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She knew I was behind her now. I was gaining on her fast and could sense her panic. She was running wildly, as fast as she could, to escape, but to no avail. Her Brunette ponytail was swinging wildly from side to side, her arms pumping, legs driving, I was close enough now to see the sweat between her shoulder blades, on the back of her sports crop top. Closer still, and I could hear her gasping for air, above the sound of my own deep respiration. She half turned to look now, as she was within arms reach, and I grinned to see the look of fear in her eyes. I think she knew it was inevitable. One final lunge - but too late. I am right beside her, and in that instant ahead, as the white line flashes beneath us. "Bastard" I hear between agonal gasps. "Fuck!!......Cinders" I reply similarly between deep sucks of air. We are both bent double on the track at the start of the first bend. "You always have to win don't you?" But her tone is light. "Since we were 13, poppet,... Thirteen." She makes a face. "But fucking hell, you shouldn't push so bloody hard.... it's only training." "Ditto" she replies... " So, how'd I do?" I looked at my stop watch, which I'd stopped automatically when we crossed the line. "2:05" and her face beams. Two minutes and five seconds. There isn't a woman in the state that could match that time, certainly not this early in the season, and just a training run. She will go close this year to running under 2 minutes, and thats only a second from the Australian record. Taking off the ten second start I'd run 1:55, which I was pleased with, but I know how hard I'd pushed to haul her in, and unlike Lucinda, there were enough guys out there who were running the same times. When our panting had subsided enough, without having to speak it, we set off automatically around the track for our cool down jog. "You and your ego," she teases, "you just can't stand being beaten by a girl." "It's not that..." I reply "I just can't stand being beaten by you!!" And we laugh. But both are probably true. Ever since the age of 7, when she had thrown a tanty in our next-door neighbours (her parents) yard. "If Ant is going to Little Aths - I'm going too!!!" She had been my chief rival, best friend, and training partner. Even from 10 to 13 when she'd had her prepuberal growth spurt, and I was still a little weed, and she was kicking my arse (and where my dislike of being beaten by a girl had arisen) we still ran everywhere together. Then, when she had gone off to her private girls school, and me to the local high school, we'd still find the time to run together. Through boyfriends, and girlfriends, and all myriad of pubertal dramas, there was always Cinders, and always running. I guess it was our love of running that kept us together, and probably because we ran together, that we both became age group champions for our state, in the same event, the 800 metres. As a sprinter I lacked that killer kick - so the only way I could win was to keep running as fast as I can - till everyone else slowed down - and that was somewhere past the 400 metre mark. We'd see each other at the Championships - but it would be hard to talk, as her snooty friends thought me too common, and there was always some Private school boyfriend, who I'd occasionally race against, if they happened to be in my event, and enjoy beating. But lately she seemed to be more into Footballers than athletes, so I could no longer indulge in my delight of making her repair wounded egos. What had made it the sweeter is that none of her boyfriends seemed to know who I was. All my High school friends knew who she was, and at the times I'd been cranky about not meeting any of her friends, especially when single (and desperate), which sadly was more often than not, she found me easy to placate. "Of course I'm not ashamed of you. It's just I want to keep you all to myself. You are my outlet from the Prissy Private school world. Besides, you know how jealous boys get. If they knew how much time I spent with you, well, you know." I guess that was fair enough, and I doubt any of her school friends would want to go out with a commoner. But that didn't matter anymore. We were 18 now. And together again at the same school. (Well University anyway.) We were both on the Varsity track team - to which I had just been elected Captain, and Lucinda Vice Captain, given our state wide reputations. Best of all - her boyfriend knew who I was. Sure he didn't like me, nor I him, but that's not the point. "So Captain, How's it feel?" Lucinda asks me as we trot around the track. "Like I've got a lot of work to do. Any track team that appoints Freshers as team captains is obviously in dire straights." "Hey, speak for yourself! I think we were appointed on merit. You have to admit though, they really are a rabble." "I know. But there is spirit. I guess that's the advantage of a small Uni. Hey, if only they had a mixed 4x8 this Uni might win three medals." She laughed. "We'd still need two other runners though, unless you were planning to run two legs each." "Why not - we'd get a two minute break!!!" "You could always run 1500 if you wanted to try for more medals." "No way Cinders. I'd kill myself." "Maybe. But maybe it's time to sprint a little further till everyone else slows down again." I slowed abruptly to a stop and Lucinda stopped just ahead of me, and turned to face me. I see her muscles tense. "What are you saying?" I can hear the ire in my own voice and I know that she can. "Nothing that you're not already thinking Anthony." She's using the soothing voice, and my full name, so she knows that she has to use all stops to prevent an outburst. "Look at today." She continues. "You only just beat me - off the usual start. I know I'm getting faster. But......... but you're not!" She and I both know she's right. I'm training as hard as I ever was, but the field is gaining on me. Unless I improve, my days as champion are over. She can read my thoughts and knows that the crisis is over; there will be no hissy fit. "Do the 15. You know you'll be good at it." "Maybe Cinders, maybe. Or maybe we just can't keep running forever." "Don't be silly...." and she sets off jogging again.... and I follow her. But I'm thinking as I run, that I meant what I said, professional running is not what I envisage my future to be. The subject is changed. "What are you doing tonight?" I ask "I'm going over to the footy oval to watch Brian train." "Oh, OK" and she can sense the disappointment in my voice. "Why don't you come? The Cheerleaders might be there." She knows that will suck me in. Kimberley. Kimberley the Cheerleading Captain. I don't know her very well, but I sure like to watch her Cheer. And there is our little love triangle.(Or quartet) Brian, the Football Captain is dating Lucinda, the Athletic Vice Captain. Kimberley, the Cheer Captain, has the hots for Brian, whilst Anthony, the Athletics Captain has the Hots for Kimberley. "It's like a big fat Jock Soapie" Caitlin, my Biochemistry Prac partner had remarked as I recounted the story to her. I'd only just met her when we were assigned together, but she was very easy to get along with, and she always made me laugh. She was kind of weird looking. Gothicy type. Not someone I would usually associate with. But just as you can't choose your family, you can't choose your Prac partner. Still we were a good combo, and seemed to be getting top marks in the pracs with relative ease. Which was definitely a 50/50 partnership. "Add to the fact that Brian can't stand me, and Kimberley wants to scratch Cinders eyes out, it should make for entertaining viewing" I had quipped back. Lucinda and I were now walking towards the football fields, and sure enough the cheerleaders were practicing on the sidelines. I found this amusing. Prior to starting University, I'd never really seen cheerleaders before. Our school didn't have them (Barely had a football team), and you certainly never got them at track meets. From a distance they looked like little blonde clones, but up close Kimberley certainly was a stand out. Sure she was Blonde, and busty, but she was also sassy, and boy could she move. "I don't know what you see in her." Lucinda had remarked. "She's such a slapper. You are such a typical male, I'm disappointed, it's all about tits and arse isn't it?" "And you're dating beefy Brian because he's an intellectual giant..." Big mistake. It's obviously acceptable for a woman to diss my fantasy girl, but for me to criticise her boyfriend, that's out of bounds. "Fine," she says haughtily, and I know she's really mad, "date that slut. At least it might stop her pawing Brian every chance she gets, maybe you two deserve each other." Her getting mad with me just makes me mad with her, and I'm not sure why, because I should be defusing the situation. "Maybe we could double date. Then have a big orgy!!!!" "Fuck you!!!" And she walks off towards Brian. Instantly I'm remorseful. I hate making her mad. I don't think Cinders has ever been this mad with me. And over what? Me trying to date the popular, pretty girl. Well that's not fair.(Now maybe I'm not so remorseful) Maybe I will date her, just to spite Lucinda. Now if I could only get her to talk to me, that would be a start. I find myself over near the Cheerleaders, as they finish practicing, I recognise one, who is in my biochem class also. This might be an opportunity to get to Kimberley. "Hey, Bethany..." She looks up, and I'm fearful that she won't have a clue who I am. But recognition appears instantly. "Wilkins... What are you doing here? I didn't know you were into footballers." She's probably just baiting me but the idea of her thinking I'm here to check out guys gets me flustered, and I start stammering and find myself staring at Kimberley. Bethany looks over her shoulder to see where I'm looking, and then she smiles." Ohh. I see." "I suppose you want an introduction... Hey Kimberley..." Now I'm nervous. She sashays towards us pom-poms in hand. "Kim..." Bethany begins "This is Anthony Wilkins.... he's..." "I know who you are!" (She does!) "You're the friend of that bitch Lucinda Taylor." If I wasn't so mad at Lucinda right now, and trying to get a date with this hot girl I may have taken umbrage at the remark. "Why don't you do us both a favour and keep her away from Brian..." OK. So obviously this Brian obsession is a big deal, but inspiration hits me like a bolt. "Even Better. Why not go out with me and they might both get jealous." (Knowing full well that neither of them would in the slightest, or at least Lucinda certainly wouldn't.) "Like that's gonna happen!!!" And she walks off. Her blonde crony clones are sniggering, except for Bethany who shrugs her shoulders apologetically then turns away. I too turn, and wander slowly off. I'm thinking my pride is less damaged than it may have been, and that I'm definitely over my Kimberley obsession. At least Lucinda will be pleased. And I know that things will be Ok again between us tomorrow, and I'm already looking forward to meeting her on the track. I get home to the flat and discover Jack is out. You know, I say to no one but myself, if this was a cheesy teen movie then I'm sure the cheerleader would have dated me to make the footballer jealous, then end up falling madly in love with me. Funny how life is never like the movies. I'm thinking what a grub Jack is, and wondering why I ever left home. It's a small town, and Uni is not far, I could have commuted from home just as easily, but instead I chose to live with a psychopath. When he'd heard about my crush on Kimberley, he presented me the next day with her address and phone number. "How'd you get that?" I'd asked. "Followed her home" he replied. Oh Great - I'm living with a stalker. "Oh Jack... I don't suppose your surname is Ripper by any chance?" Still, the theory was I could always bring a chick home to the flat and not to my parents place. Pity it was still just a theory. I'm contemplating this and what I am going to have for dinner, as I stand in the kitchen, when the realisation hits me that I am dying. In that instant, as time seems to freeze, and I feel a crushing pain in my head and in my chest, my mind is instantly drawn to the article I read in 'Runners World' about sudden death in elite athletes. I'm thinking, and I thought they dropped dead because they were obviously illicitly on the gear. I'm not taking anything, and I'm dying, and that's not fair. Now my body feels like it is on fire, literally bursting into flame, and I feel the power draining from my limbs such that I can no longer maintain myself in a stand. I slump earthwards and know that unconsciousness is imminent, my thoughts turn to the only place they possibly could. To Lucinda. And as my life metaphorically flashes before my eyes, all my memories, the good and the bad. And she is there. From my earliest memories, when she called me Ant, and I called her Cinda, as that was all our 3 year old minds(and tongues) could manage. Growing up as neighbours, and friends, never apart. Running of course, and talking, lots of talking. How I missed her when she left for Private Boarding School. How I loved it when she'd come home for weekends and holidays. How I loved it when we were together. How I loved it when.......................... The irony of the revelation, the clarity that dying gives you. Firstly, I'm living in Dawson's Creek!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Secondly, I Love her. I've always loved her. How could I deceive myself for so long. Why is it that I've never had a relationship that lasted? Because no woman, no matter how sweet, how pretty, how smart, could ever live up to her. It's always been her. It will always be her. And now she'll never know. Just as Ronan Keating said . Tomorrow never comes. She'll never know how much I love her. And I hit the floor with a thud. And I can see her smiling face. And it fades into inky darkness. - - - The slow return of awareness. My nose, and my lips are pressed against the hard cold tiled kitchen floor. I can't be dead. I'm way too sore for that. I ache all over. I lie there for a moment. Face planted. To make sure I'm breathing more than anything. And as I breathe in, and my expanding chest forces backwards off the ground, I experience the first indication, the first sensation, that something is wrong. I Can feel my heart beat quicken and I rapidly emerge to full wakefulness. I use my hands and arms to prop myself up from the floor, and long blonde hair falls across my face. I spin myself over to a sit, still on the kitchen floor, and feel my unsupported breasts wobble beneath my T-shirt. Supporting myself with one hand on the floor beside me I brush my hair back out of my eyes and feel it fall onto my shoulders and neck. O.k. Anthony. I think to myself. Keep calm. Lets just see what's going on. Using the kitchen table to hoist myself up I'm standing now, and I know I'm shorter. My whole body feels smaller, and my proprioceptive self- awareness is going haywire. My mind is receiving signals that it is sure is wrong. My mental memory of my own personal space is distorted, and it is struggling desperately to adjust. As a result, my first trepidatious steps away from the kitchen table are extremely unsteady, and I feel I may topple over, with each step. My breasts jiggle slightly, distractingly, but more disconcertingly. I move slowly towards the bathroom, the way I walk, my weight displacement, it is all so foreign to me. But each step is easier, as my mind resets its parameters and adjusts to moving my new shape as fluidly as possible. Such that by the time I reach the bathroom I have confidence that my next step will actually keep me upright. The mirror faces the doorway, so that I can see what's coming, but I go forward, just to be sure, until all comes into focus. There, in the mirror, wearing my T-Shirt and track pants is a busty blonde, looking somewhat frightened and confused I might add, but unmistakably Kimberley. The first words I hear myself uttering, with my new, high pitched voice is "But.... but I don't even like her anymore!!!" O.k. Anthony.... think... I've been staring at my reflection for some time. Transfixed. Too scared to look away. And definitely too scared to look under my clothes for fear of what I'd find there. Perhaps I am dead. Perhaps this is hell. Where you have to be the one person you can't stand. But I don't really believe that. O.k. What then. I'm still me. Still in my house, wearing my clothes, but looking like an exact replica of Kimberley. It has to be some kind of spell, or curse. Would Kimberley have done this to me? Maybe. But why? Why clone yourself? (You'd have to have a really big ego, which when I think about it, she probably does.) Unless, she's stolen my body. Or more likely, some sort of curse has swapped us. (I'm thinking Freaky Friday) Then that would mean... Fuck. Jack. Where did he put that address? If Kimberley Jacobs has my body, I'm going to get it back. First of all, though, I need a windcheater. Not because it's cold, but because those nipples are clearly visible under my T-shirt. I'm walking with more confidence now, even though my feet have shrunk and my sneakers are a bit like clown shoes. My T-shirt, track pants and windcheater are all too big for me also, but not ridiculously so. I'm glad to be out of the house before Jack gets home, and glad that is now almost dark out so that I can walk along the quietening streets unseen, and get to Kimberley's house and sort this out. As I walk along the footpath in the failing light, footsteps close behind me give me an awareness of my newfound vulnerability. How I'd taken for granted that I could walk the streets unimpeded. Too apprehensive to turn and see I concentrate on the path ahead. Subconsciously, my walk has quickened, and the footsteps fade now till they disappear as their owner turns down another street. I arrive at the Jacobs home after the last rays of twilight are gone. The house is in darkness. I am disheartened that no one is home, and I hesitate for a moment. But where else have I got to go? I approach the front door. Turning the handle I find it unlocked. I enter and offer a meek "Hello?" more in the hope that this will prevent me from being bashed on the back of the head than anything else. Without a real plan I decide my objective is to find Kimberley's room and see what clues are there. After stumbling through the dark and crashing into things, it occurs to me that I could turn the lights on, as anyone who discovers me here would see Kimberley, and think that entirely appropriate. So I light the whole house up. After wandering around downstairs I make my way up. I hazard a guess as to which bedroom is Kimberley's. I open the door to be confronted with myself lying sideways across the double bed, wearing a cheerleader's uniform, staring vacantly at the ceiling. Far more off putting than seeing someone else's reflection in the mirror, I decide, is seeing your body before you, and you not in it. And more disconcerting, seeing it in a skimpy cheerleaders uniform that is clearly too small, and under reasonable strain. I draw breath. How is she going to react waking up and seeing her face trying to rouse her. Oh well. "Kimberley" I say, and give her a shake. No response. Louder and more vigorous, still no response. I look at her, at me. My eyes are staring, unblinking, and vacant. A sudden, sickening, sinking feeling. Oh God. Maybe she's dead. I feel for my Carotid pulse, (which I always check on the warm down, but its harder to find from this angle.) Thank God. It's there. But still she will not wake. There she lies, in my body, in some sort of catatonic state. It seems the same painful transformation I endured has affected her more profoundly. You really have tickets on yourself bitch, I think. Turning into me is no more hideous than me turning into you, so what's with the coma. Oh God. That's it isn't it? She really is a vacuous bimbo. The transformation was too much for her brain to comprehend, and she's completely shut down. How do I snap her out of this? Slapping yourself in the face is hard to do psychologically, and it didn't work anyway. Neither did a jug of ice water. Panic overwhelms me, and I paralysed as to what to do next. I can't wake her up. I can't have her parents come home find her looking like me, in her cheerleader outfit, in a coma. First of all, I decide, I need to get me out of those clothes, and into these. It takes a while, struggling with my own dead weight, but eventually I'm looking at my own naked body. Could things get any weirder? Reluctantly I disrobe. Trying my hardest to avert my eyes from my own naked clearly female body, I hastily slide into her knickers and struggle briefly with the sports bra, before sliding into the Lycra crop top and skirt. Could it get any worse than this? Look at me; I'm a blonde bimbo cheerleader!! (And I haven't even had Subway!!!) I put the tracksuit pants and T-shirt onto Anthony's body. (It's easier to think of it that way.) After summoning the courage, I call an ambulance. "My friend has collapsed, and I can't wake him up. Please Hurry!!" O.k. Now I need a plausible story. He popped by after we'd finished our training, and we were talking, and he just collapsed. No he didn't complain of anything, it was just sudden. No he's not my boyfriend, we are just friends. Yes, he does train very hard, maybe he overdid it. I read something about elite athletes collapsing. I accompany him to hospital in the back of the ambulance, and after catching the paramedic leering at me, am suddenly self conscious about my skimpy clothes, and exposed midriff and leg. You dumb fuck. You were in her bedroom. You were in such a hurry to cover up your tits you just whacked on her uniform. Ten seconds to grab jeans and a T-shirt and you wouldn't have every drunk in the E.R. waiting room ogling you. Fuck. I approach the triage nurse, and trying to seem as pathetic as I can, which isn't really a stretch, as I'm feeling pretty sorry for myself, tell her I'm cold, and ask if I can have a blanket. She looks me up and down, and seems to be deciding whether she should leave the exhibitionist slut like she is in the waiting room, or show some pity. She opts for the latter and hands me an awful hospital waffle blanket, which I wrap around me, and go back and sit. It's the most awful feeling in the world when Anthony's parents (my parents) come rushing in and go straight past me. They have no idea who I am. As far as they are concerned their son is in the Resuscitation Room in some life-threatening Coma. No Mum. No Dad. I'm here. I'm O.k. I just look a little different. Before I realise it I'm crying into the blanket. I'm left to sob a minute or two when two shadows loom over me. I look up and a man and woman are leaning towards me. "Kimberley! What the Hell happened?" It is the woman that is speaking. Her tone is aggressive. She is blonde, late 40s, all glammed up, way too many rings, too much make-up; I'm thinking we have mutton here, dressed up as lamb. But she looks familiar; she looks a bit like... Oh Fuck! Of course. It's Kimberley's parents. I guess the hospital rang them when they rang mine. "And don't give me any of that, I'm 18, I'll do what I like crap..... If you are taking drugs in my house with this boy you can find yourself somewhere else to live." I don't know this woman, but I get the impression that she is more concerned with her reputation than my welfare. But drugs? I guess I should have predicted this. Of course that's exactly what the doctor's would think with an unconscious youth. So no matter what story I tell them they would immediately suspect that. Maybe that would be convenient for people to think that at the moment (for me and her), but now I'm worried that my (real) parents would think that I was on the Gear. I can hear them saying (in my minds ear) "That Jack. It's his doing. We should never have let him move in with him." Sure, Jack was a bit of a stoner, but he never took anything else, as far as I knew. Still I imagine they would be taking Toxicological samples from Anthony's unconscious body. I wasn't even sure if they'd be negative. Who knows if she took anything to pep herself up for cheering or whatever it is she calls that gyrating around she does. Could things be any more Fucked? "Come on then." The woman speaks, abruptly as before. "Let's get you home where we can deal with you." "No." I say meekly, as I'm intimidated by this woman. "I want to stay. Till Anthony wakes up." "Well that's not going to happen. They're taking him to the Intensive Care Unit. They think whatever he took fried his brain. So you better tell us if you took the same, and what it was, or you might end up the same." "I didn't take anything. WE didn't take anything." My protestations are more forceful this time. "Alright. Have it your way. We're still going though." And her hand is around my upper arm, forcing me out of the waiting room chair. I do not resist. My mind is elsewhere. Intensive Care. Fried Brain. Oh God. What if he dies? What if I'm stuck like this? The woman is dragging me towards the door, and I'm confused, and scared. Finally the man speaks. He is middle aged, balding, and cowering behind his taller wife. "You okay Kim?" He asks. Then retreats slightly. Bracing himself for what he expects to be an abrasive reply. I regain my inner composure enough to make a quick assessment of the family dynamic. At least I understand why Kimberley is like she is. Dominant, overbearing mother. Weak ineffectual father. Only child. He obviously works hard to keep his women in the lifestyle to which they are accustomed, and they do not respect him. The mother is ashamed of him, he's just a cash cow to her, and I'm sure she'll be having an affair. The daughter is a spoilt little rich kid. Who emulates her mother, whilst hating her all the while for the lack of affection, and treats her father with disdain. Of all the people to end up as. I don't deserve to be this person. What did I ever do? But then I'm not this person. I may look like this person. But I'm still me. And I won't treat people the way she would. "I'm O.k. Daddy." I say in what I imagine to be my best doting daughter voice, and, as expected, his reaction is one of surprise and relief. You poor bastard, I'm thinking, too be that surprised that your daughter is nice to you. You really must be a total bitch Kimberley. We get home, and I'm straight to my room; with no objections. After lying on the bed for an hour or so, intermittently crying out of worry and despair, I resolve to at least get myself out of the Cheerleaders uniform. Opening her wardrobe, there is nothing but a progression of short skirts and tight tops. The occasional low cut dress breaks the monotony. She is pretty light on for things like jeans and T-shirts. "Skank" I hear myself saying. Why can't you have normal clothes? I close the wardrobe, and approach the chest of drawers. I find myself rifling through her underwear drawers. Every fucking colour under the sun. Apart from a few sports bras - it's all satin and lace. Hasn't she heard of cotton? And of course the bottoms are all friggin' G Strings. Deep at the back of one drawer I find some old winter pjs. They'll have to do, for now. Again, I'm faced with the trepidatious task of undressing myself. I find my body much less confronting when clothed, even skimpily. Come on Anthony. It's a normal female body. It's perfectly natural. It's perfectly healthy. I don't feel like I'm convincing myself. O.k. Kimberley. This is your body now. I don't know how long for, but it could be a while, so fucking get over yourself and get used to it. I tell myself this and undress quickly before I lose my nerve. This time though, I don't frantically cover myself again, but walk slowly to the wardrobe mirror. She's all blonde wavy haired, big blue eyed, perfect teethy girl. And her rack! I'm no expert, but they looked perfect. Oh God. I wonder if they are augmented. Looking in the mirror, I lift them slightly to look for scars in the crease beneath them. There is none, but I realise this is the first time I'd felt my own breasts. I look down at them and let my hands palpate them. Nothing kinky, as that's furthest from my mind. I assimilate them into my body image before bringing my hands back to my sides. My focus is back on the mirror. Her waist, her hips, her external female genitalia, which I cannot bring myself to touch, and finally, her pins. That's enough for one day, I tell myself as I break the trance, and turn away. I put my pyjamas on and sit on the side of the bed. I wonder how my (real) parents are doing. And my friends - what will they think, when they hear about me in a coma. And Lucinda. Oh God. I hadn't thought about her since I thought I was dying. And now I know how I really feel about her, and can't do anything about it. Will she grieve for me? Of course she will. I'm grieving for me. I'm grieving for the life I've lost. But I refuse to accept that I am stuck like this forever. Whoever did this. Surely they can undo it. I know it wasn't Kimberley herself - in her vegetative state. But who the Hell could do this, and why? I have to figure this out. I slump backwards across the bed, and before I can consider my list of suspects, I am asleep. Changing sex takes a bit out of you it seems. I awake the next morning, lying where I had slumped, not even under the sheets. The dawn of a new day had stolen any resolve I may have had yesterday. The initial shock and disbelief had given way to a sense of hopelessness. I climb under the covers. Staring blankly at the ceiling, just as I'd found my body yesterday. I toy with the idea of willing myself into a coma, just as Kimberley was, but I don't think that's possible. At some point in the morning, my father comes in. "Kim, haven't you got classes at Uni today?" He still seems to expect a tirade in reply. "I'm not feeling so well dad, after yesterday, I might take a couple of days off." "O.k. Honey. Of course. You should get up and eat something though." "Okay I will." I lie. "Alright. I'm going to work now. Your mothers already gone. She's pretty mad. She's worried about her reputation. Said she needs a couple of days away to sort things out." Gone to be with whoever she's fucking, no doubt, you poor naive man. "O.k. I'm sure we'll manage without her. Have a good day at work." He looks totally surprised. "Thanks Honey, I will." He seems very pleased, and he closes the door behind him. I roll over and stare at the wall. Next moment of awareness is my father at the door again. "Kimmy, have you been here all day?" " I suppose so.... What time is it?" "6:30 did you eat something?" "No. Not really." Well I hadn't actually moved. He's in the room now- sitting on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong? You're not your usual self at all." Not that I mind, I thought I heard him say under his breath. "Is it that boy, in the coma, were you close, did you like him, it's just that neither your mother nor I had seen him before?" Yes, I suppose you could say he was close to me. " No dad, I'd only just met him. I honestly don't know what happened to him though. We weren't doing drugs or anything." "I believe you Honey. I know you don't like me very much, or think much of me, but I always have your best interests at heart." Fuck I hate this bitch that I've become. I hate Kimberley. I hate myself. I wish I had died. I want to die. "Anyway, I'm going to make you some soup. Come down stairs and eat it." And he leaves. I wouldn't have bothered, but I needed to get up to use the toilet anyway. I never envisaged that would require a whole different set of muscles, but I got the hang of it eventually. Downstairs, I force some weak soup into me. But I have no appetite. I'm relieved to get back upstairs. But I can't sleep, and I lie awake all night. Staring at the ceiling, thinking about my old life, and about Lucinda. The next day is the same. It must be Thursday now. My father seems increasingly concerned. We talk little, and I only eat tiny amounts just to placate him. At the end of Friday, my father comes into the room, which has become more and more dishevelled in the preceding 72 hrs. "Kim, I have a visitor for you." Oh great, the dragon lady is back. But it wasn't her. Behind my father, a blonde girl enters the room. It's Bethany. She seems to completely forget my father is there for she starts: "Jesus Kim!! What the fuck is wrong with you. You look like shit. And look at your room!! Fuck!!!! Kim's father slinks out, and closes the door behind him. She continues: " Where have you been. At Uni, and at practice.... ?well obviously here... ...but why?" "I've not been well...." I offer. "Bullshit!!!" She pauses. "Everyone's talking Kim; the whole campus. About you, and what happened with Anthony Wilkins." I hoist myself up. "What are they saying?" "All sorts of things. Some say he was stalking you, and you took matters into your own hands and poisoned him. Or that he was all cut when you rejected him like you did in front of everyone, and took an O.D. and came over here to tell you. And some, mostly his friends, reckon you lured him here to poison him, like you are some sort of psychopath. As if!!!" Oh God. I hadn't anticipated this. Anthony's body at this house, especially after what she'd said earlier. My reputation could be ruined. Anthony's reputation I mean. Whatever way I play this, things could turn out pretty badly, for the old me, or the new me. And if I ever get back to the old me, I don't want people thinking I'm a sicko. I'm the most alert I've been in 3 days. "Bethany. I want you to listen to me. This is what happened. I want you to spread the word too. Those rumours are crap, and they make me look bad." "Him worse." "I don't care about him." I lie. "But I don't want people thinking I'd poison somebody." "Since when have you cared what a few nerds think." "Bethany!!! These are serious allegations. I could go to jail!!" "Oh yeah. I suppose so." She's as dumb as her friend. "Anyway, I felt bad about what I'd said to him........" Bethany gives me a very incredulous look, and I realise I am so out of character with the real Kim. "Okay okay, I thought about what the dweeb had said, and it seemed to make sense to make Brian jealous, so I rang him and invited him over to discuss it, and...." "How'd you know his number?" she interjects, smelling a rat. Oh God, think fast. "He lives with that stoner Jack Nimbin, some of the footballers get their weed from him." "Oh." More than plausible, mainly because it was true. "Anyway. We are talking. He complains of chest pain, and collapses. So I called an ambulance. Did you know he was some kind of runner or something?" "I didn't till the other day, he's actually the athletics Captain. So maybe he wasn't such a dweeb after all!!" "I guess not." I reply, and softly "I guess we'll never know." "O.k. Then. Well if you've got nothing to hide, why are you lying here?" "I told you. I'm not well." "Well get well. There's a game tomorrow, and you're cheer captain. We can't go without you." "I won't be there. In fact I can pretty much guarantee I won't be available for any cheerleading for quite some time." "Don't be ridiculous Kim. You can't cocoon yourself up in here - now come on..." "Look Bethany, I don't want to be rude, but I've got a lot of shit to sort out so just count me out till I say different." "But who's going to lead us?" "Why not you, if I can do it - it can't be that hard...." I say sarcastically. (Up to now I'd been careful not to do any irreparable damage to Kimberley's world, so that if God willing she ever returned to it - she could go on living it. But I was beyond caring now, and any escape seemed like a pipe dream at this moment in time.) "Fine. Be like that. I don't know what you've got up your arse, but I hope you get rid of it. Let me know when you want to return to the land of the living." And she haughtily leaves. Could've gone worse, I suppose, but at least I'm left in peace. I stay in the room the entire weekend. The only time my mind leaves there is when I think about the minor track meet on the Saturday. One of the usual circuit (or circus) of lead up events. Lucinda would be running. I wonder how she did. Actually I know how she did. I should be running too. But all that's been stolen from me. It occurs to me then, exactly what I've been doing these last 4 days. In this foreign room. In this foreign body. I really am grieving. Grieving for the life I've lost. The opportunities I've lost. That my relationship with Lucinda will never be the same. I AM dead. This body just doesn't know it yet. Monday comes and Kimberley's father marches in - the most assertive I've ever seen him. The mother has not returned. It seems she's not going to. "Get up Kim. And get dressed." He marches to my wardrobe, to choose some attire for me, and I can see he is faced with the same dilemma I was. (What the fuck does this chick do in winter? I wonder to myself.) He settles for a skirt that is perhaps marginally less short than the others, and a top that won't show all of my boobs. I guess I am surprised by his sudden development of spine as I find myself out of the bed. After placing this clothing on my body, and sliding myself into the obligatory G-string- I'm in the bathroom. Kimberley's hair is a greasy matted mess, and her skin pale from days of sunless existence. I splash water on my face, but that's about all I can be bothered with. I exit the bathroom and I gather Mr Jacobs is not used to seeing his daughter like this. "Aren't you going to fix your hair or put on some make up?" "Why bother!!" I retort. He doesn't know how to respond to this, and simply ushers me to the car. "Why aren't you at work anyway?" No reply. When we pull up we are at a Doctor's office. "Psychiatrist?" I'm worried. What if they decide I'm mad? That I think I'm Anthony in Kimberley's body and lock me up. I'll have to keep tight lipped. Turns out my father thinks I'm depressed and has arranged for me to see a psychiatrist. She is nice enough. She ascertains I'm not eating, not sleeping, not caring which is no news to anyone. Am I suicidal? Apparently. Do I have a plan? Hadn't really thought of that. No. (Apparently if I did - then they would've locked me up. So lucky I was too apathetic for thinking of anything.) Before I know it I'm shoving my first Zoloft (An antidepressant) down my gob and seeing her again in a week. Yeah whatever. So I'm depressed. Wouldn't you be if your life was stolen, and you end up living this pathetic one? But then I look at Kimberley's father, and he is clearly wrought with concern. And I start thinking. Well she was loved. Even if she didn't appreciate it. She had friends. Even if they are vacuous bimbettes. She was at least attempting tertiary study, so maybe she had a future. I know enough in life to know you've got to play the hand you are dealt, and although suicide might seem an attractive option, I can't honestly say that this is my life to take. I do know that lying in that bed is not going to help, or ever hope to undo the damage. It is time to try and sort out what the hell has happened to me. See if I can find out who did this to me. My basic psychology knowledge tells me that grieving is a dynamic process. And whatever stage I'm at, it's time to move on. Something about Anger, denial, guilt... Well I haven't experienced any of these yet; maybe they are still to come. Anger sounds good though, although I don't think I've the energy for that. So, maybe being Kimberley is better than being dead, or in a bizarre catatonia, and if I'm still me on the inside, then I can be a better her than she was, and still do some of the things I wanted to do with my life (within limits obviously) at least till I can find my way back. I turn to my father and say, again in as saccharin a voice I can manage. "You know daddy, I'm glad you took me there today. I think I am depressed. I'll try and do better." His relief is almost palpable. "That's great honey. Maybe you can think about going back to Uni tomorrow?" I hadn't thought of that. But then the alternative is another day in Kimberley's bedroom. "Okay." Suddenly I'm conscious of my appearance. Fuck I look awful. Bethany was right. If I have to face the world - I better do something with this hair. I always thought, that when Lucinda and I would go running in the early morning, that she looked good with her freshly washed and wet hair in a ponytail. I'd seen her emerge from the bathroom, robed, with her hair wet and wild, and in two seconds flat she'd have it brushed and contained. I wash my hair, and spend the rest of the afternoon practicing this look. I can't believe how long my hair stays wet. Back when I was Anthony, it would be bone dry in half an hour. But then it was much shorter. The prospect of my hair growing mould if I never used a dryer occurs to me. But then I've never heard of that happening!!! Next morning, it seems my bravado of yesterday has all but faded, but I take my Zoloft like a good girl, and drag myself out of bed and fix my hair as practiced. I throw on the same clothes as yesterday, except clean underwear. (In case I get hit by a bus - one can only wish.) After some rummaging I find Kimberley's timetable. Her Arts degree is so far removed from my science subjects. English Literature, French, Art History. Holy fuck. As a maths science stream at school, English was the limit of my linguistic skills. English Lit I could bluff (don't you just have to be able to name the Bronte sisters to pass?) but French... Jer M'appel Kimberley (apparently) was far beyond my abilities. I was confident I would know as much Art History as Kimberley would have. It had long been the theory of those that don't do an arts degree is that an arts degree was purely for filling in time whilst rich girls waited to find rich husbands. Whether that was in the main true I could not say, but for this little black duck that was now me I had no doubt that was her sole motivation. I'm afraid Kimberley - you need to have a change of career direction - now that I'm in charge. You're dropping the French and you've a newfound interest in human biology and biochemistry. If I can get the Dean to let me back in to some of Anthony's subjects, at least I won't be so far behind when I "wake up." So, upon arrival at Uni I make a B line for his office. His reaction is negative to say the least. "A combined Arts/Science degree? But Miss Jacobs - as far as I can tell you know nothing about science. It may well be first year, and early enough in the year to swap subjects- but you have to have done science through school, and home economics is hardly science!!!" He is making fun of me now. "But what about Physical Education?" "Yes, I suppose you could say there was an element of anatomy and physiology there, but you only did it to year 11" (And no doubt your sole motivation was to see boys half naked the dean and I are probably thinking simultaneously.) "You just won't know enough, and frankly without being too blunt, and with no offence intended, you're just not smart enough.." I maintain my composure, because I realise he has just committed himself now, and I have won, loose lips sink ships and all that. "With all due respect Dean. I don't think you have any idea what I'm capable of. University is about fresh starts, and new beginnings. You of all people should not be pigeonholing me because I'm blonde and pretty. Give me a chance. I'll take any test. Today if you like. To prove I am as good, if not better than most of the people in those classes. And don't tell me there is no room, I know for a fact Anthony Wilkins won't be back for a while." He raises his eyebrows at that. I realise he had heard the rumours, and it looks like I have just implicated myself in his foul play!! Did I really say "you have no idea what I'm capable of" . He'll think I'm a psycho poisoner!! And maybe he does, and maybe that's enough to motivate him to give me a chance, because in ten minutes the head of biochemistry is giving me a viva exam. Before I know it we are discussing Restriction fragment length polymorphism and he goes away happy. Next is the sub dean of the anatomy school who is more than happy with my biological knowledge. When they are gone, the Dean sits in silence for an age, before looking at me again and speaking. "Impressive Miss Jacobs!!! I cannot hazard to imagine how you pulled that off. You don't get to where I am without knowing about people. And knowing what I know about you, I know that you were simply unable to do what you just did. So you have your wish. But I will be watching you. I have heard the stories, Miss Jacobs, about you and Wilkins, how interesting that you are taking his spot in classes. I smell a rat, and as far as I'm concerned, it's name is Kimberley. I flush. A combination of anger and embarrassment. Can the Dean call a student a rat? I maintain my composure enough to bat my eyelids and smile sweetly. " You flatter me!" I say dryly. "Anyway, I quite like being watched!!" I turn and leave. Where the hell did that come from? I was mad, and had instinctively used my sexuality as a weapon. I guess you have to work with the tools you've got, but still, I should've just ignored him. I can't spend too long considering the ramifications of my actions, because outside, in the courtyard, I am reminded what a small town this is, and particularly what a small university this is, and that many people share the dean's opinion. There can be no subtlety in staring, and in the frantic whisperings all around me. I keep focused ahead and walk like I have somewhere to be, but unfortunately I don't - not for an hour or so anyway - so I'm desperate for some inspiration - to carry off my bluff. I feel like my ears should be burning, and how ironic that my greatest desire at this moment is to pass unnoticed, whilst I am anything but that. I wonder how many of them think I've done something to Anthony? All? Most? Maybe taking his spot in some classes is not so smart after all. And the Professor of Biochemistry and his questions about recombinant DNA. Why not ask me about the Krebs cycle or something suitable like that. The only two people in my class who could answer those sorts of questions were me and Caitlin... CAITLIN!! I've stopped now, from my purposeful walking, and I'm standing... shaking... Caitlin. That Goth Witch Bitch. She's the only person I know smart enough, and occult enough to do this too me. Now I'm in the anger phase all right, and I've got a walk with real purpose. The red mist is upon me now. Maybe attacking a powerful witch would not be so bright, but I don't feel I've much to loose. But my rage is interrupted when I'm intercepted by Bethany, who sees me marching across the lawns. "Kim...." It takes a few moments to register that it's me being called. Bethany catches up. "I thought it was you.... although I hardly recognised you... What with the hair and... geez.. How sallow do you look... Are you wearing any make-up?" "No." "You really are letting yourself go aren't you? You're kinda plain when you dress down." She pauses. "Is this going to continue Kim?; because you're bad for our image right at the moment." "Whose image?" "The squad of course." I just want to get away from this annoying creature. "I told you Bethany.... Fuck the squad... I've got shit to deal with at the moment, and I haven't got time." "Well... Kimberley... if that's your attitude... fine, but pretty soon you'll find yourself friendless and alone." "I already am!" "Fuck you then!!" And she storms off. Oops. I really am burning Kimberley's bridges now. But that's not important anymore now that I've worked out the culprit for my predicament. I find Caitlin in the library, reading up on the afternoon's biochem prac. I wait outside for her to emerge, and as she heads alone down the narrow alley behind "Old Physics" building I accost her. "Hello Caitlin." I announce emerging to block her path. She is startled for a moment, before recovering and saying. "I know you... You're Kimberley Jacobs.... What do you want?" "You know what I want... just as you know I'm not Kimberley Jacobs." "What are you talking about... you're fucking mad..." and she goes to push past me. I grab her shirt and push her against the wall behind her, my reservations about violence towards a woman are lost momentarily, and although Caitlin is now bigger, and probably stronger than me I'm counting on her being surprised, and it appears she is for she does not resist. "You're the only fucking witch I know, and I don't know why you did this to me, but you're going to fix it." "I didn't do anything to you... I don't even know you..." "Enough of the charade... Give me my body back...!!" "What body?" "My body! Anthony's body." "Anthony's body... you fucking psycho, you're fucking... " Silence, and my grip is loosened and lost... "Anthony?..." she says staring into my eyes till I look down. I have gone limp and stare at the ground. She lifts my chin till my eyes face her again and she has more surety now. "It is you, isn't it?" My anger is lost. "Yes." and I'm looking at the floor. "Wow. I mean I know you wanted to get into her pants but...." "That's not funny... Did you do this?" I ask "No way." "Then how do you know it's really me?" "You're right about me being a witch, you know that already... but it means I can see things others can't, I can see past the physical, and I see the soul of a friend I know and trust." "Then if it's not you, who did this?" "I have no idea. But we can find out... Wow... so many questions... I can't believe it... I thought you were in a coma... brain dead.... no wonder I couldn't read you when I tried in the hospital... you weren't there." "Yeah. I suppose it's her." "Makes sense. But she's pretty shut down inside your body." "Will she wake up?" "Not for a while, I'm guessing, if at all... I'm so glad it's not you!!!!" "Well it kind of is... that's my body..." "It's just a shell. The real you is alive and well... I'm so happy." and she hugs me and I'm caught by surprise. "I don't feel very alive." "Cheer up Tony. It's not so bad. I can fix this." "You can?" I'm excited. "Sure, body swapping is powerful stuff, but a being always wants to gravitate back to its rightful place... we just find a way to push it along. I know a place where we can get the stuff we need, and you'll fly back home." "Well let's go then." "In a sec. Tell me what happened first. Might help me work out who's behind this." "Do you know... like... other witches?" "Of course. I'm in a coven, or Wicken, or call it what you like... but we just do simple stuff... none of my friends would've done this to you. We're not powerful enough." "Well someone is!!!" "Yes. They are aren't they? So when did this happen, what do you remember?" "Last Tuesday, at home in the kitchen? Sudden pain all over like my body was being ripped to bits, then I collapsed, woke up on the floor... looking rather Kimberley!" "Whose floor?" She asks. Frowning. "My floor." Anxiously "And where was she?" "Well I ran around to her place and found her unconscious on the floor, in my body, still wearing her cheerleader uniform!!" "Oh shit!!!" She looks ashen. "What's wrong?" "That's what happened exactly?" "Yes. Why?" "Anthony, I can't put you back into your own body." "Why not? You just said you could?" My voice is raising, getting desperate. "I know I did. But I can't put you back in your body....... you're still in it !!!!" "This is not my body!!!" "I'm afraid it is. It's been transformed, but it's still yours." "So what's the difference, just transform it back." "I can't. Don't know anyone who could. That requires far more power than just sticking your essence in somebody else's body. Whoever did this is far more powerful than I've ever encountered...." "I don't understand what you're saying!" She pauses for a moment. "Let me put it this way. In biochemical terms; you're living in Kimberley's house I assume?" "Yes." "Was she on the pill?" "Yes." I'd seen them on her dresser. "Have you been taking them?" "Of course not!" "What happens when a woman stops the pill mid-cycle?" "They have a withdrawal bleed." "Well?" "No. But that doesn't prove..." "It proves that this body, whilst it looks like Kimberley's is totally different. It's a brand new woman's. With a different ovulatory cycle." "So I haven't had a period" (Thank God) "maybe I can't..." "I'm sure you can, and I'm sure you'll get it 28 days after you were transformed." She knows I can't argue with science, so I'm thinking hard now... " Well why not stick my essence into the body in hospital.... it's the right shape!"(And sex) "Don't you see? You're still you. A female, Kimberley looking you, but still you. If I put your... ?your soul if you like, into that body, it may look like you, but it's her brain, and it's not working, and you'll be in her brain and in her coma." "So the only way back is to reshape this body back to its original state." "Right." "Well, like in chemistry, doesn't everything want to return to it's stable state. So shouldn't my body want to go back. Shouldn't that make it easy." "Your body is quite happy the shape it is, I imagine." "Well I'm bloody not!!" "I Gather." She continues." Look, I know you don't want to hear this now, but I don't care what you look like, and I'm just glad you're O.K." "Fine. But what about my parents? What about Cinders? They aren't going to be quite so understanding and accepting as my friend the witch!!" "Look Tony, we'll figure something out. Come with me to a place I know that may help. It might be that we just have to identify who did this and find out why. Any enemies?" "No. None. I've never even really had a vengeful ex-girlfriend or anything!!!" "Well someone did this to you. Someone that knows you. Who else did you tell about your Hots for Kimberley aside from me?" "Just Lucinda of course." "Well I can't believe its coincidence you've ended up looking like your fantasy girl." "True." "Oh cheer up, Tony, my best friend is back from the dead.... with a bit of a facelift... I've always wanted a girlfriend who was as interested in science as I was." "Very funny. Still at least you can sort me out. I don't think I'm doing a very good job at being a girl." "What do you mean?" "I was told I look sallow!!" She laughs. "Wait till I Goth you up, then you'll know what sallow looks like!!! Come on. Let's go." Plans for the afternoon biochemistry prac are scratched, and we walk back to Caitlin's house. I'm pensive and silent. Caitlin instinctively waits for me to speak. "Cait...........I'm sorry for accusing you, and the whole shoving you against the wall thing..." "Hey. Don't worry about that. I'm sure I could knock you flat if I wanted!" "I don't doubt it!" "Anyway, you'd've been stupid not to suspect me. I can't imagine you know too many self proclaimed witches." "Yeah. But I guess it's the non self proclaimed ones that we've got to worry about!!" We have reached her house and are sitting at the kitchen table now, drinking some juice, and its the first time I've actually felt like consuming anything, I can tell Caitlin is mulling over something. "What?" I ask. "Anthony, I'm just thinking, what if this is not revenge. What if this is an attempt to prevent something, or to warn us away from something." "Some warning! About what?" "Think; about what we are potentially capable of! Someone has done with magic what we could one day do with science." Caitlin and I had had a few late night discussions, especially after the Human Genome project had completed their recording of the entire human DNA. Every human has the same building blocks (Nucleotides/sides), the difference between two people is the unique sequence they are arranged and how they are expressed. We had been optimistic with the identification of oncogenes (Cancer causing genes) their expression could be suppressed, and even further, that one-day parents could manipulate the hair/eye colour of their unborn child, even their sex. "So you think this is someone's way of saying - don't mess with the laws of nature or this could happen?" "Possibly!" "Geez. Talk about heavy on making a point! But why me? Surely there are geneticists out there that are much more dangerous than a first year University student." "Whoever has the power to do this probably has a fair bit of future site. It's conceivable that it is what you are capable of that has caused this." "So this is supposed to stop me? Wouldn't it make me more determined to find a way to reverse the genetic changes. And as if I would use science for evil. If I can help prevent cancer, or get the paralysed walking again - aren't these good things?" "Well, maybe that is a factor too. Maybe this is to get your undivided attention. Maybe you are supposed to do these things. But putting you in the body of a bimbo hardly seems the way to do that - I mean you can't even do biochemistry any more." "Not exactly! The dean let me take over Anthony's spot in class." "Seriously? Whoa... That's very suss - isn't it?" "Are you thinking conspiracy?" "I don't know. But I guess we shouldn't outthink ourselves. After all - it may still be shallow vendetta. But great news anyway on Biochem, we're still together." She is obviously excited by this. "But won't that get tongues wagging when the cheerleader is top of the Biochem class." "Hopefully, it won't come to that... what about this contact - won't they be able to do something?" " I told you- I doubt it. It's a place up in the hills. Only open Sundays. Called the Apothecary. Where us witches go to get our supplies and advice on spells." "In the Hills? " I'm thinking how this is likely, up in the hills near the Blue Mountains is where all the weird hippy alternative types live. " Like a witchy supermarket?" "Exactly." "Only Sunday's?" I'm thinking, being Tuesday, 5 days is a long time to hope and wonder. "Yeah - 'fraid so. Still give me plenty of time to sort you out." "Sort me out?" "Yeah. Give you a makeover, witch style." I gather that she thinks I should look like her, which, as I had said was not really my style, girl or boy, and as intriguing as it sounded to see Kimberley suddenly turn all Gothic, I think it would just make people more suspicious. I tell Caitlin such. "Cait. They already think I poisoned Anthony, and now I've taken his spot in class. It'll look very suspicious if I start looking like a witch." "O.k. O.K. Spoil my fun..." "I do need your help though. If you can bear it, teach me how to look like Kimberley would." "Barbie doll you up you mean? Gawd!!" "Can you do it?" "Course I can!" She seems insulted. "I wasn't always a Goth you know!! I can do pretty if I have to!" "O.k. Sorry! I didn't mean... God Cait! It's no fun being accused of your own murder. I don't know what the hell I'm doing." "No sweat. I'm just teasing. Just be sure of one thing. Don't turn into Kimberley just coz I make you look like her!!" There is an element of seriousness behind her jest, and I can't see why, because I know that would never happen, not voluntarily at least. "As if." I reply. She just grunts. We go back to Kimberley's house, where she is just as shocked by her wardrobe as I was. We go through what seems to be a department store's worth of cosmetics that Kimberley had in her possession. I had a vague idea what everything did and why. Still, it truly was a confusing art. But by sunset I had hair and makeup under reasonable control. What fascinated me most was how different the made up, and unmade up Kimberley looked. Contrary to what Bethany had said, I thought Kim looked quite pretty without makeup, in a natural way. It occurred to me that Lucinda never wore much makeup, certainly not when hanging around or training with me. I felt that this was probably a sure sign about how she felt about me. She obviously did not share the feelings I had. I had never seen her really dolled up. I'm sure she did with school formals and stuff, but I was never with her at them. Kimberley on the other hand, always wore makeup. She did look attractive made up, but in a far more smutty sexual way. I found, wearing much less makeup than she normally would, I achieved an attractive look without the overtly skanky element. Caitlin was satisfied with both our efforts. I think she was a proud teacher. We agreed that the G strings and mini skirts had to go. So we planned to skip Wednesday as well, to go shopping. I had remarked that I thought spending the day shopping was a very stereotypical female thing to do, and she had told me that this was a very stereotypical male thing to say. I certainly was not short of cash, courtesy of doting father, so a shopping spree was to be no problem. Speaking of father. After Caitlin left that evening I went and spoke to him. We talked about my first day back at Uni after being sick, I lied that I had attended classes of course. We talked about the disappearance of the mother/wife, and the discovery of the whole affair thing. He was realistic about her getting most of everything when the inevitable divorce occurred. He was reduced to tears when I said I would rather remain close to him than her. I felt a bit sad for him that one day the real Kimberley will be back and suddenly he'll be hated again. Still, let him have his happy times. I slept, soundly, and found myself looking forward to tomorrow at Shoppingtown. I found the whole process quite a challenge. The trying on of myriads of outfits, the critical appraisal from Caitlin. The main aim was to get jeans, T-shirts, a few warmer clothes, and some sensible bras and briefs. All of which was achieved. However, I found myself very malleable to the idea of getting more fashionable and stylish skirts and tops that would look good on Kim. I had a few pangs of guilt about this not being what a boy should be doing, but I enjoyed the way I looked in them, and after all, shopping is fun. It was weighing on my mind a bit though, when we got home, and were packing things away, shoving Kim's stuff down one end, and to the back of the drawers, and putting my new stuff in front. "Caitlin." I asked, breaking a silence. "What's it like?" "What's what like?" She had no idea what I meant. "This. Being a girl." She is silent for a few moments. "That's a bizarre question. I guess it's a justified one. Compared to what though? You're the only one who can answer that. Given your reference point. In fact I should be asking you what it's like being a boy. You are the only girl I know that could answer that question. And you can answer the other one yourself, maybe with more time. You're as much a girl as I am now. Some may say more so with all your makeup and whatnot. But if your asking what sex is