Copyright © 2014 Maeryn Lamonte - All Rights Reserved.

So, nearly two thousand hits and all of six comments and three private messages. That's less than half a percent of people responded. If I can go to the trouble of writing sixty thousand words of story, do you think it's asking too much to have a little bit more of a response that a click on the 'Good story' box? Am I really asking so much?

If you missed part one, you can find it here

Sorry, no guilt trip intended, but I really do enjoy reading your comments - when I get them.

Anyway, Jerry, now Laura, is outside enjoying the early morning freshness when...

-oOo-

I heard a car door slam, then the front door to the house. Stilettos against the hardwood floor warned me of who was coming, and I turned to face the storm.

“What the hell are you doing in my nightdress?” Portia’s voice was shrill, and I found myself wondering how I had ever thought her beautiful.

“Is it yours?” I tried to sound as innocent as I could. “I am grateful. I hate sleeping in my underwear, and it would have ruined my dress…”

“You’re ruining my nightdress you stupid cow! Look!”

I looked down at where the dew had wicked up about six inches above the hem. There were a few green marks, but nothing, I suspected, modern detergents couldn’t sort out. I showed willing and scooped the hem up out of contact with the grass.

“Where is my fucking husband?” she spat at me. I obviously wasn’t helping her mood.

“I imagine he’s still asleep. It’s early and he did have quite a bit to drink last night.”

She snarled and spun on her heels. I followed at a more leisurely pace.

I heard a door bang open upstairs, then the dulcet tones of my former beloved drifted down the stairs.

“What the fuck?”

This was followed by an indistinct murmur from my former body, which I couldn’t quite make out. I tried to increase my speed, but wet feet on hardwood floor, plus one hand holding my coffee and the other my nightie, I didn’t exactly feel safe climbing the stairs. By the time I reached the master bedroom, Laura was sitting up, having pulled up his fly and re-buttoned his trousers. His head was in his hands and he was evidently struggling with the morning after.

“Take them.” Portia was holding out two large envelopes, which he was ignoring in favour of the hammering in his head. At least that’s what I assumed he was feeling. It’s what I remember from the last time I drank my way through half a bottle of anything.

I perched on the bed next to him and offered him my coffee. It wasn’t exactly hot anymore, but I’d hardly touched it.

“Go on. Your need is greater than mine.”

He took it gratefully and swallowed half of it in one gargantuan mouthful. Hardly lady-like, but then I’d hardly been acting like a gentleman since the change. How much of our behaviour was derived from the bodies we wore, I wondered.

“Well don’t you make the cute couple?” Portia sneered. “This will go down really well with the jury.”

“What the hell is this?” Laura had recovered enough presence of mind to rediscover her voice. Whether anything more significant in her brain was firing remained to be seen.

“This is a petition for divorce,” Portia said, too wrapped up in her own indignant rage to notice anything amiss. “And this is an injunction freezing all your assets. The house, the car, the savings, those investment accounts you talked about, it’s all frozen until the courts sort out our settlement.

“I hope you weren’t hoping to catch a rich man,” she said, facing me briefly, ‘cos by the time I’m done with him, he’ll be poorer than you.”

She threw the envelopes onto the bed and turned to leave.

“Before you go,” I said, stopping her in her tracks. I stood and retrieved the pen I always kept in my suit and held it out to her along with the envelopes I had picked up off the bed. “Would you mind writing the date and time of delivery on these please, and signing it.”

She glowered at me but did as I asked.

“Since ownership of the house is in dispute, you don’t get to stay here anymore than I do. I’ll make sure the bailiffs come round by ten to seal the place up. If you’re still here then, you’ll be forcibly removed.”

“Okay, thanks. Do you mind if I borrow some of your clothes? All I have is a ball gown, and I’d feel a bit silly wearing it this morning.”

“You keep your hands out of my stuff you conniving little bitch. You may have your claws into him, but he’s the only thing you’ll be keeping. You’re welcome to him too, waste of space that he is.”

She stormed out of the house, slamming the front door so hard we could hear the force of it upstairs in the bedroom.

“You’re wife’s a charmer,” Laura said, the coffee cup drained and the caffeine having done its work. “Tell me again, why did you marry her?”

“You know, I don’t have a good answer to that. Sorry, but she’s actually your wife now, unless and until we can sort out the thing with the bowl. Come on, we’d better get up. We have things to do this morning, and not a lot of time. You hit the shower first, and I’ll go and get us some more coffee.”

“Yeah, er, where is it?”

“En suite, dimbo,” I pointed at a door over the other end of the room. “What did you do with my dress? I need to wear something other than this.” I indicated my borrowed nightdress with its damp and stained hem.

“I’ll find you something once I’ve stood under a cold shower for five minutes. Another coffee would be appreciated though,” he handed me the empty mug, “but with a couple of sugars in it this time if you don’t mind.”

There was an oddness. I’d have thought that if anything would come from the body rather than the mind it would be a preferred sense of taste. Everything tasted more intense in this body, but I’d enjoyed the few sips I’d taken of my unsweetened coffee before handing the cup over.

I went downstairs and poured out two fresh mugs. Neither Portia nor I used sugar in our drinks, but we had it available for when we had guests round. I added a couple of spoons to Laura’s mug and carried them back up, checking the front door as I passed it to make sure it was properly closed.

“More than a woman, more than a woman that’s me.”

I couldn’t help smiling at his off-key singing and his choice of song, slightly altered lyrics included.

“Coffee’s on the bedside cabinet,” I called into the room. There was steam billowing out of the bathroom, so either he’d been lying about the cold shower or he’d chickened out. “I’m going to the guest bathroom down the hall.”

“Okay, catch you in a few.”

I retrieved a large towel from the airing cupboard and stepped into the bathroom. For the first time I stopped to take in the face I now hid behind, staring at my reflection in the mirror. It was thin and a little pinched, with features slightly too sharp to be called truly beautiful. I tried a smile and plain became pretty. I suspected that if I put some effort into it, I could look quite stunning. I remembered Laura had done so when I first saw her last night.

I put the mug down and stripped off the nightdress and underwear. The knickers fit too well to be anyone else’s, and they were a deep red to match last night’s dress. I didn’t much like the idea of wearing them for another day, but I doubted I’d have the choice.

Natural blonde, I thought, looking down at my naked body for the first time. Breasts maybe a little small, but everything in proportion. Slim, trim and full of vim, as my mother used to say.

The shower was amazing. I turned the temperature up higher than I normally would have and fell in love with the sensation of a million scalding drops of water cascading over my lithe form. Oh yes, I could get used to this if I had to.

Rubbing myself dry wasn’t an option; my skin was too sensitive. With almost no body hair, it was easy and quick enough simply to pat away the dampness. There was soap and talcum powder, spray on deodorant and even small sample bottles of perfume. One thing Portia was insistent on was being a better hostess than anyone else she knew. It wasn’t thoughtfulness so much as one-upmanship, but I was glad of it for once. I tied the towel around myself over my breasts, and carried my night things and coffee mug out of the bathroom.

Laura was waiting for me, wearing slacks, a polo shirt and a cravat of all things. On my bed he’d laid out a summer dress and fresh, unopened bra and panties.

“Portia said no…”

“I say fuck Portia, although not literally, ‘cos I doubt there would be any pleasure in it. The dress was right at the back of her closet, so I doubt she even remembers she owns it, and the smalls are unopened, so arguably not hers yet.”

“She’ll remember the dress,” I said. “She has a hoarder’s temperament and knows everything she owns. Still, chances are she won’t be coming back with the bailiffs, so what she doesn’t know, she can’t scream about.”

We stood facing each other for a few seconds. The oddest feeling looking at myself and realising I was someone else. Even odder when I realised that I actually felt attracted to me. I suspect Laura was dealing with similar feelings, because we broke eye contact about the same time and ended up looking just about anywhere except at each other.

“Right, I’ll get dressed then. If you wouldn’t mind waiting downstairs…”

“Oh, I thought I might help. You know adjusting bra straps isn’t that easy the first time.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage. If I get in difficulties, I’ll call.”

“Erm, okay. Well er… I’ll, er, I’ll see you downstairs then.”

“In about five or ten minutes.”

“Yeah right.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Five or ten minutes. I’ll see you then.” He couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face.

I closed the door on him and let the towel drop to the floor. The knickers were a little small, but I decided I’d rather that than wear the red ones for any longer. The bra was more complicated than I was expecting. Portia being better endowed than me meant the cups weren’t a great fit. There were multiple hooks at the back, and it took me a couple of minutes to find the most comfortable one, then a few minutes more to adjust the shoulder straps until they were comfortably snug. I thought about padding out the extra space in the bra cups, and after a few more minutes experimenting with tissues, I gave up.

The dress was easy enough to put on. Having the zip underneath one of my arms was a bit odd, but it fit okay and I stood in front of the mirror tugging at it until it sat just right.

My face would do without makeup, but my hair was a rat’s nest. I found a brush beside the mirror, either new and unused, or carefully cleaned of the last user’s leavings. It took a while to rake out all the knots, but eventually it shone with a silky smoothness, and fell in gentle waves over my shoulders. I declared myself done and headed downstairs for breakfast.

“Five or ten minutes, yeah right.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t more than ten minutes was I?”

“More like half an hour,” Laura said. “Toast or cereal?”

Cereal sounded nice. “There’s some muesli in the corner cupboard, and some fruit in the fridge. Raspberries and blueberries I think.”

He set about making my breakfast without comment.

“Oh, and a glass of orange juice please. Hold the vodka this time. Was I really half an hour?”

“Well more like forty minutes, but I wasn’t really paying that much attention.”

“I miss my watch,” I said looking at it on his wrist.

“Well you had one of your own,” he replied. “It was on the nightstand when I put you to bed last night.”

“Really?” I turned to go back upstairs.

“Yeah, and I left a pair of sandals in your room too.”

I ran upstairs and found both the watch and sandals. The buckles on the shoes were small and fiddly, but with nimble fingers not too much of a bother. The watch was one of those with a tiny face; decorative but not particularly practical. The clasp was awkward, but I sorted it out in the end. I came back downstairs to find my breakfast waiting.

“So what things do we have to do this morning?” He asked chomping on a slice of liberally buttered toast.

“Well,” I said around a mouthful of muesli, “first we have to phone your lawyer; the one I hired for you this morning. It would be best if he were here when the bailiffs arrive, because he’s our official witness to your signing the house over into my name at five o’clock this morning.”

“I did what?”

“Well it was me really. You were still snoring away in a drunken stupor, and I doubt you’d have been able to learn how to sign your new name in time anyway.

“You signed the car over to me as well, along with a few investment accounts and all your shares in the bank.”

“Wow, I didn’t realise I was that generous.”

“Yep, you are currently looking at the newest millionairess in the country. We’ll lose quite a bit in tax, but I’d rather the government had it than your wife.”

“Sorry we? I thought you said I signed it to you. Or you signed it to you or something. I need another coffee.”

“As soon as Portia sued for divorce, any property and funds owned by either you or her were frozen pending the settlement. She already emptied our joint account, and there were some joint savings neither of us could touch because access requires both our signatures, but there’s always been quite a lot in my – Jerry’s – name alone. As I said, shares in the bank which I inherited, investment accounts made out in Jerry’s name only, the house and the car.

“At about four o’clock last night, I, as Jeremy Goodman, logged into the bank and signed all the assets I held at the bank over to me as Laura Townsend. I then contacted a friend in Sydney, who suggested the names of a couple of lawyer friends of his who wouldn’t mind being woken in the middle of the night if there was some money in it for them. One of them came around at five last night and signed an affidavit to say that Jerry Goodman signed ownership of both his house and his car over to Laura Townsend at that time. The injunction freezing assets only comes into effect from the time and date when notification reaches all affected parties, which is when Portia delivered the letters at about six-thirty this morning.

“As of five o’clock, Laura Townsend became the legal owner of all Jeremy Goodman’s assets, which means the bailiffs can’t throw us out of my house. Nor can they drive away in my car, nor can they touch my investments or my shares.

“You, sadly, are a pauper. Well not quite, since you still have about sixty thousand pounds worth of money and savings to scrap over, but I doubt you’ll see much of that ‘cos Portia knows how to work the system.

“Lucky for you, I’m a sucker for the destitute, so my house is your house, and whatever I own is yours to use until this all blows over, then we’ll find some amicable way to settle things.

“Right now, you’d better call your lawyer. His name is Paul Burrows and his number’s on the pad over there. Tell him about Portia’s visit and her little gifts for you. Tell him the bailiffs are expected at about ten and we could use him to fend them off.”

I made it halfway through the bowl of cereal before I was too full to eat any more. I joined Laura, in full Jerry mode, finishing off his conversation with Paul.

“So what happens next?”

“You need to talk to the chairman of the bank to tell him what’s happening. I’ll brief you as best as I can, but we’d better take the call on speakerphone with me ready to write down your script as we go. He’s not going to be happy, and there may be something of a tempest to weather, but the important thing is the bank will be safe and all our customers too.”

Suitably coached, Laura made the call with me listening in and providing written prompts when needed. I had a conference phone with built in recorder for occasions such as this, as I’d learned early on that it was best to have records of every discussion to do with the bank. Unsurprisingly, the chairman wasn’t happy with the turn of events, but with much effective persuasion on Laura’s part, he accepted that nothing really significant could happen over the weekend, and we would be able to sort this all out Monday morning.

The next surprise came at about eight-thirty when the doorbell rang. Jerry answered it to find a couple of grim faced police officers standing at the door.

“Jeremy Goodman?” One of them asked.

“Yes,” Laura replied.

“We have a warrant to search your premises.” He held out a folded sheet of paper.

“Can I ask what this is about?”

“I have a complaint from a Mr Tony West who has accused you of attacking him and stealing a bowl from him, which he describes as being twelve inches in diameter, made from petrified oak and lacquered green. He has provided witnesses to the effect that you were seen fleeing his apartment last night in the presence of a young woman, with the bowl in your possession.”

“The bowl was never his.”

“Are you admitting you took the bowl sir?”

“No he isn’t,” I interjected before Laura dug a pit big enough for both of us. “Did Mr West provide you with any proof of ownership of this bowl?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m assuming the bowl in question was valuable? An antique of some sort? Surely Mr West would have to prove ownership of the item before accusing anyone of having stolen it.”

“And who are you Miss?”

“My name is Laura Townsend, and I’m the young woman in who’s presence Mr Goodman was seen allegedly fleeing. A bowl fitting that exact description was stolen from my home several weeks back. I reported it missing,” I looked at Laura who nodded confirmation, “and I suspect that Mr West was the one who stole it.”

“Did you report this to the police?”

Again a look at Laura, this time a subtle shake of the head. “No I didn’t. I only had my suspicions; nothing that might constitute proof. As to proof of my ownership of the bowl,” Laura was nodding again, “I have that. I believe I already presented it when I reported the robbery.” Another nod.

“I don’t know anything about that Miss. All I know is we have a warrant to search this house for Mr West’s missing bowl. I must warn you, if we find it, we will be arresting you, Mr Goodman, for theft and assault.”

“There was no theft, because the item never belonged to Mr West, and there was no assault because I was defending myself from Mr West. Look at my neck.” Laura raised his chin and pulled his cravat away from his neck. The front of it was a livid bruise. “Miss Townsend was there so she can back up at least some of my story. Mr West had three companions, who I managed to incapacitate before Tony had me by the throat. I did hit him over the head with the bowl, but only in self-defence because he was strangling me.

“At some point in the confusion, Miss Townsend fainted, and I thought it best to get us both away from there while our assailants were incapacitated. The bowl broke in half when I struck Mr West, but since I knew it didn’t belong to him, I took it as well with a view to returning it to its rightful owner.”

“And the bowl is here?”

“In the living room, I’ll show you.”

The two policemen followed him into the house where he pointed out the two pieces of the bowl, complete with blood stains.

“Mr Goodman, I am arresting you for theft and assault. You have the right…”

Well you know how the rest of it goes.

“What about me?” I asked.

“Personally, I think you’re in it up to your pretty little neck, love, but I don’t have cause to arrest you too. If you’d like to accompany us to the police station though…”

“No!” Laura said; almost shouted. “You need to stay here. Sort out the house first, then come and find me. If you can bring proof of ownership of the bowl, it would help.”

“How would I do that?”

“Well I would imagine you might keep it in a filing cabinet in your house,” he said through gritted teeth.

“And my house?” I hissed back.

“Why don’t you look in your handbag?”

“Because I lost it at Tony’s party.”

“Well he’s hardly going to hold onto it, is he? Since he’s trying to do this through legitimate channels, he’ll find it hard to explain not returning your purse, won’t he? Just go back to his place and ask for it back.

“Don’t forget you rented the dress along with the shoes and bag. If you don’t get them back by midday, there’ll be a penalty.”

Funny how different people see things with different perspectives. The penalty would likely be less than a hundred quid, which was pocket change in my world. In Laura’s it was probably about a day’s income.

The police officer gave me the address of the police station where they were taking Laura, and moments later I was alone.

I had time before the bailiffs and Paul were due. I phoned Paul to let him know what had happened to ‘Jerry’ and he said he’d the police station in question was right next to the courthouse near where he worked, so he’d drop in on the way over. That took all of five minutes. With more than an hour to wait, I made another pot of coffee and sat brooding over how to get the handbag back. In the end, the simplest solution seemed to be the only one that had much hope of working. I picked up the phone.

“Tony, hi. It’s Laura Townsend here.”

“Hello Jerry. How do you like your new look?”

“What makes you so sure we haven’t changed back yet?”

“Because it doesn’t work that way. You don’t get to change back for at least a week.”

“So what, it wears off after a week?”

“No, you have to use the bowl again, but if you try to do it too early, it locks you in for a longer time.

“Look, if you give the bowl back, I’ll get you and Laura switched back, good as new.”

Yeah, like we were still friends and he was doing it out of the goodness of his heart. Still I didn’t want to antagonise him.

“The bowl’s broken.” He was going to find out sometime.

“What!”

“You were strangling my body. I hit you over the head with the first thing I could find. It slipped out of my hands and broke into two pieces when it hit the floor.”

“That’s… disappointing.”

“I imagine so.”

“Mike, Pete and Randall will not be happy.”

“Especially when they realise they’re stuck as each other and you still get to be you.”

“Hey at least they’re still guys. When they hear what you and that interfering bitch have to deal with, they won’t think it’s so bad.”

“Will you drop charges against Jerry?”

“Laura you mean? That stupid cow screwed up the biggest score of my career. I want her to suffer.”

“How about me then? Do you hate me that much?”

“You’re just collateral damage, Jerry, like Mike, Pete and Randy. I mean you were a spoiled little rich kid with more money than sense, but no, I didn’t hate you.”

“Well since I’m stuck living Laura’s life, perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I dropped by later to pick up her handbag and keys. I dropped them in all the confusion.”

“Yeah, whatever. Mary should be home all day. Stop by whenever you like.”

I pressed the button to hang up the phone, and turned off the recorder. I certainly didn’t have enough to take to the police, but maybe I had something to take to Tony’s henchmen.

-oOo-

Paul arrived five minutes before the bailiffs. Between his affidavit and his personality he had enough push to send them scurrying back to their cars and their phones. A minute later, a disgruntled but stiffly polite man in a cheap suit apologised for the inconvenience and withdrew with his entourage.

I thanked Paul, who told me I needed to get down to the police station and see Jerry.

I did, but I took the scenic route. I phoned the security company to get the alarm code changed, then contacted a locksmith to do the same to all the external locks in the house. He told me he would come in the afternoon, so I took the Merc and headed over to Tony’s place, parking it in a long term car park a few minutes’ walk away.

Mary was quite nice about everything, although she said she didn’t understand what all that nonsense had been about the keys in the bowl. I spun some tale about a silly game that went wrong, and apologised if the disturbance had ruined her party. She told me to think nothing of it and sent me away with Laura’s handbag and car keys.

That was a point. How had I dropped Laura’s VW keys? How come he had my Mercedes ones when we left the party? Sure he’d picked the Merc keys out of the bowl, but he’d been wearing this body when he did so. Questions for later.

The valet service was something Tony and Mary had arranged for the evening, the cars being parked, coincidentally, in the same structure where I’d just parked the Mercedes. I hunted through five floors, pushing the button on the key fob before a cheerful chirp led me to a turquoise VW Beetle which I drove to the bay where I had parked the Merc.

I transferred the dress and shoes from the Merc to the back seat of the bug, then upended the handbag on the passenger’s seat. A quick rummage through the flotsam uncovered a driving license with Laura’s home address on it, and a ticket for a dress loan shop. I checked my silly little watch. I had just twenty minutes to find the shop and return the dress.

A sucker mark on the windscreen suggested that Laura owned a satnav, which I discovered, after a brief search, in the glove compartment. It refused to pick up any satellites until we were clear of the parking structure, but woke up in time to guide me to the shop with five minutes to spare.

After returning the dress, I punched in Laura’s home address and was led a circuitous route to a small terraced house in a modest suburb of the big city. The house number matched the address on the driving license, and the keys fit the front door, so I assumed I was in the right place.

The house was tidy, but cluttered. Antique pieces covered every available surface, and even my amateur’s eye recognised some of them as quite valuable. I found the filing cabinet quickly enough, then puzzled over Laura’s filing system for a good ten minutes before finding the documentation and photographs describing her bowl.

I took ten minutes – well okay, half an hour – changing out of Portia’s borrowed clothes and choosing something of Laura’s. Most of what she had was Jeans and tee shirts, cardigans and pullovers, but I did find a dress or two. I’d rather enjoyed wearing Portia’s summer dress, and suspected that Laura’s girly clothes would probably be cooler given the weather.

Armed with bra, knickers, dress and sandals, all of which fit comfortably at last, I locked the house up and climbed back into the car. Portia’s clothes went on the back seat, to be returned to her wardrobe later. The documents went on the passenger seat, after I gathered up the scattered treasures from Laura’s rented handbag, and inserted them into a more sensible one I’d found in the corner of her bedroom.

The satnav led me to the police station where Laura was being held and I presented myself at the front desk, asking to see him. There were no official visiting hours in a small clink like this, which led to an in depth discussion between three of the officers on duty and a final, begrudging acquiescence. I was led down into the bowels of the building and given a seat in what looked like an interview room. A few minutes later Laura was led in.

“How're you holding up?” I asked. I wanted to be flippant and try and cheer him up a bit, but the police officer who’d brought him up from the cells to had remained in the room with us and was earwiging on our conversation. Plain and simple seemed the best bet.

“Oh, it’s not so bad. The bed’s not quite up to the standards I’m used to but it’s quiet and cool. I see you found the files.”

“Yeah. What do you want me to do with them?”

“Get them to Paul, or don’t I have a better lawyer? I mean surely a bank manager would have a pretty good one.”

“Yeah, he’s great when it comes to the legal side of tax and finance. From what I’ve seen Paul’s pretty clued up for what we’re dealing with at the moment, and he comes with a recommendation.”

“Okay. Get them to Paul. Get him to compare the photos and description from my files against those of Tony’s and see which of them best fits the bowl in evidence. The way I see it, Tony already had a bowl, but it stopped working, which means it must have been damaged in some way. If Tony’s documents describe a blemish that isn’t present on mine, then we might even have enough to get me out of here.”

“Well it might squash the theft accusation, but what about the assault?”

“I already said it was self-defence. Tony and his mates might be denying that, but when it’s shown that they already lied about ownership of the bowl, then that brings into doubt the rest of their testimony.”

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“What, sat around in a jail cell? Yeah, but I was exonerated every time, just like I’m going to be here. In my experience, the rich and powerful think they can get away with whatever they want. I tend to fight back against that sort of crap, which usually ends up with the authorities believing the guys with money and me ending up in jail until someone’s forced to look at some evidence. I’m not ashamed of this.”

“No, I can see that. I admire you, you know. You have more courage than I ever had.”

“Yeah, well, the sooner you get those things to Paul, the sooner I’m out of here. What happened with the house?”

“Oh, nothing much. The bailiffs made a few calls, apologised for disturbing me and left. I have a locksmith coming round in an hour or so to change all the locks.”

“Good for you. I’ll let you know when they let me out. I’ll ask one of these guys to give Paul a ring.”

I took that as my cue and left the cells. I had time to find Paul’s office, which a friendly receptionist in the courthouse told me was across the road and up a couple of floors, and from there to Paul’s desk. I handed over the files with Laura’s instructions, then headed home to wait for the locksmith and return Portia’s clothes to her wardrobe.

It was getting on for five by the time the locksmith had smithed all the locks. I paid the man, then asked if he was heading back into town, and if he could drop me anywhere near the car park where I’d left the Merc. He obliged, probably more for my pretty smile than anything else, and in no time I was back at my car.

It was quiet and smooth and luxurious after the Beetle, but I found I didn’t much care. I’d enjoyed the little car. It was lively in traffic and a more enjoyable colour than this dull black thing with cream leather seats. The satnav popped out of a hidden compartment in the dash rather than having to be glued to the windscreen every time you wanted to use it. The Merc had more gadgets than you could shake a stick at, whereas the Beetle had a radio and a cigarette lighter, but that made pretty much no difference. For some reason I preferred the cheaper and massively more cheerful little run-around.

I drove back to Laura’s place to grab some clothes and thought of staying the night. The house was cramped though, and foreign to me. I packed a small suitcase and headed back to the mansion on the hill. On impulse, I phoned through to the house and used the code to play back messages on the answerphone. There was one from Paul saying that he’d taken the evidence I’d provided to a judge who agreed that there was no reason Jerry should be locked up until the trial, so he’d been released and could I pick him up.

I called the police station to find he was still there, had just been given back his belt and his shoe laces and was busy putting himself back together. I asked them to tell him I was on my way and would be there in about fifteen minutes.

He was sitting on the station steps, sunning himself and dozing by the time I pulled up. I let him drive us home. I mean I’d been running around all day and I was pooped, whereas he’d just sat in a small room and chilled. I did think about making him cook, but that would have been unfair in an unfamiliar kitchen, so we ordered in and settled down in front of the DVD Laura picked out from my collection.

-oOo-

How the fuck did this happen?

I mean a couple of slices of pizza, not that I finished the second one. Pizza and beer go together, so I had one bottle. One bottle! Then the film got sad. I mean I knew it would, I’ve watched it a dozen times in the past, but there I was sniffling and crying, and Laura put his arm around me.

I should have pulled away. I knew I should have pulled away. I mean with Portia on the warpath I knew better than to do something this stupid. I was going to pull away. I was going to get up and sit on one of the armchairs instead of the sofa. Instead I snuggled up next to him, and it felt so good.

Next thing I knew, neither of us was watching the film anymore. I was looking into his eyes, and he was looking into mine. I was all but quivering with anticipation. Would he, wouldn’t he? Should I? He leaned in and I closed my eyes.

The touch of his lips on mine was almost an orgasm in itself. I couldn’t help myself. I was all over him, kissing him back with all my feeble strength, unbuttoning his shirt and reaching inside to caress him. I wanted him to do the same, to put his hands on me, to put himself inside me.

The TV snapped off and I looked down at the remote in his hand, then up into his eyes. I had a chance to stop it then. For a moment I was lucid and aware of what I was doing. I knew it was stupid. I almost had the strength to say no, but it had been so long. So many years since Portia and I shared that one night of intimacy. I didn’t care that I wasn’t the man any more, I just wanted…

I kissed him. He wasn’t me anymore. I know it may seem narcissistic to the nth degree, but it wasn’t as though I was kissing myself. It had been my face once, long ago, right about last night, but right now it belonged to Laura. There was someone different behind those eyes, and he was offering me an intimacy and closeness that I had never known.

He lifted me into his arms, easily, as though I were a child, and I clung to his neck. I felt out of control, completely at his mercy. It was an illusion and somewhere inside I knew it. All I had to do was say no and he’d stop, I knew he would, but that added to the excitement. I could say stop, and the word was on the tip of my tongue all the way up the stairs and into the bedroom. I balanced on the knife edge between yes and no, between pragmatism and foolish, insane abandon. I could have stopped him at any time. I nearly did a hundred times, but each time I held back.

I unbuttoned his shirt, stroked his bare chest. I had once hated the way I was never able to grow any hair on my chest – the original metrosexual man – but now I was glad of it as I stroked it with my hands, kissed it with my lips.

He unzipped my dress and I pulled back for long enough to let it fall to the ground. I reached for his belt buckle and undid his trousers while he reached behind and deftly undid my bra.

I giggled, almost hysterically, at the thought that he was more experienced at undressing me than I was.

His trousers slipped down his legs and I slid my hands inside his boxer shorts, around the back where I grabbed two handfuls of flesh and pulled him towards me.

The part of the old me that had never seemed big enough when I had been in that body seemed enormous as it pressed against me now. I was breathing so deeply I was light headed. I pulled down his pants and pulled back enough to untangle myself from my bra.

“Are you sure..?” he started.

“Shutup!” I planted my lips on his to stop him from saying anything sensible and pulled him down onto the bed, on top of me.

He reached down to remove my knickers with me wriggling to help. I parted my legs and felt him prodding, probing. I reached down and guided him. I knew exactly where he needed to go, and I so wanted him there.

A moment’s sharp pain had me biting my lip, then he was in me and it felt so good. I have never felt so complete, so much a part of someone else.

He started to move back and forth inside me, and with each thrust I felt a new surge of something indescribable coursing through me. It was like flying, with all the wonders of the universe streaming through my body. Every movement took me higher and faster and filled me until I was sure I would burst.

It can’t have lasted long, but whether it was minutes or seconds, I was caught up in my own slice of eternity for all of that time. I was wondering how much more of it I could endure when I felt him go rigid. No I mean all of him. Then he relaxed on top of me and rolled to one side.

I continued the roll until I was on top of him, wanting to stay together for as long as possible, but he was already deflating inside of me. I couldn’t feel him anymore, and I was only vaguely aware when he flopped out of me.

I grabbed for the tissues I kept on one side of the bed – just in case, you understand – and mopped things up as best I could before the bedclothes got all sticky. Then I nestled into his side and rested my head on his chest.

I could feel his body relaxing. I remembered the feeling, but it didn’t match my own mood just then. Somehow, it felt as though we’d finished halfway through. I was energised and buzzing, ready for another round. I decided to give him five minutes and try again.

“Wow,” he said and kissed me on the top of the head. “I never expected to lose my virginity that way.”

“I was a virgin?” I looked up at him. That moment’s pain at the outset. I guess I must have been.

“Yeah, kind of. I mean, your body was at least. The you inside, I’m guessing not so much.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“What?”

“I mean, apart from one time on our wedding night, we haven’t…”

“Hang on. You’ve been married for, what…?”

“Eight years, and this was only the second time I’ve made love in my life. Is it wrong that I enjoyed it more this time round?”

“I don’t know what to say. I was more worried that you’d think I was taking advantage.”

“I’m not really sure who took advantage of whom. Besides, this is your body. Doesn’t it bother you that you just deflowered yourself?”

“It doesn’t feel like that. I don’t know how you’re going to respond to this, but that doesn’t feel like my body anymore. I’ve switched places with a bunch of people over the years and it always felt like I was borrowing someone else’s life for a few days. This is different somehow. It feels like…”

“…coming home.”

I felt the same way. It was crazy. All my life I’d been happy enough being a guy, or at least I’d thought I’d been happy. This was different though. Despite all the stress and weirdness of the last twenty-four hours, “I really like being a woman.”

“Wait a few days. You may change your mind.”

“You mean I’m due?” You don’t live with a woman for eight years without picking up on the monthly variations in her life.

“Middle of next week unless I’ve miscounted.”

“Best we make the most of the time we have then.”

I climbed onto him and kissed him. There was already a stirring from down below. I worked my way down his body and kissed his sensitive parts until he was fully erect again, then I climbed on top of him and took control.

I took it slow. Second time round, he wasn’t in such urgent need of release, so between me setting the pace and him have a little more stamina, we made it last, and I peaked maybe three times. By the time he reached his own climax, I was well and truly spent.

I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. That was how the fuck this had happened.

It hadn’t been clever. I had just had unprotected sex with the man Portia was divorcing for marital unfaithfulness; an accusation that had no truth to it until just now. It had been the mother of all stupid, and now that it was done, the potential consequences broke over me like a tsunami. I was going to have a very nervous few days, and I didn’t know how I was going to look Portia in the eye the next time we met.

-oOo-