By Guest Writer: Mike
Chapter 9 – Part 1 of 3 – Freaky Friday
I opened my eyes to a new day. Cynthia was lying naked beside me, looking like herself. The Wererock was sitting on the nightstand on her side of my king-sized bed. She was on her side, one arm clutching a pillow and the other covering her eyes. She looked beautiful, with her short hair looking fuzzy in the morning. She looked genuine; I felt my affection grow just a little bit more. Was my feelings for Cynthia like a balloon and if so, how much could it expand before it popped, or was it possible my feelings for Cynthia could just keep rising? I found myself hoping my feelings for her never diminished.
I made coffee, this time knowing how Cynthia took it. As the water boiled I recalled the shock I felt the night before when Cynthia had come to my door wearing my face. Her body had been hers, but it was my face, with my brown hair and my speckled green eyes staring back at me. She had even matched the mole pattern on the side of my neck exactly. I had been awed by the power of the Werestone but seeing how perfectly Cynthia had matched me I was a little frightened of it, too. She came in all smiles and spoke, using my voice, “Aren’t you gonna invite me in?” It was eerie how much she sounded like me.
I invited her in.
“What do you think?” She asked in my voice, the words coming from my lips.
“It’s…” I couldn’t think of how to describe it. It was scary and quite overwhelming. I was floored by the facsimile sitting in front of me. I pulled her to a mirror, trying to find any imperfection. There wasn’t one. “It’s unreal.”
“I know! I had an idea earlier today; the one I mentioned.”
“I’ll tell you after.” Cynthia yanked me into my bedroom, fishing the Werestone out of the pocket of her jeans. She changed back into herself and then proceeded to do adult things with me that more than overcame the shock of seeing my face when I answered the door. She even gave me permission to come. Afterwards, lying naked in the bed, she told me her plan and I told her all about my day. She laughed, more with me than at me and I shook my head at her scheme, knowing I’d have to try it anyway. It was too delicious to turn away the insane idea.
With the morning coffee brewed I carried it to her. She was sitting up, waiting for me. Or, more accurately, I was sitting there waiting for me. I came in as Cynthia was playing with her cock. She was stroking it, feeling the heat rising from her palm. She squeezed her balls hard enough to make her wince. “Wow,” she said, “It’s easy to hurt those things. Damn. I once kicked a boyfriend there when he pissed me off. Now I feel guilty about that.” She toyed with her cock some more, fascinated by how it moved, like it had a mind of its own. “It’s so,” she paused, looking for the word, “distracting.”
“That’s one way to describe it.”
I watched her cover up her cock, which looked exactly like mine, of course. She was me, right down to the length of my toenails and clean shaven chest. She sipped her coffee and let out a contented little sigh, “Oh, that’s good. I’m glad you’re trainable.”
What did that mean?
She handed me the Werestone, “Become me.”
I took the rock and gripped it in my palm. I shut my eyes and pictured Cynthia; by then I knew her naked body very well. I felt my height dwindle and my chest rise. I felt my cock slip to nothing to be replaced by the pretty folds of her sex. I took the hair from my body and felt my muscular arms become a perfect copy of Cynthia’s.
“Amazing,” Cynthia said, in my voice.
“I know,” I said in hers. We had become each other. We hadn’t swapped forms, we just morphed into duplicates of each other. It was part of her plan from the night before. She wanted to go to work as me and I was going to go to work as her. “It’ll be fun,” she had said. And then she had muted my protests with another round of sweaty sex. How could I deny her if that was to be my reward?
Now I stood at the foot of my bed, looking at my body sipping coffee. My room seemed odd. It took me a moment to realized why. The sizing was all different. Once, on vacation, I went to see my old elementary school. I walked the halls, trying to piece together why the place seemed so different. It was the sizing, then, too. When I had originally walked those halls, I had been barely three feet tall but my visitation decades later brought me back there as an adult. The lockers that had seemed so big were nothing more than little cubby holes; the toilets that had seemed like monuments were tiny little things barely six inches off the floor. My bedroom was the same now. My bed was taller, the television seemed almost mountain sized. Is that why men had a fascination with size? Because they were bigger?
“What am I going to wear today?” Cynthia asked, finally climbing out of bed. She crossed over to me; I had to look up to her. To me. Whatever. Our disparate sizes made me feel even smaller. She gave me a hug; I felt the power in her arms and that made me feel even tinier. It was different that how I felt yesterday. Yesterday I had been diminished due to shame and humiliation; this morning I was physically smaller and I felt it. It would take some getting used to.
“I have a bunch of suits,” I said.
Cynthia laughed, it sounded deep and throaty. “I meant you. You’re going to wear one of those pretty dresses today. A man in a dress, only you don’t look like a man, do you?” Cynthia waited for an answer. When I said nothing, she repeated, “do you?”
Cynthia clapped her strong hands, “That makes you a girl and you’re my girl. Oh, this is fun!” She took my hand and pulled me to the closet where all those clothes were hanging, all of them still sporting their tags. “What?” She said, feigning outrage, “You haven’t tried them on? What kind of woman are you?”
I shrugged and even that felt foreign. “A new one?”
“You just need more practice.” She kept saying that. Once again it felt like she was planning on staying around for the long term. That thought made me smile.
Cynthia rummaged through the closet. “We sure picked out some slutty things for you. I can’t have you wearing most of this to the office. We’ll need to get you some more appropriate clothes for work.”
“Isn’t this a one-time thing?” I should have known better.
Cynthia ignored my question and pulled a simple gray skirt from its hanger. She followed that up with a salmon colored blouse. I knew it was salmon and not pink because of the label. “These will do. Come,” she grabbed my hand again and pulled me to my panty drawer. “Wearing pretty things underneath makes a girl feel sexy and my girls needs to feel sexy.” It was odd hearing my voice saying such weird things. She rummaged around in my dresser and pulled out a pair of yellow panties and a matching bra. I was her living Barbie and she was having fun dressing me up.
She watched at I donned the panties, settling them against my pussy. I put on the bra, bending forward to settle my tits into the full cups. I pulled on the skirt, fastening the button in the back. Cynthia helped with the zipper mostly because she could. I pulled the blouse over my head and settled it into place. The sleeves were short, reaching hallway to my wrists. The skirt hung fairly well, stopping just above my knees.
“Go get your heels.” She clapped her hands, “Yeah, more practice.”
I grabbed my heels from the living room and returned wearing them. Looking at myself in the mirror I looked every bit as pretty as Cynthia because I was Cynthia. I doubt her mother would have noticed a difference.
“I’ll help you with your makeup,” she said. “But you’ll have to practice on your own. Okay?”
I mumbled something that might have been in agreement but it wasn’t enthusiastic.
“Fine, then I’ll make a deal with you. You can’t come until you can do your makeup perfectly. That should motivate you. Here,” she held out her hand; I could see the stone sitting in the palm. I backed away from her and then stuck out my tongue. I ran from the room. Cynthia chased me. She was bigger, stronger, and faster; barefoot she took off after me. I tried running in my heels, hoping to win the race by surprise but I didn’t really have a destination. I just didn’t want to touch the stone.
Cynthia caught me and held me in her arms. Or is that his arms. It was all so confusing. I felt the cold touch of the Wererock on my neck and a moment later, after a kiss on the nose, Cynthia stepped away.
“What did you do?”
I pouted, as I’ve seen many women do.
“Fine, nothing major. Is that better. I just, shall we say, motivated you.”
I just looked at her, waiting for her to tell me what she’d done. By the look on her face I knew she wanted to tell me. “I made you,” she flashed a lecherous grin, “horny. After a few days, I suspect you’ll be an expert at makeup.”
Shit. Have I said that before? As soon as she said it, I felt the tingle in my pussy. It was quite pleasant and a little bit bothersome. I stood there, my mouth hanging open, shooting daggers at Cynthia while feeling this warmth in my panties that seemed to be hovering in the background. It was like the din at a restaurant: noticeably distant but hard to ignore. My hand dropped to my crotch; it took quite a bit of willpower to keep my hand from crawling into my panties. “How am I going to work like this?”
“You’ll get by.”
Cynthia marched towards the back of my house as I stood in the living room trying to come to terms with the humming in my panties. I felt this mild tingling, like gentle kisses being delivered by butterfly wings. It was as if someone was petting the velvety folds with a soft feather, just lightly stroking my flesh. Not enough to do anything but be a pleasant distraction. Isn’t that what Cynthia called her cock?
Cynthia emerged from the bedroom dressed in one of my suits. She looked exactly like me. “How do I look?” She sounded exactly like me, too. There wasn’t any doubt that she could actually be me.
“Like me,” I admitted
“That’s how you look, too,” she clapped her hands in delight.
“Men don’t do that,” I said, aping her actions.
Cynthia nodded. “Right. I’m not really you, am I? We’ll have to watch that.” She gave me her purse and I gave her my keys and wallet. Another day where I was wearing heels to work and carrying a purse. Today wouldn’t be humiliating but it would be an experience. We traded cars and I watched as Cynthia locked me out of my own house. It felt emasculating in a way and oddly erotic in another. I felt powerless against her. That thought sent another jolt to my already tingling crotch. Cynthia gave me a goodbye kiss and then patted my ass. It was a possessive display that made my pulse race. “How about I take my girl out on a date tonight. See about showing her off; I hear she likes to flash the goods.”
“That’s your thing,” I said, absently smiling at the thought.
“Right, and you’re me so I guess that’s your thing, right?”
If Cynthia was waiting for an answer I didn’t give her one. What she was asking was terrifying but somehow thinking about it made my knees wobble and my panties grow damp. Dammit, what else did she program into me with that magic stone?
“I guess.” I sounded unsure of myself; not quite my normal, decisive self. But I wasn’t me. I was Cynthia and I guess I should own up to that.
“Good. I’ll pick you up at your place tonight after work. You can practice your makeup before I get there.” Cynthia gave me a final kiss and added, “Wear something slutty.”
I nodded as Cynthia got in my car and drove to my office.
I made my way to Cynthia’s Honda, climbed inside, and buckled the seatbelt. I reached to adjust the mirror and found it was perfectly positioned. Of course. I was Cynthia in Cynthia’s car; everything was perfect for her height. For my height. I drove to her office, parked the car, and shuffled my way into the building, instinctively grabbing my purse; I never even gave it a thought. I wasn’t sure where she worked; I’d never been there before. I did know the building and the floor and I knew what she did so I hoped I’d be able to make my way through the day okay.
The ride up the elevator to the fourth floor was simple enough. A cute little girl, barely out of college and sporting blonde hair with purple highlights greeted me. “Good morning, Cyn. How was your night?”
“Fine,” I didn’t know her name. I’d never even heard Cynthia mention her. “And yours?” Keep it general; stay away from details. I already felt flummoxed. My first interaction and already I felt as out of place as a bottle of wine at an AA meeting. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling; I found myself wanting to hide at Cynthia’s desk and power through all I could just to make life easier for her next week.
“Mine was good. You see that new guy again?”
Oh, so she’s talked about me. I guess some good can come from this experiment. I flashed a million-watt smile, “Oh, yeah. He’s a keeper for sure. He’s treating me well. Truthfully,” I leaned in like I was telling a secret, “better than anyone has before.”
“Good for you. Is he hot? He’s hot, isn’t he?”
I doubled the wattage of my smile, “Yep. And he’s good in…” I kept the sentence unsaid, letting the innuendo fill the space my words vacated.
The young girl squealed, clapping her hands together. “Good for you.” The phone rang at her desk. I took that as an excuse to vacate the scene. I waggled my fingers and walked past the young girl whose name I never caught. I couldn’t share such an intimate conversation and then follow that up with, “By the way, what’s your name again?” No, I’d have to drop Cynthia an email and ask her or pick it up as I listened in on others through the day.
I stumbled my way through the office. There were about twenty cubicles lined up in squares along the one outer wall of the building. I could see the tops of trees and just beyond that I made out the busy Interstate 10 off-ramp at Capital Circle parkway. Below me I could make out the northern parking lot; I even spotted Cynthia’s silver Honda. I felt a bit calmer at finding my bearings. I knew exactly where I was. Now if I just knew where I had to go.
I walked along the cube walls, looking for Cynthia’s desk. I peered in at a few people typing at their computers, working on their assigned projects. The desks that were empty I gave a little more scrutiny. Some had pictures of kids hanging on the cloth inner walls of their cubes. Others had crayon drawings of boxy animals and squiggly clouds. I heard people on the phone and heard fingers pounding keys. Finally, I remembered her saying she had a half office by herself. That made the searching easier. I spotted an empty office sporting twin cubes and inside I found a photo of Cynthia and her parents standing in front of Space Mountain with Mickey Mouse giving the trio a hug. Eureka!
I powered on the computer and stared at the password screen. Cynthia may have thought this would be fun but she hadn’t given much thought to the logistics of it. Just like a junkie, I thought, realizing when I’d first found the cube I was more interested in playing than in the consequences of the game. Cynthia was no different. I pulled out my phone: What’s your password.
A moment later: MygirlAmy. I changed it yesterday just for you. That she followed up with an yellow smiling face blowing me a kiss.
I responded politely and sent her a few X’s and O’s.
I logged into her computer. I was familiar enough with the system they used; I wrote most of the code before I started my own company. This part was easy. I clicked around, found what she was working on and felt a tinge of anger. Cynthia had passed my employment exam with ease. Not that it was an overly hard test, but it was something the proved that whomever I hired would be able to do the job. I looked over her emails, reading exactly what they were having Cynthia work on and felt something approaching resentment. They had her spell checking the text that came up on screen. She would be an asset to my company; here she was nothing but a glorified dictionary. It seemed pointless and a tad demeaning. No wonder she hated her job. I wondered what she was thinking; why hadn’t she take the job I offered her on the spot?
I sat at her desk, thinking about what I should do. The work was pointless; I could have it done in twenty minutes. Knowing Cynthia, she would have it done just as fast. So how did she spend her day? Surely, she didn’t just suffer through whatever belittling assignment they thrust at her. Before I found her, was she looking for another job? I couldn’t imagine spell-checking text was stimulating no matter how much they paid her. Hell, I could support her even if she didn’t take the job I offered. I sat there feeling lost. I didn’t know enough about Cynthia’s situation and so I couldn’t take the risk I wanted to take.
If I did it could she forgive me? Hell, I didn’t even like what I was thinking. We were a couple. I was certain of that. I also felt like we were growing towards something long term. Maybe it was because of the Wererock. How many movies showed a couple coming together because of intense, outside influences? And one thing was certain, the Wererock was intense. Look at me; I was Cynthia. The stone’s power was immense. We were becoming something greater than individuals, but if I took the action that seemed to be mandatory, could she forgive me? Could we survive if I did something that needed to be forgiven considering how new we were as a couple?
“Cynthia,” a voice called out behind me. “Will you have the text approved today or will you need a few more days. I know it’s tough, but it’s important.”
Tough, my ass. Important, my hairy ass. It’s something Quality Control would catch; they didn’t need to assign a full-time programmer. It was busy, demeaning work for someone they didn’t feel was worthy of a real task.
I spun in my chair and looked at the fat man, with a mustard stain on his Taylor Swift T-shirt. He was wearing worn jeans with one belt loop detached at the bottom and flopping around like a pennant. He was wearing dirty glasses and had a mustache that was curled with wax at the tips. I disliked him immediately. Was that because of how he looked or the condescending way he spoke I couldn’t say but that was all it took. “I don’t give a fuck.” I stood up, feeling the height of my heels and for once I was glad to be wearing them. They made me taller than that smarmy little prick. “I’ve got my own business to run,” I snapped, forgetting for a second that I was Cynthia and not me. Oh well, fuck it, I have enough money. I could retire and let Cynthia run my company. She could do it with ease.
The tubby man looked at me with a sneer on his face and anger in his eyes. There was something playing out that I didn’t understand. When he spoke, though, it became clear. “You’re not good enough for me or this company. You’re fired.” He was shaking and I spotted his hands curled up into tight, little balls.
“All because I wouldn’t date you,” I said, knowing I was right. The look on his face proved it. Then I smiled. It was predatory. “My lawyer will be in touch.” I didn’t know if Cynthia had a lawyer, but I did and by the time I got to my car carrying what few personal items I could find, Cynthia had one too. That phone call was fun to make. My lawyer was a shark: pretty and ferocious. She swam with the big boys in the capital, arguing before the Florida Supreme Court and winning more often than not. She’d make short work of whomever they’d send against her.
Please forgive me, Cynthia, I thought, driving to my office.