Understand Me If You Can

1

— Why are you staring at me like that?! — Jessica’s voice, hoarse and loud, shot out... but it came from Tom’s mouth. He nervously twisted a lock of long chestnut hair between his fingers, as if unsure what to do with his slender hands. Irritation flickered in his eyes, though it was clearly battling against the panic that radiated from his every movement.

Opposite him, in Tom’s body, stood Jessica herself, arms sullenly crossed over a broad chest. She was clearly trying to keep her gaze fixed on the face of her former body, but it wasn’t easy. Something new, wild, and unsettling was stirring inside her. The red lace panties on her former body, which she had carelessly thrown on that morning, now brought thoughts she wouldn’t normally entertain. She quickly looked away, feeling her cheeks flush with heat, while a different kind of warmth began to spread lower.

— Look at yourself first! — she barked, trying to hide her embarrassment, though Tom’s deep baritone cracked slightly. The commanding tone sounded almost threatening, but her feminine insecurity bled through every word. — Sitting there like some Instagram model! — Jessica, in Tom’s body, waved a hand toward her former self, unable to conceal her nervousness. — Just spread your legs a little wider, why don’t you, and complete the look!

— Whaaat?! — Tom dragged out in a high-pitched, unexpectedly shrill voice that sounded far more ridiculous than he could have imagined. His eyes darted down, first to his smooth, slightly tanned legs on full display. The red lace panties hugged the unfamiliar void between his legs, making him uncomfortable all over again.

He squinted, wrinkling his nose for a moment as if refusing to accept the obvious, but his gaze quickly darted over to Jessica—or rather, to his own former body. Tom froze, staring at what was happening to his old body. On the tight gray athletic shorts now hugging his frame on Jessica, a growing bulge was unmistakably visible.

— Are you fucking serious?! — His voice, high and strained, trembled with a mix of shock and disbelief, while a grin spread across his face. — Are you getting turned on by me or something?!

Jessica shot him a sharp glare, her now-masculine face turning so red it looked like fiery patches had flared up on her cheeks. She coughed nervously and tried to act as though nothing was happening.

— Shut up! — she snapped, quickly lowering her guilty gaze like a scolded child. Jessica, in Tom’s body, barely resisted the urge to scream in frustration. — It’s... it’s just your stupid body! It reacts on its own!

Tom nodded with exaggerated seriousness, pressing his lips together and pretending to be deep in thought. His face in this body looked so ridiculously focused that Jessica couldn’t help but grit her teeth in anger.

— Oh, sure, — he drawled. — It’s totally on its own. I didn’t know I had that kind of “problem.”

He smirked, slowly running his hand down the smooth skin of his thigh, savoring the moment, before tugging the hoodie up slightly to reveal his flat stomach.

— Look, Jess, what a stunning body you’ve got! — said Tom, stretching his neck and mimicking an affected tone.

She looked up—and immediately regretted it. Tom, noticing this, winked and turned to the side, arching his back like he was posing for a photoshoot. Then, without warning, Tom abruptly dropped onto all fours, pulling the hoodie up higher and pushing his hips back. The lace panties clung precariously to his body.

— So? Impressed by the view? — he threw over his shoulder, adding an exaggerated slap to his rear that echoed loudly in the room.

— Tom, stop it! — Jessica blurted out, but her voice sounded too strained to carry any authority. She felt something twist inside her, making the situation even more uncomfortable. She tried to focus, but her gaze kept darting—first to the smooth curve of his back, then to the rounded shapes that, against all odds, were... appealing.

— Ohhh, — Tom drawled, peering over his shoulder, still on all fours. His face, lit up by a mischievous grin, was shamelessly provocative. — Where’s your usual “Tom, I have a low libido”?

2

— You fucking idiot! — Jessica snapped, taking a sharp step forward, her eyes blazing with a determination bordering on fury. He’d clearly hit a nerve. Tom barely managed to jerk back, but it was too late: she grabbed him by the waist, spun him around, and he landed on his back in a ridiculous, overly posed position. Jessica was on top of him now, her broad frame looming over his smaller one, pinning his delicate wrists to the bed. The expression on her—well, his—face looked like she was ready to tear him apart.

— What the hell are you doing?! — Tom shrieked, his thin voice sounding so hysterical that Jessica briefly thought, “Is that really my voice?!”

— You think this is funny?! — she growled, leaning closer. Her hands quickly latched onto the hoodie he was wearing, tugging it upward.

— Oh, come on! — He squirmed, trying to dodge her, but Jessica yanked the hoodie off in one swift motion, leaving him in nothing but the red lace panties. Tom gasped, struggling to cover himself as his chest—now uncooperative and bouncing uncontrollably—was left fully exposed to Jessica’s gaze.

— Are you out of your fucking mind?! — he shouted, his face flushing crimson as his eyes darted between her broad shoulders and his own bare body.

Jessica wanted to say something, hovering over him and effortlessly pinning his wrists to the bed again, practically breathing in his face. But her gaze flicked downward, stopping on his bare chest—those breasts she’d seen every day, but now... now they looked too enticing. Her cock strained against the fabric of the gray athletic shorts, practically ready to rip through. Her heartbeat thundered, and her breathing became uneven.

— Have you completely lost it?! — he yelled, writhing beneath her grip. But his slim arms were no match for the muscular strength of her body. — Let me go!

— Shut the fuck up! — she snapped, her voice a mix of embarrassment and anger. Her large, masculine hand squeezed his wrists tighter, and she tried to distract herself by looking away. — This isn’t what...

Her gaze shifted to her former face—angry and indignant, trying to look intimidating. But she was drawn to something else. Those full lips, soft, smooth cheeks, and long, silky hair splayed messily across the pillow—all of it created an image so contrasting and seductive that something inside her snapped. Jessica, in Tom’s body, found her breathing growing even more ragged as her eyes darted between his face and his body, the body she once thought of as her own.

Tom, realizing how weird things were getting—even for this insane day—tried again to wriggle free, but his thin arms were useless against the powerful grip of her new body.

— Jess, I’m serious! — he shouted, his voice cracking almost to the point of tears. — You look like a fucking psycho right now!

She blinked, snapping out of whatever trance she was in, and abruptly pulled back, sitting up. Tom immediately scrambled to his feet, grabbing the hoodie to cover himself. He was breathing heavily, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and shame.

— You’re fucking crazy! — Tom yelled, yanking the hoodie over his head so violently it nearly tore. His voice, high-pitched and squeaky, would have been funny if the situation weren’t so tense. He backed away, clutching the fabric tightly, as if it could shield him.

Jessica, breathing heavily, got to her feet as well. She looked down at her powerful, masculine hands—the ones that had just so easily held Tom down. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. She stepped back, as if afraid of herself.

— I... I didn’t mean to... — she muttered, her deep, rough voice trembling with confusion and regret. — Goddamn it, Tom, I was just trying to... you pushed me too far!

— Pushed you?! — he threw his hands up, his eyes blazing with indignation. — I pushed you?! You fucking pounced on me like some... like some perverted maniac!

Jessica winced, the irony of his words hitting her hard. She had always prided herself on shutting down anyone who dared challenge her on women’s rights. She’d lecture Tom endlessly on gender equality and relationship boundaries. She’d rail against any form of sexism, silencing anyone who tried to make inappropriate jokes. Her philosophy had been simple: respect others, don’t cross their lines. Tom used to joke that her glare alone could disarm anyone before she even said a word. And now here she was, hearing the same accusations she’d so often thrown at others.

— Tom, I swear... I don’t know what came over me, — she mumbled, struggling to meet his gaze. — This body... it’s weird. I can’t think straight!

— Cut the bullshit about my body. I know my body, damn it, Miss “All Men Are Pigs”! — Tom snapped, flailing his arms. His thin, high-pitched voice sounded so squeaky that, if not for the tension of the moment, Jessica might have laughed. But instead, she clenched her teeth, feeling his words crawl under her skin.

3

— You’re the one who always said, “Hormones are no excuse for bad behavior!” — he continued, clearly relishing the chance to throw her own lectures back in her face. His tone was dripping with mockery as he imitated her previous self. — So, Jess, how does it feel to be a fucking man now? Enjoying it? Maybe you’re not so saintly after all, huh?

Jessica froze as if she’d been slapped. Inside, her anger flared, mixing with a pang of shame. Tom had turned everything she’d ever said against her so easily that she couldn’t even find the words to fight back. She stood there, breathing heavily, feeling the tension in her muscular body as if it might snap.

— You... you seriously... — she stammered, trying to form a sentence, but instead, her fingers curled into a fist involuntarily. — You’re doing this on purpose. Do you even realize what kind of situation we’re in?!

— Of course I do! — Tom threw his hands in the air, his movements jerky and borderline hysterical. — I’m stuck in your body, wearing these... these fucking panties, with tits that have a mind of their own, and instead of helping, you’re pouncing on me like some... — he hesitated, searching for the right word, and then waved his hand. — Like some pervert!

— Pervert?! — Jessica stepped toward him but immediately caught herself, raising her hands in an attempt to calm down. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay composed. — Look, Tom, I get it, this is all... insane. But I’m trying to figure this out! And you’re just throwing tantrums and cracking dumb jokes!

— Throwing tantrums?! — He jabbed a thin finger into his chest—her chest—and his face turned bright red with fury. — You’re calling me hysterical now?!

Jessica and Tom couldn’t stop. Their argument grew louder and louder, drowning out not only the sounds of the street outside but also any trace of reason. They looked much like they always did during their fights, but with one crucial difference. She now loomed with a towering, muscular frame. He flailed with delicate hands, his high-pitched, overly emotional voice echoing off the walls.

Meanwhile, across the city in a small, cozy room filled with the scent of lavender and candles, someone was watching them intently.

A woman with dark hair pinned in a strict bun sat at a polished wooden table, holding an elegant glass of red wine. Her striking green eyes, lined with subtle makeup, glimmered with amusement as she observed the scene unfolding before her. On the table sat a large crystal orb, its misty interior swirling with energy. Within the orb, tiny, vivid images of Jessica and Tom’s heated argument played out in sharp detail.

— Ah, these two... — the witch-therapist muttered, sipping her wine. Her voice was low, smooth, with a touch of weariness, like someone long accustomed to witnessing the chaos of other people’s relationships. — Emotional instability. Classic case. — She smirked to herself. — And that one... what’s her name? Jessica. Clear boundary issues. Fascinating.

She paused, tracing her finger along the rim of her glass, lost in thought. Then a sly smile spread across her lips as if she’d just come up with something particularly amusing. Her gaze returned to the orb.

— Perhaps they need to learn a little more about each other before I change them back... Time to stir the pot a bit.

With those words, she reached for a book titled Transformational Therapy for Troubled Couples. Flipping it open, she muttered a few words in an ancient, unfamiliar language. The orb glowed brighter, and the images inside sharpened further.

Jessica, mid-argument, froze, her hands raised mid-gesture. Tom stopped shouting, his mouth hanging open in confusion. They both stood in silence, staring at each other.

— Did you feel that too? — Tom asked first, his voice trembling as he glanced at Jessica.

She nodded awkwardly, her expression uneasy. Something was wrong, but neither could explain it. The air between them felt denser, charged, and a strange sense of dread crawled through their chests.

4

Jessica and Tom froze, as if someone had muted the entire room. For a moment, they simply stared at each other in silence, as if both had simultaneously sensed something alien, absurd, yet disturbingly real. The space around them felt... different. The bright colors of their bedroom had vanished, and the familiar details of their surroundings had blurred away. Instead, everything was suffused with a warm, slightly muted light, as if the room had suddenly been transported to another century.

Tom was the first to notice the changes. He couldn’t quite understand why there was a delicate veil draped over his face, fastened to a dainty hat perched neatly on his head. Glancing down, he saw his hands now covered by elegant lace gloves and felt the constriction of a corset around his torso. He was dressed in a long, narrow cream-colored gown that accentuated every curve—every feminine curve. He could feel the weight of an elaborate updo pulling at his scalp, the intricate hairstyle adding to his discomfort. Despite his growing panic, his movements became naturally refined, as if the clothes themselves demanded decorum.

— Good heavens… — he began, his voice soft, poised, with an air of cultivated elegance. — What in the world is this? — He pressed a gloved hand to his lips, catching a faint scent of delicate perfume, and his face paled further.

Jessica, on the other hand, had lurched forward, only to realize she was now clad in a rough, masculine suit complete with a vest and frock coat. Her chest was gone, her body broad and muscular, yet somehow... clumsy. In her hand was a glass filled with amber liquid, the sharp scent of alcohol stinging her nose.

— Bloody hell, Tom! — she growled, her voice low and rough, dripping with the coarse tone of a back-alley gambler. — What the devil is happening? Why do I sound like I’ve been smoking cigars and cussing out priests my whole life?

Tom looked at her—or rather, at what she had become. Jessica, now in the form of a gruff man with large hands and a perpetually scowling face, looked like someone who’d spent a lifetime working in a factory and had never heard the word “etiquette.”

— My dear… you look positively dreadful, — Tom said carefully, each word clipped and precise, as though he were delivering a subtle insult at a dinner party.

— Shut your trap, miss fancy britches, — she snapped, running a hand over her jaw and flinching when she felt stubble. — Why are you talking like that? Like some prissy duchess from one of them big houses? And what the hell is this crap I’m saying?! — She looked at her drink, then added with a sneer, — Bloody hell, I sound like some piss-drunk old bastard.

Tom grimaced, visibly flinching at her crude speech. It grated on him in a way he couldn’t quite explain, as though every vulgar word made his polished sensibilities ache.

— Must you... carry on in such a barbaric manner? — he said, trying to keep his composure, though his voice had a slight quaver of uncertainty. — And why in heaven’s name am I speaking like this? I don’t understand!

Jessica snorted, throwing her drink back like a seasoned drunkard.

— You don’t understand? I don’t understand! Look at me, Tom! I’m built like some brick-headed bully from the docks, and I can’t stop sounding like one neither!

Fuming, she marched toward the nearest mirror. Staring back at her was the unfamiliar face of a man in his forties, with harsh features, dressed in what was clearly expensive but poorly tailored clothing. Instinctively, she ran a hand over her closely cropped hair and swore.

— What the bloody fuck is this?! Who the hell is this mug?! Why am I stuck in this sack of shit body?!

Meanwhile, Tom turned around, and that’s when it hit both of them: this wasn’t their apartment anymore. They were in an opulently decorated parlor filled with early 20th-century furniture. Paintings adorned the walls, an enormous fireplace dominated one side of the room, and a lavish tea set sat on a table nearby. Everything around them screamed another era entirely.

— This must be some sort of horrid dream, — Tom murmured, his eyes darting nervously around the room. — Perhaps we’ll awaken soon, and all of this nonsense will resolve itself.

Jessica rolled her eyes, crossing her arms with a loud grunt.

— A dream? Sure, let’s go with that. And in the meantime, I’ll just sit here looking like some washed-up bar brawler, listening to you talk like you’ve got a silver spoon shoved somewhere it don’t belong!

But their bickering was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open with a loud bang. Standing in the doorway was a young footman in a perfectly pressed uniform. He bowed deeply before speaking.

— Madame, monsieur, the guests have gathered in the drawing room. You should make haste.

Tom and Jessica both turned to the footman, their expressions a mix of confusion and disbelief. The footman cast a quick glance at Jessica—who now appeared quite intimidating in her new form—then quickly averted his eyes, clearly unsettled.

— Madame? — Tom asked, gesturing gracefully toward himself, his words carrying a note of disbelief but still dripping with genteel manners. — Are you addressing me?

The footman hesitated, then nodded swiftly.

— Yes, madame. Your husband will accompany you.

— Husband?! — they both exclaimed simultaneously.

The footman froze, unsure how to respond, then quickly bowed again and retreated, leaving the door ajar. Tom and Jessica stared at each other in stunned silence.

— Married? Us? — Tom whispered in a horrified tone, clutching at the neckline of his dress as though protecting his modesty. — Surely this must be some ghastly mistake!

— Fuckin’ hell, — Jessica muttered, her voice dripping with disdain as she gestured angrily toward the door. — Some kind of twisted joke, that’s what it is! Married?! I wouldn’t marry your fancy-talking arse if you were the last posh git in the world!

Tom visibly flinched at her words, as though they’d stabbed straight into his very soul. The crude, vulgar manner in which Jessica spoke made his stomach churn, each phrase grating against his newfound sense of decorum. He could feel his face flush with indignation, but all he could muster was a wrinkled nose and a withering, disdainful glare in her direction. Jessica, oblivious to his reaction, continued grumbling as though nothing had happened.

And then, from beyond the open door, came the sound of voices—laughter, clinking glasses, and raised toasts. The situation was growing more surreal by the second.

Meanwhile, the witch, watching the scene unfold through her crystal orb, smirked.

— They’re in for quite the evening, — she murmured, flipping a page in her book. — Sometimes, to truly understand one another, you have to walk in each other’s shoes... or in each other’s century.