Where had my other, male, self been all yesterday? What would Jenny be doing today? How would the other Jenny cope at Sweet Dreams if this had been a body-swap and she hadn't worked Saturday night? I rolled over and stared at the back of my sleeping wife's head. Would she be able to tell me what had happened? I really couldn't ask her, in case she had no idea that I'd been gone; I had better find out for myself. I needed a piss now anyway, so I climbed carefully out of bed and tiptoed into the bathroom. How nice not to have to get dressed and cross a public corridor, but how mundane! The seat was down so without thinking I turned around to sit but when I pulled down my underpants and my dick sprung out, I thought “Silly me, I can stand again now, but obviously I was Jenny long enough to form habits!”.

After pissing standing up, I reached inside my underpants and felt all around my balls. It was pleasant but I felt really disappointed to find that old equipment there. Only yesterday I had been proudly carrying the name Jenifer, a fine pair of breasts and a lovely smooth and sensitive pair of lips between my legs. I withdrew my hand and stared at its squat, wrinkly back. Yesterday I had had such smooth, slender hands; now I was back in my forties. Now I only had fond memories of bouncing around, aged twenty-three, in tights, miniskirt and pony-tail.

Instead of going back to bed, although it was only just after seven, I wandered around the house looking for clues as to what my male body might have done in my absence yesterday. I couldn't find anything that had changed since Friday night. In the hall, my umbrella was opened to dry, just as I had left it after I popped out to the convenience store on Friday night. Well, perhaps it had rained here on Saturday night, too, even though it had been fine and dry in Jenny's town. Suddenly I was startled by a clattering of the letter-box. It was only the paper-boy, I realized, relieved, but then I remembered that we didn't have a Sunday paper delivered, only Saturday's. Gingerly I picked it up and read the date — it was Saturday's newspaper.

Suddenly I was back to thinking my earlier Saturday as Jenny had all been a dream. How could it be so long? There were all sorts of details which I remembered very clearly and which I couldn't imagine my mind inventing. I felt I needed some proof that I had really been through this Saturday before. Then I remembered the news I had heard on my (Jenny's) radio between the music I had danced to in the afternoon. There had been a train crash in Holland. Surely it wouldn't happen again this afternoon? That would be spooky, but I had an awful feeling that it would.

What about the Sweet Dreams restaurant? Did it exist? I had only passed through Jenny's city a couple of times as a man and I would have thought I'd remember if I'd seen it then. I went into the study and turned on my computer. As soon as the clock appeared in the corner, I clicked on it to get the calender. The fact that Saturday was highlighted, not Sunday, was proof enough of the real day. I brought up a business directory and asked for restaurants in Jenny's city. The search seemed to take an age but there it was, “Sweet Dreams” and it had its own website. Within seconds I was staring aghast at a page decorated with, yes, you guessed it, fluffy white clouds on a pale blue background. I found my self reaching to my throat to feel my bow-tie.

So, I suppose I had been in some sort of time-warp and was living the same Saturday twice. I wished I had noted some football scores, horse racing results or better still the lottery numbers as Jenny. Then I remembered that I hadn't been interested in any of that sort of thing as a young woman; well, maybe the lottery, I could have done with that! Anyway, I couldn't be sure of this theory until the train crash happened, I thought with a shudder. I would love to ring up the Dutch Railways to warn them but I would only be taken as a mad hoaxer, however much it might make me feel better. I checked out all the headlines in the news websites and there was no sign of it as yet.

Suddenly my wife was behind me, none too happy that I had not prepared her breakfast but just started surfing the web in my underpants. I told her truthfully that I had had weird vivid dreams with premonitions and was checking those out on the web, without, of course, mentioning my female experiences. It didn't do much to abate her wrath so I hurried to dress and get breakfast.

During that day, it was hard to keep my mind from wandering back over what seemed to be the previous day. Almost everything I remembered about it gave me a hard-on, though I remembered that I hadn't been turned on by those things when I was actually living as Jenny. My wife soon noticed my distraction, though I tried my best to hide it and I had to create a diversion with the premonition. I decided not to tell her about the train crash but to write it on a piece of paper and give it to her in a sealed envelope. She was fascinated by this dramatic procedure and that made it easier for me to check every news bulletin.

At four o'clock it was announced. We were sitting in a supermarket car park listening to the news before going in to do our shopping. I told her to look in the envelope and she got it out of her handbag and ripped it open, reading it aghast. Then she got angry, not with me but with the same frustration I had felt that there was no way that we could have warned the victims. “This is a horrible gift you've just received” she said “or have you had it before?” “No, last night was the first time I've ever dreamed vividly that I was hearing the radio news on the following day.” Luckily, she didn't pry too deeply into what else had occurred in my dream. I lied that I remembered nothing more.

Now I was sure that I had entered a time-loop last night, not a parallel universe because Jenny's city and restaurant really existed, I couldn't wait to see if it happened again tonight. I had felt so young and full of fun as Jenny and now I had to get used to being middle-aged again. I racked my brain for any trigger of this phenomenon, anything magical I might have touched, as so often happens in this kind of story, but could remember nothing relevant.

I wanted further scientific experiments to verify what was happening. I decided to see if I could communicate with Jenny on one of these parallel, repeated days. It would be really weird to talk to her on the phone, for instance. Today, however, that was impracticable, she would be hard to reach, even at Sweet Dreams this evening and would be terribly shocked since she didn't know yet that she was going to live Saturday all over again, as a man. I could post a letter to her flat but suppose “the other Jenny” came back on Sunday for good — how could I word it so she wouldn't get too curious and try to contact me? No, I would have to wait until I became Jenny again, if that happened, and I fervently hoped that it would.

It was hard to get to sleep that night, of course. Unlike the previous night, or rather what seemed like the previous night but was also Saturday, I couldn't wait to get to sleep and see if I could be Jenny again when I awoke. My wife and I made love but it wasn't very good; she thought it was because we were both upset about my “premonition” but I couldn't help comparing it with my glorious orgasm in the bath as Jenny. I had hoped my new experiences would make me a better lover, knowing better how to touch my wife, but the mental strain of my secret outweighed that effect by far. After she fell asleep, which was usually after me, I lay there worrying about the other Jenny and how much she knew about last night's weird events and how she was involved.

Suddenly I was waking up in a silky smooth nightdress and was delighted that I had returned. I opened my eyes with a big grin and took in the now familiar features of my poverty-ridden bed-sit. It felt like it was Monday because I'd just lived a whole day as Dave since I had worked my first Saturday night at Sweet Dreams, but there was the uniform I'd cast off last night, so it must be Sunday. I writhed my smooth young body around in my single bed joyously, cupping my breasts in my hands and then confirming the female shape of my groin with its sensitive lips.

I also knew that it was Sunday from the very fact that I was wearing the nightie. I had found it tucked away at the bottom of a drawer, worn only rarely, so the other Jenny always slept in just her knickers and had not returned since. I checked the red digits of my clock-radio and found I had over two hours before I had to set off back to work, serving Sunday Lunches. First, I needed a pee, so I climbed out of bed and put on my pink toweling robe, remembering carefully to lay the right side over the left, and the woolly slippers I had found tucked away at the back of my wardrobe. This time I had a pocket to put my key in when I'd re-locked my door.

As I sat and let the pee trickle through my pubic hair, I felt annoyed that I'd had to go back to being male for a day. Last time I was Jenny I had made myself ready to spend the rest of my life female. Now I was living some kind of double existence. Yesterday had made me more aware of my relationship with my wife and I was now a bit shocked to find myself thinking of her as “Dave's wife” - Laura was my wife, for God's sake! I had already caught myself yesterday referring to myself in the third person as Dave. But then I was Jenny now, through and through.

Back in my room, as I poured my cornflakes and milk from the windowsill, almost empty so I had to mix in some water, I remembered my determination, as Dave, to make contact. I would go to a phone box, I decided, and memorize the number and the time so that Dave could ring it at exactly that time when I re-lived Sunday as him. I wasn't sure that I really wanted to do this now that I was Jenny, though,. I sort of didn't want to encourage another return to male existence, but then I did miss Laura, my wife. By the time I'd finished my meager breakfast, I'd decided to write to Dave, instead.

I found a pad of writing paper and some envelopes in the documents drawer but I had to hunt around to find a stamp in my handbag. Many letter-boxes have a Sunday collection which ought to reach him on Monday morning. Surely he could get through another day without his precious phone call? More and more I was thinking of Dave as a completely different person. I sucked the pen for a moment before beginning:-

Dear Dave,
When you read this you'll already know exactly what's in it, so there's no point in my saying anything, eh?
Love
Jenny
XX

I found myself adding the kisses automatically, as a girl should, but they suddenly struck me as incestuous. Well, a girl could send kisses to her brother, couldn't she? In this case “father” was a more likely relationship given our ages, but sharing a soul made us closer than that. I got angry again then that my soul couldn't just transfer once and for all, and then terribly guilty at leaving Laura behind and I burst into tears.

When I'd pulled myself together, I sealed the letter in the envelope and addressed it to Dave's work address — I couldn't risk Laura opening it. I stared at the envelope for a long time before putting the stamp on it. My handwriting looked very much like Dave's, but somehow slightly different. Was I mad, writing letters to myself? It wasn't as bad as talking to myself on the phone but the popular conception of schizophrenia sprang to mind. After all, only Laura and I knew about the weird re-occurrence of the train crash so that would hardly count as proof of reality.

How long would I have to go on living each day twice? In a way it was enjoyable, having the best of both worlds, but Laura's horror at my premonition made me wary of it. When I first arrived in this Jenny's body, twenty four years younger than Dave's, I thought I might get twenty four years extra lifetime. Now it looked like I'd be getting most of that doubled, by living every day twice. The prospect was not very nice, however. I feared it would get very confusing. I really wanted to settle into one life or the other, preferably the present one, as Jenny.

Then I remembered the lottery numbers Dave wanted me to collect. I found I was more superstitious as Jenny and I didn't think we'd be “allowed” to make that work. Anyway, as he was the one to live each day second, he'd collect the winnings and it was me that badly needed some money. I reckoned Dave could get away with giving me about two thousand without Laura finding out. He could just transfer it to my account. I hadn't fixed the stamp yet, so I ripped the envelope open and added my bank sort-code and account-number to the bottom of my letter. Then I sealed it up again in a new envelope and stuck on the stamp.

Now there was less than an hour before I had to be at Sweet Dreams and the Sunday buses ran only half-hourly, so I had no time to reflect any more on my weird situation. I hurried across the corridor again for a quick shower. I longed for another wank, but dare not miss my bus. I did enjoy soaping my tits with excess shampoo from my hair, though. Back in my room, I wound my still damp hair in my towel like a turban while I got dressed. This time I had to wear one of my less smart blouses and I determined to wash my best one when I came home and then buy more like it as soon as possible.

I got out a new pair of tights, then caught my nail in them as I stretched them up my leg, making a huge ladder. I swore in a most unladylike manner for several minutes because I only had one other new pair. At least one leg was still good and I remembered my wife wearing two pairs, each with a laddered leg cut off, when we had had less money. Perhaps I should wear stockings; my uniform skirts were easily long enough to hide the suspenders. I would have to buy some because there were none in the flat, though I had seen a garter-belt in the back of a drawer. For today I wore a washed pair of tights that had been hanging over a string across the kitchen corner. They were thicker and darker brown than the new pairs but I would be warmer waiting for my bus.

My hair would not get dry as quickly as I needed it to. Luckily, since Anne had shortened it for me last night, my ponytail could hang loose, so it didn't matter that it was still a bit damp. A hair-dryer was added to my mental shopping-list for the arrival of funds from Dave. It was raining outside and apparently I didn't own an umbrella. I fished the hood of my anorak out of its collar before rushing out and down the stairs with only one minute to go before my bus was due. I ran through the rain, clutching my hood tight and wondering how wet my skirt was getting.

There was no sign of the bus when I got round the corner onto the main road. I checked my little narrow watch which said there was a still minute to go. I longed to shelter in the little bus-stop but I could see a letter-box across the street, so I kept running, dodging the traffic, to post my letter to my alter-ego. The bus was slowing for the stop when I started back, so I dashed across, frightened but reveling in my youth and fitness. A car hooted at me and I shocked myself by my reaction: I raised my middle finger at it in the “swivel” gesture! It had come to me spontaneously, out of habit as Jenny, but Dave would never have done that. Breathlessly I paid my fare to the driver, grinning to myself, pleased that I was such a feisty lass.

As I sat down I swept my skirt under my bottom in the habit I already hardly noticed, but I did notice that it was quite dry there. I felt the front of it and it was a little damp, because I had been running into the rain. I pulled off my hood and found my pony-tail was still damp and limp too, so I fished my little hairbrush out of my handbag and worked on reviving it. Suddenly I was aware that half the crowded bus behind me were watching. At least I had checked that the seat immediately behind me was empty, so no one would get splashed, but now I suddenly felt new again to being an attractive young woman and embarrassed that my Jenny persona was prepared to be so exhibitionist.

I kept brushing, however, trying not to blush with my new awareness of my raised arms pulling on my breasts and my bra showing through the front of my plain white shirt now I had unzipped my coat. It should be all so natural for a young woman like me but, when I got a bit embarrassed, I reverted to a transformed man again. I stared at the black skirt stretched across my lap and the brown-nylon-clad knees protruding from it, almost with disbelief. I soon put the brush away, then adjusted the lie of my open blouse collar under my coat, remembering that I would soon be wearing that irksome bow-tie again.

I was really looking forward to meeting my new workmates again even though it meant such hard work waiting at table. After all I had no one else in this life to talk to. I found myself thinking most about Harry and, every time I did, I felt a warmth in my groin which made me blush. I told myself that this was perfectly natural, not that I felt any revulsion at all, now that I was totally female, to being attracted to a man. I also told myself it was silly to get obsessed with the very first man who had talked to me, but I couldn't stop visualizing his ready smile and the firm set of his jaw.

As the bus approached my destination, I was looking carefully at every man walking in the street, imagining if I could fancy them and trying to stop thinking of Harry, when suddenly I spotted him, striding along under an umbrella. All thoughts of moderation fled as I confirmed that the admirably pointed chin was his, though it was obvious from the pale blue bow-tie he was wearing. I rang the bell to stop the bus at the next stop, instead of outside Sweet Dreams and hurried to join my fancy-man under his umbrella, which he was already holding out to shelter me. I was so glad that this meant huddling against his side. It was all I could do to resist slipping an arm around his waist, but I was sure that would be too forward.

“Hi, Jenny, I hope you've had a good rest?” he asked.
“Yes, thanks”, I grinned, “I 'm still a bit stiff, though. It's hard work, isn't it?”
“You'll get used to it. Are your shoes comfortable? Oh good, that's the most important bit to get right.” He was so nice and considerate! I felt I was deceiving him a bit about my rest. There was no way I could tell him that I had lived Saturday all over again as Dave since I had seen him last night. I wished I could just forget about all that and enjoy flirting with him but, as I said, every little embarrassment brought me back to being just a transformed man.

Soon I was at the mirror in the Ladies, loosing and re-tying my pony-tail, then fitting my bow-tie from the pocket in my apron. I felt more confident applying make-up today and enjoyed getting my lips really red. Loren came in when I was doing my eyes. “Is this too much mascara?” I asked her. “No, not for your eyes,” she said, “it adds depth.” I was hurt by that. Was she a rival for Harry's attentions, even though she kept mentioning her boyfriend at home? I was new to such bitchiness. I had to work closely with Loren as she was my mentor so I suppressed my resentment. Perhaps she meant nothing by it, anyway.

I looked out for Ann, the sous-chef, to talk to, as soon as I went in the kitchen, but she wasn't there and when I asked Mary, the older kitchen-hand, I found that Ann never worked Sundays. I was still fighting an urge to stick next to Harry and flirt with him the whole time. I kept telling myself to ease off with him. In my mind, however, I turned that around to playing hard-to-get. I was also making the excuse to myself that this might again be my last day as Jenny and I should really try to get (at least) a date with him while I could.

I wished I felt as smart and sexy in my uniform as I had yesterday, but today's blouse was not tailored to emphasize my curves and I felt a little frumpy in it. Maybe I could have got away with wearing my best blouse again, with plenty of deodorant. Anyway I would make sure to get it washed and ironed as soon as I got home this afternoon and then buy more like it as soon as possible. I still seemed to get lots of admiring looks and smiles from my male customers, though.

Sunday lunches were very busy, since they all started together around one o'clock. I still had to follow my mentor, Loren, around and do her more menial tasks. She didn't really exploit me, though, and this time was friendlier to me than Marie, who was obviously still hurt by my rejection of her advances last night. Loren explained that, with all the meals being simultaneous, it was harder to arrange our own meal-breaks. I had covered her tables for her on my own last night and would do the same today, so she could not take her break with me. She asked me if I wanted to take my break with Harry and I must have blushed, because she started teasing me about him. She had already arranged to eat with Marie, so I had no choice.

When I sat down to lunch opposite Harry, I was assailed by a maelstrom of emotions and had to fight to keep my composure. I told myself that he wasn't very attractive, that there were plenty of fish in the sea and that he may not be at all available anyway, but it was no use. I just couldn't take my eyes off him. I kept imagining his hands caressing me and remembering his friendly smile when I'd snuggled up to him under his umbrella.

“Do you have to come very far on that bus?” he started by asking me.
“No, just from Westgates. I suppose I should walk, really, but I'll try that in the Summer.”
“Well, I've got an old banger and I drive sometimes if it's sleeting or I'm just lazy. I only live round the corner from where you found me this morning.” He paused. “Are you working this evening?”
“Yes”, I replied, fighting to stop my delight at his interest from showing.
“Well why don't I give you a lift home and pick you up later? It'll give you much more time.”
“Oo! That's really kind of you, Harry, but I can't let you put yourself out that much.”
“It's no trouble, really. I go to Westgates Library most Sunday afternoons, you see.”

I was really struggling now to hide my emotions. I was overjoyed that I had almost got the “date” I wanted already, but worried that I might spoil it by being too eager. I was also plagued by other negative thoughts. Loren had called Harry “a bit of a bookworm” and this was being confirmed out of his own mouth. I was disappointed that he was suggesting spending a possible afternoon together in a library. I was beginning to feel a little scared of my vulnerability, too. Bookworms weren't necessarily safer than other predatory males, indeed their weirdness made them dangerous. I was startled by my own naiivity in not seeing Harry as at all bookish, until now, and worried that this naiivity could get me into trouble.

“Well, OK, yes please,” I replied, “but you don't go to the library in this uniform, do you?”
“No, we'll need to go to my flat first. But, oh, I see, if you don't want to come in you could keep out of the rain in my car while I change.”
Wasn't he wonderfully considerate? I was so thrilled I just couldn't stop grinning at him and felt a bit foolish to be so eager. I felt really warm and close to him across the table. It was helped by the way we were both dressed almost identically, at least above the waist. I started to fantasise that this was a romantic dinner-date in a candlelit restaurant and I wished I was wearing a low-cut little black dress to emphasise my cleavage instead of this shapeless white blouse with a stiff shirt collar.

My reveries were interrupted by Loren coming in for her meal-break and I had to gulp down the last of my lasagne in a most unladylike manner so that I could rush out to replace her on the floor. I felt I was almost walking on air, I was so dreamily thrilled with my forthcoming “date” with Harry. I was able to concentrate on the job, though, and found I was really getting the hang of waitressing. After all, it wasn't rocket science. Clearing up after the last customers seemed to take forever but it wasn't really too long before I was snuggling up to Harry again, under his umbrella on our way back down the street.

His flat seemed to be in an even poorer block than mine. I wondered if I wouldn't be in more danger sitting in his car in the gloomy basement car-park than with him upstairs, but I decided my honour required me to risk it and I locked the doors as soon as he had gone. It was dark and shadowy, the walls and pillars covered with graffiti so I was suddenly filled with the dread of rape. Where was the feisty lass now, I asked myself, and made myself sit up straight and look confident. The radio wouldn't work without his key so I had to amuse myself with my imagination, which I failed to divert from the prospects of a relationship with Harry. I must have been very lost in those thoughts because I jumped hard when he knocked on the window.

I'm not sure what I had expected him to be wearing but I was disappointed that he'd only changed his shirt and that it was a very conservative checked one, like a farmer might wear. Still, the collar was wide open and there was an enticing glimpse of chest hair. As he settled into the driver's seat I got a strong whiff of after-shave and found myself flattered that he had bothered. He seemed more embarrassed than usual as he fumbled to start up the car and I realised I was simply beaming at him. That embarrassed me too so I remembered that I had only just become a girl and stared out of my side window, wishing that I could forget that I had ever been Dave so that I could gain confidence as Jenny.

The drive from his flats to mine only took about 15 minutes, through the empty Sunday streets, but it seemed like the longest car ride of my life. Of course it was only the second car ride of my life as Jenny and I wished I was less concious of the seat-belt pressing between my sensitive breasts and that both of us could relax enough to chat casually, instead of the stilted, embarrassed conversation that took place. I could hardly believe that I was almost swooning over such a bookish man. It was no good telling myself to be sensible; I was stricken!

Having to suppress huge waves of raw, raunchy female lust was the last thing I had expected. I found myself wanting desperately to fling my arms round his neck and plunge my tongue down his throat, then to have the moist void between my legs filled by his huge throbbing dick. I tried to rationalise my thoughts, blaming it on the frightened wait in the dark car-park or on pheromones in his after-shave but I realised that I'd been just steadily drawn to him ever since I found out that he wasn't gay.

Of course the stronger my attraction to him, the more embarrassment and the more I became aware of my male past. But fancying Harry did not seem at all wrong. Dave wasn't gay and neither was I as Jenny. When I looked down at myself, over my bulging chest to my nylon-covered knees poking out of my skirt, it all seemed so consistent with my lust for Harry. Anyway, when I thought about my male alter-ego, I began to fear that this second day as Jenny could be my last and I'd better get on with it, if I wanted real female sex; we would certainly be too tired after this evening's shift.

Hence, as he was looking for a place to park in my street, I took a deep breath and boldly asked if he was in a hurry to get to the library or would he like to come up for “a coffee”, not really trying to sound seductive but finding it oh, so easy to flutter my lashes at him. He hesitated a little, but hardly at all, and I revelled in a sort of victory of conquest. I really wanted to lean up to him for a kiss but was too afraid of blowing my chances.

As I led him up to my humble lodgings, I resisted the urge to take his hand and pull him along. No, that would be too obvious — I wasn't that sort of girl — and I could blow it all by being too pushy. I tried to stride confidently beside him but inwardly I was quaking with fear, partly about my own ability to cope with my completely new approach to sex and partly about the possibility of him turning me down. That would be a dreadful result if this was my last day as Jenny.

The first thing I saw when I'd unlocked my door was the empty milk carton (at least I'd made my bed). I hoped desperately that he liked black coffee like me. The wicked thought of bypassing coffee altogether flashed through my mind but, no, that would be too naughty and could easily misfire. I put the kettle on and asked “White or black?” “Black with one sugar” he replied, to my great relief. He wandered over to the window and glanced at my awful view, then returned and sat on the edge of the bed, ignoring the scruffy armchair in the darkest corner, perhaps because I'd left my documents file on it, and the one wooden chair tucked under the table.

My heart was in my mouth, wondering if his sitting on the bed was a hint. I lined up the mugs with coffee and sugar in them, almost pulled out the wooden chair to sit opposite him, but took my fear in hand and sat next to him on the bed. Somehow, I had to achieve a gentle seduction without betraying the awful truth, that I was on a mission to get laid!

When he turned to me to speak, I noticed his hand shaking slightly and realised he was probably just as nervous as I was. I found myself blushing, averting my eyes and bowing my head. Looking down there, I found myself proud of the growing lump in his trousers. I wished I wasn't still dressed in my waitress uniform. I reached up and released my pony-tail and felt a little sexier with hair flowing onto, if not over, my shoulders. It was nice to hide behind, too.

Suddenly his hand was on my knee and my heart was in my mouth. It took no encouragement from him or me for me to lean towards him and press my lips onto his. The resulting sensation was fantastic. My lips seemed hot-wired to my nipples and on to my vagina. During the kiss, he was sliding his hand up under my skirt and, to my surprise, I part resented it and part welcomed it. When his other hand moved to my tits, I found myself thinking “The bastard is just pawing me!” but I realised that, only yesterday, that was exactly what I would have done myself. I had to admit that he was being gentle and it was quite pleasant.

Still holding the kiss, with my hand behind his head, I wriggled my other hand to my chest and began unbuttoning by blouse. I was actually trying to help him fondle by boobs and couldn't wait to get my bra off and see what it would be like to have his hand on my naked tits. I broke off the kiss to reach one arm over my shoulder and the other behind my waist to undo my bra at the back, keeping my unbuttoned crisp white blouse on my shoulders. Then I lifted the front of the bra so my tits popped out from underneath and went back to kissing his mouth. As his fingers found my now rigid nipples I found myself making muffled yelps of delight.

I had not expected to feel so unstoppably randy. I heard the kettle boil and deliberately ignored it, thrusting my tongue into his mouth as soon as he withdrew his from mine. I had not noticed his other hand advancing into my crutch until his fingers were right over my clit, probing to find it. “This is it!” I thought, in a sort of triumph, “I've got him now!” Of course he had got me, too, but that was a minor detail. Reluctantly, I broke off the kiss again and stood up to switch off the kettle and undress, starting by unbuttoning my stiff cuffs and slipping right out of my blouse and bra while grinning right into his eyes.

Without a word, he removed his shirt and started undoing his trousers, so I found the zip of my skirt and let it drop around my ankles. I wished I had stockings and suspenders to wear but I only had these rather thick tights, so I pulled them down and right off with my shoes and with my knickers still inside, standing in front of him completely naked. He was still struggling with his shoe-laces so, caution suddenly raising its ugly head, I dived for the condoms in my bedside drawer.

His surprised and curious expression when he saw what I had in my hand brought me to my senses. I could still put him off by being too forward, I realised. “Better safe than sorry!” I mumbled, ripping open the packet then a capsule. With the rolled-up ring in my delicate fingers, I approached his glorious erection. I suddenly realised that I'd never put one onto another man. No, he wasn't “another” man, because I wasn't a man and this was perfectly normal. His cock felt nice and warm, actually.

The size of it worried me, though. The word “virgin” sprung into my mind. Surely not! Although this was mentally my first time as a woman, I'd got two fingers up inside me in the bath yesterday and I was twenty-three, for goodness sake. My earlier triumph was beginning to fade a little. I was excited and hot between my legs but very scared, too. I was getting my maybe one-off experience of sex as a woman and there was no going back now. This had all happened so quickly. I was also worrying that we couldn't easily work together after such a hurried one-night-stand, if that was what it was, mid-afternoon.

I knew I needed to stop worrying and just get on with it so I kissed him deeply again, still holding his cock and crouching down to sit astride his lap. I guessed I wasn't really ready for penetration yet, however warm, wet and yearning I felt “down there”, so I stayed out at the end of his lap while I firmly pulled and pushed his big rubber-clad shaft. He broke off the kiss and surprised me by sucking my left nipple. Huge electric currents seemed to flow from it all over my body and I writhed around in ecstasy, throwing back my head and almost screaming.

This was getting almost as good as my bath-tub experience already. I began to worry about cumming too soon now, Could women have Premature Ejaculation? Hardly; we can always have another orgasm straight away. As he moved his gentle lips over to my lonely right nipple, I rose up and lowered myself onto his cock, guiding it in with my hand. I suppose there was a little pain as he first entered me but it was completely drowned out by pleasure. It felt so right, what I was doing.

It had flashed through my mind as I lowered myself that I was trusting him a lot to actually have him inside me. Thank goodness we were “this way up” and I was in control of lowering myself onto him. Once half of him was in, though, I just couldn't get enough of him and sat down hard before jerking up and down again, delighting in the pulling of the rubber on my inner lips. I badly needed to get him further up me, or perhaps I just craved contact between our pelvic bones, so I swung each knee in turn up onto the bed behind him, so that my body could be even closer to his, without pulling him off the bed.

As I held onto his shoulders and leaned back, there was a sudden improvement as his cock pressed inside the front of my vagina. Part of me was thinking “This is fantastic — I've got a real man's penis right up me on my second day as a woman!” and part of me was thinking “I've dragged this poor bookish man I hardly know up to my room and jumped on him!”. I couldn't stop worrying whether this would spoil our relationship at work, in fact I heartily wished I could stop thinking so much and just enjoy it.

The multitude of pleasant feelings from my new body was almost overwhelming. I just leaned back at arms length from his shoulders and basked in the glory, but he started bouncing on the bed to get pumping again. I suddenly realised how selfish I was being so I pulled forward again, kissed him quickly on the mouth and whispered “Come on, let's lie down!” while swivelling slowly to the right. He followed around until I was lying diagonally across the bed and he was standing over me, with my legs wrapped around him and my feet hooked together.

I could hardly bear to let him go, but he gently pulled half out of me and plunged back in, the rubber pulling on my sensitive nether lips, sending me into spasms of ecstasy. Again he sucked one of my nipples into his mouth and again my erogenous zones seemed to be all electrically wired together. Now he was above me on the bed, supported on his hands and knees, while I was in the classic spread-legs position on my back. “This is it!” my mind screamed and suddenly he stopped pumping and I could feel the little spasms of his cock as he came.

Part of me was pleased and proud to have achieved his orgasm, but part of me was raring to go for more of mine. Thinking back to my wank in the bath yesterday for comparison, I realised that I'd surpassed that experience today by far, so contented myself to lie still beside him for a couple of minutes, gazing into each other's eyes. Suddenly I felt more lively, though, and asked cheekily: “Well, was that better than your library books?” “There's no comparison!” he replied, kissing me on the forehead.

He seemed much more confident and familiar with this routine than I had expected from his bookishness. Still feeling very cheeky, I asked. “You've done this before, haven't you?” “Well, actually, no. Not so soon after meeting someone,” he replied coolly, seeming to me honest and slightly disapproving. “Neither have I, but I really liked you straight away” I disclaimed, before kissing him passionately.

Behind his head I could see my digital alarm clock, the one that had twice welcomed me to womanhood. Coolly I started calculating time to shower and change and then for him to change round at his place, too. Breaking off the kiss, I said “We'd better move,” I said, “We've got to be back at work in less than an hour now.”

Having explained where the Gents bathroom was, down the corridor, I put on my robe, watching him decide to leave his condom on under his underpants and trousers. I found a spare bar of soap and a spare towel which I hoped was clean. He caught them deftly when I chucked them over to him, then I grabbed my wash-bag and towel and slipped outside.

The shower felt glorious over my sensitised body. I quickly reached another orgasm while I soaped out my sticky fanny, almost falling over as I staggered with its intensity. “I really am a whole woman, now!” I told myself, but I couldn't stop worrying about working with Harry after today's escapade. Part of me was saying “I might not be back after today — that's why I screwed him” but most of me thought “I need a boyfriend — I hope I haven't blown it with Harry. I mean, suppose he tells everybody that I'm a slut?” Well, he had seemed to accept my excuse that I really liked him.

As I started to dry myself, I suddenly realised that I hadn't given him a key to get back into my room. Still dripping, I wrapped up in my robe and rushed back across the corridor. Luckily, he was only just approaching. Now I was embarrassed that I hadn't finished drying myself. Might he guess why I was so long in the shower? He seemed happy enough, though, and not embarrassed at all to chat with me, unlike before, as I grabbed my last clean white blouse and all my other clothes before returning to the Ladies to dress in private.

I was surprised to find Harry more talkative than before on the drive back towards work. I soon realised that we were both more relaxed, having so thoroughly relieved our sexual tension. We seemed to suddenly know each other so much better, though we had a long way to go in establishing a relationship. As far back as I could remember, in my previous life, I had never started a relationship is such an extraordinarily rapid way. I was glad that I had been in control, or had I? I was worried by my strong libido as a woman. Had it led me astray? Only the next few days working with my new boyfriend would tell.