Two Weeks Off

The room reeked of sex and alcohol, while Max’s mind spiraled in chaotic confusion. He sat hunched at the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of large, heavy tits hanging from his chest, tugging unfamiliar skin downward and bouncing slightly with every breath. Every movement echoed with a strange sensation, like some heavy foreign weights had been strapped to his ribs—ones he didn’t even want to touch right now.

— This... this is just a dream, drugs... or some fucking mind game, — Max muttered, shaking his head like trying to rattle the illusion loose, only to feel long hair brushing against his back. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath—and opened them again right away, because it was all still there. The breasts… heavy, shifting, still hanging and all too real. He looked down, and as if truly seeing them for the first time, exhaled in a hoarse breath:

— Shit… these are… these are real tits…

— Max, stop it. Look at me, — Nika’s voice, now deep and male—the same one that had recently come from Max’s own mouth—made him lift his head.

Nika stood there confidently, a bit amused, giving him a sideways look as she fastened the belt on his jeans.

— This. Is. Happening. — she emphasized every word clearly. — You're in my body. I’m in yours. And you’re not asleep. Not hallucinating. You’re just... me now.

— NO! — Max shouted, jumping up from the bed, only to stumble—on his own legs, now much shorter than he was used to, and stuck in those ridiculous heels. He dropped back down with a grunt, wincing as the tits bounced painfully and pressed into his chest.

— Are you fucking kidding me? — he hissed, glaring at her—at his former body. — This is insane! This... this is a FUCKING LOONY BIN!

— Forty years, Max, — she said it calmly, like an adult, with the tired confidence of someone who’d repeated it a dozen times. — Forty years I was a woman. Young, sexy. And now I want to be a man. And you... you just happened to be my last client.

— Last client?.. — Max repeated, panic creeping into his voice like he was only now beginning to grasp the depth of the nightmare he was in. — What do you mean, clien... client?

— Oh, well you weren’t exactly a client... — Nika said, half-defensive. — I figured you’d figure it all out yourself, I left you all the instructions...

— Instructions?! — Max practically screeched, and the high-pitched, absurdly feminine tone of his own voice cracked like a whip against his ears. — Are you fucking serious?! We fucked, swapped bodies, and now you’re getting dressed like it’s just another Tuesday and talking about some goddamn instructions?! We need to find a way to switch back, not... Shit, what am I even saying, you planned all this, that’s obvious, even if it sounds insane.

Nika gave a low chuckle—a man’s chuckle now—as if she had already fully embraced the role of a confident, chill, slightly smug guy that she now was.

— Oh come on, don’t be such a drama queen. It’s not all bad. You've got a great body and, to be honest, I kinda wish I could spend a few more years in it, — Nika smirked, pulling a grey t-shirt over the now-male—now-her—body. It fit loosely, in that guy kind of way. — Your tits are amazing. Hips—killer. And that ass… you have no idea how many looks you're gonna be getting.

Max said nothing, like something vital inside him had just snapped—the last fragile string holding his sanity afloat. He was still sitting on the bed, hunched, doing everything he could not to look down, but still he felt the weight. It pressed against his chest—not just physically, but mentally too. Two soft, warm, alien pillows grafted onto his body without permission.

— You... You were a whore, weren’t you? — he breathed out hoarsely, like he didn’t believe he’d said it out loud.

— Hm. That’s one way to put it, — Nika flipped back her short cropped hair and winked. — Let’s just say... I always knew how to use what I had. What did you think those nails were for? The sexy little dress and thigh-highs?

Max clenched his teeth, something tight coiling up inside him. Not just the physical discomfort, but a whole knot of horror, disgust, humiliation. He shot to his feet, then cried out as the breasts bounced, smacking into his ribs. He grabbed at his chest, then yanked his hands back in panic. The soft, warm, too-real flesh responded to every motion like it was truly alive.

— I can’t... I can’t be... a prostitute, — he spat the word like venom. — This is impossible. This isn’t me! This isn’t my life! This... You fucking used me!

— Yeah, Max, I used you, — Nika said softly, almost like a woman again, stepping closer until they were face to face—but now he was shorter. Shorter than himself. — Because you were exactly what I needed. A little cocky, a little dumb, smug as hell.

— But... — he stumbled backward, nearly falling again, unaccustomed to these stupid wide hips and a new center of gravity. — You’re not going to... you’re not going to change us back, are you?..

— No, — she said simply. — Even if I wanted to. The swap’s irreversible. And honestly, I don’t see what’s so bad about your situation. That body? Fucking prime. You’ve got a client list. You even got a down payment for next week. Check your purse—it’s under the bed. It’s got the apartment keys, some cash, and condoms. The rest you’ll figure out.

— You left me to live like... like some cheap street hooker, — Max whispered, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He couldn’t cry—men don’t cry. But maybe he’d been wrong about that too: the tears came on their own, no permission asked.

— No, Max, — she said with a hint of a smirk, zipping up the jacket. — I left you youth. Freedom. And a body men pay for. What you do with it—that’s on you. You’ve got a vacation. Two weeks to adjust. Then real life begins.

Max stood there, trembling, watching the door of what was now his rented apartment close, leaving him alone with all these new... parts of his life.