Hi there! I know you can see me. Rebecca asked me if she could post my story, and when I heard about her readers, I though, what the heck, these are people that might actually understand my predicament.
You are probably the only people who would actually believe me if I said my name used to be Jeff. Or, at least, you would like to believe me.
I grew up in a family of four: Mum, dad, me and my younger sister Elisabeth. Average middle class, living in an average suburbia with an average car. You know the drill.
At the age of 20, I was doing pretty well. I was a successful player at my university football team, and did well academically as well. My parents were so proud of me!
I dated the hottest cheer leader on campus. Believe me: I lived the American dream and enjoyed every moment of it.
My sister Elisabeth, though, was trouble. You didn't need to be a shrink to see that she was unhappy.
She had no friends, her high school teachers hated her and she did not get along with my parents. None of us had the slightest idea what bothered her, and how could we? I mean, no one had ever heard of such a strange affliction, right?
(Hm, come to think of it, you maybe have.)
Anyway, one evening my teenage sister came into my room, highly intoxicated on one of those drugs that is named by a single letter, and told me that she finally had found a solution to her problem.
She looked at me with tears in her eyes and told me that she envied me and everything that I had: my success, my friends, my car, and -- this is where it was getting a bit weird -- my sexy girlfriend Sally and my dick.
The drug was like a truth serum: She told me that she did not feel at home i her body. Truth to be told, she had always been kind of a tomboy, but now she told me that she had always wanted to be a boy.
She wanted to be tall, strong, muscular, with hair on her chest and a big dick. Which is why it was so unfair, according to her intoxicated self, that I had all that and she had nothing.
I tell you, it was totally unreal to hear you beautiful, feminine, teenage sister to say such a thing.
I believe i didn't say a word the whole time. I was just trying to not at the right places to help her along. I mean, she really needed to talk about this to someone, right?
That was when she brought up the magic-8-ball.
"It is truly magic," she told me.
"All right," I said. "What would you like to ask it?"
She kissed the ball and whispered to it: "Please, Mr. 8-ball, could you let me and my brother switch places?"
She turned the ball and read: "Without a doubt."
Then suddenly I had the ball in my hand and was looking down at the message.
I registered that my hand had become smaller, and dropped the ball in shock. It fell down on the floor and pulverized. I have never seen an 8-ball pulverize before. Have you?
It took me some seconds, though, to grasp that I was no longer in my own body. This was my sisters teenage body: small and curvy and with long black hair falling down my shoulders.
I looked up and into my own two eyes.
"Hey, there, Elisabeth," my own body said to me. "The magic worked. And since you so conveniently have broken the ball, there is no way back."
"No way...?" I stopped, scared of my own girly voice.
"So here is what you can do," she -- well, he -- continued:
"You can go to mum and dad and tell them the truth. They will have you committed to a psychiatric hospital and I can enjoy your masculine life to the full, or..."
"Or what?" I could feel tears in my eyes and struggled hard not to cry.
"Or you can take up the role of Elisabeth and become the perfect daughter they have always wanted. You are the kind of guy that could make that work. I couldn't."
I was quiet. I tried to say something, but it is my curse that I always think things through, and there was, honestly, nothing I could do about this.
"Here's the good news, brother. I know that you love women and their beautiful bodies.
"Well now you have one, and you can enjoy if from the inside, and the fact that I wasn't able to do so, doesn't mean that you won't. There is a present for you in the upper drawer in my commode. Take a look under my panties."
And then she left the room. Later I found out that she had gone over to my girfriend's dorm and fucked her senseless.
I believe I just sat there for an hour or so, without doing anything at all.
The I grabbed my tits, you know, like I do now and tried to get a feel for them through my silly Snoopy T-shirt.
And I realized that I felt something my sister couldn't. I liked their soft firmness and the way I could squeeze them and play with them.
That is weird, you know, because I was still a male in my head.
At this point I was starting to get pretty excited about the whole thing.
It was like a strange adventure and I lifted up my sweater to get a closer look at them.
I was not wearing a bra at the time and I could look down at two perfectly shaped tits. They are not particularly big. C-cups, actually, but they curve like the heavens and reach perfection in two small, but hard, nipples.
I touched their soft skin and let my hands glide down to my firm belly and up again to the nipples.
They filled with blood and stood up like two obedient soldiers on parade and I started to massage them -- carefully, you know, as they were very sensitive.
I liked the feeling. I could feel shivers go up and down my back. Shivers of the good kind, mind you.
Then I took it all off, my top that is, and I unbuttoned my skirt. I forced myself to slow down, because now I could feel myself getting moist between my legs, which meant that the absence of my dick was getting fairly obvious.
There was no void, though. It was as the spot between my legs was filled with something different. Something magical.
My long hair distracted me, so I paused a little and let my fingers glide through its silky texture. I smelled it. Shampoo, girly shampoo.
Then I let it caress my cheek. Long hair is so unpractical, but --my! -- so utterly feminine.
I liked it.
I grabbed my ass (firm and curvy) and actually licked my leg right below my knee.
I tasted sweet and girly.
I was not scared anymore, and started to believe that the 8-ball had done more than move my mind over to another body.
It had done something to my soul, because I didn't find any of this bad or unnatural.
Instead I felt at home in this body, and found that I looked forward to exploring what it was to be a girl.
Finally I pulled off my panties and looked down at my pussy.
I knew pussies. My girlfriend -- ex-girlfriend -- was not the only girl I had been with, and I knew they came in different shapes and sizes as lips and clits go.
Mine was smooth and shaven. The clit was full of blood and anticipation and when I touched my labia I could feel they were swollen, too.
First I let the palm of my hand rest on my vulva, then i tried to push one finger into my vagina. It felt wet and tight, and it was as if it begged for something more.
At the back of my mind I could feel an image struggling to be free. There were parts of my mind trying to keep it down, but in the end it managed to wriggle itself loose and climb to the surface of my consciousness.
I should have known. It was a phallic image, and for a moment my stomach revolted at the thought of having a penis inside me.
There was no way I was going to have sex with a man, damn it!
But my pussy felt empty and the idea of having something bigger inside me filled me with longing.
I looked around for anything that could fit the bill, and suddenly remembered my sister's talk about the present in the drawer. I opened it, and there, behind the tops and under the colorful panties I found a big, red dildo slash vibrator and a tube of lubricant in an unopened box.
That figured! She wanted to have a cock, and not have one inside her. She had bought this one for me, as some kind of insane initiation gift.
I was quite feverish by now, and my shaking made it hard to open the box. But I wanted it. Oh yes, I wanted it. I didn't know if I needed the jelly, but I put some on anyway,
You know, we like to fool ourselves into believing we are this rational beings in full control of our own lives and our own selves, but we are not really.
Most of the time we are controlled by the animal inside us, its desires and its instincts, and it is just afterwards that we try to rationalize what we have done.
At this moment in time I didn't rationalize anything.
I just accepted the fact that the girl inside me was totally fascinated by the dildo and the phallus it represented and I let my finger circle the top of the gland, slowly and for a long, long time.
Then I let it slide over my stiff right nipple,while I fantasized about how it would feel to have someone thrust such a thing inside me.
For the first time in my life, my sexual fantasy was not about conquering, but about being conquered. It was not about actively taking what you want, but by sharing my body with someone I loved. I wanted to lie back and let someone have me. All of me!
I spread my legs and let the dildo slide down my thigh towards my pussy.
I was feverish now. My skin was glowing and I was breathing faster and faster.
I turned the on by rotating its cap and as it started to hum I slowly slipped it inside my vagina.
I was starting to shake now, and making unintelligible noises with my mouth. I believe I was drooling. I was beside myself, but definitely inside myself, as I started to push the vibrator in and out, in and out.
I could feel an immense wave rise inside me, building up, building up, and it was as it would never end, and when the wave finally broke, it continue to shake my body in one orgasm after the other.
When it finally ended, I just collapsed on the sofa, eyes closed. I tell you, no man has ever experienced anything like this, and why my sister would give it away for a simple male orgasm is beyond me.
I fell asleep that night still sticky with my own pussy juices. I had the mind to hide away the dildo and go to bed. You never now, sometimes my mother forget there is such a thing as privacy.
But I was no longer scared. I knew I could do this. I could be Elisabeth. Heck, I could be so much better at being her than her: I loved this body, I was ahead of her school wise, and I even knew a lot about how to treat boys.
The idea of going out with a man no longer scared me, although it will take quite some time before I go down that road. There is no hurry. Most of her -- that is: my -- classmates believe Elisabeth is a lesbian, anyway.
Given time, I might even manage to become more popular among the girls, although that might be harder. They are a tough bunch, believe me. Boys doesn't even begin to understand what evil is.
My brother is my couch now in every thing girly. He is an excellent football player, but does no longer get as many A's, even if I help him. But he is happy. That is what counts. And so am I.
This one is for Tiffany!
The images of Stacy Couch are from Totally Brunette, on of my favorite sites for capping material.
Click in images to enlarge!
OK, I like the humor in this body swap Internet TV drama.
This was the summer boys never talked about. Since the advent of modern nano-viral technolgy all rich families sent their youngsters to gender summer school, letting them spend one month as their own female counterpart. 
This cap is for Lady Alexia.
Hi there! I know you can see me. Rebecca asked me if she could post my story, and when I heard about her readers, I though, what the heck, these are people that might actually understand my predicament.
Then I let it slide over my stiff right nipple,while I fantasized about how it would feel to have someone thrust such a thing inside me.
Yes, we know these are disturbing pictures, but we believe that their publication is necessary.
Let's go to Ukraina and meet Karyna, one of their best IT and Internet experts. She is brave and independent, doing what she likes best and exploring life to its fullest.
Here is another story for you set in D and Freya's Spell Book universe.
"Baby, you should really join me! The water is fresh and warm, and it has such a sweet taste. My dear wife, come on! Maybe we can play a little, you know?"
- God, this feels so strange. Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?
I am Detective Crane from the NYPD. You tell us that you are not Mary Green?
