The VCR 3: Single White Female free porn video

The VHS 3 Single White Female By Dee Janes It's all my wife's fault. I want that remembered. Our daughter was away in her second year at college and Cathy was starting to have a serious case of empty nest syndrome. The house where we had lived for the last twenty years began to feel kind of huge, plus living in the suburbs was a lot less exciting when you didn't have any kids around. Dodging tricycles and making a hour long commute doesn't seem all that attractive when you're in your late forties and trying to rekindle the romance in a twenty year marriage that has gone stone cold. So we moved back into the city. We got a nice condo in the west end, with bistros and bookstores right down the street. There was a theater on our block, a park nearby, and a Starbuck's that was practically our neighbor. Cathy was so excited; she could barely wait for the move. It was a major change, leaving behind a nice big house, selling off most of our furniture, and squeezing into a little duplex. To tell the truth, I was a little resentful. I liked the old place, long commute and all. But Cathy wanted to go. She had a friend that lived in the city and talked it up all the time. Cathy was determined, and I was determined to make Cathy happy if it was possible. Funny thing was, after we moved, I liked it better than she did. The energy of the place was exiting -- couples strolling along at all hours and sidewalk tables in front of the cafes on summer evenings. My commute to work really was a lot shorter. I started getting home early enough to walk around the neighborhood. Soon enough, I got into the habit of jogging around park in the evening. I was chatting with the storekeepers, and enjoying the view of co-eds rollerblading in the park. By mid-summer, I was down by thirty pounds. I was running four miles a day, and feeling better than I had in years. Some of the co- eds were even starting to smile back, which was pretty cool for a guy closing fast on fifty. In short, I was happy we had moved. Cathy was miserable. Every time we sat down for dinner at one of those little street- side bistros, Cathy was envious of all those tan young couples laughing at the other tables. She claimed that the twenty-somethings who owned the other condos in our building made her feel like a 'dorm mom'. When she saw me jogging with the college girls, she felt old. And angry. She spent most of her time visiting with her friend Janine, who seemed just about as angry as Cathy. I figured that one day soon, Cathy was going to want to move again. She might even want to move without me. All I could think to do was enjoy it while it lasted. Then one afternoon I came in from a run and found Cathy struggling up the stairs with a silver box in her arms. "What's that?" I asked. "VCR," she said, between puffs of breath. I hustled up to join her. "Here, let me help with that." Once I had my hands on the thing, I almost wished I had let Cathy carry it. This bad boy was the Hunmer of VCRs. The damn thing was made of steel that looked to be an inch thick and it had to weigh at least sixty pounds. It was a wonder Cathy had been able to lift it. "Why'd you buy this thing?" I asked as Cathy opened the door to our condo. "We already have a DVD player." "I know," she said. Cathy ushered me through the door and closed it. "But the DVD is in the living room." She lowered her voice. "I got this one for the bedroom." "I thought you didn't like TV in the bedroom." "I don't," she said. "I got it to, you know, cover the noise." The noise. By this Cathy meant the sounds we made when we were having sex. The walls of our condo were none too thick, and we shared the second floor with some newlyweds from the east coast. Very energetic newlyweds who made a great deal of noise in the bedroom. Neither of us were too upset about hearing their gymnastics, but Cathy was definitely upset about the idea that the neighbors might hear us. So much so that our recent activities had been even more limited than usual -- and extremely quiet. I started to tell Cathy that she was being silly, but thought better of it. If the ugly, heavy VCR was going to get me laid more often, I was all in favor of it. "Let me grab the little TV out of the kitchen," I said. "And I'll get it all hooked up." By the time Cathy had a good start on dinner, I had scrounged the 13" screen and enough cables to hook up her metal monster. This VCR was one strange beast. So far as I could tell, there was no manufacturer's name anywhere on the box. I even tilted it up and checked the bottom. Nothing. There was no serial number, either, unless you want to count the little "6" that was etched on one side of the case. The way the thing popped the tape out of the top instead of the front made me think it was ancient. But when I looked on the back, I found every kind of video and audio port known to man. It even had the digital connectors I'd seen on the newest high definition models. It had to be a lot newer than it looked. I finished hooking up the screen and turned the VCR on. The on- off and "play" buttons seemed to be the only controls, and I was worried that I might not be able to get a picture. But a blue screen came up right away. I pressed play, and was surprised to find that there was already a tape in the drive. It was an odd tape, clearly home made, with snippets out of soaps, Friends, some chunks from one of those WB shoes about horny teenagers, and even some brief sequences of a young woman reporter reading the news. The picture was amazingly good I stopped the tape and headed for the kitchen. "Where'd you get that beast?" I asked. Cathy was in the middle of boiling some pasta. "I borrowed it." "Well, it looks good. Big, but good." I pulled down a loaf of French bread and started to slice it lengthwise. "What are you doing?" asked Cathy. "Making garlic toast." I reached for the shaker of garlic powder. Garlic toast always went with spaghetti at our place. But this time, Cathy put her hand on my wrist. "No garlic tonight." "Why not?" I asked. "Because," she said, "I want to try out the new VCR." "Why should... Oh1 Absolutely no garlic." Dinner was good, but I was almost too anxious to eat. Cathy might have been envious of all the young women around our new place, but the truth was, she was still a very attractive woman. My appetite for spaghetti was considerably reduced, my appetite for Cathy was ravenous. As soon as the dishes were in the sink, I was leading her to the bedroom. I reached for the play button, and then cursed under my breath. "What's wrong," asked Cathy. "All our VCR tapes are downstairs in storage," I said. "The only thing up here is DVDs." "Just start the one that's in it," she said. "But that tape's just a bunch of clips." Cathy smiled. "I wasn't planning to actually watch it." I pressed play and followed her to bed. When it comes to sex, I've never made any claim to exceptional size or technique. I haven't read all the positions of the Kama Sutra. I was never a candidate for porn films. The part where I've always excelled is stamina. For the next hour, I came into Cathy from the front, the back, and the side. I stroked the smooth, tender skin along the inside of her thighs. I weighed the soft flesh of her breasts and gently teased her nipples with both fingers and lips. When our daughter Sandy was born, Cathy's breasts had jumped two sizes, from B to D. They never went back. It embarrassed Cathy, especially the way her enlarged nipples were constantly visible through her clothes. I certainly never minded. Her smaller, firmer breasts had been great when she was young; the softer larger breasts were good too. All the time we were going at it, the tape was playing in the background. The weird sequence of short disconnected scenes continued. A young Audrey Hepburn charmed in Roman Holiday. An equally young Nicole Kidman swam in an apparently endless ocean. Colleen and her little brown bikini were eliminated from the original Survivor. I only glimpsed the screen from the corner of my eye, but the steady stream of female faces was enough to stir up a lot of fantasies. It was all I could do to hold out until I could tell Cathy was getting close. Over on the little TV, the image changed to two young women talking in an apartment. One of the women had long, dark hair. The other had red hair cut boyishly short. I knew I'd seen the movie before, but things with me and Cathy were getting very close to the edge, and I wasn't paying that much attention to the TV. Cathy's nails dug into my back as she pulled me in to the limits. "Come on," she said. "Now. Now!" I listened. With one last thrust, I arched my back. Beneath me, Cathy let out a soft moan. Then the whole room was lit by what looked like a flash of lightning. I had just enough time to wonder when it had started storming before everything went dark. When I opened my eyes again, the video tape was over. A soft hiss came from the television and the screen was covered by dancing grey static. Before I had passed out, Cathy had been under me, but now it seemed I was alone in the bed. The sheets felt cool against my skin. Across the room, someone moved. "Cathy?" I said. Two impossibly strange things struck me at once. First, the other person in the room was not my wife. It was a younger woman, slight, with straight dark hair. She was lit only by the glow of the blank TV screen, but I could see well enough to see that she was stark naked. That would have been one hell of a shock, only that shock was trumped by the voice that came out of my mouth. It wasn't my voice. Not even close. A girl's voice. I tried to clear my throat, but that didn't sound right either. "Who..." I started again, then stopped. I felt dizzy. If I hadn't already been laying on a bed, I'm sure I would have fallen. The dark-haired girl took a step towards the bed. "Jim?" she said. "Is that you?" "Yes," I replied in the not-my-voice. I sat up. It felt wrong, wrong in every way possible. My hands didn't feel right as they pressed against the bed. My arms didn't feel right they pushed me up. My ass didn't feel right as it slid along the sheets. My neck felt too long, my shoulders too weak, my back too flexible. "Who...what..." I looked down and saw two smooth, slender legs pointed my way. Only, it wasn't just the legs. It started with two small, attractive feet. Then came amazingly thin ankles with a pair of white Hanes tangled around them. Then came the legs -- shapely little calves, cute knees, sleek thighs. It was too dark to make out the details of what was between those legs, but it was clear enough what was not there. The legs were attached to hips that were slender, but still neatly rounded. An absolutely tiny waist above that, and a flat stomach that led up to a narrow ribcage. Then breasts. They were not large as breasts go. Hell, they were small -- little green apples -- slightly upturned, with sharp little nipples. That's what was pointing at me. That was what was connected to me. That was me. I curled my toes, and watched the toes on those little feet respond. I bent my knees, and the smooth legs followed. I drew in a deep breath, and watched those small breasts rise. "It's amazing," said the girl beside the bed. "Isn't this amazing." "Amazing." I turned slowly around to look at this stranger, feeling like my head might snap loose from this alien body. "Who are you?" I asked. It wasn't the question I really wanted to ask, but at least it was almost sane. "Cathy," she said. "It's me, Cathy." "You're not Cathy," I said in my ridiculous voice. The naked girl sat down on the side of the bed. "It's me. I changed. We both changed." She put out a hand. I pulled back, but she stretched until her fingers touched my cheek. "God, look at you. You're so--" I shrank away. "You're not Cathy." "I am." "This isn't real." "Then it's the best dream I ever had." She shifted her hand down to rest on top of mine. "Come on. Let's go look." "This can't be real," I insisted. The girl wrapped my hand with hers. "If it's not real, then it won't hurt to look. Come on!" She gave a hard tug, and pulled me to the edge of the bed. I threw my legs off the side, more to keep myself from falling than out of any real intent to get up, but the girl gave another hard tug and I was standing. Being on my feet felt even stranger than being in bed. The legs weren't just thin, they were long. The waist seemed to be much higher than it should be, the rest of the body ridiculously small. I tried a step on the little feet, and nearly tripped from the tangle of underwear around the ankles. "Come on!" repeated the dark-haired girl. I clumsily stepped free of the Hanes and allowed myself to be led to the bathroom. The lights came on with a snap and I slammed my eyes shut against the sudden glare. When I opened them again, there was a girl in the mirror. She looked to be twenty-something, with a narrow, heart-shaped face, and hair that was a shade of light red that stopped just short of being orange. The cut was short, like something you might see on a boy, only with thin little points of hair in place of sideburns . Her eyes were an odd shade, blue-grey shot through with brown. Both her eyes and her mouth were open very, very wide. "God," said the dark-haired girl. "We're babes." "Babes," I said. The girl in the mirror moved her mouth. Her upper lip was thin, but her lower lip was nicely full. It was a good mouth. Highly kissable. "We're babes." "Absolutely." The girl pushed past me. I could see her in the mirror, standing with one shoulder in front of the girl with the wide eyes. She had dark, angled eyebrows and a sight twist to her mouth. It gave a look that was mischievous, and definitely sexy. Not like the other girl. She didn't look so much sexy as, well, painfully cute and scared. I reached up and l touched one kissable lip, let my hand move across a smooth cheek. Touched a small, straight nose with a quirky little upturn at the tip. "Cathy? What's going on? Is that really you?" "Of course it is." "Cathy... There's a... She's a... I'm a girl!" In the mirror, I watched the small upturned breasts quiver in time with my pounding heart. My heart. My breasts. I pressed at the heart-shaped face and ran my fingers on up into the soft fringe of orange bangs. The mirror girl was terrified. "Isn't it amazing?" Cathy stepped up beside me. She was a few inches shorter than me. That is, the new body she was wearing was a few inches shorter than the scrawny thing I was in. She was a little curvier, too. "Amazing," I choked out. Un-freaking believable was more like it. "This has to be a nightmare." I opened my mouth and looked in the mirror. Even teeth, very white. A tongue that looked smaller and pinker. It was one thing to have your arms and legs change. Being attached to the wrong tongue was weirdness of a very high degree. Cathy turned slightly side to side. She ran her hands along her waist and down to her hips. "Look at me," she said. "I can't be much older than Sandy." I backed away from the mirror until my little round butt bumped against the wall. "This can't be real." "It feels real." Surreal was more like it. "What are we going to do?" "What do you mean?" asked Cathy, her eyes still locked on the mirror. I reached one trembling hand up and touched my small breasts. Then I noticed Cathy looking at me and quickly lowered the hand again. My throat tightened. I tried to swallow, but it seemed like I had forgotten how. In the mirror I saw the girl's eyes go even wider. Her throat was so thin, too thin. Breathing was like sucking air down a soda straw. The color started to drain out of the world. A million electric ants crawled over my skin. Cathy looked at me and frowned. "Are you okay?" "O...O... Okay?" A shiver ran through my whole body. "How can you ask that?" Cathy slipped an arm around my waist. Her skin seemed hot as a furnace. I sagged against her. She was shorter than me, but she seemed stronger. Which didn't take much, since I felt like my whole body was made of balsa wood and damp tissue, as if any breeze might blow me away. One weak-kneed step at a time, we made it back into the bedroom. Cathy eased me down and left me sitting on the edge of the bed. A moment later, she reappeared in front of me with a bathrobe in her hand. "Here," she said. "Put this on." I got back on my shaky feet long enough to wrap myself in the terry robe, then immediately dropped back down. The thick cloth made me feel warmer, and just having something on made it a little easier to think. Cathy went into the bathroom again, and returned a minute later wearing a nightgown. The gown was one of my favorites, silky green, short, and cut to show off a little cleavage. But on this dark-haired girl who had replaced my wife, the gown was too large. One strap slipped down her pale shoulder and her breasts threatened to peek out in the front. She tugged the drooping strap back in place. "Nothing I own is going to fit right." Without meaning to, I laughed. Kind of a half-hysterical thing. "Your clothes will fit a lot better than mine." I looked down at the smooth thighs exposed by the gaping robe. "How did this happen?" "I..." For a moment, I thought she was going to explain, but then she shook her head and shrugged, causing the strap to slip down her shoulder again. "I don't know. I woke up, and we were both like this." "But this is impossible. People don't just go around turning into strangers." "We're not strangers," said Cathy. "We're not?" "No. You're Bridget Fonda and I'm Jennifer Jason Leigh. You know, from Single White Female." Now that she had said it, the face in the mirror seemed all too obvious. I stood up and staggered back to the bathroom. The thick white robe was comforting, but also disturbing in a way. It made this feel like less of a dream, more real. The girl with the almost orange hair was still there. Only now I recognized her. "Hello, Bridget." My soft voice seemed to go with the face. I turned my head back and forth, giving Bridget a good luck. As far as I could tell, there was no makeup on my new face. Bridget was showing more freckles than I remembered from any movie. Still amazingly cute. I don't think anyone had ever called me cute, not even my mom. "Cathy," I called. "Why am I Bridget Fonda?" Cathy laughed. "That has to be one of the strangest questions anyone had ever asked." I almost laughed myself, but it was more than a little hysteria this time, and I was afraid that if I started I might not stop. "Things like this just don't happen." "No, they don't." Cathy stepped into the room. "But it did." She had changed clothes again, and was busy tugging a baggy sweater over an equally baggy cotton dress. "You going to be okay by yourself for a minute?" "Why? Where are you going?" Cathy picked up a brush and gave her dark hair a few quick strokes. "None of my clothes fit. I think there are some of Sandy's things down in the basement that would work better." "You're going to go out?" "Just downstairs." "But you can't." "Why not?" I gestured toward the mirror. "You're not you." Cathy stared at her reflection with an unreadable expression. "I know." "Besides," I said. "Shouldn't we be thinking about how to fix this?" Cathy spun away from the mirror and headed for the door. "Since I don't know how it happened, how should I know how to fix it?" I hurried after her, through the bedroom and living room, the robe flapping around my knees. "But..." "Besides," she said. "If I'm going to be stuck like this, I'm going to have something to wear." She glanced at me over her shoulder. "Sandy's things should work for you, too. Back in a second." Then she was out the door and gone. I stood there for several minutes in the silent apartment. Finally I drifted into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and drew out a beer. The cold can felt too large in my hand, and the tab seemed hard to open, but it tasted good and cold sliding down my throat. I looked toward the door, but there was no sign of Cathy. I was alone in the apartment. Just me and Bridget. I glanced down, sat the beer on the counter, and slipped one hand inside the robe. The breasts were small, but they were warm, and firm, and feeling not just the breasts but-the fingers touching the breasts, was new and extremely exotic. The nipples tightened, and I could feel that, too. I touched one, and a shock ran through me from the top of my orange hair, right down to my tiny toes. "Holy shit," I said softly. Insane or not, this sure felt real. I pushed open the fuzzy robe and looked down into the little valley between the breasts. My breath was coming harder, and the breasts rose and fell. I opened the robe still further, and looked across the flat stomach to the patch of hair below. It was the same strawberry blond as the hair on my head, which seemed odd, because I didn't think that was anything close to Ms. Fonda's natural color. My hand wandered south. There was a rattle at the door. I quickly took my hand away and pulled the robe closed. The door swung open and Cathy stumbled in with a pair of storage boxes stacked in her arms. I hurried over to help, and grabbed the top box off the stack, but once I had it, I nearly dropped it. "You sure this is clothes?" I asked, as I struggled to get the box on the table. "It feels like it's turned into bricks." Cathy sat her box down beside the one I had carried. "I think it's your muscles that have changed, not the box." She was right about that much. My arms and hands were so skinny, I felt like could clean the inside of a garden hose. "Did you see anything out there that could have caused this?" I asked. "You mean like that coven of witches chanting in the basement and the pentagram on our door?" "There's a pentagram on--" Cathy cut me off with a laugh. "Don't be silly. There's no pentagram out there, and no magic beans, either." "Then how, Cathy? How can something like this happen?" She looked at me, and the smile faded from her lips. Her old eyes had been a bright green, but the new ones were a dark and intense brown. "I don't know how it happened. I don't know how long it will last. Maybe we'll wake up in the morning and everything will be back to normal. Maybe you're right, maybe this is impossible -- all a dream." She put a hand to her face and slowly trailed the fingertips across her cheek. "But right now, I'm twenty years younger, and I want to enjoy that while it lasts." She pulled the top from one of the boxes and started flinging the contents onto the table. I stared at her. "You might like being young, but you might have noticed I'm female. That's not exactly something that was on my to-do list." "Yeah, I didn't think..." She paused with a flowered top in her hand. "I wish that hadn't happened. But you can put it down as a learning experience." "A what?" But Cathy wasn't listening to me. She was looking at some skirts so small I wondered if they had survived from Sandy's grade school days. She reached deeper in the box and pulled out a pale green bra. "You should have a look through these boxes yourself," she said. "You're going to need something to wear." "I'm not going to start digging through my daughter's old underwear." I grabbed another beer from the fridge, slipped past the table, went into the living room, and dropped into an overstuffed recliner. "You take what you want, but I've got to figure out how we get out of this mess." "You already said the situation was impossible." "So?" "So, wouldn't changing back be just as impossible?" My only response was to open the beer and take another long drink. Somewhere before the can was empty, and while Cathy was still going through the clothes, I closed my eyes -- just to rest them for a moment -- and when I opened them again, it was morning. I rolled over in the chair and rubbed at my gummy eyes. For a moment, I couldn't remember why I was in the living room -- though the lingering sour taste of old beer gave me some idea. I rolled over in the chair, which seemed a lot roomier than normal, started to stand, and noticed my legs. Oh yeah, girl now. I stood up and rubbed at Bridget's smooth little face. No matter what age or sex you were, sleeping in a chair made you wake up kind of achy. I yawned and stretched my hands overhead, feeling my pointy little breasts press against the terry robe. My nipples were hard as rocks. I wondered if that was the female equivalent of the morning stiffie. "Cathy?" I called. There was no sign of her in the kitchen, or the bedroom, or the bathroom. I got a cold feeling in my skinny little stomach. What if changing was only the first part of the insanity? What if changing into starlets was followed by turning invisible, or melting into pink goo, or shrinking to the size of an ant? Considering what had happened, any of these seemed possible. But there didn't seem to be any goo on the floor, or invisible girls, and if I stepped on a miniature Cathy, I didn't feel it. Finally, I wandered back into the kitchen and noticed that there was a note on one of the boxes. I snatched it up and was relieved to see that it was from Cathy, even if her handwriting didn't look quite the same as usual. J, I've gone shopping. You were sleeping and I hated to wake you. I'll be back before dinner. C A quick check of the clock showed that it was after ten, which was later than I expected, but dinner was still hours away. I glared at the closed apartment door. "Damn it, Cathy. You've left me stranded in here all day." It wasn't that I was aching to go with her to the mall, it was just that I didn't want to be alone like this. Although. Being alone. Like this... It had possibilities. Weird possibilities. Maybe even sick possibilities. But when the world gives you the impossible, you have to make impossible-ade. I went back to the bathroom. The orange hair was sticking up like some kind of wacky dandelion, and one seam of the chair had left a curving mark across a pale cheek, but the mirror Bridget was still damn cute. I made a face at her, she made a face back. I leaned in so close to the glass that my breath fogged the glass. I made silly little kissy motions. I ran my fingers along the hyper-cute nose. Then I leaned back and dropped the robe. Instant Hollywood Babylon. There was a naked movie star in my bathroom. Of course, I'd seen this show the night before, but I'd been more than a little in shock at the time. Now I was feeling a lot...that is... Well, actually, I felt like I was about to faint. The shock was clearly not quite past. A pins and needles feeling started in my hands and spread over my skin. There was an ocean sound in my ears that quickly grew to a roar. My vision narrowed in and I had to lean on the counter to keep from falling. Impossible. This made no more sense in the morning than it had in the middle of the night. Absolutely impossible. Maybe I was in a coma somewhere. Maybe I was dead. I most certainly had not turned into a scrawny twenty-something woman. My dizziness cleared a bit and I looked into the mirror again. Bridget looked stubbornly back. "Insane," I said aloud. "That has to be the answer." The sound of my own voice gave me a new idea. I pursed my lips. "Looking out on the falling rain, aahh-ooh, makes me feel..." I forgot the words for a moment and hummed along till I got to the chorus, but added a few little dance moves that got my new assets in motion. "You make me feel, you make me feel, you make me feel like a natural woman!" I stopped, partly because I felt anything but natural, and partly because the singing sounded pretty damned poor. Had Bridget ever been in a musical? I couldn't remember. But if my voice was really the same as hers, I didn't expect Ms. Fonda to be wowing Broadway anytime soon. With singing off the list of career changes, I stood silently for a few minutes and just stared at that girl in the glass. Natural or not, it sure seemed like I was a woman everywhere but in my head. I turned to the side and checked out the profile. There had to be no more than four inches separating my bellybutton from my backbone. It made me wonder how a woman this thin managed to fit in all the vital organs. The stomach wasn't only skinny, it was also pretty toned. Little Bridget had clearly spent time at the gym. Below the tiny tummy, the hips widened a bit and the butt stuck out. It didn't stick out far, not exactly a cherry bomb. In fact, it was really quite a small tush for a woman, but it was smooth and taut. Definitely a snug little seat. As I had seen the night before, the breasts were also small. Cathy had always told me "small butt, small boobs." In this case, that seemed to be true. But quantity didn't dictate quality. These were nice little boobs. I liked the way the nipples pointed up at the sky. Nice legs, too. Thin, but with the same sleek muscles I'd seen on some of the coeds in he park. I suspected that running was also part of Bridget's routine. Skinny arms. I remember seeing these arms and legs in some movie and thinking they were attractive. Willowy. That was the word. Coltish. On me, they looked skinny. Good hands, with long supple fingers. I even had cute feet. Add it all together, and you had a woman who was distinctly attractive, but not supermodel beautiful. More pretty in sort of an all-American girl next door sort of way. I made a nervous glance to the door. This was wrong. Really wrong. In just about every way wrong. Only how many chances do you get at something like this in life? Zero, that's how many. If you get one impossible chance, wouldn't it be a shame to waste it? I let those nice hands go back to the places they really wanted to touch. It had been twenty years since I had by hands on breasts this young and firm. And, of course, I had never gotten to feel them from both sides before. Seeing how the nipples tightened and went from a pale pink to hard points of deep red was fascinating, and exciting. I could feel them, too. They got so sensitive that even a breath of air was almost painful. Immediately, I started to feel a loose, warm feeling between my legs. I let my left hand keep the job of careful breast exploration, while my right headed below. The hair between my legs was silkier than I was used to, slightly curly, and that orange color was weird. Having seen Bridget in a dozen or more films, I knew her hair wasn't naturally the weird little tangerine color I was now wearing. Was this some strange side-effect of the transformation? Whatever the reason, the carpet definitely matched the drapes, as the crude saying goes. A gentle stroke of my index finger brought electric tingles. My fingertip brushed along a little nubbin that felt both impossible, and wonderful, at the same time. In the mirror, the pretty girl's mouth opened in a little "O" of surprise. I hesitated for a moment. Cathy's note had said she'd be back before dinner, but that didn't mean she wouldn't turn up early. It would be damned embarrassing if my wife walking in and found my fingering my new equipment. But even while I was thinking this, the warmth between my legs was growing and my finger made another pass. In seconds, my left hand was gripping hard on the edge of the counter while my right hand occupied itself between my legs. Without meaning to, I started swaying forward and back, forward and back. Somewhere in the middle of this session, one finger slipped inside of me. I can promise that, in a day with a million weird sensations, nothing else came close. Finally, after about every kind of strange had zapped through me, I felt a wave grip me so hard that my new toes curled into the carpet. Every muscle in my body tensed. Cords stood out in my neck. My legs trembled. My back arched back so sharply that I heard my vertebrae crack. And that was just the warm up. When it seemed that I might actually snap in two, I came. I came so hard, it was almost like I was going to fly apart. It was like liquid fire got poured into me. Like a bullet. Like... Hell, it was pleasure so intense, that it was almost agony. When it was over - which took a good ten minutes, I hung onto the side of the counter and stared at the girl in the mirror. There were little beads of sweat on Bridget's cute little nose and a bright red flush on her cheeks. "Holy shit," I said, which sounded fairly ridiculous in my new girly voice. I wondered if this was a special one time thing, never to be repeated, or if every orgasm in this body was so intense. I knew women could have multiple orgasms - though it never seemed to happen to Cathy - but if all the orgasms in this body were this powerful, I don't think I could have lived through another without a rest. "Now that," I said, my voice still slightly husky in the afterglow, "made me feel like a natural woman." I gave a wink to the cute girl in the mirror, washed my hands in the sink, and headed back into the kitchen for another beer. Padding naked through the house, I started to hum some nameless tune. I let my hips deliberately sway to an imagined beat. I felt like my insides were filled with warm, liquid metal. I could not remember the last time I had felt so strange. So wicked. Or so flat out good. I still figured that I had gone insane, and that this whole thing was some kind of fever dream. But if I was going totally bug nuts, at least it was a version of bug nuts that included some bonuses. I had my hand around beer number two, when I spotted something that got me thinking. Dangling from the side of the box of Sandy's old clothes was a T-shirt with "South County High Track" stenciled across the front. I wandered across the room and picked it up. It was a leftover from Sandy's brief stint on the girl's cross country team when she was a freshman, and it had been through the wash so many times that the letters were flaking off, but the shirt still gave me an idea. Just because Cathy had left me behind when she made her little shopping trip, that didn't mean I was tied to the apartment all day. If I was in my own skin, I would have already been out for a run this morning. Maybe I could still go. I sat down the beer, picked up the shirt, and tugged it over my head. Amazingly, the shirt my daughter had worn at fifteen fit me pretty well. A little more rummaging through the box turned up a pair of blue gym shorts. I started to step into the shorts, thought better of it, and went back to the box until I found a pair of plain white panties. If wearing my daughter's shirt was strange, wearing her old panties was more than a little disturbing, but I didn't think it would do for me to go commando with this little body. The panties were very snug. I tried to think of Sandy's size, and realized that it had been years since I had bought her any kind of clothing. And even then it was probably a souvenir shirt from some trip I'd been on. In any case, Sandy was not without curves - something that as a father you view rather differently than when looking for a date. For all I knew, she could have worn these panties when she was thirteen. I wiggled a little bit, getting a feel for the snug piece of cotton. The tight press of the panties against my body reminded me very well that there was something important missing up front. But they did feel kind of, well, sleek. Like I was the all new for this model year, ladies and gentlemen, more streamlined version of human being. I ran my hands up my legs and across the flat front of the panties. For just a second, I felt a ghost of that electric feeling I'd had in the bathroom and the warmth between my legs started to increase. I quickly took my hand away. That way lay madness, or at least, not getting much exercise for anything but my fingers. A pair of blue gym shorts slid over the panties and fit pretty well. It took me awhile to find some plain white socks that would fit over my reduced feet. I searched both boxes for several minutes and thought my whole idea was going to be stopped by a lack of shoes, but then I remembered the new shoes waiting in Cathy's closet. I had taken her down to Fleet Feet and gotten her a good pair of running shoes in hopes that she might start making some laps with me in the evenings. So far, that hadn't worked out, but I was glad the shoes were around now. The shoes looked so small, I was sure they couldn't possibly fit, but when I sat down on the edge of the bed and actually worked my foot into the right shoe, it was a little large. A second pair of socks was needed before the shoe didn't slip around on my feet. Even then, I wouldn't want to do any real distance without buying a new set that really fit my new feet. Once I had the shoes in place, I walked over to the mirror and surveyed the results. There was that cute girl again. I knew that Bridget had been somewhere in her twenties when she made Single White Female. Maybe even thirty. But with the shorts and T-shirt and no makeup, the skinny girl in the mirror might have passed for a teenager. Nowhere in that image was there any hint of me. The real me. Could I really go outside like this? What if I hadn't really been transformed - which was impossible, after all. Wasn't it a whole lot more likely that I only thought I had changed? What if people saw me and snickered at the middle-aged man crammed into his daughter's old track clothes? I turned my head from side to side, looking into mirror. The girl looked a little frightened. But she sure as hell looked like a girl. I could either go out and risk being laughed at, or I could stay penned up in this room all day. It was the thought of running that got me started for the door. After a few months of pounding the bricks, I was addicted, and that addiction had stayed with me even though I wasn't, strictly speaking, me. The girl in the mirror looked determined as I turned and headed for the front door. I remembered to snag an apartment key and secreted it in the little pocket on the side of the shorts. It was a good thing, too, because I wasn't even down the stairs before I realized that I was going to have to go back. I was missing a critical piece of gear. My newly acquired little boobies might be small, they might be youthfully firm, but they were still not going to let me go running without a bra. Just moving down the steps had made me feel like they were going to slap me in the chin - okay, that's an exaggeration, but it was pretty damned uncomfortable. You wouldn't think such little things would do so much dancing. It was time to go back to the boxes. The first bra I turned up was an off-white number. It said "34- C" on the side, which I knew was too big to fit the little puppies on my chest. Even though I was her father, I couldn't help but notice that Sandy had been pretty well equipped up top - and I knew all the guys she met were sure to notice, too. A little more digging through the box turned up another bra. This one was pale blue. I was not so ignorant of women's apparel that I couldn't tell that it was a sport's bra. There was a tiny tag at one edge. 32-A. Bingo. This one had to be from before Sandy had come into full "bloom." Lying there, the little garment looked about as big as a headband, and it was hard to believe it would fit around me. At least it didn't have all the hooks and fasteners of the regular bra to worry about. I got my head and arms through the tiny thing and started wiggling it down. With a few very uncomfortable seconds as I worked the cups into place, I managed to get it on. And what do you know, it fit. Not that it was perfect, or comfortable - it was as tight as a belt cinched up two notches too far and what little boobs I had were squashed flat. But it was on. I did a few experimental hops. There was some minor chest action, but nothing like there had been before. Bouncing was no longer a problem. Breathing was kind of hard, but the bouncing was under control. I dug one finger under the bra straps and adjusted them as best I could, then slipped the T-shirt back on. Okay, I was ready to make my debut as a girl jogger. Usually, it took me a few blocks of running before my heart rate got revved up. This time, it was beating like a hammer before I even made it out of the apartment building. I escaped the building without running into anyone else, so the reality of my situation didn't get tested until I hit the street. I jogged slowly along the sidewalk, turning my head to judge the reaction of passing drivers. No one ran off the road. And when I went by a woman pushing a baby stroller, I got a little nod and a "good morning" instead of a snicker, or scream. Okay, so maybe it was real. Maybe I really was in a girl's body and not some moronic old guy squeezed into a girl's clothes. On the other hand, if I could imagine that I was in Bridget Fonda's body why couldn't I imagine the street, and the woman, and... I shook my head. I couldn't keep doing the "what if it's all a dream" bit. If I was already drooling in a coma somewhere, there was nothing I could do about it. I had to go one as if everything happening was real, or I surely would end up insane. I made it to the end of the street and cross over into Forest Park. Already I could tell that I was right about Bridget doing some running. The rhythm of my movements was a little different, and it took my a few minutes to get my stride worked out, but these sleek little legs knew how to run. I covered the first half mile at a nice warm up pace then, since I was feeling pretty good, kicked it up a notch. I went past a teenage girl struggling to figure out inline skates, then dodged around an old guy - by which I mean someone about my own real age - walking a dog. My breath changed over from one pattern to another as I started to really get settled into the run. I let another mile reel off. Then two. I couldn't help smiling at the lack of stiffness in my joints and the smooth, steady slap of the running shoes on the track. I reached the branch in the trail where normally I would loop back toward home, but this time, I charged on down the longer side. I was just feeling too good to stop. The feeling of running in this body was the same, but also very different. The effort seemed to start higher up, like I was running with my hips, as well as my legs. Even with the weight I had lost earlier in the year, I had to be at least fifty pounds lighter than I had been the day before, and I could tell. Every step came easier. The wind passing over me seemed to be cooler. I could feel the way the fabric of the shorts slid across my smooth legs. It was, well, great. Maybe it was this particular body, or maybe it was just being twenty years younger, but I had never felt so good running in my entire life. I picked up the pace again, and did another mile at a pace that would have given my regular body a heart attack. At the end of the mile, I had to pause to tighten the laces on my slightly too large shoes. While I was fixing my feet, a twenty-ish guy jogged past, looked back at me, and flashed a broad smile. I started to smile back, and then I remembered why the guy was smiling at me and quickly looked away. As much fun as it had been to run in this body, it was time to get back to the apartment and try to figure out how to get my own skin returned. The home stretch started at a little slower pace than the three miles or so I had done before, but while I was still a half mile or more from the edge of the park, I heard other footsteps coming up behind me. There were no people around, and this part of the trail wound through a knot of pine trees. The thought of the guy who had flashed that big smile made me move to second gear. The more I thought about that smile, the less friendly it seemed. I moved to third. Closing in on four miles, even Bridget's smooth legs were starting to wear down, but those steps were matching me stride for stride, so I didn't dare slow. Finally, I reached the edge of the park. There were cars in the street and dog-walking guy was in sight along the sidewalk. I might have to face a few moments of unpleasant conversation, but at least here, with people around, I didn't think I'd face anything worse. I let my pace slow to a jog, then a walk. "Wow," said a voice at my back. "You're fast." I turned my head and saw a young woman jogging up beside me. She was pretty, with straight brown hair that was pulled back in a pony- tail and big brown eyes. Where I was wearing an old T-shirt, she had on nothing but a light gray sports bra and a pair of running shorts. Both items of clothing were very snug over curves that were very good. In other words: she had bigger boobs than me. For a moment, I just stared at her. Then I noticed the funny look on her face and realized that she was expecting me to say something. "Oh, thanks. I'm not... am I fast?" She nodded. "You did that last mile in about six minutes. It's not like a record pace, or anything, but it's pretty quick for just out practicing." Six minutes. I had never run a six minute mile in my life. I glance down at my skinny little girl legs. Damn, Bridget. You're a speedster. "It seemed like you kept up with me fine," I said. "Yeah, well, I'm on the track team. I'm supposed to be fast." "Track team?" "At Wash U." "Oh, I go there to," I said. Which was true, except that I was taking a night course in systems management aimed at old farts trying to get a slight bump in their stalled careers. The girl seemed please. "Yeah?" Her eyes flicked over me again. "Maybe we can run together sometime." "Sure," I replied. "That would be great." She put out a hand. "I'm Crissy." I had to look at her fingers for a moment, trying to think of some name that would make sense with the person it was attached to. Finally, I shook her hand. "Allie," I said, giving the name of Bridget's character in the movie. Crissy gave my fingers a quick squeeze and held my hand for a moment before she let it go. "Cool name. I'll be looking for you, Allie." With that, she let my hand drop, flashed a final smile, and ran on down the path. I stared at her vanishing butt in wonder. Maybe this was how college-aged girls always acted around each other. I mean, I'd never been one before, so how did I know. But I didn't think so. I think this little hottie was coming on to me. Three months of running around the park, none of the coeds had done more than give me a nod. Evidently, the only thing it took to catch a cute girl's eye was - becoming a cute girl. I shook my head and jogged back to the apartment, taking it slower as I crossed the streets. By the time I reached the apartment building, my sprint through the park was starting to catch up with me. My Allie legs might be better than the old pair, but they were still feeling pretty limp by the time I struggle up the stairs and fished the key out of the pocket in the shorts. Cathy was still not home. I started to park myself on the couch, but there was enough sweat soaked into my T-shirt to remind me that Cathy didn't like it when I sat on the furniture after getting stinky on a run. Cathy wasn't really Cathy any more, and I wasn't quite me, but I was willing to beat that some things never changed. I kicked off the slightly too large shoes and headed for the bathroom. The girl in the mirror looked a little flushed from her run and the T-shirt was damp at the collar from sweat. I peeled off the shirt and looked at the image in the mirror. Sexy, but not quite as sexy as Crissy had been in her sports bra. Almost immediately, hard little points appeared in my bra to emphasize just how attractive I had found Crissy. If my tired legs would have let me, I think I might have done another lap just to see if I could run into her again. With some effort, I peeled the bra free. The bright red lines around my chest showed that the thing had been more than a little tight. I rubbed my relieved little boobies for a few moments, took a deep breath, then stepped out of my shorts and hopped into the shower. I didn't have to worry about long hair. My Allie hair was no longer than the hair I'd been wearing on my regular head - though it was both thicker and softer. I grabbed a dollop of Cathy's shampoo and lathered up. Then I squirted out some liquid body soap and got to work on the rest of me. Just the feel of the water on my body was different. Everywhere I was smoother, softer, and about a dozen times more sensitive than normal. When my breasts went under the spray, I actually had to turn away because they were too sensitive to take it. I washed the shampoo from my orange hair and was almost finished with my shower when the thought occurred to me that the showerhead was adjustable. And removable. The diverse settings on the shower had never made much difference to me before, and I rarely took it off the hook. But now, all those little "pulse" and "massage" settings seemed to offer a world of possibilities. It was harder than I remembered to get the shower loose - another reminder that, while my new legs might be good at propelling my lightweight body around the park, my overall strength had been cut way down. Once I had the showerhead in hand, I spun the dial to "massage." Then I directed the jets of water at the new arrangement between my legs. I jumped so high, one foot came down out of the tub. I came this close to slipping and breaking my pretty new neck. Carefully, I got back in the tub and grabbed the shower again. This time, I moved it into position slowly, letting only a few of the jets reach into the most sensitive areas. Even so, each little splash of water might have been made from liquid electricity. I shifted around on my feet and squeezed my eyes closed. The image of Crissy and her curvy little body popped into my head. Despite the water running over my body, I could feel a fire building up inside. Cathy chose that moment to come home. I heard the door slam and scrambled to get the shower back on the hook. I felt as guilty as I had when my mother caught me over a stack of Playboys as a kid. After taking a moment to compose myself, I turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. One of Cathy's robes was waiting on a hook, so I snagged it and wrapped it around me. I was just cinching up the belt when the bathroom door swung open and Cathy peeked in. "I see you're getting to know yourself," she said. She probably had a good idea of just how familiar I was getting with this new skin, but I tried to pretend I didn't know what she was talking about. "I went out for a run. I didn't think you'd want me stinking up the apartment." The answer seemed to surprise her. "You went out?" Cathy stepped completely into the bathroom, and I realized that she didn't look the same as she had that morning. It wasn't that she had changed bodies again, but the difference was almost that strong. The straight dark hair she had been wearing that last time I saw her had been replaced with a light brown bob streaked through with shots of golden blond. Her face, which had been pretty in a kind of odd, angular way, was now made up so that she looked both beautiful and somehow sophisticated. The blue dress she wore clung to every curve of her new body and the top was cut down to reveal the upper half of her perky breasts. "Wow," I said. Cathy grinned at me. "You like?" I nodded. Immediately, I felt my nipples harden up again. Cathy was a beauty. "Who wouldn't like? You look great!" The praise seemed to please Cathy. She turned so she could look at herself in the mirror and pivoted back and forth for a better view. "Did you know that Jennifer Jason Leigh was once voted one of the twenty five most beautiful women in America?" "No." Truth was, I hadn't much noticed Ms. Leigh before, but I was noticing her now. "It's true," said Cathy, her eyes still locked on the mirror. "I always thought the Fonda girl was the cute one in that movie, but that was only because Jennifer was dressing down. Now that I've seen how well this body can look, I don't want to trade with you." The statement left me confused. "Trade?" I asked. "Do you know how to trade bodies?" She shook her head. "No, of course not. I'm just saying I like this body better than the one you got." She put her hands under her breasts and lifted them for a second. "Don't you?" I had to admit, I did like her body. Though secretly I still thought that I, or Bridget, was a lot cuter. "Those look bigger than they did this morning. Did you keep changing?" "No, no," said Cathy. "I just made a stop at Victoria's Secret for a nice push-up. If you've got a hot young body, why not flaunt it?" She spun around in front of the mirror, and then turned to me with a smile. "Come on in the living room and see all the things I bought. I even got some things for you." "For me?" Cathy took me by the hand and led me out of the bathroom and down the hall. "I got your measurements off the Internet. It's amazing what you can learn there. And by the way, you're twenty-seven." "Twenty seven?" "That's how old the Fonda girl was when the movie was made." Strange as it sounds, I was actually a little disappointed. I thought I was younger. Of course, with Bridget's cute features I could always pass for younger, but... Cathy dragged me to the front room and gestured toward a row of sacks spread out in front of the couch. "Wait till you see what I've found." Looking at the bags, and at the names on the bags, the first thing I did was wince. "How much did you spend?" "A lot," said Cathy. "But then, how many chances do you get to dress a whole new body?" She reached into the first bag and came out with a black bra and matching panties. Then a blue set. Then red. Then cream. "Did you buy yourself anything but underwear?" I asked. "You have to have under things," said Cathy. "And besides..." she grabbed the blue set and flipped it my way. "This is for you." I caught the silky material out of the air and looked at it stupidly. 34-A. Gee, 48 years old and I was getting my first bra. And my bust was about the same size as my daughter's at 14. How charming. Cathy turned to the next bag and pulled out a slinky black dress. "I hope that's not for me," I said. She smirked. "No. Of course not. Yours is lavender." "What?" "Don't worry. I know you're not ready for something like this." She held the dress up against herself for a moment, admiring the drape of the fabric over her slim form, then tossed it over the back of the couch. She dug around in one of the bags and came out with a pair of, thank God, jeans. "Here," she said. "Try these on." The tag at the back of the jeans said "Size 2," which seemed kind of unlikely. I started to pick up the clothes and head to the bedroom to change, but Cathy only rolled her eyes. "Please," she said, "you don't have anything I don't have." "Yeah, but that's kind of the point. It's embarrassing to have the same equipment as your wife." "Come on. Don't be silly." The whole situation was silly. But after a moment's hesitation, I shucked the robe and picked up the new pair of blue panties. I couldn't miss the slight smile on Cathy's face as I slid the smooth material up my equally smooth legs. Once in place, they fit well. That is, they felt good, though very different than my usual Hanes for Him. I was tempted to run my hands along the snug cloth, but I didn't want to feed Cathy's enjoyment of this little scene. Instead, I reached for the jeans. A size two seemed impossibly small, even I knew that much, and I wondered for a moment if Cathy was trying to make me look ridiculous, but I sat down on the arm of the sofa and started sliding on the jeans. They were tight. The openings at the bottom were so small I had a hard time just getting my feet in, and as they started up my thigh the denim hugged against my legs in a way that my pre-girl jeans had never done. I had to stand up to make the last few inches, and getting the top of the jeans past my butt took a tug strong enough to nearly lift my feet off the ground, but when it was done, I could button the front closed a couple of inches before my oval belly button. I stood there looking down between my two small, bare breasts at the pre-faded jeans. They were tight, but they were on. Somehow, the sight seemed actually sexier than when I had been standing there naked. "I can tell you like that, dear," said Cathy. I put one hand over my boobs and reached for the bra. Even if this one was slightly larger, getting it on was much more of a struggle than it had been to squeeze into the sports bra. First I had to figure out the way it opened, then I had to get my arms through, then I had to play contortionist to try and get it closed. And I did it all while Cathy was smirking at me. When I finally got it on, Cathy had another gift for me. She tossed me a ribbed white sweater. I turned it around and slid it on. For the first time since waking up in this body, I was dressed in clothes that fit. "How does it feel?" asked Cathy. "Good," I said. I turned my head and saw the girl reflected in the small mirror by the front door. Once again I got chills, but not because it looked so strange. It was because this girl, this twenty- something girl in her jeans and sweater and mussed hair, she looked so utterly ordinary. You might glance at her twice because she was kind of cute, but you'd never think anything strange about her. She looked, hell, I looked, like a regular girl. After a moment, I gave into the magnetic pull and wandered over for a closer look. Why did having clothes on make it seem more real? Behind me, I could hear Cathy chatting on about her purchases, but I took another step toward the mirror, absolutely hypnotized by what it showed. Naked Starlet in the Bathroom had been like some weird fantasy. This big eyed, freckle-faced girl with her plain white sweater and pre-faded jeans. She was a real person. She was me. It took me awhile before I could shake myself free and go back to the couch. When I did, I felt different. Maybe a little more comfortable. A little more right. Don't get me wrong, I still wasn't past the idea that I had overnight turned into a completely different person, but at least I was past the point where I felt like something from a freak show. I was a girl. Okay, now what? Meanwhile, Cathy tossed aside her own clothes and started a little fashion show of all the things she had bought for herself. She had bought herself several dresses, and the little black number looked even better on. There was a ton of lacy underwear, and nightgowns that had more air in them than fabric. More than once, I could feel my nipples squeeze down diamond hard as she paraded around the room in the nighties. When she started to show how the latest from Victoria's Secret could lift her young B-cup breasts into something that looked like, well an ad for Victoria's Secret, I couldn't stand to just look. As Cathy whirled around, I got up form the couch, wrapped my arms around her waist, and surprised her with a kiss. Then she surprised me. She jerked back and pushed me so hard that I went tumbling down on one knee. "What are you doing?" she asked. "You were the one who was bragging on how great you looked," I said as I climbed back to my feet. "I was only agreeing." "Yeah, well, in case you haven't noticed, you're not exactly equipped to take advantage of it." "I'm still your husband." "You don't look like him," said Cathy. "And I'm not into girls." This little scene ended the fashion show. Cathy marched into the bedroom, taking most of the bags with her and leaving me with a much smaller collection. Digging through the contents, I could see that she had purchased another couple of sets of underwear - plain white - in my new size, and had gotten me some black pants along with a green sweater. There were no shoes or socks in the package. Unless there was some equally unexplainable return to normalcy overnight, I was going to have to go out and buy some new ones that fit. Even my single run in Cathy's shoes had left my feet feeling sore. The situation between me and Cathy didn't get any better through a fairly silent meal. Then when bedtime arrived, Cathy slipped into a nightgown - but she chose an old, bulky one instead of one of the teasers she had bought to fit her younger body. She then informed me that I would have to sleep on the couch. The announcement got me irritated. "Whys should I sleep on the couch?" "Because I don't feel comfortable sleeping with another woman," she said, "that's why." "Well, if we're both girls, why don't you sleep on the couch?" I asked. "After all, only I'm perfectly willing to share the bed." To my surprise, Cathy snatched a pillow from the bed without a word, took down a blanket from the closet, and left me alone in the bedroom. I thought about going and apologizing, but I was still mad at her. After all, it wasn't my choice to turn into a woman. The sweater and jeans felt comfortable enough that I hated to take them off, but they really weren't right for sleeping. I stripped down - feeling both relieved and strange to have the pressure of the bra straps removed - and searched around for something to wear to bed. I finally settled on one of my own T-shirts. The way I was now, the thing went halfway down my thighs. I stepped into the bedroom, brushed my nice new teeth with my regular old toothbrush, came out and climbed between the sheets. It wasn't until I was lying down in bed and already half asleep that I thought about th