Overnight Change
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Overnight Change - Part 2 free porn video
Overnight Change - part 2 by Janet Harris 2014
As you will remember, I used to be Peter, but woke up one Sunday
morning, quite unexpectedly, as Frances. The body-swapper visited me
later in Peter's body and said I had until Friday to swap back, if I
really wanted to. I wasn't at all sure, staying up late worrying about
Monday at work in a completely strange job and wondering if another
overnight change would occur anyway.
I was rather pleased to find myself in my baby-doll nightie when I was
rudely awakened by my raucous alarm, which I had set earlier to get
ready for work. I chose my crispest white blouse and a pin-striped
skirt-suit, but put them aside to eat my breakfast in case I spilt
anything. I brushed out my hair in my nightie for the same reason. I
didn't like having to keep it off my face with grips, so I suddenly had
an idea. If I cut my own fringe, or bangs as they call it in America,
the big change in my appearance might help to hide the bigger change,
namely my soul-swap.
I brushed all my hair downwards in all directions from the very top of
my head, including over my face, then picked up my scissors and cut
straight across just above my eyebrows. I stared at my new image, aghast
at the enormity of that brief action and the heap of long hair left on
my dresser. "You'll swallow a fly!" I told myself, echoing the body-
swapper and at last shut my mouth.
I almost put on a suspender-belt and stockings, as the old Frances had
apparently done on special, extra smart, days, but I chickened out and
put on tights like yesterday but a brand new very sheer pair I had
found, then I picked out my smartest bra. I had the blouse and skirt on
with more than half an hour to go before my usual departure time which I
had worked out from my texting history. I put on only moderate make-up
because my new hairstyle was striking enough and I only wanted to be
smart for work, not sexy. My smartest shoes had two-inch heels, less
than I had worn yesterday but I loved the sound of them clicking.
That half hour flew by and too soon I had to put my laptop in my
briefcase and hurry out to my lovely company car. I passed a neighbour
on the stairs, who did a double-take before crying "Hi Frances! Love
it!"
"Hi, thanks!" I replied, wishing I knew her name. I had practised the
drive to work on my laptop last night with Street-view, so it was easy.
I hadn't been able to find a plan of the offices though and was very
worried about finding mine without looking like an idiot.
I intended to stride straight past the reception desk but one of my
close colleagues I recognised from office party photos was chatting to
the receptionist and they stopped me to ask about my hair. "Where did
you get it done?"
"I did it myself, this morning, actually," I replied, being honest in
case someone knew how it was yesterday. They were very shocked and I was
really glad of the delay because there was a plan of each floor on the
wall. I spotted my "Commercial Buildings" department on the third floor.
Although the individual offices were shown, there was no clue which
might be mine.
I was joined in the lift by two men, one of them greeted me by name. He
only raised his eyebrows at my dramatic haircut. Luckily there were
names on the office doors. I spotted some mail in pigeon holes at the
far end which gave me the excuse to pass all the doors, trying to
disguise my reading of all the nameplates. I spotted mine about two
thirds of the way down but by then my two assistants, Mark and Annette,
again easily recognised from my office party photos, were standing by
the mail boxes and had caught sight of me, both gaping at my new fringe.
It was a lot easier than I had expected to pick up all I needed to know
in that first day at my new job as Frances. I found myself able to quite
enjoy the work and the challenge of learning it quickly. I was also
enjoying the novelty of working in a skirt and heels and swinging my
hair around. I won't go into too much detail. Mid morning I spotted Tom,
who headed a different department, passing my door but he didn't look in
until on his way back, when he did the now usual double-take at my hair.
"Wow, that's different!" he exclaimed, coming in.
"Could you shut the door, please," I replied, "I need to talk to you.
You see, I'm not the body-swapper any more."
"I was just thinking that," he said, "so who has she moved on to?"
"Well, I think of him as male, because he's a middle-aged man called
Peter, that I used to be, now."
"So, he, or she, or it must change gender every time, then. The old Tom
ran off as a schoolgirl, you know."
"Yes, I did know, from your, I mean my, diary. It was very useful, but
there's loads I want to ask you."
"I can't imagine why you wanted to be female," he said, "I have
absolutely no desire to go back to all that." I felt a bit insulted.
"But I love it!" I exclaimed. "I have absolutely no desire to go back,
either, but I feel awful leaving my wife with the body-swapper."
"Wow! You were married! That's different. Why did you choose to swap if
you can't really?" I replied: "Did you get a choice? I didn't. I just
woke up as Frances yesterday morning with no warning at all. I am
enjoying it, though. I'd always secretly wanted to be female. Being
young as well is a terrific bonus. How did he, sorry it, do it to you?"
"It was completely different for me. It told me that it wasn't really
Tom while we were making love. Awful really. Of course I (or you)
freaked out. When it offered the swap, I at first accepted to get
revenge, but I realised I had always secretly wanted to be male, so I'm
happy now, too. I still felt hurt by its deception, though."
"Ah, so that's why you dumped me!"
"Well, yes, but now can't we be friends again?"
Part of me wanted to hug and kiss him right there, because there was
certainly chemistry from the old Frances' relationship, but although he
obviously knew this body very intimately, we were really strangers. I
had discovered that chemistry yesterday, gazing at photos of him, so I
was surprised to be the sensible one to cool it off, but then I was
already exasperated by how fickle men could be.
"Well, yes," I replied, "but we are really strangers, aren't we? There's
a lot I need to know from you but that's it."
"Well I have to admit that I've been spoiling your reputation lately and
you might find it hard to make new boyfriends." His presumption really
hurt. "You mean inside this company? Well, I'm much more interested in
elsewhere and it may surprise you to hear that last night I danced with
and kissed a man and we exchanged numbers."
"Gosh! You're a fast worker, aren't you? I suppose I'd better just be
like a brother to you then?"
"Oh, yes, please! That'll be lovely." He had to go then. One of my
assistants was waiting to come in anyway.
As soon as possible, I used a trip to the Ladies (still a novelty) to
ring Dave, the guy I'd met last night. "Can we meet up for lunch?" I
asked, aware of being too pushy but unable to stop myself. He was very
positive, however. We found out we worked only a block apart and decided
on a cafe half way between. On the way I was worried about being
overdressed but he turned up in a suit and tie so I was well pleased. We
had a quick kiss before sitting down and gazing into each other's eyes.
"Take it easy, girl," I told myself, "you know even less about him than
Tom."
But after lunch we had a longer kiss in an alley and had chosen a cinema
for that evening. Part of me still wanted to go back to being Peter but
all of even that part wanted sex before that happened. It was less
complicated with someone outside my work anyway. I had a terrific bounce
in my step as I walked back to work. I wanted to see Tom in the
afternoon, mainly to gloat over my early success with Dave, but there
was no excuse to visit his department nor did he happen to visit mine.
By the time I got home, I felt very overdressed in my suit and couldn't
wait to get out of it. At first I wanted to wear the same dress as when
I had met Dave last night, but I knew that really wasn't an option so
delved again into my wardrobe. I found a three-tier ra-ra skirt in three
colours that I really liked and a black, partly see-through top. They
really gave out the fun-loving-gal image I wanted. Of course I had to
change my white work bra for a black one. I was so pleased with how I
looked in it that I posed for ages in front of the mirror imagining a
beach bikini. This was beyond my wildest dreams as a man, in its stark
reality.
Dave had not offered to buy me dinner, so I heated up one of the
microwave dishes from my fridge and ate it still in my bra, in case I
messed my lovely black top. The cinema seemed a bit childish as a choice
of date but it had been Dave's idea. It was an easy walk away. Striding
along in my colourful skirt, I got my first wolf-whistle and I loved it!
Dave was standing grinning at me outside the cinema. I was glad to see
him glance at my legs. I insisted on paying for my ticket and he backed
down a bit grumpily. I let him buy the popcorn and drinks, though. I
found myself resenting the arm of my seat. I would have liked to snuggle
up to him, instead of just holding hands.
There were two instances in the film of women jumping into bed with
strangers and I'm afraid it rather put me off. I decided Dave could wait
at least another day before getting into mine. The truth is, I was
getting cold feet. The idea of a real person's real penis actually
thrusting into my newly shaped, newly sensitive groin was getting rather
scary, despite feeling that I needed it badly and, logically, that it
was perfectly right for me as a woman. So, we had coffee after the movie
in a restaurant, with no suggestion of going to either flat but firm
commitments to lunch and dinner together tomorrow.
I woke on my third morning as a woman, completely at ease with myself. I
chose a trouser-suit this time, my dark brown one, with a pale green
blouse. It had a classic shirt collar, which I turned outside my jacket
like yesterday. This time I was looking forward to work, feeling that I
was beginning to get my teeth into it. I couldn't wait to meet Dave
again, at lunch and dinner. I even caught myself fantasising about
living with him or even marrying him. Well, a girl could dream, couldn't
she? But every time I thought about my future, my career as an
underwriter, I felt guilty about leaving Peter's wife with that body-
switching witch, or whatever he/she was. OMG, I was thinking of Susan as
"his wife", now! She seemed so distant.
Lunch with Dave was delightful, probably because I was so much more
relaxed today. I found out much more about him, realising that I had
done too much of the talking when nervous. He was more relaxed too and
we only giggled when we passed the alley I'd dragged him into yesterday.
Instead we just had a quick peck as we parted. Tom popped into my office
to see me in the afternoon. "The gossip is that you're totally besotted
with this new fellah of yours" he began. I was really annoyed that my
colleagues and assistants would tell him, of all people, my confidences.
But then maybe betrayal was something I would have to get used to as a
woman. When I'd calmed down and considered, it wasn't Tom's fault, he
was just being a concerned brother. "Don't get in too deep," he warned,
"I still think you should go back to that wife of yours."
"Why? Do you want this body back? You can be my brother, but please
don't try to be my conscience."
Later, though, I knew he was right. Although I was thoroughly enjoying
being Frances, I just couldn't forget my former life and the body-
swapper's offer for me to return to it before Friday. I couldn't help
feeling guilty about leaving Susan, Peter's wife, with that mischievous
elf, or whatever it was, and then, maybe worse, with whatever woman it
could find who wanted to be Peter. There didn't seem to be any way of
removing that guilt without returning by Friday. I really wanted to
enjoy my dinner date and to get laid afterwards, if at all possible. I
spent ages choosing a dress and putting on make-up. My thinking was that
if I could seduce Dave tonight, I could be back with Susan, mission
accomplished, unbeknown to her, of course, on Wednesday morning. I only
wished I could forget her meanwhile and just be Frances.
By now, Dave and I had exchanged addresses as well as phone numbers and
he pushed my flat buzzer at exactly seven, as agreed. "Coming down!" I
called, not wanting to let him up, thinking that too forward. I quickly
finished tidying, though, because I had every intention of bringing him
up after dinner. I was biting my lip as I hurried down the stairs in my
heels. This was the date when I got laid! He was looking me up and down
through the glass door with raised eyebrows and that made me blush.
Now the best laid schemes of mice and men, as the Scottish poet said,
oft may go awry. As a man, I had fondly imagined that women's sexual
plans were much more likely to succeed than men's, the latter being more
often ready. How wrong I was! Although Dave was a perfect gentleman
throughout, he sort of sidestepped every approach I dared to make. I
began to wonder if I was betraying my background. It was certainly only
my mental background because my body and its hormones felt very feminine
indeed just then. He walked apart from me on the way to the restaurant
so as soon as we started back I moved up and put my arm round his waist.
He responded with an arm round my shoulders but I sensed a little
reluctance, probably because he wasn't "spooning" with me.
What had I done wrong? True, our conversation had dried up a couple of
times at dinner but I wrongly imagined that would make little difference
to my seduction techniques. He met my eyes often enough and I employed
every tilt of my head to be more attractive. Maybe I overdid it? Yes,
with hindsight, I certainly did. I was feeling as randy and ready as I
had ever felt as a man but it was obviously not mutual. When I thought
back over the three days I'd known him, I realised that I had made all
the moves. What was wrong with me? Was I ugly?
When he'd seen me to my flats, I gave him a quick peck on the cheek
before thanking him for the meal and wishing him goodbye with a finality
I hoped he would oppose. He didn't. My first reaction was guilt that I
hadn't fought harder to pay my half. I almost tried again then, but my
next reaction, anger, kicked in before I could. I kept it to myself,
though, and silently unlocked the door and went inside alone. I even
waved to him through the glass. I ran up the stairs and flung myself
onto my bed in floods of tears. Rejection as a woman is many times worse
than as a man, I can report from bitter experience. After crying myself
out, I realised that I was ruining my dress on the bed so hung it up. I
had chosen that dress partly because it was knee length, so I could wear
those stockings I had chickened out of on Monday morning. Now my
suspenders were exposed, male memories of their effect re-aroused me. I
lay back on the bed, on my back this time, with my legs high and wide
and asked "Who needs men?" out loud.
After rubbing my crotch for a while, I needed to get up and remove my
bra and knickers. Then I remembered the vibrator I'd also found on
Monday morning. I had re-hidden it then with blushes, now I really hoped
I had plenty of batteries. I did. Full penetration was weird but quite
satisfying, though my orgasms were not nearly as good as in Sunday's
shower, probably because I was angry and frustrated. I was more angry
with the body-swapper for putting me in this situation than with Dave
for rejecting me. I mean, I loved being Frances but couldn't forget my
responsibility to Susan.
Hence I spent another night agonising over whether to text Peter. Part
of me felt "as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb" when it came to
Susan's reaction to my spending extra days as Frances. I could still
wake up as Peter tomorrow morning, it I sent the text, but I really
wanted to make love as a woman, not just wank. I had two more full days
to achieve it. Susan might never know. On the other hand, every day
Susan spent with the false Peter, she was more likely to discover the
truth. Even if she never knew, I thought, I would always feel guilty.
Did I send the text?
To be continued...
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