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Every circle of friends has its feuds. Bring enough people together and some will rub each other the wrong way. That's just how it goes. With my crew the biggest rivalry is between me and my technically-friend Marco. We've known each other since we were little, and were buddies for years, but by middle school we started moving in different directions. By the end of high school we were cool toward each other, and by the time we got back from college our relationship had blossomed into full- blown animosity. I like to think I'm a decent person. I'll admit I'm not the most exciting guy around, but I'm a great listener and loyal to a fault. The kind of guy who's a great drinking buddy after a hard day at work, in my opinion. Yeah, I'm not the life of the party, but I'm earnest and friendly and easygoing. Marco is everything I loathe. He's arrogant, self-centered and loves talking about all the expensive crap he buys thanks to his finance job. Yeah, he's way funnier than me, and even I like hearing about the crazy shit he got up to in college, but he doesn't let you get a word in edgewise. You hang with Marco and the whole damn night becomes all about Marco. The worst thing is how he rides me about my sex life. I'm a serial monogamist, and right now I'm halfway through my 20s and looking for a woman I can settle down with. Marco, on the other hand, sleeps with more girls any given month than I have my entire life. And he never fails to let me know how pathetic that makes me, in his eyes. In the end, I can deal with it. We've been "friends" long enough that I've learned to ignore him, and it's not worth splitting the group to avoid a little bit of teasing, however mean-spirited. The real problem is our mutual friend Jason. He was our third musketeer back during childhood, and despite me and Marco growing apart he still considers each of us his best friends. Which is why Jason and I were standing in the corner of the club while Marco and the rest of the gang were sharing drinks on a couch. "Seriously, Jessie, would it kill you to pretend you guys get along?" Jason said. "You two are tearing the group apart, and you moping ain't helping anything." I wasn't moping, I just wasn't a fan of clubs. They're loud, hot, overpriced and way too crowded. They make me kind of anti-social. So naturally Marco, a girl on either arm, had come over and used me as a cautionary tale about the kind of weirdos people turn into when they don't get enough sex. Then proudly announced how I'd slept with less than half a dozen women. As a joke, he assured me while wearing his shit-eating grin. The girls had giggled. Asshole. Alright, at its core my mood was Marco's fault. But the club atmosphere wasn't helping. So I made up an excuse. "I'm fine. Just not a club guy," I said. "Sure, whatever you say, Jessie." Jason wasn't buying it, but I didn't really care. He was a good friend, but sometimes fussed like he was my mother. "Here, I got you a little something. Ain't a big deal, but maybe it'll cheer you up." He pulled a ring-sized band of cloth out of his pocket. Dark green, almost black, hardly a fashion statement but not ostentatious enough to draw attention. Jason bought into new age-y crap big time, so he'd probably been convinced the thing had healing chakras or whatever. Was probably made of hemp. "Uh, thanks," I said as I took the ring. "What is it, exactly?" "Marco's wearing one too," Jason said, helpfully. "They're devotion rings, they help people get along. I figured you two could use whatever help you could get." I was surprised Marco would wear one. I thought he was an ugly guy, kind of squat, the very paragon of a neckless gym rat. He had a bodybuilder's physique, but the purely functional kind, not sculpted. Yet he thought he was good looking, and dressed to play up the machismo angle, and for some goddamned reason girls loved it. But dude was so insecurely masculine that he'd never sully himself with something as feminine as jewelry. I guessed he was doing it for Jason. I'd be damned the day I let Marco be a better friend, so I slipped my own ring on. It hung loose on my finger, just a little too large, and was surprisingly heavy. Jason nodded in approval, then we went over to the bar to grab another drink. And then another. And then a few more. I got drunk enough to not mind the club atmosphere, and I have to talk to Marco again, so I chalked it up as a good night. When I said goodbyes to my other friends I found out he'd already ditched us for one of the girls from earlier. Of course. I was feeling pretty good when I got home. My buzz had yet to fade, but I didn't think it was bad enough to mean serious problems in the morning. I stripped naked and fell back into the bed. I vaguely realized I'd forgotten to remove Jason's ring, but was too tired to bother. It could wait. ----- I woke up feeling odd. Not sick, exactly, but dizzy and clumsy and somehow unaware of how my body should work. My initial attempt to sit up failed. I attributed the trouble to my hangover. It wasn't bad, as far as these things go, but for some reason I had serious vertigo, like I'd drank just enough to make the room spin. I decided to lie still and gather my bearings before trying again. At least I wasn't that headachey. When the time came I put a hand to the side to get some leverage, and immediately recoiled with a high-pitched yelp when I touched warm, hairy flesh. Someone was in my bed. I froze in panic for a moment, then slowly, carefully turned, careful not to wake the intruder. Something about the motion was off, but I was focused on who the fuck I'd taken home last night. It was a guy. An extremely attractive guy. Tall, maybe a bit lanky, but well-toned. Good-looking face, strong features, brown hair grown out enough to be a little bit shaggy. He was shirtless and above the sheets, and I could easily make out the shadowed definition of his abs in the morning light. He had long, solid legs, tanned right up to his boxer briefs. Definitely a runner's body. I could see his penis through his tight underwear. Even soft, it was hard to miss. I barely breathed as I took in the handsome stranger. In particular, I couldn't take my mind off his cock. It wasn't until I felt a wet warmth at my crotch that I noticed the weight of the breasts hanging off my chest or the hair tickling my shoulders. My breath stopped for several seconds more as I slowly raised one hand to my chest and, horrified, grabbed a warm, fleshy mound. Pleasure pulsed where my palm met my bare nipple, which immediately stiffened in response. My heart stopped. I felt sick. Swallowing, I reached my free hand down, and felt the source of the warmth down below. Two soft lips parted easily for the tips of my fingers. I pulled my hand back like it'd been bit. My heart started again, pounding like it was about to explode. I was a woman. This had to be a dream. I pinched a nipple, then hissed in pain. It hurt like hell, but I wasn't waking up. Not only that, not only was I female, but I was topless and next to a strange man. Dream or not, the implications were horrifying. I instinctively sat all the way up and grabbed at the sheets hard and pulled them up to cover my nudity, give me some sort of protection. Unfortunately the lion's share had been under my bedfellow, and my pulling was enough to finally wake him up. He half-snored, half gasped as his eyes opened. "Eh, wha? Wuz goan on?" The man propped himself up on one arm, looked my way, then squinted. His thin lips formed a frown as they opened slightly. "Who're you?" Me, I was paralyzed, too afraid to move. I was just as terrified of my own body as the stranger next to me. I was a woman. I was could feel the void, the lack of an organ between my thighs, and the internal warmth that had not yet completely faded. I could feel how smooth my skin felt where my limbs touched. My hair hung just past my shoulders, and a few strands irritated my face. The stranger put himself together and sat up entirely, rubbed his eyes, then looked at me with them fully opened. The expression on his face was a mixture of confusion, concern, and a hint of joy playing at the corners of his mouth. The emotions briefly battled before joy won out, and suddenly his face was all confidence. "Hope I was good to you last night," he said. He rubbed this throat. "You gotta excuse me right now, babe, all that vodka's got me hoarse and hungover. I normally sound sexier than this." I couldn't move. I was female. My nipples brushed against the sheet as I breathed heavily. I was suddenly aware of the extra padding on my behind, and how tiny my hands and feet felt. The room suddenly felt a lot bigger, and the stranger even more terrifying. I felt so vulnerable. I wasn't sure I could stand up, let alone run away. Thankfully, the guy didn't move. He seemed content to take me in, probably imagining what I looked like under the sheet. The thought made me sick, but it was better than him touching me. That would have made me scream. "You got it bad too, huh? Or maybe I just left you speechless," the man said. He smiled at his own joke. My urge to vomit rose. The man stared at me a little while longer, waiting for an answer, then gave up and looked around the room. When it became clear I still wasn't talking, he decided to fill the silence. "Anyway, nice place you got here," the stranger said. His expression turned friendlier, more genuine. "Uh, mind telling me where the bathroom is? I'll be right back, I promise." My paralysis finally broke. Maybe it was how his bravado slipped. Maybe it was because I'd finished processing what was going on. Maybe it was because, woman or no, scared or no, I wasn't helpless. Regardless, there were hundreds of questions flying through my mind, so I picked the most obvious one. "Who are you?" I asked. It was the least of my worries, but would probably merit a straight answer. My voice sounded wrong to my ears, raspy and obviously female. The man looked surprised. Then he looked sheepish. Then he looked relieved, of all things. He scratched his head as he replied. "Oh, thank God, you don't remember me, either. It's cool, babe, this ain't my first rodeo. Guess we should both watch our drinking," he said. He laughed a lame, forced laugh. Now that I was thinking somewhat clearly, the implications of what he was saying, the reality of my body, and what it all meant started playing through my head. My chest felt stiff. Tears started forming in my eyes and I felt sobs beginning to form in my throat. The guy's eyes went wide as he noticed. "Shit, didn't mean to insult you. Just figured if we don't know each other's names, we both walked this road before," the man said, hurriedly. "I'm, er, I'm Marco." I burst into tears. It was the name that did it. I immediately assumed the stranger was the Marco I knew, not someone else with the same name. Things were already beyond fucked up, so why not? I was operating on dream logic. If I could end up a chick he could end up a different guy. That was nothing, in comparison. "No, no, no," I whispered to myself as I cried. I lost my grip on the sheet and fell sideways in the fetal position. "Wake up, why won't I wake up, please, for the love of God." I was pulled from my self-pity by a hesitant, ginger hand on my shoulder. I tore myself away, rolling off the bed and banging my head against the floor, painfully. Without a sheet, I threw one arm across my chest, covered my sex with the other, then backed up against a nearby wall and brought my knees to my chin, keeping Marco in my sights all the while. Enough anger and hate made it through the tears to keep him at bay. "Stay away," I said. "I don't know what you did, but stay the fuck away." Marco was still on the bed, resting on his knees. Confidence was gone from his face, and he looked worried. He shifted his feet to the floor, stood up, and seemed about to ask a question as he turned back to me, but instead he snapped his mouth shut and looked down. "What in the fuck?" Marco said after a second. He ran his hands up and down his body. "What the fuck happened to me?" The surprise was short lived, and he returned my hateful glare as walked around the bed and towered over me, no more than a foot away. Marco was breathing heavily, and seemed on the edge of violence. "You know something. You asked me, but you know something," he said. The growl of his new voice was somehow as sexy as it was terrifying. "Tell me what's going on. I don't look like this. This isn't me." The sobs had stopped, but fresh tears were still streaming down my cheeks. I held my stare, hoping my defiance would be more noticeable than the fear. But angry or not, defiant or not, now was the time to defuse the situation, not make it worse. "I don't know what's going on," I said, forcing my voice steady. It more or less worked. It only cracked a little. "It's Jessie, Marco. I'm Jessie. I don't know who I look like, but I am Jessie." It worked. Marco stepped backwards to the bed and sat back down, hands clasped at his knees. He didn't take his eyes off me, didn't get any less tense, but he didn't look ready to throttle me. We stared at each other for a good minute. The only sound was a clock ticking in some other room. "Lady, I'm pretty sure I'm tripping balls right now. Must've dropped something potent at the club," Marco said at last. "That said, I'm not in the mood for a bad trip. So how 'bout you tell me your name again, because I sure as fuck didn't get it the first time." "Marco. It's Jessie," I said. "Remember when we were in third grade, and you told me you wanted to marry Shelly Dean, and you made me promise to never tell anyone else under pain of death? Yeah, well, I didn't. It's me. I wish it wasn't, but it's me." It was a silly, inconsequential thing, but literally no one else would know that. No one else would even have reason to remember it. For a second I saw death in Marco's eyes. He looked ready to shout at me. Then he swallowed, cleared his throat, and sighed. "Fuck, Jessie," he said. "I, I, I don't know what the fuck. I believe it's you, for whatever dumbass reason, but I don't know what the fuck. Jesus. Look at you." "It's me. I wish I wasn't, but I'm a... girl... now," I said. I didn't like referring to myself as female. It felt wrong, whatever my body looked like. And it was a reminder of how I was viewing Marco. "I don't know what to do." A few more seconds of silence followed. This time we avoided looking at each other. "Look, I really gotta piss," Marco said. "I'm gonna find a toilet, you can get dressed or something and we can figure out what the fuck is going on. We got time. Not like you can become more of a chick." I nodded in reluctant agreement. I didn't have any better ideas. I tried to ignore Marco's hard, tight ass as he got up and walked out of the room, then stood up once I was certain I was alone. Looking down at my new body, past the obvious breasts, I saw my wide hips and female pubic hair. It was bad knowing it was there, but having it exposed to the world made it worse. I avoided looking in the mirror in the corner of the room. I wasn't mentally prepared to take proper inventory of my new look, not yet. I began looking around for clothes, noticing how the room had a feminine touch but was still somewhat masculine. I doubted the pile of boxer shorts in one corner belonged to a woman, but I didn't have time to go over the details, if I wanted to be decent by the time Marco got back. Spotting a closet, I took a look inside. It was a slutty jackpot. Well, that wasn't entirely fair. There were plenty of normal if obviously female pants and shirts, as well as several modest skirts and dresses. But what caught my eye was the lineup of revealing clothing, ranging from blouses with plunging necklines to bikinis that were barely more than strings. There were also a few costumes of an obviously sexual nature. I quietly closed the door and ignored its contents. The second closet was full of men's clothes. It was all obviously big for my new body, but I went for it anyway. A too long pair of jeans and a bulky sweatshirt would help hide what I was packing. That left underwear, which I found in a dresser. I found the lingerie drawer on the first guess, and was greeted by some of the laciest, skimpiest stuff I'd ever seen, including thongs, crotchless panties and things I wasn't sure even classified as underwear. None of my girlfriends had ever worn anything like it, and I wasn't about to find out what it would look like. I grabbed a relatively nondescript if frilly pair of panties. One more layer between me and the world. Bras were in the drawer below. Also lacy, and plenty were see-through. Part of me didn't want to wear one, but one look downward reminded me of the jiggling I'd be doing if I wandered around braless. Reluctantly, I snatched up relatively innocent bra and shut the drawer before I could change my mind. Dressing was less an ordeal than I'd honestly hoped. The panties fit perfectly, and the bra was uncomfortably comfortable. In a moment of weakness I checked and confirmed it as a C-cup. A belt off the floor kept my baggy pants from falling down too much, and the hoodie's bulkiness all but made my boobs disappear. The only bad part was how I had to pull my hair out of the hoodie after I put it on. I couldn't resist getting a better look at a handful, so I noted its reddish-brown hue and shoulder blade length before I pushed it behind my ears. I'd just sat back down on the bed when Marco came back, a frown on his face. It deepened as he saw my outfit. "Really? You look like a little girl got into her dad's old stuff," he said. "If you'd like I could dress all sexy for you," I snapped. "I bet you'd fuck any old friend if his tits were good enough." Marco looked like he'd been punched in the gut. That was worrying. It wasn't like him to react to a weak jab like that. "I meant... actually you know? About that. I looked around this place a bit, and there's some stuff you should see." He didn't look sure of himself, and for once it was terrifying instead of satisfying. Even his new body had radiated arrogance up until the moment he'd found out who I was. But now, looking at me, I could tell he was scared bad. And if it was something frightening enough to get through Marco's thick skull, it couldn't be good. I got up and followed Marco out of the room. We were on the second floor of an unfamiliar house. It wasn't all that weird, as far as things had gone today. We climbed down the stairs and walked into what appeared to be a nicely furnished living room. Marco walked up to a DVD shelf next to a television larger than any I'd ever owned. He bent down to look at a picture frame on the top and waved me over. "Take a look at this," he said. I did as asked. Inside the frame was a photo of the current Marco, smiling with his arm around an attractive woman. I didn't recognize her rather striking face, but the reddish-brown, shoulder-length hair told me all I needed. "It gets better, or maybe worse," Marco said. He'd moved on to another picture, further down the rack. Tearing my eyes from the first photo, I looked at the second. This one I recognized. It was our whole group of friends, everyone dressed up and in goofy poses. We'd taken it at Ted and Gina's wedding. The only problem was that me and Marco were missing. In our places were the new Marco, sticking out his tongue and throwing up the horns, and the woman from the previous photo, kissing Marco's cheek, offering a thumbs up with one hand and giving Marco bunny ears with the other. I tried to say something, but the words caught in my throat. Marco grunted and turned to look at the DVD collection. Numb, I walked away and started wandering around the house. If Marco noticed he didn't say anything. I found a few more pictures of the new Marco, and a few more of the woman who was no doubt me. I noted them and moved on. The place was a bit of a mess, but the decor was well thought out. It matched my tastes exactly, but the overall effect was somehow subtly feminine. Whatever fuckery was going on had done a lot more than swap my sex. It didn't take a genius to figure out this was, in fact, my place. It was impossible, of course, but why not? Being turned into a woman was impossible too. Yet it happened, and I had the breasts to prove it. Why should the rest of the world be immune? I walked into an office and immediately recognized my computer. It shouldn't be here, it should be in my apartment, but it was identical, right down to the stickers I'd slapped on the case. The rest of its desk was lined with my books on design and color theory and all the other information a good graphic designer needs. So my friends were the same, assuming that picture was correct. I saw no reason to think otherwise. My profession was probably the same, too. Which meant there was no way in hell I was paying for this place on my own. Maybe whatever voodoo hit me had also given me a free house as an apology, but I sincerely fucking doubted it. I'd been avoiding thinking about some of the things I'd seen during my wandering. As I went room to room, I'd also recognized a few overly masculine touches, mainly sports memorabilia and displayed equipment. All of it screamed "Marco." There were even a couple art pieces I'd recognized from his old place, his only concessions to actual style. I took a deep breath. I lived with Marco. I walked back into the living room and started staring at the pictures again, and forced myself to admit I was dating Marco, too. There was no other way to look at it. Not only had I become a chick, I'd become a chick who was with a guy I could barely stand. She looked so happy next to him in those pictures. I wanted to smash them. It was like a layer cake of nightmares iced with surrealism. It couldn't be happening. I was caught in some horrible, bizarro version of my normal life. It didn't make sense, but neither did any other explanation. I wished I could believe it was all a dream, but it was all too lucid and was going on for too long. Channeling my confusion and frustration productively, I swore loudly and punched a wall. My dainty hand didn't make so much as a dent, and stung from the impact. "Tell me about it," Marco said, finally piping up. He was looking behind the television and frowning. "A lot of this is my stuff. The TV, for starters. But this isn't my place. Someone must've stolen it." The banality of Marco's idiocy cracked those final, eggshell-thin calm vestiges of calm. I was already at my breaking point, and, as usual, he managed to push me over the edge. My urge to lash out found a new outlet, and I didn't even notice the pain in my hand. "You know what? Fuck you," I said, just loudly enough for him to hear. Marco stood up and looked over at me, surprised. "I'm dealing with fucking boobs and a pussy, and you complain that your shit is someplace different? Go fuck yourself, you useless, selfish, utter dipshit." His mouth open and shut noiselessly for several seconds. Self-centered moron probably hadn't even noticed how stressed I felt, or even thought about how I was reacting to becoming a girl. But Marco never missed an opportunity to say something stupid, so he narrowed his eyes, stood tall and walked over to get in my face. "You think I got off easy? I spent years bulking up, now I look like some gangly ass fucker who never even heard of a gym," he said, his tone acrid. I was a little frightened. He was taller than me now, and likely still stronger. But I tried to stand my ground. "We both saw those pictures. We're in them. So I'm apparently saddled with a bitch of a girlfriend, and she's the pathetic loser of a childhood friend I've never been able to shake, of all people. If we're really dating or whatever the fuck is happening, I can't fucking wait to cheat on you." Yeah, I tried to stand my ground, but I failed miserably. I lost it at the word "girlfriend." Something about him confirming that yes, he indeed saw me as a fucking woman, drove home everything that had changed. I'd been able to avoid thinking about it too deeply when I first felt my breasts, when I'd seen the lingerie, and when I'd realized the woman in the photos was me. But hearing it from someone else confirm it was the straw that broke that particular camel's back. I'd never piss standing up again. Hell, I'd never see the inside of a men's bathroom. I'd have to get used to carrying around breasts, having them stared at and catcalled. I'd get called ma'am and miss and lady, and if I got married it would be as the blushing bride. I didn't want to think about whether I could have kids. The idea of pregnancy was repugnant. Thinking about all that, desperate to get away from Marco, I recoiled and I started hyperventilating. I was a woman. Female. My pride and joy were replaced with a moist little slit. I didn't want to be a girl. I just wanted to be who I should be. But I didn't know what had happened to me, let alone if I could reverse it. I started cursing out Marco with what little breath I could muster. This had to be his fault. That would make as much sense as anything. My words weren't insults so much as random collections of foul language. Marco, still pissed, fired right back. I'd never been more ready to kill someone. Then, in the middle of my tirade, I was struck by the worst migraine I'd ever felt. I grabbed my head and fell to my knees. It was like my head had cracked open and my brains were being stabbed with rusty knives. As my vision blurred, I felt perverse satisfaction at seeing Marco fall down too. I drowned in pain. I have no idea how long it lasted. I couldn't see, couldn't breathe, wasn't aware of anything but hurt. Then, as suddenly as it started, the pain disappeared without a trace. I was still standing, finger pointed at Marco. I felt short of breath, and took deep lungfuls while my body caught up with my mind. I wasn't hyperventilating anymore. I didn't feel much of anything, emotionally. Feelings returned as I looked at Marco. At first it was anger, remembering the argument we'd just been having. But then my heart started pumping and I was struck by an intense sensation of devotion, love and lust. I was suddenly very aware of how my fiance was standing in front of me in only his boxers, and how irresistibly sexy he was. And a significant part of me wanted to rip his underwear off and get down and dirty right on our couch. The thought filled me with revulsion. I didn't want to have sex with anyone, let alone Marco. But why? He was the most charming and loyal guy I'd ever met, and I was lucky to have him. Wait, Marco? He wasn't charming, let alone loyal. I'd never seen him date a girl more than twice. So why did I remember him being utterly devoted to me, making me the happiest woman alive? I stood there, frozen, while the mental acrobatics continued. I couldn't think straight. I was simultaneously attracted and repulsed by Marco. I was both proud of my womanhood and certain that I should be a man. I wasn't sure how long I stood there, dumbfounded, until I finally sorted my thoughts enough to realized what was happening. I focused on how I was Jessie Matthews, a man. I remembered playing little league baseball, hitting my first home run. I remembered jerking off for the first time, and the disaster that was the cleanup. I remembered talking Nancy out of asking Marco out, warning her that he was bad news. I remembered being Ted's groomsman, making love with my then-girlfriend Tina in our hotel room that night. I remembered waking up in fear and confusion this morning as a woman. I clearly remembered who I was, or at least who I should be. But I also remembered remembered joining the Girl Scouts as a little girl. I remembered my first period, the embarrassment at having to leave the pool in a hurry. I remembered my biggest fight with Nancy, on the day I started dating Marco, when her jealousy exploded into a huge argument. I remembered being Gina's bridesmaid, and blowing then getting eaten out by Marco in a supply closet during the cocktail hour. But this morning was fuzzy, beyond waking up next to my husband-to-be in the bed we shared. I had two sets of memories, and both were equally represented. They blended perfectly, rolled over and swatted at each other like newborn kittens. Male memories triggered related female memories like they were the same person's experiences, and vice versa. Which I guess they were. I was remembering whatever life went along with my new house, body and lifestyle. And both sets were affecting how I thought about things. Which included falling in love with and getting engaged to Marco. Our wedding was in three weeks. My male side was disgusted and starting to freak out again, which confused my female side. After all, I hadn't had any doubts in a long time. Marco was the love of my life. The thought simultaneously made me want to vomit and hold him close and never let go. Now that I realized what was happening, getting a hang of my new thought process was surprisingly easy, if disconcerting. My female memories weren't much different from my male ones, personality-wise. Female me was even named Jessie. The only really concerning thing was how many more... carnal... memories there were. They still had my desire for commitment, but I now remembered having far, far more encounters with men then I'd ever had with women, and I could think of a few dozen sexual techniques and positions off the top of my head. But I could unravel my new libido some other time. Right now I needed to get my mind under some semblance of control. Slowly, carefully, I looked back at Marco. I pushed aside the concern I felt at seeing his mouth agape, his eyes glassy and distant as they darted around the room. Presumably he also had two sets of memories now, and was having trouble processing them. The schadenfreude at his dullness was offset by how much I wanted to help him. His eyes caught mine, and stared straight at me. I was torn between running away and running to comfort him. I split the difference and stood still. An agonizing minute later he started slowly blinking, then shook his head and rubbed his hair. "I, Jessie, I," he started before trailing off. He tried to gather his thoughts. He looked me up and down, and I could tell by his satisfied expression he knew what was under these baggy clothes in detail. I was both thrilled and horrified. "I remember fucking you. Lots of times. And you're the best lay of my life." For the first time my dueling memories agreed on one emotion, disgust. Granted, my female side was disgusted at my concern getting lust in response, while my male side was disgusted by how I could remember fucking him, too, particularly how fondly I remembered begging Marco to pound me harder and faster as he did just that. "Good for you," I said. I couldn't tell if the sarcasm registered. "So you got new memories too?" He frowned. "New? I guess. I remember being two people. One can barely stand you as a guy, and the other can't get enough of you as a chick. It's fucking weird. I can barely tell which are which." "Well, the ones where you're a hateful douchebag me are the real ones. I'm not supposed to be a woman, let alone engaged to you." In cringed internally as I said that. My female self didn't like the idea of not being with Marco. "We need to hold on to who we should be. If there's any way out of this, that's going to be important." I had no clue if that was true, of course. But I figured if I lost myself in being Marco's sexy lover I'd forget to try or even stop wanting to get back to normal, and that thought was unbearable. Better to try and keep a hold of myself, no matter how fruitless it might be. Marco nodded in agreement. "Anyway, I'm gonna go shower. I don't think right before I clean up," I said. Another thing both my selves agreed on. "If you try to sneak in the bathroom for a peek, I'll kill you." "You don't gotta worry about that," Marco said. "I remember having nudes of you on my computer. I'll keep myself occupied." I shot him a dirty look and flipped him off, but Marco just laughed. Pervert. I told myself there was no way he was about to jerk off to me. I wished I could believe that. I climbed back up the stairs and into the bedroom, which was now extremely familiar. I'd been living here almost two years, after all. I was planning on starting a family here, God help me. That last thought reminded me of something as I reentered the bedroom. I pulled open the drawer on my nightstand, and picked up a little purple pack of pills. I stared at them, weighing my options. It was my birth control. I wasn't having sex anytime soon, no matter how badly my body or female side wanted it. But I remembered from past girlfriends that missing even a day could wreak havoc on your hormones. Better to just pop the damn pill and ignore the other implications. My engagement ring was in the drawer, too. It was a thick band of bright gold topped by one hell of a rock, which was surrounded by several smaller stones. The parts that weren't studded with diamonds were engraved with an elaborate curving design. Christ. The thing had to be worth thousands, maybe even tens of thousands. I was definitely reaping the benefits of Marco's salary in my new life. Looking at Marco's ring, I realized I was still wearing the cheap hemp number Jason had given me. In all the confusion I'd never even thought about it. Now I could feel it clinging tightly to my finger. It occurred to me that the ring that had been loose on my thick man hands last night was now tight on my thin, feminine finger. I tried to pull it off. I couldn't bring myself to do it. There wasn't anything physically stopping me, I could touch it just fine, I didn't feel any urge to leave it on, I just couldn't work up the effort to remove it from my finger. It didn't make any sense. My heart skipped a beat. The damn rings. They had something to do with this. Jason's new age hocus pocus had come true in the worst way possible. They had to be some sort of magic, as stupid as it sounded. Marco had one too. They were doing this to us. If I could take it off maybe I'd break whatever curse this was. I pulled some sewing supplies out of my closet. I ignored the urge to pick out my outfit for the day as I took out the scissors and put them up against the ring. Magic or not, it was just fabric. Even these puny things would cut right through. I couldn't close the scissors all the way. I could bring the blades right against the ring, but I couldn't snip it. My fingers just stopped. Cursing, I ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. I grabbed a chef's knife, put it against the ring, and couldn't make myself cut any further. I held the position, willing myself to bring the knife down. I was ready to lose the finger if it came to that. "Holy shit, what the fuck are you doing?" Marco demanded. I looked over, and he was standing in the doorway. He must have heard me clamoring down the stairs. "It's the damn rings. The ones Jason gave us. They're doing this to us," I said. Marco looked at me like I was crazy. I looked down at the identical ring on his hand. "Go ahead, give yours a tug. It's not coming off." "Yeah, okay, I believe you. Makes as much sense as anything. But put the knife down first," Marco said, slowly. I suddenly realized I looked like a madwoman. Sheepishly, I put the knife on the counter and stepped away. "I was just trying to cut the ring," I said. "Go ahead, try and take yours off. I bet you can't." Not looking away, Marco placed his fingers around his own ring. His hand went dead still. He wiggled it a bit, but never enough to move the fingers on the ring. "Exactly. Like I was saying. You can't take them off," I said. I grabbed the knife by the blade and handed it to Marco. He took it reluctantly. I walked back to the counter and put my right hand on it. "Try and cut mine off. It won't let me do it, but maybe it will let you. Don't worry about cutting me. If I gotta bleed a bit for things to go back to normal, I'll be happy to do it." Marco walked over, zombielike. He looked at the knife, looked at me, then carefully placed it directly on the ring. "I can't," he said. "I fucking can't. It won't let me. I don't think I could if it did. I'm so sorry, babe." The stress and shame in his voice made me feel awful. I couldn't believe I'd just done that to him. I wanted to kiss him, hug him, tell him we were going to get through this. Then I pulled myself together, fought against my female thoughts. Being called babe was uncomfortable, which helped. There was one thing left to do. I gently reached for the knife, ignoring how much I enjoyed the excuse to touch Marco's hand. I could tell he liked it too, and he let go without argument. I looked up and smiled disarmingly. I let him get caught up in the tenderness of our new memories, then I brought the knife high before slamming it on my ring- adorned finger, hard and right at the knuckle. "Jessie!" Marco screamed. My eyes were shut. I couldn't feel anything. I opened them and looked down. The knife was touching my skin. But it had stopped before it broke it. There was no getting the damn ring off. "Figured as much," I muttered. Marco looked pale. I didn't give him a chance to recover. "Fuck it, I'm taking that shower. Shout if you come up with something." I left Marco as he started turning angry and confused, ignoring how much it hurt. He wasn't a great guy who'd move the world from me, he was an asshole. I was pretty sure the ring wasn't messing with my personality after all, and I had to keep reminding myself the female memories were fake. All the nice things he'd done for me were made up horseshit, no matter what I thought. Back in the bedroom, I took account of the situation. On one hand, my memories of being a girl were strong enough that I was acting on them. Not good. On the other hand, memories of the real me weren't fading or anything. I should be able to keep control, as long as I took things slow and made sure I remembered the right life. The big problem was my body. It wasn't unfamiliar anymore. It felt perfectly right, like I'd grown up in it. And, in a sense, I had. I stripped naked and walked over to the full length mirror hidden behind the door, which I now had always known was there. I was indeed the girl in the photos, and going by my reflection I was even hotter in the flesh. Not unattainably, movie star hot, but I wouldn't look out of place in a fashion catalog. My face was the highlight, perhaps not conventionally sexy, but possessed of an undeniable and extremely striking beauty. A bit angular, with strong features and maybe a bit too much nose, but my full lips, high cheeks and overall flawless complexion made it work, particularly when framed by my slightly curly hair. I had decently sized breasts, was maybe a little short on the other curves, but my legs were long and it was an overall nice and tight little body. Plus I knew how to work what I had. Given the right outfit I could pull off that unobtainable look after all. Yes, that was the catch. I felt at home in my body now, but that part of me also wanted to show off the goods. I was feeling silly, hiding inside these ridiculous men's clothes. I thought back to the wardrobe in the closet, which I now knew in detail, and all the cute and sexy things I could wear. If nothing else, I wanted to look good for Marco. And now that I was relatively calm, I remembered I also wanted to show off for the dinner party we were hosting tonight. The whole gang was coming. Fuck. In any case, if I was accepting that I was living in some insane alternate reality, my guests were probably expecting girl Jessie. There was a chance I'd be pleasantly surprised, that either no one would show up or everyone would be as confused as me, but I wasn't counting on it. I compromised on an outfit. Full-length skirt, blouse with a slightly plunging neckline. I was going to show off enough to satisfy my surprisingly girly feminine side, but I'd be classy enough that I wasn't giving in completely. I told myself it was for the illusion that I was Girl Jessie. I'd have believed it, too, if I didn't unconsciously smile at the thought of Marco checking out my cleavage. He was another problem, I thought to myself as I stepped into the shower. My alternate memories were of him being an absolute gentleman. The idea of him philandering seemed alien. Yeah, he'd slept around in high school and college, but as soon as we came back and started officially dating he'd put those days behind him. And, in a slightly weirder train of thought that hit me as I washed my hair, his new body was along the lines of my masculine ideal. I'd never really thought of it as a dude, but I found tall, athletic but not bulky guys to be way more handsome than meatheads like Marco used to be. He'd stayed male, but the rings had made him far more appealing to me. Which meant I was probably the same for his taste in women, which I pondered as I lathered up my body. I was surprised, always figured his ideal ran more busty and short, but I couldn't blame him. I'd have dated me in a heartbeat. Of course, that left the question of why I was turned into a woman and not him. Maybe because Marco got his ring first. Maybe because I'm more open-minded. Maybe because, as I suspected Marco believed, he had always been the more conventionally masculine one. But I had to admit, why either of us turned into a woman at all seemed irrelevant. Whatever was happening seemed to be working towards us being a happy couple. Just making us gay seemed easier, but I wasn't going to pretend to understand whatever cosmic insanity was going down. I caught myself lingering on my breasts and vagina as I rinsed off, which raised another big concern. I was mostly still me, but I was even more sexual than my memories had implied. I could feel my thoughts drifting towards sex in those few moments I wasn't otherwise occupied. My knowledge of pleasuring men would put high-end escort to shame. I wasn't just girly, I was a downright libidinous young woman. Which was probably part of being Marco's ideal girl, I realized as I toweled off. If he was going to go monogamous, he'd need a woman who could replicate the constant stream of encounters he was used to. And with my newfound expertise, I fit the bill. I could probably cook up something fresh every night for the rest of our lives. I really, really wished that thought didn't sound so exciting, let alone get me turned on. As I finished getting dressed and checked myself out in the mirror, I decided I had more pressing matters than idle speculation. Jason was one of the guests tonight, and I was going to grill him about the rings. But that meant playing the part of the good hostess, and getting this place clean. I doubted he did this on purpose, so I wanted to make sure the party ran smoothly and gently coax it out of him. I headed downstairs to get to work, and from the look of it Marco was pissed. Various cutlery was strewn on the kitchen counter. Despite that, Marco's eyes went wide when he saw me, and he grinned despite himself. Enjoying the view, no doubt. Me, I wished he'd put on a shirt. A girl could get seriously distracted looking at those abs. I ignored the urge to kiss him and told him about my plan. "Seriously, that's the best you can do?" he said. It wasn't the response I'd expected. "Play little miss hostess until someone else figures this out? I thought you were onto something with the rings, but I guess you're full of shit. Like always." "Oh, fuck you," I replied. I could feel him chipping away at what had finally been a good mood. "At least I haven't been standing around and moping and trying something we know won't work. Whatever's going on hit me way worse than you, but I'm the one stuck trying to figure out how to stop it." "Again with the bitching? You grew tits, big whoop. At least you're still you. Me, I'm practically fucking worshiping you." His voice rose. "You understand how fucking awful that is? I never wanted to settle down, part of me still can't imagine being stuck having sex with the same person for the rest of my life. That's, like, my biggest nightmare. Waking up every day next to the same chick, getting bogged down with kids and bills and shit, never experiencing life. And now these fucking rings are making me want that. I'm barely even me anymore." Well, that confirmed my suspicions. I became his personal sex encyclopedia, and in return he was forced to grow some balls and commit to something. No surprise that actually feeling responsible put him in a terrible mood. Asshole had never cared for anyone else in his life, whatever my new memories told me. "I can help there," I said. "We can call off this absurd wedding, split up. I think I can deal with being a woman the rest of my life, long as that doesn't mean spending it with you." It was true, to an extent. I was disturbingly comfortable in my new body, thanks to my female memories. Of course, those same memories desperately wanted a life with Marco, but I had to take the good with the bad. I had to get out while I was still me. "You'd like that, wouldn't you," Marco said, sneering. "It'll be just like when you were a dude. Everyone likes Jessie better, he's such a nice guy. Of course they'll side with you. Shit, with your rack, there's not even gonna be a question. Popularity contest between a hot chick and some ugly asshole! Gee, I wonder who wins?" I slapped him. Hard. Even my loving feminine side thought he was being a huge asshole. We were stuck in some nightmare reality and he cared about who our friends would side with in a breakup? That was low even for Marco. I opened up my mouth for a retort when the migraine returned, once again putting an end to rational thought. I collapsed to the floor, and for an eternity floated in pain and nothingness. Then something was wrong. I had my mouth open, was about to say something nasty to Marco. And for some reason I thought I should be hurting. Not only that, but I felt odd, worried, like I'd just forgotten something important. I could feel it floating around in the back of my mind, barely out of reach, waiting for the right moment to get jarred back into my consciousness. Was it something he'd said? Was that why I felt so angry? But while Marco could be volatile, it was never directed towards me. I saw Marco's hand at his cheek. There was a red mark beneath it. My palm stung. Had I hit him? Had we fought? It'd never been that bad, never even come close to blows. Everything was so fuzzy. I could barely remember anything after waking up this morning. My fiance slowly removed his hand, looking as confused as I felt. The side of his face was bright red. "Are you okay?" I asked. He slowly nodded an affirmative, but I was already on the move. I gingerly turned his face to the side and began fussing over the mark. It wasn't bad, would probably be gone in an hour or two, but looked painful. I felt shame, first at being the likely cause of the mark, and again at not being able to admit it. "I'm fine, babe, I'm fine," he said. I stepped back. I could tell by his tone and his look that he wasn't upset with me. "No idea what hit me. Did a number, whatever it was. Can barely remember this morning. Eh, we were drinking pretty hard last night. Probably something I did then." He forced a laugh, but I didn't join in. For some reason I didn't trust him, which was also out of character for me. Marco had never been anything short of honest, and deserved better. I attributed it to guilt, but if he didn't think I caused that, I didn't. We had been drinking last night. Probably got smacked while dancing at the club. Might have even been my hurting hand that did it, accidentally. I had a party to prepare for, and my stud of a co-host still hadn't even showered. I forced myself to get started, and so did Marco. I got to cleaning while Marco headed upstairs and showered. We usually did that together, given the opportunity, but that gnawing sense of wrongness was telling me that this wasn't my fiance, I shouldn't want that. The feeling was just strong enough to make me want to play it safe. I told Marco that since I was already dressed and there was plenty to do, I was going to go ahead and start prepping. Marco didn't comment. I hoped he wasn't insulted. We had a lifetime of sexy showers ahead of us, once I dispelled this unwarranted doubt. Jason's ring kept bothering me as I worked. It was too tight, chafing a bit, and wouldn't come off. I kept unconsciously fiddling with it. Every time I did so I my thoughts wandered back to that memory of a lost memory. Did Jason have something to do with it? I figured I'd ask him about the rings after the party. He gave Marco one too. Maybe that would jog my memory. I tossed the thought aside when my hunky fiance sauntered down the stairs, looking fine in his best shirt and nice, tight jeans. He hadn't shaved because I like a little bit of stubble. My man knows how to treat his woman. I started doing prep work for dinner while Marco took over cleaning duties. Cooking usually helps clear the mind, but that nagging bit of doubt wouldn't go away. It was putting me in a mood, making me short with Marco. Normally we got along famously, but today I kept seeing the worst in him, looking for hidden meaning in his jokes or ignoring them outright. I felt paranoid, and that just made my funk worse. At one point, while I was focused on chopping up some carrots, he snuck up behind me and started massaging my breasts and kissing my neck while he grinded into my ass. I loved the way his stubble tickled my neck I pushed back involuntarily as a slight moan left my lips. "Babe, I know something's wrong," he said between kisses. "Just tell me, and I can make it all better." What could I say? That I felt like there's a small but important hole in my memory, and that I couldn't shake the feeling that we're not supposed to be together? It was absurd. Marco feeling me up was one of the nicest, sexiest sensations in the world, and made me feel wonderful despite any doubts. I didn't want to lie, but I didn't want him to stop, either. So rather than answer, I reached down to grab his member with a free hand, feeling its hardness through his tight jeans. My skilled hands were one of his few weaknesses, and within seconds I knew he'd lost his train of thought. He returned the favor, slipping his own rough hand down my skirt and under my panties. It felt so right. Any other time I would have stopped what I was doing and let him take me right then and there. A large part of me still wanted to drop to my knees, unzip his pants and offer a proper apology for doubting him. But as I played with Marco's dick that missing memory tried to resurface, and as much as I enjoyed it the idea going any further seemed horribly wrong. Not willing to let my insanity completely ruin the moment, I shifted around to face him and we started making out while I gave him a hand job and he played with my clit. But it didn't become anything more serious. I pulled apart before either of us orgasmed, and could see the worry on his face. "We shouldn't ruin our good clothes before the party," I said. It sounded lame to my ears. He looked hurt, and it killed me, but I couldn't help but feel I'd done the right thing. That just made me feel worse. We worked in silence the remainder of the day, a world apart from the same room. After all the food was ready I steeled myself against my doubts and put a stop to Marco's vacuuming with hugs and kisses. It was enough to get him to stop and return the affection, but even as I began rubbing my chest against him he refused to take things any further. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. Marco was never one to turn down an invitation like that. My stupid paranoia had him pissed, and I couldn't blame him. I just wished his disinterest didn't make me feel so relieved. I had to figure out what was wrong with me, our relationship had never been this cold, even during our biggest fights. When the guests finally arrived, it was a relief. Even if we were just playing at being happy host and hostess, Marco had his arm back around my waist and I could force myself to look lovingly in his eyes and I'd forget about my weird thoughts and everything felt normal, if only for a brief moment. The party went wonderfully. The meal was a hit, the conversation was great, and Marco proved an excellent bartender. Of course, all the friends in our group are wonderful, so that helped. Aside from Nancy's lingering touch of jealousy over my relationship with Marco, there isn't a single point of conflict. It's impressive, considering how diverse our personalities are. I'm almost as grateful for my friends as I am for my fiance, current unwarranted suspicions notwithstanding. But all good things come to an end, and eventually it was time for everyone to go. I hugged and kissed and said goodbyes, but noticed Jason stuck around to chat with Marco a bit. I patiently waited for them to finish, and caught Jason as he was about to head out the door. "Those rings you gave us last night, where did you get them?" I asked. "They're cute, but knowing you it's more than a little accessory. Some sort of hippie magic?" He smiled. "I got them from this cool store in the mall. Some kinda magic shop, had all sorts of sweet old stuff," Jason said. "The old man there says these rings patch up bad marriages. I know you two aren't married yet, but he said it'd make any two people the perfect couple." "You think we aren't?" It was half teasing, half digging up information. I certainly didn't feel like half of a perfect couple, but I was pretty sure I was the only one. Nothing I could remember hinted at any real tension. The only possibility was that buried memory, and whatever connected it to this ring. "It's funny you say that. Like, I know you guys are great together, but when I bought the rings I was convinced you were tearing the group apart," Jason said. Something clicked in my brain, but I held my tongue. "No idea what came over me. By the time I came to my senses I already had the things, so I figured no harm giving them out. Besides, they look great on you two." I forced a laugh, hoping it didn't sound as fake as it felt. "Yeah, we are a good looking pair, aren't we? Anyway, I appreciate your concern, Jason. I hope it wasn't warranted. I'll catch you soon." We embraced, I kissed his cheek, then I shut the door behind him, leaned back against it, and sank to the floor. The ring. Jason's concern. I remembered him asking me to wear the ring last night, telling me he'd given one to Marco, too. I remembered thinking it was stupid, that Marco and I would never get along. Except I otherwise couldn't remember ever not being great friends with Marco, even before we were lovers. I desperately tried to remember this morning. It was as blurry as ever. The thoughts started giving me a headache, but I forced myself to concentrate. Eventually bits and pieces, things that didn't quite fit in, popped up. It was like I was recalling some past life. Then one thought, the culmination of my efforts, hit me: I wasn't Jessie Matthews. I couldn't remember who I was, but it wasn't her. I vaguely remembered now, I'd only been Jessie since this morning. Maybe since I put on this ring. I had a lifetime of memories as Jessie, but at least some of them were false. Maybe all of them. Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and it was fucking with my head, trying to keep me from realizing it was even happening. I shouldn't be marrying Marco. He wasn't a stranger, but I was pretty sure he wasn't who he was, either. Try as I might, I couldn't recall any more details. Only that I wasn't Jessie, and Marco wasn't Marco. The ring still wouldn't let me take it off. I was pretty sure it was behind this. Part of me felt like I should have kept Jason from leaving. Maybe he knew more. But I doubted it. Even in my deepest paranoia I knew if he caused this, it was accidentally. I felt like Jason was the one person my otherwise questionable memories could trust. If he'd paved this road to hell, it was with the best intentions. I felt like I was going to vomit. I was certain my life was a lie, but I couldn't remember what it should be. Part of me wondered if I was just losing my mind. Magic rings weren't real. The thought wasn't any more comforting. It also didn't explain the oddities in my memory. I took a deep breath, steeled myself and stood up. I had to tell Marco. Whether I was insane and wrong or if we'd really been given different lives, he had to know. Either he was a fellow victim, and we could work together to figure out a solution, or I was certified, and the man for whom I felt an honest, intense love would be my lifeline to sanity. I found him in the kitchen, picking at leftover dessert. He smiled sweetly as I approached. Any earlier animosity was forgotten in the wake of the party. I felt like the world's biggest asshole as I stepped closer and prepared to bring it all crashing down. "Marco, we need to talk," I said. I was terrified, and the words threatened to catch in my throat. I didn't know what was going to happen, but it wouldn't be fun. "I love you, I really do, but something is wrong. Really, really wrong." He stopped chewing and swallowed, the smile falling off his face. "Something's been eating you all day, babe, so why don't you just say it? You know I'm always here for you." It was time. Goodbye, marital bliss. Goodbye, perfect husband. "Marco, I'm not Jessie. And I'm pretty sure you're not Marco. Something, these rings I think, they did this to us. We're not supposed to be together. I think... I think we're supposed to hate each other." I couldn't get a read on Marco. He immediately went blank, like I'd never before, and it scared me. Part of me wanted to backpedal, apologize, hug him, tell him I had no idea what was wrong with me. It wouldn't be forgotten, but life would go on. We'd look back and laugh, one day, living together happily ever after. And not one of those happy days would pass without me questioning whether I was trapped in a lie, a life that wasn't mine. I held my ground and waited for him to respond. "What are you saying?" His words were slow. "Jessie, you're scaring me." He was scared? I wished he could feel what I did. "I have no idea. I really fucking don't. I just know we shouldn't be together, shouldn't be these people. I have... memories... that don't add up. Like, I desperately want you, but part of me is repulsed. I remember you being someone else. Someone I'd never be with." Now he looked pissed. Marco stood tall, like I always remembered him doing when angry, at least in the life I could remember. "You're repulsed by me?" "That's not what I said. I was telling you-" "You said you're repulsed by me. You know what? I've been having weird thoughts too. I know I'd never imagine cheating on you. I don't even look at other women. But deep down, I've been wondering why. I can't shake the feeling that I want to be free, like before we started dating. I ignored that feeling because I love you. Funny, I thought you'd do the same, little miss fidelity." "Oh, fuck off. I'm worried, Marco, not starting a pissing contest." I was angry, but this was so unlike Marco. He'd always been calm, reasonable and supportive. Hadn't he? Now my memories seemed even more unreliable. "You seriously don't have any doubts about who we are?" For a brief second his expression slipped, fear showed, and I knew I'd hit a nerve. But the second passed, and anger took hold once again. "You're fucking insane. Doubt who I am? The only thing I'm doubting is this marriage. You know, Nancy was giving me looks all night, while you have one bad day and go fucking frigid." Fucking Nancy. I wondered if she'd really always had a thing for Marco, or if that was part of this fucked up scenario. As for my fiance, he was a stubborn ass. I loved him, or at least believed I loved him, but he always clammed up when he was scared. He knew something was wrong, but good luck getting him to admit it. He'd rather drive me off and deal with it alone. I wasn't going to let him win. I refused to rise to the bait. "Well, you didn't touch her. You know you'd hate yourself if you did. Nancy would, too. I don't know what else is true, but that is." I was being honest. Nancy knew she'd lost years ago. I occasionally caught her checking him out, but trusted that she'd never make a move. "Funny you say that," Marco growled. "Copped a quick feel plus a little more while you and everyone else was in the other room. She's a way better kisser than you, too. We were a bit drunk, I got caught up in those weird thoughts. I felt awful, but you know what? Now I'm glad. Thought you should know, since we're sharing all our feelings." He saw much punch coming, and turned so it hit him in the shoulder, not the face. How dare he? I didn't care if my memories were real or not. I'd done so much for Marco, valued him above all else, but instead of talk about his weird thoughts he went and acted on them? Nancy would never make a move, so he did. What a fucking asshole. "You know what? Fuck it, we're done," I said, feeling tears welling up inside. "Now I'm sure I don't know who you are. The wedding's off, I'm moving out. I don't know who I really am, but it sure as hell isn't someone who'd stay with you." Then Marco was crouching, clutching his head. Before I could even wonder what happened I was struck by an intense migraine of my own. The sensation was strangely familiar, and I knew it was very bad. My last thoughts before blanking out were worry for Marco, followed by utter dread and a sense of defeat. Then I couldn't remember why I'd been arguing with Marco. I was still angry, and felt ready to take it out physically, but... why? Our very successful dinner party had just ended. I'd been horny all day without an opportunity for release, and I was finally alone with my man and all the time in the world. Yeah, Nancy had been making eyes again, but when had that been enough to get me riled up? Let her stare, she knew Marco was mine and mine alone. Whatever the problem had been, it was already gone. And without anger to temper it, my libido was starting to take priority. "You remember what we were mad about?" Marco asked, apparently having the same thoughts. He was rubbing his shoulder for some reason. "It's dumb, but it seemed so important." He was right, but it seemed pointless to dwell on it. It couldn't be that important if we couldn't even remember. Besides, we had another reason move on. I was practically soaking through my panties, I was so ready. So I changed the subject, quickly and decisively. "No idea, but I'd bet the house that you got me good and angry over something, probably something really inane. I'm demanding makeup sex as an apology," I said, grinning wickedly. "Right here, right now, or you're sleeping on the couch. You've been depriving me all day, and it's time you made things right." He stared for a second, processing my words. No matter how often they happened, he never seemed ready for my sudden come-ons. "Let me grab a condom and I'll be right on it," Marco finally said, leaning in to kiss me. I accepted it, but grabbed him before he could leave. I held him close, loving the sensation of him pressed against my breasts. I leaned over and whispered in his ear. "When I said right now, I meant it. I'm on the pill, so we'll be fine. And if not, the wedding's in three weeks. I won't be showing yet." Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe I was throwing caution to the wind. But I knew Marco and I were meant to be, and if we ended up having kids a bit earlier than planned, so be it. He was the most loyal guy I'd ever known, and he was going to be a great father, whether