm. Once to the university proper I began to feel safer. Most of the campus was deserted of people, classes had finished the day before and most of the locals had gone back home for Easter holiday. A period in England where no classes are held for three weeks. The only people still on campus were custodians, those locals who didn't have a home to go back too and international students such as myself, and even we usually abandoned the campus to see the sights during the holiday. So I was pleased that their was no one around to see a fair haired women enter the building, enter flat 17, and enter room number three occupied by one Thomas A Heinlein, prominent nerd. A number of students over here had interacted with me and not being all that anti-social I interacted with them. Going to a few parties, a few movies together, but one of the things that had always marked me different from the other young studs I hung with is that when a pretty female would walk by my eyes would not pop out nor would I start drooling. I admired the female body, and after endless hours of introspection realized I had no homosexual tendencies but I just couldn't get as exited about the prospect of sex as my peers did. Particularly over some of the scantily clad muffins that went walking about with covering that was characterised by the amount of skin it didn't cover, and perfume that could be admissible in a court as justifiable rape. I liked nice girls, the ones who're shy but sweet, and the ones that you can hold a conversation with. But it was impossible to get this idea through to my fellow hormone driven friends and the males of the group and even a large portion of the females were trying to convert me and fix me up with anything and everything that had the proper hole and a pulse and sometimes after they all convinced themselves I didn't like girls, not even the proper hole. So if they saw me in my current form entering my room I would be subject to so much ribbing I would not be able to live it down. Now you may ask what the hell was I thinking, I wasn't bringing a nice girl into my room I was the nice girl. If any day was the day not to be worried about little embarrassing things like that, today was the day. But remember people, this is The Great Shift were talking about, we were all kind off messed up in the head and my minor neurosis will set no records. Once inside my flat room I set my inherited rucksack down and began a careful examination of my new vessel. I was cute, not beautiful but not unsightly either, I would not stop traffic but men would very likely open doors for me if I was to allow them. Of course you have to take into account that it was my own admittedly warped sense of what was cute. Another person taking a look at me would call me a librarian with delusions of grander but they can kiss my new more rounded rear. In the mirror I saw a nice girl, she had short blond hair that stopped well above the shoulders but was still more hair than I had had at any time in my life. The eyes past the old lady glasses were deep blue, a quick test with my own glasses, (I usually wear contacts but have a set for backup,) revealed that the prescription was substantially lighter than my old one. Apparently I had at least inherited a better set of eyes in more ways than just aesthetically. I was dressed in a pale skirt that stopped at my knees. Pale you say, well I was never one for identifying the various colours women wrap themselves in, it was kind of white but not really and that is the best description I can give, then or now, if it looks nice on me I buy it, I am not going to choose an outfit based solely on the fact that the colour is named after something I can buy at the vegetable stall. The blouse was of a matching colour, again I can't tell you with specifics it was pink- like at lets leave it at that. And hidden behind the blouse were my own set of mammary glands. Now don't get me wrong, I have always liked breasts, both before the shift on women and after when I was wearing them myself but I was not the type of guy who talked to a girl's chest, they were nice to look at but I didn't want to be rude. More than one girl has been convinced I wanted nothing to do with them because I actually looked at their face. WOMEN! Even after a decade as one I still don't understand. So unlike some of my fellow former males turned females I did not have the two main reactions of: 1. Holy shit I'm a girl what am I going to do, holy shit, I'm still a girl! 2. Well look at these, I got my own set, let's see how many orgasms I can have before I pass out. My own response was to button up my blouse and see about my preparations, time enough for self-exploration after the area had been secured. Walking to every room in the flat, I made sure all the windows were closed and locked; I pulled shut the blinds and moved the drapes so that no one could see in. I then made sure the door was locked and took a chair from the kitchen to prop it against the handle to prevent anyone with a key access. I knew my five flatmates were all gone and would be for three weeks but I wasn't taking any chances I also placed several glasses on the chair to break and signal if anyone attempted to force their way past the chair. Once the physical surroundings were secure I saw about my provisions for a siege. I can feel another question coming, why was I doing this and being so paranoid? Well first and foremost, I'm a country boy, er... you understand what I mean. I had lived in the city all my life but every summer and most Christmases I would be sent to the family farm in Nebraska to learn my roots. I had braved tornadoes, floods droughts, and one winter storm that isolated us for ten days. I had learned at my Grandfathers knee the proper procedure for a crisis situation and if anything was a crisis, it was this. Going into the kitchen I performed an inventory. As most of my flatmates had left and were not to come back anytime soon there wasn't much in the way of food outside of packed or canned goods. But with six hungry male college students their was enough chicken noodle soup and such like to see a single person through weeks, months even since I hadn't taken into consideration that my new body would properly require less food. I also immediately used several containers in the kitchen to fill water reserves. During the flood the mains had been ruptured and it was only Grandpa and his prior preparation in installing a ten thousand gallon tank that kept us from abandoning the farm. When dealing with Heinlein's a family motto is "sure were paranoid but are we paranoid enough". I had almost fifty gallons and even if all public services were cut, as I could only assume they would be in a situation where all the workers are in the wrong bodies, I still had enough uncontaminated fresh water for weeks. With the basics of shelter, food and water covered I also went in search of another item on the Heinlein list of essentials, a weapon. Sure you say, now, in the comfort of post shift life that I was acting too irrationally, but I was a student of history and of human nature I know what people can be like when things go to shit, murder, rape and even worse are what can happen to a single women in a civilization that doesn't have streetlights anymore. And I wasn't going to go off into the good night without a fight. Their occupants had locked two of the private rooms in my flat, after 13 years in Catholic school though and it presented me little problem. Wait a second you say, if I can pick locks why was I so worried about the key in my wallet in my dead former body. The simple answer is despite urban myth you cant just pick a lock with anything, the old credit card trick works well for Hollywood movies but to actually do it in real life you need a specialist set of lock picks and I'm sorry its not something you can just pick up at a corner drug store, so sue me. I wasn't hoping to find any firearms, even if England didn't have draconian weapons control legislation a university dorm room is not the sort of place to find a nine millimetre Beretta just lying around, at least one would hope. But my search did yield several blunt objects and several sharp ones; I decided to use the cricket bat over the baseball bat. The cricket bat was just the right size for my new frame to utilize correctly in defending my virtue against any approaching barbarians at the gate. Suitably armed I thought to myself, "I am woman hear me roar." Shelter, food, water, and weapon and no one knew where I was. I felt safe enough now to do a more thorough examination of the situation beyond the instinctual reactions. I had taken my Sony Playstation 2 over with me with a suitable supply of games and films and had purchased a local television to hook it up to. I had not though hooked up the antenna or the cable to the wall as in England if you want to watch television it is necessary to pay for the upkeep of the BBC with a ?150 license fee. I had seen a bit of British television on my flatmates sets and no offence, but that is something I can live without. The television police, (and yes there are such creatures in Britain) won't fine you if you have a television that does not receive transmissions, so I had never bothered to hook it up. I now through caution to the wind and attached the various cables to my TV and into the wall, somehow I doubted her majesties government was going to come out of the woodwork and arrest me on that day. "...Again," said a rumpled Indian looking man in working coveralls in a cultured BCC accent. "The Lord Chancellor unaffected by the phenomenon has assumed control and declared martial law in the nation today until the whereabouts of the prime minister and the rest of the government can be positively identified. Confirmed reports state that the phenomenon has affected all of Europe and reports indicated it has reached across the Atlantic as well. Our BBC Washington and New York office have indicated similar disruptions. I'm afraid ladies and gentlemen that we here at the BCC are at as much of a loss to explain the present circumstances as anyone and any further speculation or unconfirmed reporting would be dangerous and not responsible journalism. "When we have any confirmed news to report we will do so, and will be at the governments pleasure for any public service announcements. For the remainder of the emergences, all commercial programming has been cancelled. Again, martial law has been declared, the Lord Chancellor asks that her majesties subjects return to their homes and stay off the streets, those at work should also return home except for those who serve in vital public service sectors such as water, electricity, transit and food dispersal, particular attention is paid to military and polices forces and emergency services. "If you find yourself in the body of a critical job worker please continue as best you can until replacements arrive. If you were in a critical post and you remain physically able, please make your way back as quickly as possible. This situation is unheard of in all of human history, the cultural and religious significance of the phenomenon is staggering. But we will survive, Britain will endure and the British people will emerge even from this victorious... "Again this is Samantha Jones with BBC One and the Lord Chancellor has declared martial law..." You have to hand it to the British, from what I watched later their counterparts in America for the most part reacted in mass hysteria, with the sole exceptions of NBC Washington and CNN, which had enough unshifted people to maintain an operation. But Samantha Jones who found herself older, male and in a Indian for God's sake still had enough of a stiff upper lip to take all our whimsical creator had shovelled on her and go about her job. This is the people that had laughed at Hitler's Lufftewaffe and stood alone against the onslaught with bravery and steadfast determination. When we Americans have a tenth as much history then we can feel free to insult them. Even today, woman or not, If I hear one of my countrymen insult the Queen or the British people, I always give them a piece of my mind, the more offensive pieces of it. Of course I'm free to insult them, but that's a different story. I left the television on, but it was mostly the same message repeated. In a crisis situation the media essentially stops being journalists and instead are simply a medium for those in charge to get needed information to the people as quickly as possible. Time enough latter to set blame and make accusations, for the time being it was necessary merely to survive. Turning away from the television I accessed the Internet. CNN.com had enough foresight to maintain their headline updates and for the next five hours I carefully and methodically traced the event across the world. A journalist in Skokie Oklahoma coined the phrase The Great Shift and journalists, ever a plagiaristic breed took the phrase and ran with it. "The Great Shift," sounds like an overweight Italian construction worker leaning over to grab another beer. But I digress. Eventually night fell, and the sound of screaming and police sirens did little to make me believe my paranoid preparations had been in doubt. Eventually it was 9PM and I realised I hadn't eaten anything at all in this body yet, and judging from the grumbles from my petite stomach it was well past time. But before I could do that, it was necessary to perform a different call of nature. I approached the bathroom with trepidation. Including sex, pregnancy or menstruation, which I wasn't prepared to even think about, I was about to perform a uniquely feminine act. For those of you who are unaware, a dorm bathroom is not one of the cleanest of places. If my president had sent any UN inspectors into it, our flat would likely have been bombed as a production centre for biological weapons. But I had little choice in the matter and beyond scrubbing the seat as best I could with towels and soap there wasn't anything that could be helped I really had to go. As you will recall I was wearing a skirt and for those of you who have not had the opportunity of wearing one (which I hadn't) or taking them off of your girlfriend/wife in order to get in her knickers (which I also hadn't) removing a skirt takes a few minutes to get use too. I would later learn that it is possible to urinate while removing the panties and keeping the skirt on but I didn't know that then. After several moments of dancing around while simultaneously holding my knees together, (which wasn't working well), I removed the skirt, removed the panties tossed them in the corner and squatted down to piss. Some of you readers may be shocked at my description. A lady doesn't squat, a lady doesn't piss she gently lowers herself to relieve herself. Well let me tell you buster, at the time I was no lady and gently lowering myself were not the adjectives used to describe the act, though relief certainly was. After smiling and releasing a contented sigh I lower my eyes to examine my new primary sexual organs. I had seen vaginas before in health class and in my own independent research on the subject (so I looked at porn, I cant really be blamed for that I wasn't a eunuch). The area was damp from my recent act and I used the toilet paper to dry myself. From some distantly remember lecture from Father Lynch I knew that this was necessary to prevent infection. Yes, a Jesuit taught Sex Ed class, it's a screwed up world, though hopefully he took his vows seriously and didn't. In my cleaning, not knowing the proper navigation, I brushed up against a bundle of sensitive nerve endings popularly known as the clitoris. Wow. Double wow. Wow wow wow wow. WOwWOw WOW! WOW!! WOW!!!!!!! AHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh shit what had I done. That was called a climax young lady, can you say that word C-L-I-M-A-X. Who the hell are you. I'm your feminine personality. I have a feminine personality? You do now. Who invited you? You did. When? Just now, if you want references I can give you my resume from Mary Hand and her five sisters. Does that euphemism work in our current circumstance I only remember using one? It was the only one I knew don't worry we will come up with better ones. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the circumstance I'm already kind of screwed up in the head I don't need to add schizophrenic to the list. That's paranoid schizophrenic dear; you are a Heinlein after all. Oh yes I had forgotten. That's all right dear. Well, what now madame feminine personality? Oh you have been doing remarkable well so far, I'm proud of you, you knew exactly how to react in a crisis. Compliments from myself I better be careful or I will start to act like Custer. Well Custer was a pussy dear. Hey watch your mouth! It's your mouth dear. Oh well then piss of and let me get back in my knickers. Yes dear. After the enlightening conversation I pulled up my plain cotton panties to my now smooth crotch and then went about the skirt. I hadn't been wearing pantyhose but it was a warm day and perhaps the previous owner didn't feel them necessary. I struggled with the skirt for another thirty seconds before I gave up and walked back to my room to put on a pair of sweat pants. If I tightened the drawstrings they fit after a fashion, after a fashion. It wasn't something I would wear in public and it clashed noticeable with my blouse but it was convenient and comfortable and I wasn't planning on displaying myself to anyone anyway. My disregard for fashion lasted approximately the amount of time it took to see myself in the mirror. If it had been my old body I likely would not have cared, but I was always careful with other peoples things as this piece of personal property was about as sacrosanct as you could get, despite the ludicrousness of the situation I felt compelled to remove the clashing blouse, (folding it gently) and put on an old T-shirt to wear. Between taking off one and putting on the other I had seen my breasts in their bra but was too honourable... hpp... Embarrassed, to sneak a cheep thrill, particularly after the incident in the bathroom. Relieved and suitably attired I entered the kitchen and made dinner. The power was still on so it looked like all my preparations were not totally necessary. But I was an eagle scout and "be prepared" was always my personal motto, besides, time would tell on the whole civilization falling thing. I had seen a movie like this before, I had seen a lot of movies like this before and humanity had been wiped out by considerably less problems than most of the human race suddenly finding himself or herself as someone else. I discovered though, that my near legendary capacity for food had been lost, I was hardly a petite anorexic little flower but I made my customary pasta and even after reducing the portions considerably I could only finish half. Oh well, the estimates on my food supply just went up. After finishing cleaning, an act my flatmates had yet to discover for themselves, I returned to my room to catch up on the news. Before going online again I turned off my lights and looked outside into the courtyard formed by the four dorm buildings. Outside was a scene akin to a Roman orgy or at least what I assumed an orgy would have been like with two dozen pasty faced British people. Several sets and several threesomes. Girl-boy, girl on girl, boy on boy and derivatives of all three with everyone else. Apparently these students didn't feel any inhibitions about trying out the new hardware but as much as I enjoyed my previous experience I wasn't about to join them. Several changed males were out there, I was sure, that were not aware of the fact that their new package came fully loaded with all the extras. Sure vagina, mammary glands and bucket seats but also fallopian tubes, ovaries and birth canal. I suspected several of them would wake up one morning a few weeks from now slightly nauseous. And even if they didn't, sexually transmitted diseases had not gone away in the Great Shift; if anything I realised the situation had gotten worse. I recognised it early on but my suspicions were later confirmed by government research, that many men and women went around in wild promiscuous sex unaware that their bodies had been diagnosed with everything from the clap to AIDS. I was too much a paranoid to go anywhere near that thing out there and I shut the blinds. It didn't look like we were in a Mad Max type situation but things could fall apart at any minute. To quote the pessimistic poet "were not alive yet" Curling up on my bed and snuggled in my covers, covers I had recently discovered stank to high heaven. My new nose apparently was more sensitive and I resolved to find a way to wash the bedding as soon as possible. Snuggled up safe and sound I took my new rucksack and emptied out all the contents. There were my several books, personal organiser, wallet and file folders with schoolwork. I set these aside on my desk and then looked at the rest. The first item of interest was a paperback book, Exodus by Leon Uris, one of the grand epic fictions of old. I knew from looking at her that she was my kind of girl. Placing this book with the rest I then opened up her billfold. Apparently the rucksack doubled as her purse. Opening up the wallet I discovered I now enjoyed the body of Mary Ellsworth of Market Drayton, Northumberland, United Kingdom. I ascertained this from her NUS card, driver's license, and British passport. Well mom, I finally got together with a nice English girl, just like you asked. I was soon to be 20 years old and didn't really mind losing a year, in comparison to my penis it was a small mater, and I realized that if the shift was as random as reports indicated it could have been much worse. I could have ended up anything from a 9 week old baby to a 90 year old great grand mother. Hair: blond. Eyes: Blue, Height: 5,11" Weight: 120 pounds. After the initial discover I went about interrogating the rest of the rucksack. I took notes on everything I discovered about her and followed up on any information with copious searches of the Internet both by Google and the local university system. It was partly out of curiosity, and partly out of self-preservation. I knew that there were certain illness such as heart disease and diabetes that was predominant in my family and I wanted to know what condition my new form was in. Naturally I didn't find anything worrisome, which naturally made me look even harder. The university kept medical records on all of its students; this information was of course confidential and not open to public viewing. And of course I hacked my way in, I went to Catholic school after all. Mary Ellsworth had had all the normal childhood illness and I was pleased that this body came with the accompanying anti-bodies. Also all the immunizations were in order and up to date, indeed, there were several that were hardly necessary for temperate England, Mary must have done some travelling in tropical climate in her life. In the family history section their was nothing threatening, indeed all four grandparents were still alive and three great grandparents which indicated good things for my new bodies life expectancy. Along with a new set of plumbing I had probably gained a dozen years of life. In short I was finding very little to complain about beyond the obvious and for those people who know me this is when I'm at the worst. My investigation finished for the time being, I began to read, which had always been therapeutic for me. In addition, I deactivated my smoke detector (Catholic school) and removed one of the Cuban cigars I had purchased from Harrods during my last trip to London. The university had a policy against smoking in the rooms but today the fundamental fabrics of all of human society had been torn asunder I could give a flying, er, "frell" (I'm a lady now) if the university cared about my Havana. The gentlemen in flat 14 are dopers who made the hippies look like pikers and if they can do that I could have a cigar at the end of the world. So there I was until the wee hours of the morning, a 20- year-old sweet English rose, peering out the window every 15 minutes and blushing. Feet up in my chair in a very unladylike posture smoking a stogie and reading Peter F. Hamilton. Eventually, whether it was the combination of stress or my new physique, I started yawning and losing concentration so after one last round to check all the locks I put my book away took off my glasses and went to sleep. Chapter 2 I woke up around 4AM in pain. Don't give me that condescending little smirk you little bit, I wasn't the kind of guy that deserved this lesson. And your knowing smile is for nothing the pain wasn't in my middle it was on my chest. I hadn't woken up too my first period, but rather a bra wedgie. I had discovered much to my chagrin that women do not sleep in their day bras. The straps had dug deeply into my soft skin and after several seconds struggling to readjust I then spent several seconds trying to get the instrument of torture off. I'm afraid I was a bit forceful in my attempt however because when the bra did finally yield it was to a ripping sound. Upon further examination I discovered that I was the proud owner of a C- cup set of mammary glands and also one white lace bra: torn. Even If I had been willing to put the thing back on, which I wasn't, it was no longer suitable for wear. Slightly pissed and still rubbing the red marks left behind I threw the bra into the trash bin and put my T-shirt back on. It only took me several seconds to discover that on top of the red lines left behind by the bra the harsh material of the T-shirt was irritating my new nipples to no end. Even if I was perfectly still, no small feet, my breathing still rubbed my nipples against the T-shirt. Irritated at my irritation (where had my Vulcan like self control gone) I took off my T-shirt and sent it the way of the bra. I tried sleeping topless but my comforter wasn't very comfortable either and the room was just cold enough both to cause my nipples to stiffen without the comforter and to require its use. Eventually, And now totally awake, I searched through my wardrobe trying to find an item preferably 100% cotton that would be soft enough for sleepwear. After an eon I found a cotton undershirt that I used when I dressed up, it was enough, but there were only three in my entire dresser and after a moment's contemplation I discovered there was very little clothes, if any that would fit me for wear in the outside world. Damn it all to hell, there was no avoiding it I was going to have to go shopping Naturally I was in too paranoid a state of mind to actually go out in public, but the next morning, after review of my notes, I discovered that Mary's room was in my flat complex. I would have to leave my own barricaded flat but I would not have to venture outside in order to raid her wardrobe. I put on three pairs of my socks and it was enough so that my second pair of tennis shoes would fit after a fashion, I was not going to walk up and down three flights of stair in two-inch heels if it could be avoided. I empted out my suitcase of the dirty clothes left over from London (so I didn't wash them, I'm a college student.) and cleared the door, making sure that I had both my key and Mary's, which I found in her rucksack I carried the case up the three levels to her flat on fourth floor. Again with the benefit of hindsight I freely admit it was a low act. I was stealing, very possibly stealing from a dead woman. But I consoled myself that at the very least those clothes would likely no longer fit her and I would be more than willing to pay her for her lost wardrobe and even replace it with some of my own if she had switched genders as well. Entering flat 45 I did not detect any occupation but as it was still 8AM on a weekend, (and what a weekend), it was very possible some residents were still sleeping, so I entered Mary's room as quietly as I could. Damn, I knew she was my kind of girl, why couldn't I have met her when I could still have done something about it. I only hoped that she had been switched with a male, I felt the two of us were made for each other. Like me, Mary did not use her bookcase for storing Brittany Spears, or boy band CDs but for actual books. I always believed that you could tell a lot about a person from their library and hers told me everything I needed to know. Tawdry romances were not evident. What I did see were epics, histories, spy thrillers, great pieces of literature in several languages and even the Bard himself. And it warmed my heart to see a small section devoted to science fiction. It almost stopped me from my requisitioning, almost. This was my first occasion of ransacking a girls panty drawer, well at least a girl not related to me, my sister still hasn't forgiven me for what I pulled on her in 7th grade, speaking of which since I have all your attention. But I digress. I supposed the essentials were undergarments; the rest could be made do with my own clothes. I took about a dozen pairs of bras and panties, all the shirts I could find, but the selection was limited to what I would actually wear. I emptied out about ten pairs of footwear I wasn't going to wear three socks at a time anymore. Mary was a feminine woman she wasn't slutty her skirts were longer than some of my grandmothers for god sakes, but she preferred dresses to slacks, skirts to jeans. Indeed I only found one pair of jeans in the entire room. In the end I took the skirts and dresses anyway, dumping a selection into my suitcase I didn't know what the future would hold. Well aware of the reason for my shopping expedition I even took her nightgowns, they were frilly, but they did look comfortable and, well, after all, no one was going to see them but me, and I thought Mary would look real good in them. As I was about ready to leave I remembered another possible problem in the future. While I had never had a steady girl friend I had lived with my mother and sister in the same house and I knew that adult women were, in comparison to males high maintenance. I opened up Mary's medicine cabinet and though I couldn't identify even half of the objects inside beyond hygiene products and cosmetics I summarily grabbed them all with my arm and shoved them into the suitcase. The trip down the three flights of stairs was rather less quiet than the trip down and also painful. The full suitcase was making a thud after every stair it dropped on, I didn't have the strength to lift it and after every plop of the suitcase a corresponding plop could be felt on my chest. I know that there are some switched men who refuse to wear a bra on general principle but they have to be a hell of a lot nuttier than I am. I had not even spent a full day in the female form and I was already a zealous convert to the sainthood of that wonderful Frenchman who invented the device. Of course I would completely forget about my conversion in a couple of hours when my bra started to pinch again but hey, I can change my mind that woman's prerogative. Returning to my flat, and barricading the door again, I unloaded my stash into my drawers and placed my now obviously unsuitable attire in a trash sack for disposal at a later date. With clean clothes, which fit, I really had no more excuses. After all the exertion I was really starting to get ripe, I needed a shower. What's more I owed it to my benefactor to keep her body in good repair. Judging by the reaction of the T-shirt I didn't think my normal towel would be a good option so I took Mary's to the shower, it was pink, but no one would see me in it. My first shower as a woman was, a unique experience I had always enjoyed a nice long hot shower and the experience had only been enhanced for me after the shift. I was done with my washing soon enough but I just couldn't find a good reason to get out. There is a fair chance I would be there still if the Preston borough water department had not suddenly failed. There was a sudden drop off in water pressure followed by a loud creaking noise, which I knew indicated failure. I managed to shut off the valves before the brown stuff started spraying but it was a close thing. Slightly shaking from my sudden disappointment, I went to the sink to see if it was just a failed shower pipe, no such luck. The first luxury of civilization had failed, and I had no idea how long the rest would hold out. A padded myself dry and wrapped the towel around me, first I did it around my waist like I had done every day of my life, and then above my breasts as my change in circumstance made itself known again. I also made a discovery in that bathroom, with the glasses removed and the frumpy attire gone, with that towel wrapped around my slim body and voluptuous yet, perfectly proportioned breasts, I was perfect, I was hot! "Narcissist," my feminine personality told me Don't go their girlfriend I was just admiring the view, I'm a red blooded American man. Not from where I'm standing. Blow me. Present it, oh wait you can't. I can't believe I'm getting made fun of by myself, this has to be against some fundamental law of the universe. A funny day after to be talking about fundamental flaws of the universe. Good point. Thank you. Well what now, second mind ma'am. Your guess is as good as mine little sister, actually your guess is mine. Thanks for the help and don't call me little sister. I call it like I see it Tammy. "Oh you're going down for that one bitch, I may have to live as a woman for the rest of my life but I am most certainly not going to be a TAMMY!" Those words were out of my head before I had even realized I had said them. It was at this point where I made my second revelation of the day, my voice. I had heard it for the first time, it was a soft, honey-tongued soprano, it was beautiful! Told you, narcissist. Kiss my ass. Present it. Eventually I wrestled my split personality to a standstill and shoved her to the back of my mind were she belonged. I retuned to my room and after another glance at Aphrodite's form (Okay, I was no longer embarrassed for my cheep thrill) I put on a new pair of panties and after looking up how on Ask Jeeves, putting on my bra, its amazing what you can find on the internet. I put on my sole pair of jeans and unlike other girls, whose jeans seemed to be painted on, my jeans were quite loose and comfortable. (Wait a second; back up a moment, other girls. Did I just think that?) After careful contemplation I suppose I had, my but I was adapting quickly, perhaps because I had never had the chance to use them properly I didn't really mind losing my cock and balls. Still, mildly frightening. Showered and clothed I had decided to skip shaving for another day, I went back to my computer to see if my family had sent any e-mails. I had sent off e-mail the night before saying basically: Hello (insert family member here) I am safe and fortified and oh yea I am now your new (Insert family feminine title here i.e. daughter, sister, niece) please respond with your current situation as soon as possible. The message had gone out to every one on my mailing list and I was hoping for a few responses. The greater Heinlein family were scattered all over the world, except for my immediate family which had remained in Omaha, (I was born on the wrong branch.) And I got responses from three cousins, several friends, an Aunt and Uncle or two but none from my grandparents, sister or mom and dad. Don't get me wrong I was happy that those people were all right but I wanted to hear about my immediate family and I wasn't getting a thing. It was about 4AM over in Nebraska so it didn't look Like I was going to get anything soon, but I still resolved to myself, to check up every hour until I found out if my parents were all right. I suppose one could get the impression that I didn't like my father but he's an all right guy, really he looked out for me he just didn't know how to express any feelings. Which come to think of it could also be used to describe another member of the family, so perhaps I shouldn't be quite so quick to judge. Biting now longer fingernails wouldn't send electrons any quicker so after drying and brushing my hair, for the first time in my life I might add, I went into the kitchen to make breakfast. A quick look through the blinds told me that most of the parting, at least in the courtyard had gone away. Given the cold temperatures outside at night it was entirely likely the orgy was still going on inside someone's flat. Remembering dinner last night, all I made for breakfast was two pieces of toast and orange juice. The electricity was still running, probably due to the fact that the grid was off of a nuclear reactor and those computer controlled monstrosities could survive just about anything and keep on pouring out gigawatts. As long as those silos kept me in cold drinks and frozen pizza those nuclear abolitions could go blow, and I would proudly where my "Nuke The Whales" T-shirt even if it did irritate my skin. After finishing my breakfast and returning to my room I was startled by an unfamiliar electronic ring. It took only a moment though for me to identify it as my satellite phone hooked up to the far outlet. My father's business did work for several militaries and he had picked up the sat phone cheap, and hesitant of his son being many miles away from home he had given it to me to keep in touch, we had called each other on it exactly once when I had arrived just to make sure that it worked and we had both promptly forgotten about it. Until now. "Hello," I said hesitantly. "Is Tom there?" an unfamiliar voice asked. "Yes, speaking," I replied "Oh I'm, sorry, I didn't recognize your voice." "Yes well its mutual who is this," "Tommy boy, well, Tom, it's your father." "Hi dad, how did you turn out?" "I switched with one of my junior associates I gained about twenty years of life but also about two hundred pounds." "Ouch." "Yes well, it doesn't sound like you made out too well on your own either." "Its all a matter of perspective pops, Mom will be pleased to know I have become very close to a nice English girl," I replied with a grin "I'll be sure to tell her, we just hooked up ourselves and wanted to check on our children. I was quite a comedy of errors, I rushed home to try and find her there while at the same time she rushed to the office, at which point I rushed to her office and she rushed back home, it was hours before we found each other again and all the while things were going to hell around the city." "How is Mom," I asked concerned. "Fine, your age now, a aerobics instructor from California, I have a feeling I will be going to the gym a lot more often for one reason or another." "Mom as a California valley girl aerobics instructor, please don't tell me she's blond," I asked laughing "Yup, DDs on top of that." "How many degrees had she got now?" "Five, last time I checked." "Oh she's never going to forgive God for this one." "That has been the subject of conversation for that last few hours, that and you and Megan." "How is she?" "Unknown, I left messages at all her machines and phones but if she's swapped that won't make any difference. She's a smart girl and I'm here manning phones at the office and your mother is back home now she knows to call either to let us know." "Yea, Megan's a smart girl." "What's your situation?" "Acceptable, for the time being, my body is dead crushed by a double-decker bus so even if we manage to reverse this it looks like I'm stuck as a girl. I managed to lift my own wallet and key to return to my flat I locked all the doors and windows closed all the blinds and have a few months supply of both food and water inside. The electricity is still running but the water mains cut out this morning, but it was after I stored about fifty gallons worth so I'm all right. I'm here alone and for the most part England is pandemonium, the government has declared martial law." "Yeah, same here, all sorts of messed up, the phone system has crashed and even the Internet is sporadic in sections. There is very little that can interfere with a satellite though so I'm glad Dustin convinced my to shell out $500 for these puppies." "Yeah, me too." "I'm piggybacking this on a military carrier though Tom, and my contact told me we only have a few guaranteed minutes every few hours, priority has to go to the government. Now you listen here young lady. I approve of what you have done so far, stay with it, and follow all the instruction Grandpa gave you, I know he was more of a father to you than I was." "You were..." "Let me finish Tom, don't leave the room until the television or radio says its okay, and even then, only at day and only when you see others moving about. Until then, hunker down and don't do anything to draw attention to yourself. You say you have months of supplies and if worse comes to worse I will take the company plane and come get you." "The TV said all flights were cancelled, pilots in the wrong bodies, air traffic control centres down." "Those are conventional airlines, I have my own plane and if need be can fly myself. Stay safe, stay hidden if things go to shit I will come for you." "Don't worry about me pops, you find Megan you hear." "I will, I love you son," "I know pops, you take care." "You too." And with that he was gone, and I was alone, I never did get to go to the European continent for my Easter holiday. I spent almost a week in my fortress of solitude, I had several rolls of trash sacks and used them to dispose of body wastes since the toilets wouldn't flush (be prepared remember) but with no showers even with deodorant I was getting pretty ripe after five days with no water. Things turned for the better on Friday though when I preformed my morning inspection and the water was back on. I let slip a very unladylike phrase and almost tore my clothes in getting them off. The water wasn't hot and it still had a vaguely unsettling chemical smell about it from all the treatment they had put it through, still it was water and it was wet, and I wanted a shower. Most of my days were occupied with short examinations of the outside and reading. Most people in my situation would have gone nutty from the isolation but truth be told I was loving it. I had hours upon hours of uninterrupted quality reading time, and I went through almost twenty titles that week. The trouble was, right around the time the water came back I had shot my wad. The entire home library had been depleted of titles and I had even sunk so low as raiding my flatmates rooms, not that there were any books to read in there, but I though I might get lucky. Things had been getting progressively better since the day of the shift and Her majesties government was even considering removing marital law, I switched on the TV to see what was happening. "...Some three days and five hours ago. I repeat, it is confirmed. Her majesty Queen Elizabeth II, having found herself swapped into a London City fireman continued on in rescue efforts for over two days until succumbing to smoke inhalation on Tuesday. Her majesty had refused preferential treatment stating every Briton knew their duty. The Queen lived long enough to confirm by personal code to her private secretary her identity and her subjects mourn her passing..." The Indian Anchorperson was visibly crying at this point. "The queen is dead... Long... Long live the King." I never had much use for the old broad before, but she had been chief of state for over half of the most torrential century in history and as far as endings go, I hoped I could do so with half as much bravery and dignity. The queen is dead, long live the King. After that I kind of felt ashamed of myself, hiding like a coward behind locked doors while brave men and women died keeping the fabric of civilization together. I didn't feel like staying in the flat any longer besides, I was out of books, it was time to see if Derek had made it all right. With the benefit of hindsight I probably should have saved the jeans for use outside, after a week wearing around the flat they were pretty much shot I may have been a college student but I had my standards. So I bit the bullet and put on one of Mary's "librarian outfits" the attire was punctuated by my glasses and lack of cosmetics the benefit of this getup, beyond it being simple, was that their was very little about me that would attract any would be rapist. Or call upon me to use the rather sharp combat knife I secured in the small of my back. Or the multi-tool I hidden in my rucksack. Or the kitchen knife I had hidden in my boots. What can I say, I'm a Heinlein. The beautiful spring day was quite the antithesis of the chaos of the past week and you could almost believe there was nothing wrong in the world. Walking carefully down the hill and paying particular notice to the double Decker busses. Which was a good sign if they were up and running again. I walked to Der