Andrew to Ashleigh Part 2 New Experiences
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Andrew To Ashleigh: Part 1 - The Change free porn video
My name was, once upon a time, Andrew McKenna; now it's Ashleigh Barnes,
and how that happened is a long story. I figure the best way to start is
to tell you about the day I died. At least, I think I died! Even if I
didn't die, though, I for sure went to heaven. I never in a billion
years would have thought things would have turned out the way they did
for me. Stick around and I'll tell you all about it.
The day I died (maybe? anyway, let's just say died, because Andrew is
totally gone) started out pretty normal for my life back then. I lived
in Hoboken, NJ. People call it 'The Mile Square City'; I always called
it Broboken. It's a very post-collegiate town across the river from the
city (and you should know that when I say that, I mean Manhattan, where
I live now). I had wanted to live there since I was a teenager and used
to take the train in from the suburbs to hang out. Once I graduated from
NYU with my degree in communications, I moved there to a small studio
apartment downtown (nowhere near the river though - I could never have
afforded that). While I was in college, I had made a bit of money on the
side as a realtor (I had done the coursework and passed the exam one
summer), and I was doing that now while I tried to find a full-time job
after graduating.
The morning it happened was September 6th; the alarm on my black Galaxy
S6 went off at 7am, like always. I snoozed it a couple of times, as
usual, before stumbling out of bed and into my tiny bathroom, closing
the door behind me. I dropped my undershirt and shorts on the shelf
above the toilet, and was forced to confront myself in the mirror on the
back of the door. I had never been particularly athletic, but since
graduation I hadn't gotten a whole lot of exercise, and the nicest way
to describe my physique would probably have been "doughy". I was 23
years old, about 5'9" tall, and somewhere around 225 lbs. I had stopped
stepping on my scale the last few weeks, so I couldn't say for sure. I'd
had a tough time the last few years; I had always been shy and I hadn't
had many friends in college. I also hadn't had a girlfriend in a couple
of years. I don't know what it was - I wasn't ugly, just plain; I was
always a pretty nice guy, and sure, maybe a bit of a nerd, but I felt
like I had a lot to offer. The only explanation I had was my body. I
knew that if I couldn't get in shape, nothing would change for me, but I
could never seem to get off my butt and actually change anything.
In theory, the reason I always got up that early was to go for a jog (I
actually did, for the first few weeks at least; I had found something
called C25K on Google and tried it). From there, I started taking days
off - just to recover, you understand - and I had been 'recovering' the
last few months now. After I took my shower, I dried off and started
getting dressed. I got as far as my undershirt and boxers before hopping
on my beat-up old laptop to dick around on the internet. Before I could
even notice, I looked at the clock and saw it was 8:43.
"Fuck!"
I was going to be late to work if I didn't leave immediately. I threw
the rest of my clothes on: a blue button-down and a pair of jeans from
the Gap, along with the one nice pair of shoes I owned - a brown pair of
Allen Edmonds wingtips that I had received as a gift.
I didn't like to spend the money, but if I was going to minimize how
late I was and still get breakfast, I needed to stop at the Starbucks on
the way to my office. While I was on line, I couldn't help but notice
the two women over by the coffee bar waiting for their drinks; one was a
blonde and the other a brunette, and they were both beautiful. They were
in suits and heels and were clearly on their way to office jobs. I
couldn't really hear their conversation, but they were smiling and
laughing about something, and were clearly happy. They both seemed so
carefree.
What would that be like, I wondered? To be so beautiful, happy, to have
good friends, and (presumably) an active love life? Not for the first
time, I felt a twinge of jealousy and a pang of sadness. I had never
told anyone, but I had always had a fantasy about being a woman. I had
never really felt connected to my body, and what friends I did have
growing up were mostly nerdy girls. I found women's clothes and makeup
unbelievably sexy. I briefly toyed with cross-dressing in high school,
trying on my mom's clothes and using her makeup, but I invariably ended
up disappointed. I wasn't a beautiful woman, just a dopey, nerdy guy in
women's clothes and makeup. I had packed that part of my psyche away and
pushed it deep to avoid the pain it caused. Occasionally though, it came
back - usually triggered by scenes like that. Since I'd been in a funk
lately, that seemed to happen increasingly often.
"Sir? What would you like?"
I shook myself out of my reverie and saw the barista looking at me
expectantly. I ordered a large black coffee and got a blueberry muffin
to go, racing off to work. I walked into the office at 9:10 - late, but
not terrible. I sat down at my desk to check my calendar for the day,
sipping on my coffee and eating a bit of muffin.
After a moment, our branch manager, Michelle Adams, stopped by my desk
and pulled up a chair. "Hey Andrew, how's it going?"
"Not bad, you?" I replied.
"Eh, not bad. Thursday's better than Wednesday, right? Even if it's not
Friday." She smiled, and continued, "Is everything ok? You've been late
a bunch recently, and you haven't been closing many sales or rentals
lately."
Shit. "I'm sorry, Michelle. I've had a lot on my mind outside of work
lately. I'm sorry that I've been bringing it to the office. I'll work
harder to make my numbers and I'll set my alarm earlier." That first
part wasn't exactly true, but it was close enough that I'd been in a
funk that it didn't feel like a lie.
"I understand. Andrew, I can't do anything about your personal life, but
please know that I'm here as a resource to you for work stuff. If you
ever need tips, advice, help closing..." She trailed off, looking me in
the eye.
"I know, Michelle, and I appreciate it."
"Ok, glad to hear it. Good luck today! Go close some apartments." She
smiled and walked away.
I stared blankly at my screen; my appetite was gone. While I wasn't
planning to stay in this job forever, I wanted to do the best job I
could while I was here. I couldn't help but think that, like so much
else, I just wasn't good at this either.
As I looked through my email dejectedly, I noticed a couple of hits on
our listings that seemed promising, so I called them. One seemed pretty
motivated and wanted to look at some places this morning; the other said
they could meet after lunch. I agreed to meet them at 10am and 1pm,
respectively.
I decided to go to the first listing ahead of time to review notes and
walk through the apartment. Maybe the walk would help me clear my head
too. I grabbed my coffee and muffin in case my appetite returned and
left. Walking uptown on Washington St, I saw a young homeless guy with a
sign asking for food, so I gave him my (almost entirely uneaten) muffin
and a couple of bucks. With his thanks in my ears, I continued to the
apartment.
I showed the prospective renters (a man and a woman a few years older
than me) a handful of apartments, securing only a non-committal
assurance they'd think it over and call me. I'd heard that one before,
and - spoiler alert! - I knew they weren't calling. By this point, it
was almost 12:30. I quickly grabbed an Italian hero at my favorite deli
and walked towards the first listing for my 1pm. By 1:30, it was pretty
clear I had a no-show on my hands. What an awesome day I was having.
I decided to take the long way back to the office, since it's not like I
was missing anything. I stopped to sit in the park and clear my head.
There were children laughing on a nearby playground, accompanied by
parents and nannies of varying degrees of attentiveness (with many of
both more interested in their cell phones than in their charges). I sat
there for a few minutes, then got up to leave. As I did that, I noticed
a small boy, maybe three years old, unlatch the gate to the playground
and start to move towards the street. He must have been going toward the
ice cream truck on the other side, and he didn't seem to be paying much
attention to anything else, including the traffic in the street.
Oh fuck - the street! I ran toward the boy, who had by now stepped
between two cars and was getting ready to cross. I saw a delivery truck
coming down the block - there was no way he'd be able to stop in time.
Without thinking, I ran between the cars toward the boy, who was now in
the middle of the street. What happened next, happened so quickly, but I
do remember a few things.
I remember shouting, "Look out!"
I remember diving and shoving the boy out of the way.
I remember the screech of the brakes of the delivery truck.
I remember hearing a woman scream.
I remember a sudden, blinding flash of pain, then nothing.
I woke up to the sound of my alarm, only it wasn't my alarm: it was some
Cardi B song. Confused and groggy, I went to pick up my phone. My hand
closed around it and I brought it in front of my face, which was still
on the pillow. It was 7am, same as always, but that wasn't my phone, it
was a rose gold iPhone 6S.
I blinked, and noticed that the hand holding the phone wasn't my hand
either. The fingers were longer and slimmer, and the fingernails were
neatly trimmed and extended just past the fingertips. At that point, I
also noticed something dark in front of my eyes. I shook my head gently
and realized it was hair. Long, black hair.
I bolted upright. WHAT. THE. FUCK?
As I sat up, I noticed several other things. First, I wasn't in my
apartment. Instead of my small studio, I was in a spacious bedroom that
looked like it was straight out of a West Elm catalogue. My queen bed
(queen? I have a full bed, I thought) had a tufted pale blue padded
headboard, and I had more pillows than seemed strictly necessary. There
were art prints on the walls - a mixture of black and white photographs
and abstract art. The dresser had several framed photos on top, as well
as a box of some sort. The night table had a number of magazines on it,
including Elle, Vanity Fair, and Us Weekly.
Second, my balance was all wrong, and I almost fell over as a result.
Long black hair cascaded down around my face. My arms were bare,
slender, and very hairless, ending in those feminine hands. I was
wearing a slightly fitted, very soft, sleeveless t-shirt that went to
mid-thigh, and those thighs were also smooth and hairless, as were the
rest of my legs, which ended in feet I could best describe as dainty.
The biggest shock, though, was the two mounds on my chest, which, from
up here, looked pretty large. Breasts. I forced the word into my mind. I
had breasts.
I moved my hands through the air; even if this wasn't my body, I could
definitely control it. I sat there bewildered with the situation, before
a thought occurred to me. Almost unbidden, my hands shifted down to my
thighs. My left hand pulled my t-shirt up slightly, while my right hand
slipped underneath the hem. I felt a thrill of anticipation as my hand
glided up my thigh. I paused, almost afraid of what I would find, before
sending my hand to where my penis should have been. Instead, I felt a
smooth expanse of skin, with two small mounds below a thatch of pubic
hair. Shaking, I slid my index finger between the two mounds, and felt
another, much smaller mound. As my finger brushed beside it, I felt a
small jolt of pleasure. My finger tracked further down, before finding
an opening. A vagina.
My vagina.
My hands fell from my thighs in shock. I lifted them off the bed,
drawing them up my sides over my t-shirt. I stood up and took off the t-
shirt, bunching it up from the bottom and slipping it over my head.
I walked towards one of the three doors in the bedroom, the one closest
to the bed. It was a large walk-in closet(!); I wanted the bathroom, so
I continued to the next door, pulling it open. It was the bathroom, and
I stepped in.
Looking back at me in the mirror, I saw a stunningly beautiful woman.
Her (my?) long black hair flowed in a messy cascade down past her face,
before ending just below the bottom curve of her firm breasts. The face
- that face was gorgeous: perfectly proportioned, with gracefully arched
eyebrows over pale blue eyes framed by long, dark eyelashes, and below
that, a slender nose over beautiful full lips. High cheekbones
accentuated and emphasized the eyes, which were unmistakably my own
eyes, the same ones I had seen in the mirror my whole life. I parted my
lips, and the vision in the mirror did as well, revealing perfectly
straight, white teeth. I smiled, tentatively, and so did she. It seemed
that she was me.
Continuing down, I lifted my hands to brush my hair back over my
shoulders, revealing a slim neck and two large, perfectly round, firm
breasts sitting high on my chest. I moved my hands over them and felt
the nipples stir and become flushed with blood, swelling to the size of
the tip of my little finger. Slightly darker areolae about two inches
across ringed each nipple. Caressing the breasts sent a shudder of
pleasure through my body. Continuing down, my hands shifted over a flat,
very tight stomach, gliding over a dainty innie belly button, before
moving to hips that widened out again from my slender waist. Feeling
around my hips, my hands felt a firm, round ass, taut like the rest of
my body.
From there, I brought my hands back around to my pelvis. In the mirror,
I saw a perfectly trimmed patch of curly, dark pubic hair, and below
that, two labia. After a brief hesitation, I returned my right hand to
rest over the labia, the image in the mirror following suit. My left
hand strayed up to caress my left breast, and at the same time, my right
middle finger felt for the opening below my clitoris. Finding it, my
finger slipped easily into my vagina, which was by now quite wet. I slid
my index finger in as well, moving both fingers in up to the second
knuckle. I drew them out and slid them up to the clitoris, which was
slightly engorged with blood. I gently spread apart the folds of skin,
and using my juices, I lubricated my clit and proceeded to stroke it
with my middle finger, while holding the folds apart with my index and
middle fingers.
Each flick of my middle finger sent an electric thrill through my entire
body. I tried to pace myself, but I was quickly lost in the waves of
pleasure radiating through me. I stroked faster and faster, my breath
growing rapid and shallow, and low moans coming unbidden from my mouth
until, like a dam bursting, I came. Until that moment, I don't think I
knew what pleasure was. I learned it then for the first time as my body
shook in ecstasy. No male orgasm had ever felt as good as what I just
experienced.
I realized I was doubled over, clutching the sink with my left hand, my
long black hair falling on either side of my face. Shaking with the
afterglow of pleasure, I stood up, my breath slowly returning to normal.
Was this real? Was this my body? I was confused and aroused in equal
measure. I rinsed off my hands, went back into the bedroom, and put the
t-shirt back on (to avoid distracting myself further), before looking
for any clues. My memories of, well, everything, really, prior to that
moment were hazy, but I remembered that my name was Andrew McKenna, and
as best I could remember, I wasn't a beautiful woman! I tried hard to
reconstruct my most recent memories, but all I could remember was a
floating sensation, adrift in a pure, white sea of nothingness. Then,
suddenly, I remembered: the child, the truck, flying... and then waking
up, in this body. What the fuck was going on?
I walked over to the dresser, and looked at the three framed photos on
top. The first was of my parents, along with the beautiful woman I had
seen in the mirror. She was wearing a purple graduation gown and
mortarboard hat - just like I had worn at graduation from NYU the prior
year. The second photo was a younger version of the woman I had seen in
the mirror hugging a Labrador retriever. Bailey? He died when I was
sixteen, but that was unmistakably him.
The third photo was a group of beautiful, smiling girls at a party,
holding red cups. The woman I saw in the mirror was in the center of the
group, with two girls on either side. I didn't recognize them, but at
the same time, I felt a tug on my brain that told me I knew them.
This was getting really fucking weird. The photos on the dresser implied
pretty clearly that the beautiful woman I saw WAS me. I wanted more
proof (wouldn't you?), so I looked around for my wallet, which would
normally have been on top of the dresser. It wasn't there, but I found
on a chair next to the dresser a large brown leather Coach shoulder bag.
I opened the top of it and found a smaller wristlet in the same soft
brown leather inside. I opened it up and poured the contents on top of
the dresser. Inside were a debit card from Ally, along with a silver
Discover card, an Amex gold card, and a Bank of America Visa card: the
exact cards I would have expected to find in my wallet (except the gold
card, at least) along with a driver's license, some business cards, some
carefully folded small bills, and a stick of light pink lip gloss.
My hands shaking, I picked up the driver's license; looking back at me
was the same face I had seen in the mirror. Scanning the card, she had
the same birthday as me - May 8th, 1991, and the same home address in
Westfield, NJ. The name on the card read: Ashleigh Elizabeth McKenna.
Trembling, I picked up the debit card and each of the credit cards:
Ashleigh McKenna. Lastly, I looked at the business cards, which were for
the same real estate agency that I worked for: Ashleigh McKenna. I
noticed that where I would have expected the title to be "Sales
Associate", the title here was "Senior Sales Associate".
I sat down heavily on the bed. I had no fucking idea what was going on,
but every indicator pointed towards me actually being Ashleigh McKenna.
My mind reeled at the possibility. Everything felt so alien - everything
I knew was as Andrew McKenna, the lonely schlub. I didn't know what to
think, or what to do. At that point, I noticed that it was 9:30am. Since
it seemed I still had the same job as Ashleigh (albeit with a better
title and seemingly more income), and I was clearly not up to going
anywhere, I picked up my iPhone(!) to call out sick. As I started to
dial Michelle's number, I noticed the date: Friday, September 7th.
Michelle was still in my contacts, and she picked up after one ring,
"Ash? Where are you - is everything ok?"
Ash. She called me Ash. "I'm not feeling so well today, Michelle," I
stammered, "I'm sorry to have not called you earlier but I've felt off
since I got up and lost track of time."
"Hey, don't worry about it Ash. I was concerned when I hadn't heard from
or seen you yet today. If you're not feeling well, you should definitely
stay home and rest."
"Ok, thanks for being so understanding. I'm going to take it easy and
hopefully should be in better shape by Monday."
"Sounds good - and try to take it easy this weekend, Ash!", Michelle
chuckled. "I was your age once - I remember how it was."
I managed a week chuckle in reply, "I think that's a safe bet. See you
Monday."
"Ok, see you!"
I hung up. So that was my voice - it sounded beautiful and melodic. And
that was my boss, who knew me as Ash. It seemed like this was really me.
I knew there was one more call I had to make to confirm.
I looked at my phone again. The apps were arranged somewhat differently,
I realized, with some I never used, like Instagram, Pinterest, and
Snapchat placed prominently on the screen, right alongside familiar
others like the New York Times, Gmail, and Amazon. Stranger and
stranger.
I dialed the number for my parents' house. My childhood home. After two
rings, I heard a man's voice on the other end: "Ashleigh, is everything
ok, pumpkin?"
That was unmistakably my father's voice, and he had just called me
Ashleigh and pumpkin in the same breath, with nary a whisper of "Andrew"
or "buddy". Unbidden, the words came out of my mouth, "Hi Daddy!
Everything's fine, I was just calling to say hi and see how you and Mom
were doing." Daddy? I hadn't used that word in 15 years.
"We'll, your mother is out shopping - surprise, surprise. I'm good,
though I'm about to head out to play a round of golf."
"Ok, sounds good. We can talk later."
"Ok pumpkin, well I'm glad you called. Love you!"
"Love you Daddy! Talk soon."
I hung up. Fucking bizarre or not, it was pretty clear that I was no
longer Andrew but now Ashleigh McKenna, and seemingly always had been.
While that thought was simultaneously strange and intimidating, it was
also a pretty big turn-on. I was beautiful; I seemingly had the
opportunity to live my long-time fantasy. I had friends, and otherwise,
my life seemed the same. I had some thinking to do.
Madison
- 19.01.2021
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