The Pebble, Part Three by Janet Harris 2014

Hi. My name is Amanda Harris. My sister-in-law Janet edits and publishes these stories for me. I wasn't born as Amanda, I used to be Janet's big brother Tom until, as you may have read already, my soul went through the hole in a pebble I found on a beach into this lovely body. Tom's soul came out of this body, so now the new Tom is my husband and I love him loads. After a few short trial swaps and months when the pebble wouldn't work, we decided to swap bodies permanently because we both loved it this way round and found it suited our personalities well.

It was in my second week of teaching that I suddenly got a stabbing stomach-ache one afternoon. It wasn't until the second or third wave of pain, walking around the lab checking my students' bisections, that it suddenly occurred to me: "Period!". As coolly as I could, I put a lab assistant into temporary charge of the class and hurried down the corridors to the "Female Staff" room. I peeled off my knickers with trepidation, but they were perfectly clean. I had a pee and fitted a pad from my handbag. I had a tampon too but Tom had promised to tutor me on that so I decided it could wait till I got home.

On the way back to the lab I wondered why he hadn't said anything lately about this. Well, he had warned me when we started the long-term swap that it would happen around the end of this week, but then had forgotten all about it, the lucky swine. It suddenly occurred to me that we'd had a couple of rows this week and I had been a bit bitchy with people at school too. Perhaps he knew I would have been even more riled if he had blamed my attitude on PMS. He was right, but now I was angry that I hadn't known and maybe (or maybe not) been able to control my short temper.

I was a bit distracted for the rest of that afternoon lab session. I felt relieved that the dreaded event had arrived and that I now knew what had been bugging me the last few days. I could understand why Tom, my dear husband, had not reminded me and I decided to forgive him. I also began to feel rather proud of being a fertile woman, now that I was becoming so aware of my new womb. The pain was coming from an area completely new to me, when I thought about it. My breasts were beginning to ache a bit too, by the time I got home. I rushed upstairs to check my pad, but it was still dry.

Tom was in the kitchen, starting to cook our meal, as it was his turn tonight. When I got downstairs again, I snuggled up to him and kissed the back of his neck.
"Hello, darling," he said, "feeling better today?"
I felt myself getting annoyed again that he had guessed why I had rushed upstairs, knowing exactly what was happening to me, yet had kept it to himself all week.
"Well, you might have mentioned it before!" I retorted. Then, "OK, I forgive you, you knew it would annoy me."
I even began to feel sorry for him, having to live with a tetchy, irrational woman for one week in four, as I had.
"I'll need that tampon lesson after dinner, please, though nothing's appeared on my pad yet."
"It probably won't till tomorrow morning," he said gently, "when did the cramps start?"
"About half past two... but, ooh, I think I'd better go and check again now." I had suddenly felt more moist "down there" than usual as I still nestled into his back while he cooked.
"Ah yes," he grinned, "it does depend if you're aroused or not."
"You stay here. I want to manage on my own," I said, backing off from his attempted kiss, slightly annoyed that he was so smug about being attractive to me. "It's embarrassing because you're not my mother, you're my husband. It's also embarrassing having my first period when I'm twenty-six!"

This time, when I pulled down my knickers, safely locked in the bathroom, there was a big red patch on the pad. I suppose I should have been frightened or disgusted but I found myself simply overjoyed. This absolute proof of my womb and my femininity was wonderful. I started humming a tune to myself as I got the packet of sealable plastic bags out of what was now my part of the bathroom cabinet and the packet of tampons that was next to it. I was happy partly because my week of tension was over and partly because here was my full badge of womanhood. I was also a bit proud that my sexy cuddle with Tom had brought on my flow so soon after the cramps. I guessed that it would make inserting the tampon quite a bit easier, too. I was right. After peeling the pad off my knickers and popping it into a bag, I stood with one foot on the toilet seat, positioned a tampon tube at exactly the angle Tom's cock had been and thrust it easily into place.

Staring at the piece of string now dangling between my legs, I smiled to think that it would be a signal to Tom that he was not going there tonight, as it had been to me, so many times. Still humming the tune, "I am strong, I am woman!" I fitted a new pad to my knickers and pulled them up, but then I caught a foul whiff from my fingers so I pulled them down again and rubbed some scented talc into my pubes. I felt really pleased that I had worked out what to do without Tom's help.

I sauntered back to the kitchen and tried to share my triumph with Tom but he was cynically dismissive, which hurt. I suddenly realised that he was disappointed that I was not pregnant. What a cheek, I thought, to expect me to start carrying his babies so soon, even though we had been trying for some time. In fact this was my (or rather our) third natural period since I (or rather she) had come off the pill. Now that, I was frightened of.

Since getting settled into the routine of teaching, getting pregnant had hardly crossed my mind. There was one time, when a few of us in the staff-room were discussing our plans for the next school year in September, that I had started to silently calculate when my maternity leave would be most convenient. I had shuddered to think I could deal with it so easily. I really did look forward to motherhood, especially when I played with my tits, but the process of getting there I did not look forward to so much. Still, it had to come sometime and the most convenient time for the school year would mean having only two or three more periods. I did want to have those periods, though, so I resolved to have a headache or two around my ovulation times. If Tom was in more of a hurry, he could whistle!

I think it was the next evening that my Mum rang. We had met Tom's parents soon after our permanent swap and it had been a weird experience to be only their daughter-in-law instead of their son. Mine lived much further away and we had not seen them for months. I had been really looking forward to being their daughter, but was quite taken aback when I answered the phone. Luckily, she didn't seem to notice and started chatting away cheerily, too cheerily, I suddenly thought.
"What's wrong, Mum?" I asked, marvelling at my own feminine intuition.
"Oh! Gosh! Well, I suppose I can't hide it from you. I'm worried about your Dad. He's had more angina, even after the doctor changed his pills," she admitted and it all poured out. "He hasn't had a heart attack or anything, it's just that it's far too often that he winces. Yes, I know, men are such hypochondriacs, with wimpy pain thresholds, but I can't help worrying that his heart won't last for much longer."
"Oh, come on, Mum, he's not even sixty yet. Didn't his granddad live to a hundred?"
"Well yes, but I can't help worrying. I do miss being able to talk to you about it."
"But you can - you are now, on the phone," I countered, sensing her manoeuvre for a visit, but then remembered that I really wanted to see them now, anyway, "but it would be much better if I could come and see you at half-term."

My mind was racing ahead over Tom's holiday allowance and I knew he wouldn't be able to come along. It occurred to me that it was really his right to go and visit them. We could change over temporarily so that he could go alone as Amanda, but how could I cope back at my old job for a week after so long away? No, I must go, because we had resolved not to revert except in dire emergencies and this didn't seem to rate as one of those. The visit would be great for me, in that I could get to enjoy being their daughter on my own, but Tom would not be there to consult if I got stuck trying to "remember" something he hadn't briefed me about. Also, I hadn't yet been away from him for more than a few hours to experience living as an independent woman.

"That'd be great!" she cried, then added "Can't Tom come too?" with much less enthusiasm. That hurt a bit, having recently been Tom myself, but I made myself ignore it and confirmed,
"No, he hasn't enough leave allowance left."
"Well I'll start getting your old room ready straight away. When's half term? Is it two weeks?"
"No, three next Friday"
"Oh dear, that's ages. Still, it's something to look forward to. I can't wait to be able to chat to you for hours again. Can you stay all week?"
"No, I'll have lesson planning to do, I'd better come home on the Wednesday."

My mind was running rapidly over the many implications of my rash decision. Tom might not like the idea at all. Also my next period would be approaching around about then and affect what should be a pleasant new relationship as a daughter. Well, he could go, as Amanda, if he really wanted to. He had popped out to a shop when my Mum rang. As soon as he came back in I broke the news about my Dad and gingerly told him I'd committed myself to the half-term visit.
"Oh course you must go", he said, "it's almost certainly not a dire emergency to qualify for use of the pebble, is it?"
"No, but if it does turn out to be serious, you're the one to go and see him, surely?"
"No," he said firmly, "We'd both go and I could cope just as well as his son-in-law."

I was a little taken aback that he could be so callous about deceiving his, no, mine, no, our parents, even at the hour of their death, so to speak. I had felt guilty at the meal we had shared with his parents, which used to be mine, knowing his past so much better than he did. Still, I had only had to whisper something in his ear once and kick him under the table once, so there had not really been a problem. This time, however, he would not be there to whisper in my ear if I was caught out not "remembering" something which should have been obvious to me.
"Well, I'll need lots of briefings," I said, "This time I've got to convince my Mum, not just my fellow-teachers, that I'm Amanda."
"OK" he replied, grinning, "I suppose you'll have to learn every little secret of my, er, your childhood, now."

So, the evenings of those three weeks and most of the weekends were spent in intensive study of my past as Amanda. I took notes, in a more orderly form than I used to as Tom, I noticed, and kept referring back to them to enquire after more detail. There were not as many surprises as I expected. I found it rather sweet discovering my childhood dreams and fantasies as a little girl and my relationships with my parents and my older brother. Thus most of this otherwise hard work was most enjoyable, until I found myself increasingly annoyed and exasperated with Tom.

I suppose we had got on so well before because we were so different, but now I had brought bits of Tom's personality over into Amanda and he had taken bits of Amanda's personality into Tom, so that we both ended up as a rather similar mixture. Hence, I realised, we were now rubbing each other up the wrong way because we were now so similar and it was my own inadequacies, in Tom, that were exasperating me, despite being so much happier after my period. I found myself now much more interested in personalities and relationships, the interest which came with being a woman, while Tom seemed to ignore the subject. He seemed to get annoyed with me much less for that reason. Still, I only really lost my temper once during these briefings.

It was during these weeks too that we began to socialise more. At first it was hard to pluck up the courage to accept invitations and to make them. I needed a bit of persuading to go out to our local pub in the first couple of weeks and it was only twice I succumbed, but I soon got used to being a lady in the crowd and began to enjoy it. One reason it was fun was because we now knew each others friends so well. Tom got invited to a house-warming party by a workmate, a female workmate who had a long term female partner and that made me feel a bit uncomfortable about going with him, but he reminded me that "I" had met them both at an office party long ago and no way were either of them predatory. I got a little drunk at that party (Tom was driving home) and it was great fun.

I was getting on better and better with Carol, the teaching colleague who had been "my" best friend before. When I mentioned this to Tom, he reminded me that we owed Bill and Carol a meal, so I invited them over. This was another social challenge, being a good hostess. I decided to wear one of the denim miniskirts I'd just bought, although it was winter, with tights. I wished I had some high boots to go with the mini, but I wore flat sandals and a polo-neck top. I have to admit this was because I knew Carol never wore skirts, or hadn't for a couple of years since the moment a head we used to have, who insisted on them for female teachers and ties for the men, left. "I" had stayed in long skirts at school after that and usually wore jeans at home but now I really liked wearing shorter skirts and I wanted to share my delight in them with Carol.

When they arrived, Carol in smart pink slacks, I saw her do a double-take at my knees, even more than Bill did. As soon as she got me alone in the kitchen, she said "I do like that skirt on you, Amanda, but why?"
"Well, I think a skirt makes a statement and it's the sort of statement I feel like making, now." It was the nearest I could get to sharing my excitement at simply being female with her.
"Yes, I think I could make that statement too," she said slowly.
"Well actually I bought two, today, would you like the other one? It's not as short as this one." I offered.
"Oh, yes please! I haven't worn a skirt for two years but, why not, eh?"

So, leaving the dinner on the warming-tray, we rushed upstairs. As she pulled off her slacks, I tossed a pair of tights and the other skirt on the bed. I watched her pulling up the tights, remembering how such a sight would have excited me as Tom. Now that sort of excitement had disappeared, as completely as those awful wrinkly things that used to dangle between my legs had disappeared. Now it was exciting in a quite different way. We were girls together now and clothes were exciting for their own sake. When she'd put on the skirt she sat on the side of the bed to put her shoes back on.

"My goodness, you have to keep your knees tight together now, don't you?" she exclaimed.
"Yes, but its nice feeling neat and prim, isn't it?" I replied.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror and planted her feet apart, stretching the hem around her shapely thighs. It was clear of her knees because she was a bit taller than me. I had decided to take that skirt back because it came right down to my knees, so she was welcome to it. I much preferred the shorter one.
"Does that make a statement for you?" I asked.
"Oh yes, it shouts 'tough!' because it's denim but it shouts 'woman!' too. I really like that." she announced.

There was no time to spare; I was in the middle of preparing dinner. We hurried downstairs in our matching skirts to find the men in the hallway admiring Tom's trophies. Their jaws both fell open at the sight of us. Our excitement at Carol's transformation made the dinner party great fun. I felt really pleased with myself because I'd had such a strong influence on her, though in school I felt she was the more dominant personality. I was also pleased to find that transformation itself still excited me just as it had when I was Tom and I enjoyed watching his excitement as he stared at Carol's long-hidden legs, She seemed very excited herself, too. She kept moving around trying different poses as we sat in the lounge for drinks after dinner, more like teenager in her first miniskirt than a woman of almost thirty, returning to them.

When our guests took their leave, they got out of the front door before Bill reminded her to take her slacks. She gasped, put her hands on her nylon-clad knees and said "Oh goodness Amanda, I almost forgot. I'll give you these back tomorrow!"
"No, you mustn't!" I commanded, "they're a present. I'll just pop up and get your trousers." When I got back, she was carefully folding her long nylon-clad legs into their car, knees neatly together.
As soon as they'd gone, Tom asked "How on earth did you manage to do that? She's a new woman, isn't she?"
"Well, I didn't think you'd get on so well with Bill. You used not to like him much didn't you?"
"No, I don't think so," he said, "Oh, you mean as Amanda. Well that makes no difference now. Anyway, we must stop referring to our other pasts. My past has to be just as Tom and yours as Amanda, specially as you're going to stay at your Mum's soon."

So we changed our way of discussing the past. I had always been female, it seemed. Well, as my body, of course I had. I had to learn and accept that I grew up as a girl and, thinking of myself as just a body, that wasn't too difficult. He had already been briefing me as "You did this" and "You did that". I just had to break the habit of thinking that I grew up as a boy. No, that was him, not me. I had been thinking of "I" as Amanda for so long now that I couldn't have grown up as a boy, could I? I was definitely in the female half of the human race now and certainly saw everything from that viewpoint.

It was also in that first half-term that Marvin and Yolande moved into the flat above ours. We met them by helping to lift their huge sofa (too big for the lift) up the stairs. They both had sunny Caribbean natures which were a breath of fresh air after the previous stuffy old occupants. Despite their strong Jamaican accents, It turned out that they'd both been born in London and that her parents were from Tobago, not Jamaica, like his. After the sofa-humping we took them into our kitchen for drinks and we immediately became good friends. I was a bit embarrassed by Marvin's constant flirtation but truly honoured when Yolande insisted I try on some of her clothes.

It was great to have this opportunity to make some new friends, rather than those "inherited" from our former selves. Yolande and I started hugging each other whenever we met. I admired the bright colours she wore and envied the way her chocolate skin showed them off. It was my compliment on that which prompted her to ask me to help her unpack while "the boys" went out to Tom's "local". We had a terrific time, partly because I took up a new bottle of wine with me, to follow the one the four of us had just finished. When we'd polished off mine, she produced another. That's why it's a bit hard to remember.

She certainly had some fantastic clothes in her wardrobe. When I think about it now, I'm surprised that I had become so interested in clothes for their own sake already. I tried on one of her brilliantly bright and colourful tops but when I got to the mirror I was disappointed that it made my pale flesh look rather plain. Also, though Yolande was not really over-weight, she had rather more to cover than me, so the loose hanging folds she favoured seemed too loose on me. I was quickly learning many things about ladies' clothing that hadn't occurred to me before.

She insisted that I try on her favourite leather trousers and again they turned out to be obviously too big for me so I had to be very careful not to offend her and pretend that they were just great. When it came to skirts, however, I found I really loved a fringed cowgirl-style leather mini. She insisted I borrow it to impress Tom and threw me a pair of fish-net tights. Then she produced a ludicrously high pair of glitter-covered heels but they fitted me perfectly. Of course I don't remember it much, but I think we must have woken the whole block with screeches of laughter at my attempts to get downstairs in those heels after all that wine.

Tom was indeed impressed by my sexy new legs but he and Marvin had unwisely followed grape with grain. Brewer's droop was the least of our problems as we staggered and giggled to bed. We had to keep waking each other up at every stage in the process. One thing I do remember is waking up sometime in the night to find him still on top of the bed in his clothes. I got up to undress him, after taking the pee I needed urgently. At least he'd taken his shoes off and undone his flies zip, so I only had to pull his jeans down from the ankles, then I pulled off his boxers too.

I was not surprised that I found his weak and shrivelled cock very funny. I was glad I didn't own it any more. I touched it gingerly and then stroked it but there was no response at all except that he opened one eye and whispered "I don't think that'll work tonight." I couldn't help giggling, so I apologised by kissing him on the forehead and assuring him that it didn't matter. I really did feel a lot of sympathy for his predicament, knowing so well what it meant to him. I was amazed how soon I had got completely outside of such male emotions, seeing them entirely from a female viewpoint.

I should have been really looking forward to the half-term break because I was finding my job really hard work but I was really nervous about meeting and actually staying with my parents on my own. I booked rail tickets because my little car didn't cruise the motorways as well as Tom's and because I felt I would have no chance to turn back in fright. Of course Tom took me to the station and waved me off. Suddenly I felt very vulnerable and looked nervously around my neighbours in the carriage, wondering who I could trust. This was quite different from going away from Tom to work at school, where I more or less knew everybody.

I got out a novel to read, pleased that my long hair fell down either side of my face and I gladly hid behind it. I would have had it bobbed again, like I did when we first swapped bodies, were it not for this visit to my Mum. I knew she would be disappointed that I'd cut it in the summer, but "I" had been growing it back ever since and now it lightly swept my shoulders. As I reflected that I was speeding away from the pebble at a hundred miles an hour, I felt totally trapped and condemned to womanhood, though usually I relished this idea. I was about to be a daughter in my blouse and skirt and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

I spotted my Mum on the platform ahead and the train came to a stop before I got there. It took a second glance to recognise her because she'd had her long grey hair cut quite short, only half covering her ears. I was suddenly relieved that she couldn't possibly object now to my having cut mine short. When I'd brushed the crumbs off my skirt, gathered up my bags and squeezed through the throng, who all seemed to be big smelly males, to the door, I started forward to meet her. As soon as I was clasped in her big friendly embrace, I felt an absolute fraud. Sure, I knew that I was completely her Amanda in my body, but my mind wasn't all Amanda and it hurt to deceive her.

Still, as we got into her car and she grinned across at me in delight, I felt glad to have a female friend even closer than Yolande that I could confide in, except, of course, for my one huge secret. We chatted brightly, like I hadn't been away at all. Suddenly I found myself wondering at my real love for my Mum. I had quite liked her as a mother-in-law, but now a new warmth towards her as my real, well physically real, mother, took over. Of course I couldn't really remember any of our past together, but that didn't seem to matter at all. She quizzed me about my work and I bubbled happily away, occasionally catching myself making it all sound too new to me, as it really was, but I don't think she noticed.

"You haven't asked about Tom." I pointed out, after a while.
"Oh, him! Well, how is Tom, then?"
"Being an excellent husband and a fond son-in-law, if only you'd admit it."
"Yes, of course I do. Please don't take offence, but don't you find him a tad exasperating at times?"
"Oh Mummy, you know I love him and yes, he can annoy me, but I won't hear you putting him down. He's very well, thank you."
I regretted bringing down the mood of conversation like that but I couldn't help defending Tom, not just because I had an additional secret interest now, but because "I" always had.

Now, I decided, it was time to talk about my Dad. Mum was glad to change the subject too and gave a lengthy report on his last visit to the doctor. Reading between the lines, the prognosis was not nearly so gloomy as she had implied on the phone, in fact he was more or less normal for his age. I did not at all feel cheated into visiting them, though, because I really wanted to get to know him as his daughter and I was genuinely relieved that he was so much better. He would get home from work in about an hour, she said.

As we came in sight of the house, I was amazed to really feel that I was coming home. I had expected to have to force feelings of pleasure and security here but instead they just flowed over me naturally. How differently I had viewed this house as Tom! I got out and opened the garage door, Mum drove in and I shut the door behind us to go through into the kitchen. I got my suitcase out of the boot, but before leaving the garage, I wandered into Dad's workshop and found myself breathing in the smells and fondly caressing his vice, instead of nosing around for new tools, as Tom would have done.

I hesitated in the kitchen, expecting Mum to show or send me to my room, but then realised that I must just go on up to "my" old room, now the smaller guest room, though Tom and I had always used the larger. I swung my suitcase onto the single bed, unpacked my delicate blouses and hung them up in the wardrobe, which was half full of Mum's stuff. Only the top drawer was empty, but that was enough for my bras, knickers and tights. When we had first used the pebble, I had felt like I was just borrowing Amanda's body and although I wore bras without a thought, they were hers. Now here was I filling a drawer with "my bras, knickers and tights" and that phrase was excitingly real.

When I'd unpacked completely, I sat on the bed for a minute to take in the ambience of the room, as if trying to remember what it had been like to grow up there. I imagined myself sitting on that same bed in school uniform, crisp white blouse and tie, worried about my Biology homework, instead of my teaching plan for the next half-term. Or younger still, with a flat chest. It wasn't difficult, though the room had been redecorated and my boy-band posters were long gone. I had been Miss Amanda Barrow then. Now having a maiden name was a novelty and I revelled in it. In this house I was definitely part of the Barrow family, not the Harris family.

I soon remembered that my Mum needed some help in the kitchen so I took my wash-bag to the bathroom, had a quick pee and washed the travel-dust out of my face. I then needed to re-apply my make-up, of course. I was still messing around with it when I heard Mum's urgent shout: "Amanda!". I wondered if Dad had got home early, but I couldn't see his car from the bathroom window. Perhaps he'd already put it in the garage, so I hurried downstairs.
"Is Dad home already?"
"No, of course not! Is that the only reason you'd come downstairs? I told you I'd need some help in here, young lady!"
"Ooh sorry, I spent too long washing and doing my make-up." I was probably more chastened than my old self would have been and a little surprised at my mother's jealousy of my relationship with my father, which I now realised I had exacerbated by doing my make up, ostensibly for him. My old self would have defended her adulthood but I was too charmed by the notion of being a naughty little girl.

I had to pay close attention to what Mum asked me to do, because she assumed I knew this kitchen and her ways intimately. I had been well briefed, but I had to play an awful lot by ear and take every opportunity to scan the other contents of a cupboard whenever I found something. There were a few little gaffs but Mum didn't seem to notice. I loved this opportunity to work with her and it felt so right, with us both in skirts.

Suddenly there was the sound of a car entering the garage. Mum grinned at me. I couldn't believe how excited I felt that my Dad was about to walk through the door. When he did, I just rushed to hug him. At last I was, for a precious moment, one hundred percent Amanda. Once or twice, in the past, I had wondered at the close, almost magical, relationship between fathers and daughters. Now it just poured over me in waves. My deep affection for this older man was not one tiny bit sexual, indeed the contrast with my feelings for Tom struck me straight away.

When we broke off the long, close hug, he held both my hands at arm's length and looked me up and down.
"Wow", he said, "You're not allowed to keep looking better and better while we deteriorate into old age."
"Speak for yourself!" snapped my Mum, almost angrily.
My whole head felt boiling hot with blushes. Tom had tried to understand my deep love of my father and he got along with Daddy pretty well, but now I knew he had no idea of how I really felt about my dear old Dad. I was feeling intensely proud that he found me pretty; Tom had always admired this body that I was moving around from the inside now, but he had never really understood my feelings.

When we sat down to the meal I had helped my Mum prepare, the fear of getting "caught out" by something I couldn't remember came back. I realised that I only had a vague idea of how to behave as Amanda with my parents. Of course, Mum spotted my discomfort and began to suspect that I had some news that I wasn't telling them. Of course it was the elephant in the room to me and I struggled not to betray it.

When the meal was over, I helped Daddy do the washing-up. Mum just couldn't bear to leave us alone together and hovered around the kitchen.
"Guess where you and I are going tomorrow..." she teased me, "to Jackson's!".
I made myself grin while I thought 'Where the hell is Jackson's?' then luckily remembered, from "my" old diaries, not Tom's briefings, "Jackson's Stables" and Pergoman, "my" favourite horse. OMG, how could I pretend I knew how to ride?
"But, Mum," I pleaded, "I'm totally out of practice! I haven't ridden for years. I didn't know you'd started again. Isn't it awfully expensive?"

So, the next morning, I found myself feeling, a little painfully, every detail of the unfamiliar anatomy between my legs as I bounced in Pergoman's saddle at a brisk trot around the riding-school's sandy floor. He had remembered me immediately by scent, which I found really touching, as he gently nuzzled my head with his. He was going very grey around his mouth, as Mum pointed out and, as he trotted, I wished he wasn't still so active. I was concentrating on keeping a straight back, as I had been briefed by Tom, during my good-night phone call. He had calmed my worries about riding, though he had annoyed me by being so amused about it. Now, as I realised that my sore bottom was what had amused him, I was even more annoyed.

When our one hour's session was over, Mum sent me to sit in her car while she paid, so I phoned Tom and told him it had gone well, lying that it didn't hurt a bit and laying it on thick about Pergoman remembering me. Actually, I had enjoyed riding a lot.
"Oh, I have to confess," I suddenly blurted, "I slipped up with Mum this morning, calling Pergoman a stallion, when I should have known he was a gelding! Luckily, Mum just thought my memory had gone peculiar. Of course I hadn't looked at his balls. I do with men, now, but horses? ugh!"

Since becoming Amanda, I had worn skirts and dresses much more than I (the old Amanda) ever did. This was mainly because I was delighted to be female and felt a certain pride in it, a pride I had just felt increased by the bouncing of my boobs in my bra as I trotted on Pergoman, combined with an unavoidable awareness of the shape of my crotch. Of course I wore jeans to go riding and I had felt quite sufficiently feminine in them, so I would have liked to go on wearing them all day but now they smelt horsey. I remembered me moaning, last time we'd visited my parents, that Mum had no tumble-dryer, so now I regretted packing only one pair. When we got home (that word came naturally now) I showered and put on my favourite denim mini. I had hesitated to pack it because Tom had briefed me that Mum still disapproved of me wearing short skirts. She did stare hard at my knees but said nothing.

After lunch, where Mum, to my surprise, suddenly started encouraging me and Daddy to have a good chat, even leaving the room at every opportunity, then we all went shopping. Daddy drove us to the nearest city and sitting in the back with the hem of my skirt less than half-way to my nylon-clad knees, I revelled in being their little girl again. First stop was for Daddy to get some new shirts for work. I was flattered to be included as fashion consultant for this and I found myself liking the "Naval" style collars with their widely splayed edges which were just coming into fashion again. Tom had resisted the old Amanda trying to get him into these and here was I getting Daddy into them and buying three for Tom, who could hardly resist now, I thought with a smirk, having actually been the instigator before.

Then it was jeans for Mum and I eagerly joined her in trying on various pairs. I bought two for me too in the end. I liked one pair so much, grey with embroidery on the outsides of the shins, that I had the salesperson cut off the labels so I that could keep them on. Mum was noticeably more comfortable now that my legs were hidden, which made me wonder if it was another strange jealousy. Anyway, I didn't mind because I felt more comfortable too. As we wandered around a big mall looking for the best coffee, I felt confidently feminine and shapely in my new jeans. I really enjoyed replacing my older clothes because it was me, the new me, who was choosing them, this time.

Although my parents' choice of TV programs hardly matched my own, I found the evenings spent in just their company very pleasant and relaxing. The elephant in the room had shrunk on that second evening to a little virtual stuffed toy behind the sofa and by the third evening it had totally disappeared for most of the time. There was no longer any doubt in my mind that these were my own parents because I really was Amanda. They both had to go to work on Monday morning, my Mum to her part-time charity job, so I got out my lesson-plans and sat on the patio in the unusually warm autumn sunshine doing my own work at a leisurely pace.

My reverie was rudely interrupted by the ringtone of my mobile and I was a little annoyed to see "Tom" on the front before I answered it. We had had a long goodnight chat at midnight, so what did he want now? He must be at work.
"Hello, is anything wrong?"
"No, except that I'm missing you."
"Well, I'll be back on Wednesday at six. You'll be meeting me, won't you?"
"Well... That's what I have to tell you. Of all days, it's Wednesday they want me to work late."
"Oh you poor thing! It doesn't happen very often, you know."
"Of course I know; the old Amanda used to have to wait for up for me. I haven't said yes yet. Do you mind getting home on your own?"
"Well you must say yes and of course I don't mind, as long as you don't expect me to cook for you too!"
"Oh, no, I'll get a canteen lunch so's we can just have bread in the evening. I'm sure your Mum will want to cook your lunch."

That made me realise that he still knew my Mum a lot better than I did and I think I succeeded in hiding my resentment in the rest of the call, which was quite short, as he had to get back to work. I was annoyed that I had been reminded of my inner identity by Tom, but more with myself for letting such annoyance affect our relationship. After all, he must be trying just as hard to forget his origins here, in this house. I couldn't concentrate on my work after that call because it also reminded me of the need to watch my moods in that week before my second period and and that in turn reminded me of my planned pregnancy. They were the last thoughts I needed, sat alone on that patio, a hundred miles from the pebble.

Mum came back for her lunch-break, which she had assured me was quite easy, though not her normal practice. I was really glad of her company. She was concerned that I was working too hard and suggested that I go swimming in the afternoon. Now I had always been a keen swimmer, a champion at school, and faster than Tom over short distances, though we had not raced since swapping souls. I would enjoy beating him again, so needed some practice. I had found my holiday bikini in my suitcase when packing and left it there in case something like this came up but now I really wished I'd brought a one-piece.

Just as I was wondering where I could buy a more suitable swimming costume, Mum was offering me a lift to the pool so I only needed a bus back. I just had to be brave in my bikini. After all, I had worn it before, exactly when I first switched souls with Tom. When I came out of the changing cubicle, however, I felt very self conscious, especially handing my clothes basket in to a male attendant. I had tied my hair back but it was only just long enough to form a tiny pony-tail and I felt it looked silly.

As I approached the pool, I worried that I might have to re-learn my strokes. I had looked forward to a racing dive start but there was a big sign banning jumping and diving so I had to climb self-consciously down the steps. I was soon doing an easy crawl and was really pleased how this body was performing. There was a big clock at the wall at one end. My first two lengths took over two minutes but I started performing creditable somersault turns and the next two were over ten seconds better. I couldn't wait to see Tom's face when I beat him, even with his newly stronger body, in a sport like this. I raced the first six lengths too much so needed a brief rest before doing ten more. I was amazed how my smooth body glided through the water. My tits might have been a hindrance but I suppose their buoyancy was a boon.

I was fairly bushed after my sixteen lengths but could feel my heartbeat recovering as I walked towards the changing room, so I was really proud of my fitness. While revelling in the hot shower, I decided to go running tomorrow. I could not beat Tom at that but should enjoy it. My confidence as an independent woman was at a new high when I emerged from the sports centre, striding along in my jeans and denim jacket, but when I was boarding the bus, paying my fare from my handbag, I felt very alone and vulnerable again. I shouldn't have sat near the front because I spent the whole journey worrying if I'd dried and brushed my hair well enough now everyone behind could see. I hadn't packed any jogging clothes either, so I got off the bus in the town centre and found a sports shop. I bought a nice new one piece swimsuit there too. I planned to return the pool on Wednesday morning and improve my times further.

Daddy was home first and it was lovely chatting to him while I had him to myself. He was as pleased as I expected with my swimming times but then of course I got told off again when Mum got home, for doing nothing towards tea. Such domesticity was ideal for my continuing acclimatisation. Life at my childhood home was warm and comforting. Most of the time I could forget my transformation and just be myself, as a woman. I did go jogging on Tuesday morning, almost getting lost in what should have been a familiar neighbourhood, after going to Mum's workplace with her to borrow her car. This was because I was invited to visit Aunt Julie in the next town for lunch. I was glad my Gran had died before the swap, she would have been hard to convince that I was really me, but my aunt was a breeze and I really enjoyed the lunch. Of course I had to go and pick up Mum from work and Daddy was already home when we got back.

Wednesday morning I had to say goodbye to both my parents because Mum had an important meeting so couldn't couldn't take me to the station as she'd hoped. I gave Daddy a huge sad hug before he got into his car. Mum didn't want to spoil her make-up. I took the bus back to the pool and wore my new one-piece. It was more relaxing but actually I missed the admiring stares of my first visit. I did improve my times again. After fixing myself some lunch, I packed my bag and took the bus to the station. This time I was not at all shy. I had washed and dried my hair carefully at the pool and spent some time on my make-up before leaving my parents' house because I wanted to be attractive on the train this time.

I almost missed my stop because I was so engrossed in conversation with a lovely couple I had met. I have to admit I was terribly attracted to the man I sat opposite to and started flirting with him. Then I was not a little disappointed when who should come back from the buffet with coffees than his wife! Going to get my own coffee was very useful to cover my embarrassment. However, she was very nice too and we all discussed today's news with enthusiasm. I realised it was my stop when I saw Yolande on the platform, rather than the station name-boards. I had been planning to get a taxi because it took two infrequent buses to get home, so I was really pleased that she had taken over from Tom. I gave her the usual enthusiastic hug but she seemed strangely hesitant.

In her car, too, she seemed a bit uncertain of the controls and oddly different in some way. I asked "Is anything wrong, Yolande?". She pulled into a lay-by and switched off the engine.
"I have a confession to make," she said, "I'm not really Yolande, I'm Tom and I showed the pebble to Marvin and Yolande."
How dare he! I was speechless at first. A huge sense of betrayal washed over me, completely ruining my day. Yolande had been a very special friend because she hadn't known my past. I was furious that he could do this to me, indeed to us. What had he been up to while swapped with Yolande or Marvin? That thought was even worse. I had an urge to hit him but realised that it was Yolande's body that I would be bruising.
"How could you do this?" I yelled, then I burst into tears. "Why didn't you talk to me before doing that?" I sobbed, "It must have been Sunday because you were plotting this when you rang me from work on Monday and lied about meetings."

The feelings of betrayal were deep and overwhelming. My friendship with Yolande was apparently ruined by her new knowledge that the woman she had met had contained a man's soul. That almost seemed more important than the potential end of our marriage now that Tom could not be trusted. I hated him. He had ruined our happy swapping. I thought that no way would I let him keep his new strong body now. "Have you got the pebble here? " l demanded, after roughly rejecting a comforting hand. "Well get it out, then." The new Yolande shrugged and pulled the doughnut-like stone out of her jeans pocket. I stuck my finger into the hole and she did the same. Suddenly, with no flash or drum-roll or any other indication that anything unusual had occurred, I was seeing dark brown arms, coming from my own shoulders, holding the pebble and there was the tearful Amanda, make-up smeared down her face, beside me. l put the pebble back into my jeans pocket, this time on the side away from Amanda, in case she tried to grab it. My thighs now seemed enormous, to say nothing of my boobs.

"Now this isn't some fun experiment," I said, startled by my strong West Indian accent, "As soon as we get home I'm getting Tom's body back and that's how we're staying, because you've ruined everything." The original Amanda just resumed the sobbing I had begun. Her now sensible female brain was absorbing the enormity of her mistake as a man. "I might destroy the pebble now, to say nothing of our marriage." I went on, "How am I supposed to believe you weren't unfaithful to us while swapping outside the marriage?"
"There was no sex, honestly!" sobbed Amanda.

I re-started what was now my car, reflecting that I, Yolande, was now fully insured to drive it. I drove home in silence, Amanda quietly sobbing beside me. I had left the hormones of anger and hurt in Amanda's body but I remembered my determination to reverse our swap then destroy the pebble. However, that now seemed a little extreme to my calm Yolande brain. Amanda went into her flat to repair her face while I went on up to what was now mine. The new Tom opened the door with Marvin standing behind him. I was surprised to be so much more attracted to Marvin, but then he was my husband now. I soon overcame my lust and turned to Tom with the pebble held out.

With obvious relief, he poked out his finger and I instantly found myself in my original body looking down at Yolande. I took the pebble from her shaking hand. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, "That is really bad voodoo, like I said."
"Look, Yolande," I said in my new deep voice, "I'm really really sorry for all that the other Tom did this week. He never told me what he was doing. I've put her back into her original body now. I was your friend Amanda but I realise that she has ruined that." Leaving no time for reply, I backed out and went downstairs, doubting that they would ever speak to us again.

On the stairs I found I really missed Amanda's body. My flat chest was a shock and I really didn't want a crutch full of wrinkly equipment. I felt awkward and clumsy in this taller body, even though I'd grown up in it. I really missed the sweet softness between my legs and resented Amanda possessing that and the potential of better orgasms. For some odd reason she preferred my male body, but withholding it would punish me too. I suppose it was again the leaving behind of hormonal emotions which hastened my return to rationality. By the time I reached Amanda, I was feeling sorry for her, having been so stupid as a man.

As I came into our bedroom, Amanda was just emerging from the bathroom, her face washed but still red-eyed. I inwardly chuckled that she had just had to pee sitting down for the first time in six weeks. I knew she needed it from my journey. I was surprised to find that her body, in the top and skirt I had put on after swimming, was starting to give me a hard-on, so soon after lusting after Marvin. I wanted to wear that body, really, not screw it. From the look on her face, she was thinking the same and, since I had told her this was permanent, was resigning herself to it.

"I am so, so sorry! " pleaded Amanda, "I certainly should have discussed it with you."
"Yes, you should. It's going to take a long time for me to forgive you, but I'd like that body back now, please." Willingly she held out a finger for the pebble, still in my hand. I frowned at the thought that the new Tom would have hold of it, so first passed it to her and then pointed my chubby male finger into it. Now I was wearing my skirt again, one I had bought myself, looking up at the man who had ruined my day.

"You see, there's no point in punishing you in a way that punishes me too", I explained. "I may not forgive you for a long time but I still love you as my husband. Now you were going to cook me a nice welcome home dinner, weren't you? I only had a snack lunch because Mum really did have special meetings at work, unlike you!". Men! I thought, you can never trust them!

I sat down at my dressing table and stared at my nylon-clad knees in relief before repairing my make-up. Tom had shaken my new security as a woman since visiting my parents but I was not going to let that defeat me. However, the hurt of betrayal was worse than anything I had ever felt as a man, as indeed childbirth would be. Was it worth it? Yes! I began humming "I am strong, I am woman" again. That suddenly became terribly relevant just then because, as I stood up, the first cramps of my second period hit me.

I began to wonder if PMS had affected my attitude to Tom's behaviour. Maybe it had but I remembered that I had felt just as betrayed when I was away from it in first Yolande's and then Tom's bodies. Anyway, the tension would be gone now the cramps had come. I delayed going to the kitchen because I still wanted to punish Tom, though actually I couldn't wait to get back to bed with him after almost a week without it. I had toned down my make-up so as not to arouse him and I almost changed into jeans but now it occurred to me that the "restricted privileges" would hurt him more if he was turned on. Again, it was a question of how to punish him without punishing me.

I found he was trying to be romantic with candles etc., so I deliberately took a tray into the lounge to eat without conversation, catching up on my missed but recorded soap episodes. He tried grovelling but I took no notice. Some bits of the soaps made me feel rather sexy, however much I tried to suppress it. I have to admit that it was me who moved up to him on the couch, after he returned from washing up, for a bit of a smooch, something I'd missed so much at my Mum's.

It was also me who led him by the hand to the bedroom, having considered that tonight was probably the last chance before that prohibitive string dangled once more between my legs. After so recently being Tom, it was a bit weird to accept his penis inside me, but it seemed so very normal to do so. I kept telling him that I hadn't forgiven him, but that didn't sound right at all, especially when I started moaning in ecstasy.

In the morning he brought me my breakfast in bed and I managed a smile, though I told him he had a lot more to do. I tried to go back to sleep for a lazy half-term lie-in, at last, but I couldn't stop feeling sorry for myself about the loss of my friend Yolande. I knew my colleague Carol had gone to Berlin all week with her husband, so I couldn't ring her. My other friends were not teachers so they would be at work. I got up and watched some awful daytime TV before deciding to try some "retail therapy" and take myself out somewhere nice for lunch.

At first I couldn't be bothered to get dressed. I felt so depressed now that my life as a woman had been so damaged by Tom. Then, when I decided to be strong and go out for lunch, I wanted to dress as sexily as possible. I had found in my knicker-drawer the fishnet stockings of my Penelope outfit. I had never put then on before myself, only found myself wearing them. Now they seemed appropriate, if only in revenge for Tom's betrayal. I drew the line at Penny's awful gingham dress. No one else would understand that anyway. I discovered that all my favourite mini-skirts would show my suspenders and I didn't want to go that far either, so I had to wear an old flared blue skirt of knee length which made it hard to find a matching top.

Just as I was almost ready, there was a knocking at the door. I thought it must be the postman because he was often buzzed into the block by someone else. When I opened the door to Yolande I was amazed and overwhelmed. "Look," she said, "I'm still your friend, whatever body you were born in!"
"But how do you know who I really am now?"
"Well, I saw Tom going to work and also I don't think he'd be as pleased to see me!"
As she gave me a huge hug, I said "No, you're right there. It'll be a long time before I forgive him."

Despite her accepting nature, I was still deeply embarrassed that she now knew all about Tom and me swapping souls. I was even more annoyed with Tom for so upsetting my security as a woman. I was beginning to feel, as I now set out for lunch with Yolande, instead of on my own, more like a man who'd had the operation. The fishnets didn't help to reduce that illusion. "Bloody good operation!" I chuckled to myself as another cramp hit me. Although Yolande did not comment on them, I was embarrassed enough by the fishnets to change out of them at the first opportunity and the tights I bought instead gave me the opportunity to buy some super mini-skirts and a dress too. I hadn't shopped with another woman before, oh except my Mum of course, and it was great fun; so was lunch.

When Tom got home from work, he was so full of guilt and sorrow that I almost felt sorry for him. I had to remind myself that I was the victim of his betrayal and that last night's sex did not mean forgiveness at all. I told him that too. He did pull out all the stops to cook us a lovely meal. When we got to bed, I watched his face with some glee to see his disappointment when he finally noticed the string dangling between my legs.

I will always remember those first six weeks as Amanda, with all their ups and downs. Within the next two weeks I must have completely forgiven Tom because I forgot all about ovulation headaches. Hence those first two periods were my last for ten months and it is my third which is sharply reminding me to get this written while I still have time in my maternity leave and Mum's finally gone home after ""helping"".

Yes, at this point I'd better introduce Billy Harris, our beautiful baby boy, whom I bore all by myself. Oh, I don't mean Tom didn't help, he held my hand right through the nine-hour labour, bless him! I mean I refused to share the pain by using the pebble, as we had planned, though I don't remember him offering all that frequently. We had re-charged it and tested it in my eighth month and the test was very brief because being pregnant was a huge shock for Tom and he only waited to feel one kick before he was begging to get his balls back. Now he's a very proud Daddy and quite adept at changing nappies. We have discussed leaving Billy the pebble in our wills. By the time you read this he may have used it. I often wonder if he will prefer to become female like his Mummy did.