When Kate and Rob wake up in each others bodies they have no idea why, how, or even who they are now. To make matters worse they have very little time to sort it all out.

Join them for a roller coaster ride around the seedier parts of London, and a visit to the Home of English Rugby, and pray that Kate does not have to play rugby, because that would be a disaster.

With thanks to Hope and BOUSER for the editing.

TURNABOUT TIME

I woke up knowing that all was not well. I groaned, rolled over in bed and reached for the alarm. I switched on the bedside lamp and rubbed my reluctant eyes until they agreed to open. As my hands swam into focus it became horrifyingly obvious that these were not my hands, these hands were hairy; they had short stubby nails and no rings. I turned them over, they had calluses on the palms. I sat up in bed and took in my surroundings. The room was a mess; there were clothes scattered all over the floor, shirts, jeans, socks and underpants were lying about in crumpled heaps. I looked down at my body. I was wearing a pair of Boxer shorts, but that was not the worst thing I could see; I had hair on my breasts! No wait a minute, whatever these were, they were not breasts!

I staggered through to the bathroom, undeniably aware of extra equipment rubbing between my legs and looked blearily in the mirror. Short dark hair, sticking up in one or two places, red rimmed eyes stared, shocked, out of a frame of stubble. The hair on my chest was all pervading. It came up my arms and met on my shoulders. The shoulders seemed to spread out forever. Horrifyingly there was more hair peeping out from under my arms — and how much muscle was there on those arms? I felt like crying, or screaming, but somehow it felt wrong to do either. I sat down on the toilet to take stock. The face in the mirror had looked familiar, but it wasn’t me. I am a woman, not a man. Surely this was a nightmare? I did the clichéd thing and pinched myself. No change. I put my head in my hands and groaned. It didn’t make me feel any better. I know I had been out drinking and dancing with the girls last night, but I had never had a hangover like this.

I had never achieved much in my life, but I hadn’t set out to. I would describe myself as a party girl. My life up to now had been a ball. I loved everything about myself, long brunette hair, nice figure, a taste for dance and an outgoing optimistic character. I had a reasonable job as a marketing assistant, and a nice little flat in a not too shabby part of London. I had easy access to the tube for work, and more importantly for getting out at the weekend. I earned enough money to holiday wherever the nightlife was best and I had no plans to do anything else just yet. Carpe Diem was the rule I lived my life by. I had a large and ever changing group of friends and I was seldom at a loss for company. All in all, I loved my life. The future could wait, now was the focus of everything I did, and I had little patience with anyone who wanted me to do more. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this. I groaned some more, but it still wasn’t helping. So what should I do? Try to find out what was going on.

I found a terry towel bathrobe on the back of the door and pulled it on. In my normal life I am a very organised woman, but the state of the bedroom did not lead me to expect the same of the man I seemed to have become. In this I was surprised. Downstairs the house was clean and tidy. A jacket hung on the banister, and the kitchen was clean. I put the kettle on and looked for some tea to help me think. Just my luck, to make matters worse I had become a coffee drinker. There was no tea in the cupboards at all.

The coffee did not taste nearly as bad as I thought it would. When I got to my second cup I was feeling a lot livelier and the panic attack was beginning to ease. Now I would be able to think. I began a search of the flat looking for some more information. There was post behind the door addresses to Mr R Seton. Could this be me now? I opened the first, a bank statement. I was surprised to find that I was pretty well off. There was the kind of balance in the account that I have only seen before with a minus sign in front. I sat stunned, and for a moment. Whatever was doing this to me had a very twisted sense of humour. Just the night before, on my Friday night out I had publicly wished that I could afford to shop in the most fashionable shops. Now I could, but there wasn’t going to be much in there that would fit me.

I left the rest of the mail and searched for more evidence of who I was now. I found a wallet in a pair of jeans upstairs, and searched it. There were a couple of gold credit cards and an exclusive black one. In a separate pouch I found driving licence with a picture I recognised from the mirror in the name of Robert Andrew Seton. There was about  £50 in notes and several receipts pushed into the back, and in a pouch at the front, a condom. I looked at it in disgust. At least it hadn’t been used.

In the jacket I found two pass cards in the name of Rob Seton and the penny finally dropped. One card was for a top flight Rugby team, and the other was an RFU card that would let me into the player’s area at Twickenham. I was in the body of an England Rugby player. Now don’t get me wrong: I am normally as keen on Rugby as any girl. All those fit, strong bodies, all that rampant testosterone. I have watched the game with my Dad since forever, and have even been to Twickenham to watch some games. I understand the rules, can argue the toss over a decision in the pub and scream myself hoarse when the play gets near the line. But that is as far as it goes. My rugby playing ambitions have been limited to dreaming about tackling Johnny Wilkinson, and not in the mud. Playing has never been an option. The nearest I have got to that level of physicality and competition was in the sales two years ago when some flashy cow wanted the same designer handbag as me and there was only one left. I lost, but she must have had nail marks in her arm for a week afterwards.

As any good Rugby fan knew there was an International coming up, a friendly with Australia, but since we beat them in the World Cup final four years ago, there wasn’t likely to be much friendly about the game. Oh No! Had Rob Seton been selected? And wasn’t the game tomorrow? This was going from bad to worse. Plan: I needed a plan and quickly before a panic attack claimed me and took over.

First things first: Selection? I found a desk in the living room and rifled it. I didn’t have to look far. On top of the mess of papers was a letter from the English RFU confirming my place in the team and outlining the next two days. I needed to be in Twickenham for a press call at two. I found a clock — it was nine thirty, plenty of time. What next? More information. Who could tell me what would be expected? This was a bit more of a puzzler. The only person I could think of, who would really know, was Rob Seton. I didn’t even know who his friends would be on the team to ask them. I was Rob Seton now.

Slowly, with a great deal of rattling around the sides of the container, the penny dropped. If I was in Rob’s body, could he be in mine? Or could I still be in mine? Or would it be someone else? What if there had been a multi-way swap? I wished I had read less science fiction and magic books. There was one way to find out. I picked up the phone and then realised that I did not know my own mobile number. I thought for a moment and then rang my parents. Who doesn’t remember the number that parents drill into their children throughout their childhood? My mother answered the phone.

“Hi mu…er is that Mrs Menteith?”

“Yes, who’s calling please?”
That was my mum’s posh phone voice, reserved for strangers. It was even stranger to hear that than the deep bass voice with which I had asked.

“This is Rob. I’m a friend of Kate’s. She sent me this number instead of her own, and I wondered if you could let me have her mobile number?”

“I’m not sure about that,” She sounded suspicious. “How well do you know her? She hasn’t mentioned you before and I don’t give out her number to just anyone you know.” Damn. I hadn’t thought of this. Maybe fast thinking under pressure wasn’t my forte after all.

“Er, good point. I haven’t known her long. I promised to get her some tickets for Twickenham.” Think fast, how can get her trust — tell her something I would only have told a close friend. “She was telling me about how her father used to take her to England matches and she was so excited that she jumped up when they scored a try and then sat on her ice-cream. She said it spoiled her day and she cried for half an hour afterwards. She said she doesn’t tell many people that and if her Dad tells the story she claims she cried because England lost.”

A bit tenuous I know, but if I told her I knew about birthmarks or more intimate secrets I would be lost in potential husband territory, and I know myself too well to want to marry me. It seemed to make her think.
“Give me your number young man, and I’ll call you back with hers. I want to know that I can find you if you turn out to be a stalker.”

Oh no! What was my number now? Fortunately amongst the morning’s post there was a bill from the mobile phone company. I ripped it open.

“OK, just a minute, sorry, I always have difficulty remembering my own number, just like Kate. That was why she gave me yours — she couldn’t remember hers. Here it is:”
I read the number off the top of the bill and put the phone down. Minutes later she rang me back.

“I tried to ring Kate to check you out but she isn’t answering.” She told me. “She is probably still in bed. She doesn’t do mornings you know.”
“She told me. But I would still like to try.”
She gave me the number and we rang off. However it had felt to be treated like a stranger by my own mother, it wasn’t even close to the feeling I got calling my own phone. It was answered by a very small voice.
“Hello, who is that?”
“It’s Kate. Only I’m not. Is that Rob?”
The voice on the other end caught a sob and choked it off.
“What’s going on?”
“If only I knew. I think we should get together.”
“Can you come here? I don’t think I can face the outside.”

It was a big relief to be in this with someone else, and not on my own. It gave me some more strength, an ability to act, so I went back to the bedroom and the unsavoury task of finding some clean underwear. Unexpectedly there was some in the drawers, I took a T-shirt and some clean jeans out, then looked for shoes. There was a pair under the bed, the only pair I could find both of. They looked big and heavy, but fit me well enough. It wasn’t until I tried to walk in them that I really noticed the difference. It was like having two blocks of concrete attached to each foot, and I felt as if I was swinging demolition balls forward with every step. How I missed my dainty shoes.

His keys were on the floor by the door, so I left the flat and found his car outside by experimenting with the remote unlocking until I saw which one flashed its lights: an Audi. There was something good about the day after all. I got in and the seat was set up right for me. Navigation is not something that comes naturally to me, but I still knew where my own flat was. First though, I needed to know where this was. I wrote down the street name and cruised out to the end. I decided to go as straight ahead as I could until I found somewhere I knew, and it only took a few roads before I recognised Islington High Street: a posh area. He wasn’t going to be happy when he worked out where I lived.

Driving his car would have been a pleasure in other circumstances. It was comfortable, quiet and powerful. Saturday morning traffic was its usual mess, but it just wasn’t as stressful when you had this level of luxury. The fear of what I might be about to find, and of what we might have to do kept me from relaxing too much though.

Home was both frighteningly familiar and yet different. I was suddenly aware of how much larger I was now. I rang the doorbell, the curtain twitched and then the door opened. Rob had clearly been waiting for me, and I was astounded at how much smaller she (I?) was. It is quite impossible to describe how you feel when you meet yourself. The face before me, though tear stained, was the one I had looked at in the mirror for an hour every morning. She was wearing my peach bathrobe, her hair was a tangled mop and she looked every bit as shocked as I felt. This was going to take some getting used to, or hopefully not. She led the way through to the kitchen/diner and perched on a chair. I joined her, and tried to cross my legs, but encountering an unexpected obstacle just sat with my legs a little awkwardly apart. She made a visible effort and spoke.

“Do you know what is going on and whether we can do anything about it?”
“I haven’t a clue. I had hoped you would be able to shed some light on it.”
A tear escaped from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away angrily.
“This is too much. I just keep crying, and its stopping me from thinking.”
“Don’t do that please. We need to think together. I don’t want to stay in this body and I don’t want to play Rugby.” I was close to tears, but they didn’t come.
“Don’t you get emotional too. Damn these tears. We have to concentrate. What could do this to us?”
“I have no idea. I can’t think. I just keep panicking.”
“OK, we need to research. Do you have the internet here?”
“Why would I have the internet? I don’t even have a computer. I spend enough time in front of them at work.” At last the tears came. Great wrenching sobs from a body that didn’t really know how to cry. Rob sat still and waited patiently for me.
“I have one. We’ll have to go back to my flat. You need to be there this morning anyway. There is a big game tomorrow and they will be coming to do a drug test later this morning. Can you help me pick something out to wear?”

This was much safer ground. Clothes, I understand. Rob went into the bathroom to shower and I went through to my bedroom where I took some underwear from the drawer. A short look in the wardrobe produced a pair of blue jeans, a white blouse and a cardigan. It was chilly outside.

While she finished showering I took a look around my flat. It was a very creepy feeling. Until yesterday this had been my territory, I had fitted into it like a hermit crab in its shell. Now, although everything was familiar and loved, it did not seem to be mine. The scale was wrong for a start. Everything was smaller and there was little room to move in. I twice hit my head on dangling ornaments that were now far more annoying than beautiful. Rob called me back to the bedroom.

“Kate, I can’t wear these!”
“What’s wrong with them?” She was holding up the underwear. “I wear them all the time.”
“They’re too small and skimpy. Don’t you have anything more substantial?”
“No I don’t. Anyway, bet you’d have liked them if we were in our own bodies.”
“All right. Go out then.”
“It’s my body, what’s your problem?”
“You aren’t in it.”

It was my turn to capitulate so I left the room. She was out with me in a few minutes.
“You can’t go out like that.” I said.
“Like what?”
“With your hair all wet and scruffy. It’ll dry in a real mess, and you’ll ruin my reputation.”
“But I don’t know how to do it.”

So I spent the next 20 minutes brushing and drying my own hair, on her head. At least I knew what to do, and the familiarity of the task was quite therapeutic. Actually, it was quite an interesting experience; standing this close to her there was definitely some chemistry and I felt a thoroughly unfamiliar stirring in my trousers.

When I had finished she said, “You haven’t shaved.”
“Is that really important?”
“There is a match tomorrow. I always shave. It matters to me how the world sees me, but more importantly the coach and other players will notice a break in routine. Routine matters to sports people.”
“How will they notice?”
“You have to be at a press conference this afternoon.”

Oh great!

“What else is lurking in your calendar?”
“I told you, I have to be home later this morning in case they want a drug sample…”
“A what!?”
“A drug sample. I’m — you’re a professional athlete. The authorities keep tabs on things like that.”
“I hate needles!”
“It’s OK; they won’t stick a needle in you today. It’s just a urine sample.”

Oh goody! I found myself wishing I had been booked in for a smear test in order to get her back.
“We had better get on then.”
I passed her some shoes. In my own defence I would like to be able to say that I picked them up by mistake, but it wouldn’t be true.
“I can’t wear those!”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“The heels. I can’t walk in heels. It’ll cripple me. Haven’t you got any trainers?”
“Look at yourself in the mirror. Do I look like a girl who wears trainers?”

This was getting confusing. I? You? Who was really which?

The look of trepidation on her face was so comical that I relented, but not completely. I picked up a pair of low kitten heels and passed them over. Rob looked at them with distrust, but put them on and wobbled out through the door.

“You’ve forgotten something…” I wasn’t easily going to let her off having my lovely body and not liking it.
“You bring it.” She snapped back, so I picked up my handbag and followed. It looked like she knew how to deal with bitchy and maybe it didn’t go too well with my new body anyway.

I caught her up at the kerb, just in time for her to almost fall off the heels. She grabbed my arm for support and I was suddenly aware of just how different our sizes were, and how much it mattered. I was used to being small, to cuddling into nice strong, large men and here and now this reversal was very hard to take. She barely came above my shoulder, which must make my new height something well over 6 feet. Her weight had no impact on my balance or poise. I supported her without any significant effort. Only last week my friend Mandy had stumbled on a night out and fallen against me and we had reeled across the whole pavement, before collapsing in a giggling heap. Today I had no trouble catching a falling girl and steering her towards the car. What a difference a day makes.

With Rob to direct me we made much quicker time back across town to his house. Somewhere on the journey we reached a truce. We were both in this together and Rob, to give her credit, appeared to face the ordeal of going out in my body, and dressed in my clothes with more courage than I felt going out in his. I let us in and with hunger gnawing at us we headed for the kitchen. I was instructed to shower and shave in preparation for the afternoon and the possible visit of the drug testers while Rob pulled some breakfast together.

The shower wasn’t very different to usual, although if I were to be brutally honest with myself I would have to point out that when I pointed the shower head between my legs it didn’t do its usual thing for me. Drying off was much harder with body hair. Why do men keep it? (Mind you I always fancied men with it). Shaving my face — well here I nearly gave up. Despite my experience with legs and underarms I was not coping with the idea of pulling a razor across my face. At least it was a safety razor and he didn’t go in for an unnecessarily macho one, like a cut-throat. Too much foam sprayed out of the can, it tickled my face and the razor felt like it was scraping several layers of skin away. When I had finished I found that in a couple of places it had and I was bleeding down my chin. Well, I had watched my daddy shave many times and I knew what to do. I found the aftershave and splashed it liberally across my face. It was a smell I had always found attractive, but I was unprepared for the sheer agony as it stung the cuts on my face. It was a sulky Kate that slouched out of the bathroom. Rob took one look at my face and laughed.

“Getting to grips with the downside of being a man?”
“Is there an upside?”
“I always liked it.”
“It’s not for me. No offence, I’m sure you have a wonderful life, but I want to be myself again.”
“That goes for me too. I have an international rugby match tomorrow, and I was really looking forward to it. If we don’t swap back you will have to play. How much do you know about rugby?”
That was a really scary thought. The idea of tackles with those huge men, of rucks and mauls and all that sweaty masculinity was very appealing at a safe distance, but to be on the receiving end? I don’t think so. She caught the drift from the expression on my face.
“So the aim has got to be to get us back in the right bodies before the match tomorrow. Agreed?”
I agreed. “But how?”
“First rules of engagement, know your enemy. We have to find out how this happened and who did it to us. Then we can make a plan to sort it out.”
“Is this the rugby brain speaking?”
“It’s the tactician, yes. Before a game we always watch our competitors, look at their strengths, their set plays and look for the weaker areas. Then we can exploit them on the pitch. It is much harder to spot them with 18 stone of prop standing on your head. You have to be able to think fast in rugby, but it really helps to have some background.” While Rob was telling me this, she was struggling with the lid of a jam jar. Finally she gave up and gave it to me. I don’t know what she was struggling with, it opened easily for me and I am well known for not being able to open jars…. Ah, yes. OK, on with the story then.

“You seem to be settling in well to having a female body.”
“I’m not thinking about it.” She replied quickly.
“OK, OK, what do we do then? How do we find out what switched our bodies?”
“We need to research. I’ve got the internet here so we can look on-line, we have phones and we have friends who might be able to help us.”
“Sounds good. Where do we start?”
“You do the washing up; I’ll log us into the net.”
“That’s sexist. You want me to wash up because I’m a girl.” I pouted.
“Apart from the obvious, which is that you are not a girl at present, if you miraculously know my passwords, you can log us in. And that pout does not look as good my face as it probably did on yours.”

I hope I had the good grace to look abashed. I certainly wasn’t up to apologising. I wonder if Rob’s body blushed. So I washed up the breakfast things and Rob went on line. I wandered through to see how she was getting on. She waved me to a seat in the corner of the room and I waited for what seemed like forever. The printer started whirring and she turned to me.

“I’ve got some stuff printing, but first we should just talk some ideas over. I started from the viewpoint of asking what could do this to us. There aren’t many possibilities and none of them make much sense. This is my list, what do you think?”

She handed me the first sheet off the printer — she certainly seemed to have a well organised mind.

Supernatural forces
Act of God (or Devil)
Magic
Aliens
Experimental Technology

“They are all quite impossible. This isn’t the X-Files. You’re batty!”
“I was trying to think of things that we would normally feel are possible. There aren’t any. We would have noticed if we had been taken in for brain surgery or something like that. As Sherlock Holmes says, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
“This is crazy. We have to look for the people who did this to us!”
“So your money’s on the last category is it?”
“Category? Category?” I wasn’t coping well again. I think best in heels and with pink toenails. I’m a marketing assistant. I stopped thinking when I left university, and I didn’t do more than was necessary before that. This kind of blue sky stuff has always been beyond me.
“Yes,” She replied, “Experimental Technology. Don’t you think they would be keeping a closer eye on us than this though?”
“I don’t know! I don’t experiment on people for a living.” The panic was rising again and there was an explosion coming. I don’t have an even temper at the best of times.

“Look, pull yourself together. We have only a limited time to work on this and it would be easier if we could both work on it. I want you to go and knock next door and ask the chap who answers if you can borrow his laptop. His name is Pete, and if you tell him you have a mate round and want to play games he will lend it to you. Then we can both search.”

It made sense, so I did as I was asked. I nearly gave it away when he called me Rob, but I managed to hang on to my composure, although I’m not sure about my sanity, but I was soon back with the laptop. Rob logged it in and told me to start researching Magic and Gender changes. It was a bit of a lesson in what people get up to. There were all kinds of stories about Medallions, Wizards, transformations and body swaps, but they were all fiction and nothing looked like a lead. In fact, to me nothing seemed to make any sense at all. I was getting ready to throw things when the doorbell rang. That sent a cold wave of fear up my spine. I could deal with Rob from his body, but how did I deal with the rest of the world? My mental state shifted in an instant from irritation to panic. I looked over at Rob but she just waved to me to answer the door.

“But I won’t know who it is. This is your flat.”
“It’s going to be the drug testers. They rotate the people so we don’t get to know them. Just ask for an ID and then do as they ask you.”
“What if it isn’t?”
“Just shut the door and they’ll go away.”
“What if they try to push their way in?”
“Your body plays rugby for England, remember. Push back. There aren’t many people who can push against you.”
“Right. OK.”

I wasn’t convinced, but I was pissed off enough that if anyone tried it on with me I was ready to find out what this body could do. After all, I could even open jars of jam now, anything was possible. I opened the door and gave the two people on the doorstep a hard stare. The two looked a little taken aback by my expression — there was a small thin man in his fifties, with a receding hairline and a track jacket. His companion was about 30, with a glamorous look about her, white trouser suit and heels to die for. I hated her already. She could be real competition.

“Rob Seton?”
“Who want’s him?”
“We’re here on behalf of the RFU to take some samples for a test.”
“I’ll just call…” I cut myself off just in time. “Come in.”

I took them through to the lounge. Rob was there with her computer and it just might help if she saw fair play. The woman dug into the bag she had brought with her and took out two sample jars.

“If you could just fill these for us please, Rob?” She may look glamorous, but she was all business. I took the jars from her and looked at them.

“What do you want me to fill them with?” She was not even remotely amused.
“You Rugby boys all think you’re funny and that you can charm the pants off any woman with a bit of repartee. I’ve heard it all before. Stop procrastinating. Fill the pots and let us get on with what we’ve got to do. We have three more visits like this one to make this morning.”
Rob looked up from her laptop.
“Come on, Rob, urine. You told me about this earlier this morning. Get it over with and then we can get on.”
I felt like a complete idiot. I took the pots and headed for the bathroom. I was about to close the door when I realised that the older tester had come with me. He put his foot in the door as I tried to close it.
“Mr Seton, please. You know I have to watch to make sure that the sample is yours, and is from today. Please don’t make this harder for us than it should be.”

I gave him one of my hard stares, and sat down on the toilet seat. I had no real idea how I was going to manage having a pee with male equipment, let alone in front of a complete stranger. Real men might use public toilets and have audiences all the time, but I was not a real man. Until this morning I was a real woman. All woman. This was going to be a real test of my ability to cope. I stood up and undid my trousers.

“Can I turn my back?”
“I take no pleasure in watching this. Face whichever way you like.” I turned to face the wall, but then realised that any overshoot would make a mess. I sat back down, but that didn’t seem to answer — I would have to try to cope with things inside the pan, where I couldn’t see. In the end I knelt in front and managed. There was a lot more in this bladder than would go into the pots, but I found an advantage to male equipment that I am sure every toddler finds quite quickly — you can direct and also squeeze off when you need to stop. I handed the man his sample pots, he grimaced and rinsed them in the sink, sealed them then handed one back to me.

Back in the living room the episode was not yet over. Miss Fashion Trousers took out a book and began with the questions:
How much had I had to drink last night?
Had I taken any illegal substances?
What prescription medicine had I taken in the last week?

She nearly had me with the last one. I was just about to tell her about my birth control pills when I caught sight of Rob behind her shaking his head furiously. I suppose that would have gone over well in the tabloid press.

Could I confirm that this sample was my own?
If the sample was found to be positive my sample would be used to double check the result, I should keep it refrigerated for a month and then I would be free to dispose of it.

I agreed with everything they said and then showed them the door. I went back through to the living room and collapsed on the sofa.

“No you don’t.” I could really get to hate Rob, and his life. “We have a demon to catch.”
“You what?”
“A demon. I am pretty sure of it. Last night I wished I could lie in tomorrow and not play the Australia match. It’s a grudge match, we beat them for the world cup four years ago and they will be looking for revenge when the ref can’t see and I could just have done without it. I bet you wished for something too. What did you wish for?”
“Erm, enough money to buy any dress I wanted in Selfridges?”
“Well looks like we both got our wish, but not in any way either of us could have wanted it.”
“So how do we find such a demon, even if they do exist?”
“I don’t think that is going to be easy. But I have an idea. Have you heard of Maitreya?”
“May what?”
“Maitreya, he is one of the masters; messengers and masters who walk among us.”
“This sounds a bit dodgy to me.”
“It always did to me too, but this is all we’ve got. The word on the net is that if we go looking for him and have a genuine need, we will find him.”
“Where?” To say I was sceptical would be more than an understatement. It would be like saying that Kate Moss was a bit skinny.

“Well, a couple sources place him in Brick Lane, here in London. There are others in other cities and Countries, but it is worth a try here. They say that if you really need him he will find you, but not if you don’t.”
“OK, I really need him. I want to be me again. If this is our best chance, lead the way.”

We took his car again, me driving, Rob directing and filling me in on the way. The rumour was that Maitreya is a “Master” a chosen prophet or mouthpiece of god. This god was not a denominational god, but a higher power and his masters live in every city and guide us. It sounded a bit loose to me. Why would a representative of God, sent to guide us, spend his time among the poor and disenfranchised? If you had that power wouldn’t you spend your efforts on the leaders and rulers of the nation? Even Jesus sought out a bigger audience, but it was our only opportunity at present and I was so desperate to be out of this big hairy body and back in my small beautiful one that I was ready to try anything. We parked in a meter bay close to Brick Lane and I fed the meter with a stack of coins that Rob kept in the ashtray. We walked on to the street, and unconsciously drew together.

This was an immigrant community area of the town. There were a lot of people in white robes and beards here; many of the shops had names in English and in a Pakistani script. Others just had the script. Despite towering over many of the people, I felt intimidated. Rob grabbed my arm, and it was clear that she was aware of my body’s small stature. We picked a café at random and went in. I had expected the conversation to stop because we were so different form the other clients, but this was London and in London everybody is different, everywhere.

We sat down and I asked for two teas. I leaned across and whispered “What now?”
“I don’t really know,” her whisper was even quieter than mine. “We wait. Everything says don’t go looking, he will find you.”
“But we have come looking.” If you detect a note of hysteria in the comment, it wasn’t far off.
“We have made it easier for him to find us.”
“I hope you’re right. I’m not playing Rugby tomorrow and that’s final.”
“Calm down, they’re looking at us.”
I settled back as my tea arrived and sipped it, trying to conceal the shake in my hands. Rob tasted hers and made a face.
“I prefer coffee.”
“Don’t start a row, I don’t need a row. Just drink it.” I was definitely snappy, and she didn’t look too good herself.
We waited for a very tense five minutes, finished our drinks, or at least I did, and we were about to leave when a small boy came into the Café and walked straight to our table.
“Follow me.” He said, turning and running straight back out. Rob took my arm and dragged me after him.
“What are you doing? We don’t know who he is or where he’s taking us. He could be an Islamic terrorist and we might be about to be kidnapped.”
Rob gave me a withering look. I recognised it; I had used it a lot myself when I had that body.
“Are you a man or a mouse?”
“A woman!”
“Not from where I am standing you aren’t. Come on, we will lose him. If they wanted to kidnap us I am sure they could make a better diversion than this.”

She had a point so we followed. The boy led us to a small terraced shop front about 200 yards down the road. The shop sold Sari fabrics and stainless steel kitchen utensils. A strange mixture to us westerners. The boy led us straight through the store. The man behind the counter only nodded as we passed into the back of his shop and up a flight of narrow steep stairs. The wallpaper was a deep red, with the remains of a peacock pattern on it and the carpet was threadbare on the edges of the treads. At the top of the stairs there were two doors, one on each side of the stairwell. I had seen this design of house before. Two upstairs rooms only and the bathroom would be on the ground floor at the back. When the house was built they didn’t have such things as bathrooms. The boy waved us to a halt, there was barely room for the three of us on the little square of landing and knocked on the door. There was no sound from within, but then the door opened and the boy stood back to allow us in.

The room revealed was a sparsely furnished bed sitting room. There was a worn, brown sofa below the window, with a sink in the corner and a table against the wall beside it, a kettle, cups, and a plate the only things on it. An ancient brown stained wardrobe with a cracked mirror on the door stood opposite it. The only attractive feature of the room was a Persian carpet in the centre, with a rich mirror pattern of blue, white and pink flowers on deep red background.

On the centre of the carpet a small man sat with crossed legs. He wore a white robe, like a Gallibeyah, On his head a white turban and his feet a pair of sandals, with black socks. He had a long white beard. He looked up slowly, caught my eye and said “You do not like my socks Miss Menteith?” There was a twinkle in his eye.
How did he know?
“Erm, I’m sorry, socks with sandals, you know, not a good look…”
“Your climate here is cold. I suffer from cold feet.”
“Erm.. I’m sorry… “ Rob was nudging me. Then it struck me “You know who we are? You could read my mind?”
“I have some small gifts.”
“Who are you?” I stammered.
Beside me Rob gave an exasperated sigh and stepped forward.
“You are the Maitreya, right?”
He smiled. “Many who meet me ask that question. I am not the Maitreya, He is the teacher. I am one who precedes him. I am a Listener. If we are teach and to heal, we must know what the ills are that afflict us. It is my role to come here and to listen, to watch and to learn.”
“So you can’t help us.” Rob’s face said it all for me as well. She looked beaten; the disappointment was etched into every line. A collapse seemed imminent. I had not realised that she had pinned so much hope on this one chance.

“I didn’t say that. I have seen your problem. You now inhabit each other’s bodies, and you do not wish to have them.” That was putting it mildly. “I cannot return you. The Maitreya himself could not do that if he was here. I have observed you, and I can offer some advice.”
“Anything” The hope and desperation in Rob’s voice was almost tangible. “Do you know what has happened to us?”
“Sit, my children, I will try to explain.”
We sat down on the rug opposite him. Rob crossed her legs and sat up. I tried to do the same, but found that this body did not have the flexibility. I compromised, with my legs out in front, but it was nothing like as comfortable.
“There are many things in this world, things of the spirit and things of mind. There are creatures of nature, there is the supernatural and there are the ghosts of those who cannot rest. All of them live on the edges of your reality. Your scientific approaches and logical minds cannot grasp them easily. You do not see them because you choose to ignore that which does conform to your view of the world. Just because you cannot see them does not mean they do not exist, and they must all be accounted for in this world. We strive to bring them all into harmony. It is our mission. When our time is here, and the Maitreya comes we must all work together to return balance to the world.”
“So how does that affect us?” My patience, never a strong suit, was a bit thin, and I wanted him to cut to the chase.
“Peace.” He gave me a look of long suffering patience. I had seen that look before, usually on the face of my teachers at school.
“Sorry.”
“There are spirits loose in the world whose energies are misdirected. They have skills, they are valuable, but their efforts are being directed by others whose purpose is mischief. You have been the victim of one of these.”
Rob spoke for the first time. “What can we do to reverse it?” Her face (my face) had a look of intelligence that I was not used to seeing there.
“You cannot reverse it. Only the spirit that created you can reverse it.”
“So what can we do?”
“You have two choices. You can find the spirit and ask it to reverse you, or you can become accustomed to your new bodies.”

Ok, so now I’M NOT HAPPY AT ALL. This wasn’t very helpful and I’m getting a bit fed up with people talking gibberish around me. Besides which I’m in this big body with LOTS of testosterone swilling around in it.
“So just tell us where to find this spirit and what to do when we do! PLEASE!”
“Calm down, Kate,” Rob was quick to try to ease the situation, “We need that information, but there is no need to come over all Gestapo on him.”
“Just sort things out, please! I’m going out to the street to try to stay calm.”

I let myself out of that small, smelly room and went down to the shop below. The man from the shop smiled at me and then bowed. I growled at him and he moved back behind the counter. As I left he shop I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror by the door. I was surprised to see how big I looked now. No wonder he had hidden. This was not turning out to be a good combination; I had the body of a prize fighter and my own irritable temperament, with the confusion of the body change giving me a feeling like the worst PMT I had ever suffered. I put my head in my hands and leant it on the wall beside the shop door.

I was getting some control back when the door opened again and Rob came back out. She had a smile on her face and her trim figure gave me a sudden jolt in a region of my body that I had never had before. This would not do. That body was rightfully mine. I had enough to cope with without starting to fancy myself. We went back to the car in silence as I tried to deal with the emotions running through my head. The truth was that that little spark of thought had lit a fuse that was running to a bigger barrel of powder in my head. Was it my vanity that had brought us to this? I had wanted the money to buy better clothes. I had no man in my life because none had been good enough for me. Had I reacted to my own body in a typically masculine manner because I was so in love with myself that I had no room for anyone else? Had I even asked Rob what he felt about the situation? I had even been nasty to him, making him wear the heels that he now seemed to be able to cope with.

We got back into the car and I put my head down on the steering wheel and tried to fight back the tears. Rob reached over and she began to stroke the back of my neck. It was comforting.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out.
“Why? It’s not your fault.” She soothed.
“I haven’t been much help, and I haven’t been very fair.”
“It’s a really strange situation. Neither of us has experienced it before.”
“Yes, but you have been constantly thinking and looking for a chance to get us out of this. I have just sulked and moped all day, and haven’t been any help. So I’m sorry. I haven’t even asked how you feel about being swapped. I just took it and you for granted.”
“I accept your apology. Now we need to press on if we are going to sort this out and save you from playing rugby tomorrow. Are you able to drive?”
I nodded and started the car.
“Where are we going now?”
“Oxford Street and then Soho.”
“Oxford Street? Why there of all places?”
“Because a spirit that has a special interest in genders hangs about in places where the genders and gender behaviours are very well defined. Where better than where the Fashion and Sex districts of the capital meet?”
“OK, let’s go.” I pulled out into the traffic, causing a bus to brake hard and upset its passengers then accelerated away towards the West End.
We drove for a few minutes in silence.
“How will we find it when we get there?”
“It isn’t going to be easy. The Listener didn’t know where to look. He said that these spirits attach themselves to people who share their interests. People who make money from, or are obsessed with the same things as they are. We are looking for an involvement in extremes of gender, or perhaps where the genders meet — transsexuals or transvestites. We aren’t looking for nice people. The spirit has lost its sense of right and wrong and that is why it responded to us in the way that it did.”
“I was in that area of town last night. We went to a club late on. In Ramillies Street.”
“The Turnaround Club?”
“That’s the one. Do you know it?”
“I was there too. Sponsor’s party on the second floor balcony.”
“I was dancing with the plebs in the pit.”
“I think we have found where we are going.”

At that point the phone chose to ring. I was looking around for it, but it was Rob’s car after all and she took it out of the glove compartment and answered it. I could only hear one side of the conversation.
“Rob’s phone…..He’s here, but he’s driving. Can I help or relay a message?
The press conference starts when?
We are on our way over but we have been held up in traffic, we will be there as soon as we can.
About half an hour….We’ll be as quick as we can but you know London traffic…..OK, bye.
I’m sorry, Kate,” she turned to me. “We can’t go straight there. We have to go to Twickenham for my Press Conference.”

I nearly wrecked the car. I swerved back to the proper side of the road and braked so hard that the engine stalled. I looked her in the eye to make sure there would be no misunderstandings.
“I am not doing a press conference. We are going to the Turnaround Club and we are going to sort this out. Then YOU can do as many press conferences as you like.”
She looked shocked at the violence of my reaction.
“Kate, I’m sorry. We have to do this. They can’t sort us out before tonight anyway. The listener told me that. If you don’t go it will damage my career.”
Somewhere in the distance I could hear a car horn, but nothing in the world was as important as this conversation.
“What do you mean; they can’t change us back before tonight?”
“They have no power in daylight. They draw their power from the fear and unhappiness of people at night and use it then. They can’t store it. We can’t fix this straight away.”
I looked at her in silence for a while, then became aware of a knocking on my side window. I looked in disbelief at a man in his thirties with a balding head, three days growth of beard and one of those thick check shirts that was red before he had continually wiped his mucky hands down it. I could see a white transit van in my mirror. He was speaking and waving at me, so I wound the window down. He shoved his face through the window and started to yell at me, something about blocking the road. I reached up and took hold of his shirt front and pulled his face down closer to mine. He tried to pull away and I had a first real feeling for how strong this body was. When his nose was inches from mine I said: “At this moment you are the least of my problems. Go away and find someone else to bully.”
He nodded, swallowed hard and withdrew.
“Kate, I think you should move the car. We could talk as we go?” Once again Rob was the one with a cool head, so I restarted the car and we moved on. One near miss later, and Rob’s cool head was needed again.
“There is a car park ahead on the left. Park up. We’ll get a taxi to go on.”
I didn’t need telling twice, there was no way I could drive us safely. I didn’t really know the way and I couldn’t concentrate. At the kerb my usual luck with taxis seemed to have deserted me also and my temper rose again. Rob took over, and in seconds she had a black cab at the kerb. It seemed she now had my luck with taxis together with my delicate body.

In the back she closed off the window from the cabbie, silencing his attempts to start a conversation.
“Right, you need a briefing for this press conference. You’re in luck. The RFU like to put me up because I don’t say much and that means less embarrassment later. So keep any comments to the minimum. If they ask you about any opposition player, compliment their playing. There’s an Australian player in my club squad: we are, of course, the best of friends, but that won’t affect your game.”
Her briefing lasted for five minutes, and with a couple of questions I felt confident that I could handle whatever they might ask. I was nervous about appearing in public, but at least I would be able to answer the questions. We sat in silence for a while. I was mulling over the information I needed, keeping it in my memory, and she stared out of the window at London’s teeming streets.

Suddenly she broke the silence.

“You wanted to know how I felt about this?”
“Erm, well I felt very guilty about concentrating on myself. You always seemed to be coping.”
“I have spent all my life training for these matches. I run when I could sleep late. I took a sports degree when I could have taken an academic one. I’ve watched relationships crumble because I wouldn’t compromise on training; I’ve given everything to the goal of being a world class athlete. Everything I was has been taken away from me in your body. The only thing that’s keeping me going is the hope that we might be able to change things back.”
I didn’t know what to say. It suddenly seemed to me that I actually had it easy. I love being a girl, all the girly things that make life pleasurable, like clothes, perfume, make up, shoes, jewellery and all the hundreds of little pamperings that I had in my life. But it was a pretty flimsy, superficial existence placed against the drive of this man whose body I now inhabited. I reached over and took her hand and she melted into me, sobbing. I put my arms round her and held tight.

“Come on, Rob,” I said. “We need your sharp brain and drive to keep us on track. I don’t know what I would do just now without you.”
“I know, I can’t help it, it must be this body’s response to stress.”
Well she was right about that. No-one knew it better than I did.
“Take your time; we’ve still got a couple of miles to go.”
I stroked her hair and she put her arm around my neck and for the next few minutes I learned what it was like to give comfort instead of just taking it. I also learned that controlling a rampant erection without detection is a very difficult art. I must give more respect when I see men doing it in future, instead of laughing at them. I managed it in the end by concentrating on the upcoming press conference. Was this a first step towards becoming a stronger person?

Getting into Twickenham was easy. We cleaned Rob’s face up and repaired her make-up, then went in by the players’ entrance without a single question. I was welcomed in and taken briskly through to a small room which had been rigged as a dressing room. I was sat in a chair and a make-up girl threw a towel round my shoulders and started to put foundation on me.
“What are doing?” I was indignant.
“You need this for the cameras. They will wash you out otherwise.”
“I’m going on telly?”
“Very funny Rob,” Another, altogether less flustered voice came from behind me. Whoever he was he wasn’t amused. “You always make a fuss about make-up. Now just relax and let Mandy get on with her job. Sit back and think of England, if you like.”
“Do you want me to sort him out, boss?” The team captain walked round into my field of vision. Now, you don’t argue with Martin Corry. I knew who he was; one of the toughest number eights in the game and a force to be reckoned with.
“Where have you been Seton, you knew you had to be in here for this today, and you are about to keep the world’s press waiting.”
“Sorry Martin, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
I didn’t think that would be a good idea, somehow, so I temporised.
“We can argue about this, or we can get on with the press conference.”
Fortunately he left it at that and with my make up complete we moved on to the meeting room, and the Press Conference.

I would like to be able to report that it all went as planned and at first it did. Rob sat near the back of the room, having talked her way in somehow, and I sat with Martin Corry, two other players and the coach behind a table and in front of a screen with the sponsor’s names. The questions directed at me were just as Rob had briefed me and I detected a quiet satisfaction in the coach and captain as the conference progressed. Just before it finished, though, a man from the near the back stood up.
“Jimmy Jewel, The Sun. We’ve had reports that there was a road rage incident this afternoon in which a man claims to have been assaulted by Rob Seton. Can you give us any comment Rob?”

There was a shocked silence as everyone turned to look at him and then back to look at me. I looked for help at Rob at the back of the hall, but she looked as horrified as I did. I could feel panic rising, together with a terror that triggered my temper and I knew I had to get it under control in double quick time. It was my turn to stay cool under pressure and I didn’t want to let Rob down after all she had done so far. I took a deep breath and it took all my willpower to control my voice as I replied.
“I don’t know where you get your information, Jimmy, but I suggest you check it out more carefully. I came here today in a cab.”
There was a ripple of laughter round the room and the man from The Sun sat down, his fishing expedition over. I caught Rob’s eye at the back and she clapped her hands silently.

Pretty soon the press conference was over and we were able to make our escape. I had to turn the other players down on a drink — I was certain I could not pass as Rob in a bar. I had to introduce Rob to the other players as me and we agreed to meet again the next day before the match and we were away.

We took another cab back across London to Oxford Street. We were quiet on the way back. We got out close to Soho, and walked towards the club. Half way there my stomach started grumbling so loudly Rob was aware of it beside me. We realised that we had not eaten since breakfast and dropped into a Café, as Rob pointed that if he was to take this body into an important rugby match tomorrow it needed to be fuelled. Her optimism gave me strength and I tucked into a large bowl of pasta while she nibbled a salad and we made our plans to tackle the Turnabout Club.

Rob was of the opinion that we should just ring the bell and see who came to the door. Apparently he had worked in the licensed trade before and there was likely to be someone in who would open the door. The most likely was that it would be cleaners and if they opened up, we would be able to talk our way in and look the place over. Just in case it was the owner, she had brought her laptop and a few minutes work produced some realistic looking marketing sheets.

Meal over, we made our way across the road to a print shop which produced our sheets without a single question. We moved on round to the club. I stayed out of sight of the CCTV camera while Rob rang the bell and a moment later the intercom crackled into life.
“Yes?”
“Hi, I’m Moira from Diageo. I have some offers for you. Can I come in?”
“Diageo?”
“Yes, I’m a merchandiser.”

The door buzzed open and I slipped in quickly after her. She went straight up the stairs, and I held back, looking for cameras. There was one in the corner, covering the door, so I slipped underneath it and pressed myself back into the wall. Our plan depended on them watching Rob as she made her way up the stairs while I waited until she had their attention. I counted in my head to a hundred; if I had counted my heartbeats I would have waited half as long as my cautious count took. I then walked casually up the stairs. The club was on three floors and I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for. The first floor had a couple of cleaners working behind the bar. I looked round the door, saw them and headed on to the next flight of stairs.

The next floor was a mass of booths. I had never been up beyond the first floor before, but I immediately felt a prickle on the back of my neck. I slipped through the door and looked around. The centre of the room was a balcony that looked down onto the masses on the floor below. Around the outside was a mass of booths, each having a varying degree of privacy, with half walls, curtains and screens. I ducked into the first one and took a look around from behind the curtain. Two of the booths were completely screened off. The rest looked empty.

I slipped quietly round the edge of the room and peered carefully into the first. A short fat man appeared to be asleep on the bench at the back of the stall. He had long brown hair and his back was turned to me. I had a strong feeling about this. I let myself into the booth and sat down beside him. My skin was crawling as if a nest of ants had been upended over my head. I prodded him gently in the stomach. I was shocked as he turned over revealing a perfect oval face, with a cupids bow mouth and wide eyes. The face that looked at me was a beautiful woman’s face, set on top of a round male body. I drew in my breath.
“Whayawan?”
“Excuse me?”
“Wotchawon?”
“Erm, you, I think.”
“Wha?”
Suddenly the shock formed a hard feeling in my gut. I was sure.
“You. Come with me.”
“I don leaf heer.”

I took him by his shirt front. It had worked for me earlier. Why wouldn’t it work now? Needless to say, it didn’t work. He started to squeal, a high pitched sound that went straight to the pain centre in my head. I held a hand to each of my ears. I was still stood there almost a minute later when two large men came into the booth and seized hold of my arms. Seconds later everyone in the building must have been in the booth. The squealing stopped and was replaced by the sound of everyone shouting at once. A tall man in Versacchi jeans and a silk shirt stepped forward and held up his hand. Gradually silence fell.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” I found that rather than being intimidated, as I would have been before our transformation, I was thinking hard on feet.
“”Who is this?” I pointed at the small creature on the bench in front of me. The homunculus stood up. He wasn’t much taller standing up than sitting down.
“Why do you want to know, Kate?” He waved a hand in dismissal and everyone else quickly dispersed
Gotcha! My gut feeling was right.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You have what you wished for. You have enough money to buy any thing you wish for in Selfridges.”
I felt my blood boil.
“There isn’t anything I want that would fit me now. Give me back my life.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” The tall, well dressed man stepped in again. Where was that accent from?
“Why not?” I was shouting now. If the two bouncers had not been holding my arms I would have been at his throat.
“I don’t know how you got in here, but there are no options for you. You will play in the match tomorrow.”
“What?” I wasn’t being very original, I know, but it was all coming a bit thick and fast for me.
“You will play tomorrow. Rob Seton, in your body, is in my office upstairs. If you want to change back, ever, you will play in the match. I don’t know how much clearer I can make it.”
“But I don’t know anything about playing rugby!”
“We were counting on that,” he sneered.
“A betting scam? You’ve taken my life away for a betting scam?” Anger didn’t begin to describe how I felt at that moment.

I took a quick look around me. Apart from the two goons who held my arms there was the tall man, another rather scruffier individual behind him and the homunculus. There wouldn’t be another chance. Remembering what my Dad had taught me to do in the event of a rape attempt, I slumped in the men’s arms. It took them by surprise and I felt their grips ease slightly. Immediately I kicked out with my left foot, taking the goon on the left behind the knee. He fell forwards, releasing my arm as he did so. I stamped my right heel down hard into the foot of the man on the other side. It didn’t work as well as I would have expected in my usual lethal heels, but his grip loosened and with a wrench I was free.

Fighting like a girl is a taunt I have often heard used when men scrap, especially when I was at school, but I suspect that many men should take lessons in it; the poor bouncers didn’t really have a chance. A six foot two rugby player fighting like a girl? Fighting to win? I turned and kneed the hopping second man between his legs before he could recover from the blow to his foot. He made a funny screeching sound and was collapsing even as the first bouncer began to get up. I took hold of his hair before he could get his balance and ran his head into the wall in front of him. He went down and it didn’t look as if he would move any too soon.

I turned to the tall man and seized him by the front of his expensive shirt.
“I will not lose my life for the sake of a betting scam.”
His expression had changed from one of supercilious arrogance to one of alarm, and then as I grabbed him to one of fear. I lowered one hand and took hold of his genitals, through his trousers. His face moved another shade towards pure terror.
“It’s quite easy,” I whispered. “Get us changed back or learn what it is like to change gender for yourself, an even harder way.”
He was quite white by now.
“I can’t do it. I can’t, it’s not me. I’m not the one you want.”
“What do you mean, you’re not the one I want?”
“I’m just the front man. I don’t control this. Tell him Jules.”
He looked wildly around, but Jules was no longer there. Neither was the Homunculus. The two bouncers were still groaning on the floor. It didn’t look as if either of them could be bothered to fight for this scroat, whose scrotum I held so firmly in my left hand.

I pushed him up against a wall and leant in to his face.
“Take me to your office, I want Rob out of there.”
I also wanted to be away from the bouncers. I didn’t fancy my chances a second time. They might not be so easily caught out.

We made our way up a flight of stairs from behind a bar into the office suite at the rear. I pushed him in front of me so that he would catch the nasty end of any surprises. We were lucky though. The others didn’t appear to have come this way, and Rob was still locked in the office, gaffer taped to a chair. To give her her due, she had almost freed herself. Her wrists were the colour of crushed strawberries as I freed them, but she didn’t complain. As I worked I filled her in on what had happened below. The tall man cowered behind the desk where I’d thrown him and I kept a close eye on him.

“Talk.” Rob clearly meant business as she picked up a paper knife and held it close to the Tall Man’s throat. “Who is Jules, where will he be going?”
The Tall Man was clearly all show and no fight. A wet patch was spreading around the crutch of his trousers and I was glad I was no longer holding it. I pushed Rob aside.
“Look,” I said, “We’re all a bit pissed off today. We want our own bodies back, we really don’t care what we have to do to get them and you are clue number two. Tell us what is going on and where to go to find the next one and you live to front the show for another day.” Without the knife to his throat he started a look of defiance. Before he could assemble the first stage in his elementary resistance kit I cut him off again. “You can talk now, or I can give you back to her.”

Rob obliged me by directing a look of pure hatred at him. It is a very effective look. I had practiced it on my younger brother for years.
The Tall Man crumbled.

“There’s only one other place he can go. Jules owns a pub up at the Angel. It’s called the Yellow Dog. It’s where we found that creature, in one of the cellars.”
“Where is it, and how can we get in?” Once again Rob’s brain was working fast — way ahead of me.
“It’s on White Lion Street. It’ll be open now, you can just go in.”
Rob had picked up the gaffer tape off the floor. I manhandled the Tall man into the chair.
“Just a minute,” Rob was away ahead of me again. “We were told that that creature needs an environment it can survive in. A place where gender roles are clear. How did you come to find it in a pub?”
“It’s a pole dancing pub.” The Tall Man had another panicked look on his face. “It was in a cellar. We were opening them up so that we could rent them out for Private Dances.”
The way he said ‘Private Dances’ made my skin crawl again.
“What kind of girls do you employ there?”
“Foreign ones. The ones that will do anything.”
“Nice business you have.” She paused for a moment. “Is this how you get girls who will do anything?”
“No, no, NO.” He was very disturbed by that one. “It’s a legitimate business.”
“Only just.” Rob’s distaste was clear. “Why does that creature do things for you?”
“It needs us. Before we came along it was dormant, stuck in the cellar. It had had no contact for years. Now it seems to crave company. We give it that, give it strength with the people around it, and it wanted to repay us.”
“Are there lots of people like us around?”
“No, you were the first. We didn’t know what it would do. Jules was explaining about betting and it offered to help us with the match.”
“So we got burned just to make you a little money?”
“It wasn’t a deliberate plan!”
“And you think that lets you off the hook? How do we get in?”
“There are some complimentary passes in my jacket, on the back of the door there.”
I quickly searched the jacket, and sure enough, they were there in the top pocket. I waved them at Rob.
“You’d better be telling the truth.” With that final remark Rob pulled the final piece of tape across his mouth. “Now, just nod or shake your head. If we don’t get what we want there, if anything you have told us is wrong, we will be back here and you will be looking at wearing designer dresses instead of designer suits. Is that clear?” He nodded.
“If everything checks out we will send the police in to free you later. Understand?”
He nodded again.
“If not we will be back with a rusty saw. Got it?”
He nodded violently. As he closed his eyes I was sure I saw them cross.
I locked his office door as we headed out. We didn’t see the bouncers so we made it to the street without further incident.

We walked back to Oxford Street before calling a cab.
“What now?” We were going to need a plan. Getting into the Yellow Dog would be one thing. But what could we do once we were there? There would be better security for one thing and how would we persuade the creature to swap us back?

“Did Maitreya give you any ideas as to how to persuade that creature to turn us back?” I asked.
“None at all. He said to let our spirits guide us, that if we allowed our minds freedom we would find a way and that balance was all.”
“What the hell did that mean?””
“If I knew I would have already told you.”

Was she starting to get a little of my temper? That was a new more terrifying thought. If we spent a lot of time in each others bodies would we become each other? At present I was me, I think. At what point would we have gathered enough of each other’s character not to be ourselves. I know Rob had achieved more than I had in lives that were of similar length, I know that many people would like the body of an international athlete, but I liked being me. I liked getting up at 11 o’clock at the weekend, lazing about my flat or shopping all day and then going clubbing until the small hours of the next day. I even liked the little job I did to pay for the rest of it. The life of the athlete looked very much like hard work and I was afraid that I might find I liked it.

I sank into a downward spiral of conjecture, and Rob herself stayed quiet. It wasn’t long before the cab pulled up and the driver rapped on the window to get our attention.

Getting into the club turned out to be a bit of an anti-climax: we rang a bell and showed our invitations to the gorilla who opened the door. A hostess in little more than underwear took us to a table to one side of the stage and asked us what drinks we would like. We ordered and were left to look around. The room was dark, the windows covered up completely and the walls were a dark red. So far so tasteless. At one end there was a bar with couple of tired girls leaning on it, chatting. They didn’t have much clothing on either. Behind the bar the barman did not look like someone to mess with, but he took no particular notice of us, talking to our waitress while he filled two glasses. On the opposite side of the room there was a low stage, no more than 6 inches high, with two shiny metal poles running between the floor and ceiling. There was a curtain across the back and a dry ice machine was adding a little mist to the ground level. I could see the door to the toilets to our left and that was all. Between the walls there were no more than half a dozen customers, all male as far as I could see, and none of them looked very happy. So, getting into the club was not the real problem, getting out of the public area might be.

Our hostess returned with our drinks and Rob asked her when the entertainment began.
“Five minutes, the next dance is in five minutes.”
“Thank you,” I replied. Rob leaned across to me and spoke in the lowest voice she could make herself heard in.
“The only way in is through the stage. There is bound to be someone back there for security, so I will cause a diversion when the next dance starts and you go through.”
“What will I do when I get through there?”
“Find the creature and get us put back.”
“Is that the best plan you can come up with? How will I make him put us back?”
“Free your mind and look for balance.”
“Oh, big help!”
“You create a diversion, then, and I will go backstage.”
“What did you have in mind for a diversion?”
“I hadn’t thought it out yet.”
“Great,” I wasn’t as sour as it sounds now, more struggling to string together something that might work. “Make something up here with the bouncers about, or out there with who knows what.”
“That’s about it. Without good intelligence we can’t make much of a plan.”
“You’re right.” I thought about my previous experience with bouncers, they tended to be gentler with women, if I went up against them here it could be tougher than I was able to deal with. Give them the unexpected. A woman who knew how to fight like a man. “You do the distraction, I’ll go through.”
“OK, when I tell you, go over to the Gent’s — it’s nearer to the stage and you won’t be associated with me.”
“Got it. What will you do?”
“Shut up and let me think of something.”

I shut up and took a pull on my drink. There didn’t seem to be much Gin in with the tonic. A spotlight focussed on the stage came on which seemed to increase rather than decrease the general gloom of the place. The music changed to a Kylie Minogue number and a skinny blonde girl danced onto the stage. She didn’t look much like Kylie, but she wore a costume with long trousers caught in at the ankles and split up the sides to look like one of Kylie’s, and she began to prance around one of the poles. I looked over at Rob to get her reaction and she was gesturing to me to head off for the Gents. I left the table and slipped in through the door of the Gents. Why do men put up with them? It stank! I know you don’t have to queue, but I, for one, would rather queue up than go in that stink any day! I felt my gorge rise and I made a hasty exit before I could deposit my rather weak Gin and Tonic on the floor.

As I came out all hell was breaking loose. Rob was in front of the stage with a photo ID card held up in her right hand. I had a feeling it was my membership card for a health club. I hadn’t used it much, so I wasn’t sure. The dancing girl had stopped and was looking at her with resignation, mingled with a touch of panic. Rob was shouting about the Musicians Union and demanding they stop the show. The bouncer and Barman were moving fast across the room. Another bouncer came out from backstage and grabbed her arms, and I knew this was my moment. With them all focussed on her I slipped behind the melee to backstage. As I went I could hear Rob screaming for the manager. I hoped they would treat her well, but for now the important thing was that I was in.

Backstage was a dingy, peeling corridor. It quickly opened into a stair well. Up or down? I could hear female voices speaking Polish or something below, so I opted for up. As I started I could hear a commotion behind me. They were clearly bringing Rob backstage to the manager.

I hesitated for a moment at the foot of the stairs. This was not a good sign. If Jules saw Rob he would immediately raise an alert for me. I needed to act quickly. I ran up the stairs and was faced by a series of closed doors. I opened the nearest, only to find that it was the toilet. I left it open and turned around as the racket on the stairs drew nearer and increased in volume. A door to my left opened I turned and found myself face to face with Jules. For an instant we were both shocked, but I recovered first and swung a fist at his face with all the anger, fear and frustration that I had been feeling all day. He fell back into the room and I followed him fast. The little man from the booth in the Turnabout club was in a chair by a coffee table. I put my finger to my lips and closed the door behind me. Jules was not about to get up. He had his face in his hands and there was blood dripping on the floor. I really should remember my new size.

The homunculus cowered back in his seat. I picked Jules up and shoved him into another chair, which had its back conveniently towards the door.
“Get rid of the help.” I whispered into Jules’ ear.

There was a knock at the door.
“Whad you wad? “ Great! I had completely stuffed his nose.
“We’ve got a woman here who was making a fuss. She insists on seeing you.”
“Led her in then. You go do your job.”
“It’s your call.” The hired help didn’t sound very concerned. Perhaps they were used to Jules sounding like this, or perhaps they just didn’t care very much. It didn’t really matter. A break was what we needed and I, for one, was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The door opened and the gift horse totally failed to come through. Rob was pushed in and the Bouncer followed her. It didn’t take him long to sum up the situation in the room and he came after me with howl of rage. He hit me in the chest like a 20 tonne truck and we fell to floor. The wind went out of me and I struggled to brace myself against the coming blow. It didn’t arrive. The Gorilla collapsed onto my chest pinning me to the floor and I lay there, gasping.

As my sight came back into focus I saw my own face swim back into view, and Rob was there above grinning and flourishing a trophy of some sort, a large block of clear plastic on a black base, for all the world as if she had just been awarded it.

I struggled back upright and took in the room. The bouncer was flat out on the floor and both the homunculus and Jules were cowering back in their chairs.

“Thanks for that. I thought I was in real trouble for a minute, then.”
“Thinking on our feet. That’s what backs have to do.”

I lurched to my feet and gave her a hug. She returned it for a moment, then disentangled herself and turned to the pair in the chairs.

“You did this to us. We had lives that we both loved and you have turned us into the absolute opposite. You’ve destroyed our lives. Why did you do this?”
The Homunculus stirred, but Jules beat him to the punch.
“We can turn you back. But not yet. It takes days for the magic to regenerate. You have to stay like this until Monday.”
“I don’t think so.” Rob had a very dangerous look in her eyes. “This is about tomorrow’s match and money.”
“That’s why we did it. But it’s not why we can’t turn you back.”
“You’re lying. It’s about greed. Greed and hate. You hate my success as a player and you are greedy to make money betting on the match. Deny that?” There was something about the way Rob was waving the trophy in her hand that made denial seem a very dangerous idea.
“I need the money. The clubs have been losing money.”
“So you would mortgage our lives for a strip joint and a run down night club?”
He didn’t dare reply, he looked at the figure beside him and then at the floor. The figure of the spirit appeared to have shrunk into the chair. It was fatter and uglier than ever.

“What now?” I was at a loss.
“Restore balance.” Rob replied. “But how?”

We looked at each other blankly for a moment and then inspiration hit me. I walked round the chair and took the homunculus by the hands. I drew him to his feet and he looked me in the eye, silently and pleading. He was at least two feet shorter than I was. I bent down and took his face in my hands, then closed my eyes and kissed him firmly on the lips. I opened my eyes and nothing had happened, except that he had a smile now, on a face that had looked more down than the bottom button of an elevator.

I looked him in the eyes, drove down my revulsion at his appearance and kissed him again, harder. This time he responded. I felt us locked in a deep and passionate kiss and I closed my eyes again. The kiss seemed to last forever. Slowly I straightened up until I was bending no more than comfortably and the kiss still continued. Eventually I felt the spirit stir, and draw back. I opened my eyes and was amazed to see that where there had been a short, fat and ugly man there was now a willowy, beautiful woman. She smiled at me and placed a finger on my lips. The other two stood in amazed silence. We looked at each other across the room for a moment and then I was looking at a rather ugly brown filing cabinet as she faded from view.

Jules started to curse, but stopped as Rob waved her personal battle trophy at him again.
“What just happened?” She was determined to keep her role as interrogator.
“I don’t really know.” Jules was clearly telling the truth. “That is what happened when you were transformed. Not the sex change. The disappearing.”
“That sounds like good news.” I was ready for anything like good news.
“When did you next see the spirit?” Rob wasn’t letting anything drop.
“Next day, when we found you two in the club. That was the first we saw it.” The fight had gone out of Jules. You just can’t get the villains these days.
“Come on.” Rob had clearly had enough. “We don’t have time to hang around. Let’s get out of here before the staff below work out that chummy here hasn’t come back. You,” She turned to Jules. “Stay put. Unless you want this again.”

She took my hand and we ran for the door. There was a back exit so we took it and we didn’t stop running until we were in the Angel Underground station. We bought two tickets from a machine and ran on down to the platform.

“We did it!” She wrapped her arms around me in a huge hug and kissed me on the lips. Two different kissers in one day: I hadn’t had this much luck for a month! I broke the kiss quickly: it was weird kissing myself.
“We did?” I felt slow on the uptake.
“YOU did it. You restored the balance, the spirit rewarded us and we can go home!”
I wasn’t getting this.
“But we are still in each others bodies. How can we have done it if we haven’t changed back?”
“Patience.” She told me as we boarded a train which was almost empty at this time of the evening. “The transformation didn’t take place at once. It happened over night.”
“But how?”
You gave the spirit love and generosity. He gave it greed and hate. Balance?”
“OK, I get it. Brilliant. What now.”

Rob, of course already had a plan. We picked up his car, went to my flat for some clothes and then to his house where we drank a bottle of wine to success and fell asleep together on his sofa.

I woke up early the next morning. Somehow things had changed again. The feeling was almost as strange as the previous morning. I had breasts. No body hair. I couldn’t reach things and the door was hard to open. Fantastic! I slid off the sofa and looked at him sleeping peacefully. It was hard to believe that I had spent the previous day in that body, and what a body!

I was admiring it secretly when the phone rang. I picked it up without thinking.
“Rob Seton.”
“No you’re not. Get the lazy dog to the phone now.” It was the England captain again. I shook Rob awake and passed him the phone. I could hear him getting a telling off from across the room. Apparently they frown on players taking young ladies home the night before a match — something about it sapping their energy. And he was going to be late again. I giggled and headed for the kitchen and the kettle. A coffee was definitely called for.

The rest of the day is history, in Rugby circles. England lost the match and Rob did not distinguish himself. He and I took off after the match for a celebration that turned into something far more delicious. I heard that the Turnabout club changed hands quite soon after that and is going to be reopened as a hotel.

This morning as I lay in bed watching him breathe I wondered whether that day had been bad or good luck. I wouldn’t want to live it again, that’s for sure. But laying here in this bed is definitely the best thing that has happened to me. Even better is just around the corner, I can feel it. As Rob stirred and rolled into me, wrapping me in those gorgeous strong arms he gave me one of those long significant looks.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Mmm, anything.” I felt a rise of excited anticipation.
“Those shoes you made me wear, do you think we could get a pair in my size?”

Copyright Tara G 2007