Lake Otherlife, Part 3 (Patreon)

A visit to a mysterious outback lake results in a big change for George and Holly, who are already undergoing relationship troubles of their own. Now, with their genders and lives utterly altered, will their romance last?

Previous Part 

George:

When I woke, it was to the sight of two large, soft female mounds sitting heavily upon my chest, blocking my view. I was on my back, and their weight was palpable upon me. Each breast pulled to either side chest, and unencumbered by a bra they succumbed to gravity’s pull, spilling ‘over the side’ like tubs of jelly. I was still brown. I was still a woman. I was still Gabriella González, and my gorgeous girlfriend, the woman I was set to marry before relationship problems steered our way, was still Harry O’Neill. Fuck.

“Feeling better?”

I grasped my head. “N-no, not really. I feel estúpida. Collapsing like a . . . like a woman.”

Harry - I mean Holly - frowned, but otherwise said nothing. I sat up with her help, and my large breasts shifted again with gravity, now hanging off me. Damn, they were large. At least they were pert.

“I still have these stupid things,” I muttered.

“I don’t know,” she replied, “they look rather nice from here.”

I shot her a look. “At least you still have your sense of humour.”

“And you still have your bullheadedness. Are you sure you don’t want to wear a bra?”

I looked down at my massive mammaries. It would certainly help but . . . no, it would be conceding defeat. I shook my head. “I’ve made up my mind. Why am I topless again?”

Harry - Holly, dammit! - blushed. “I thought perhaps you had overheated.”

“In a white shirt.”

“I was panicking. My fiancé is suddenly a gorgeous Mexican woman with stripper tits and a sexy accent.”

“¡Mierde! Don’t remind me. We need to get moving.”

“Breakfast first, honey. And you just fainted.”

I batted away her larger arm, and was surprised at the resistance of it. This female body was a lot weaker!

“I can have breakfast later. I need to get back to that lake. It has to be what changed us, and so it has the power to change us back.”

Holly looked sceptical, but after a moment’s thought, she nodded.

“At least let me get some snacks. It’s a long trip, and we’ll need water.”

It made sense, so I agreed. “Estoy de acuerdo.”

“I assume that means ‘yes’, dear. We’ll also have to hope that everyone recognises us in our new lives, or renting another four wheel drive will be difficult. I mean, I guess I could drive . . .”

I held up my hand. Damn, it was so slender. “I can still drive, honey. Don’t worry. Even if this huge ass of mine needs a pillow under it.”

Holly chuckled. “I’m sorry George, but looking from here, your ass probably is the pillow.”

“Oh haha.”

Harry stood up, and again I was reminded how tall she was now. Or, conversely, how short I had become. It was, in a word, humiliating, and for some reason I got the distinct sense that as traumatising as this was, Holly was in a small way enjoying it. Well, I wouldn’t let that get to me. She must have sensed my irritation, because she placed a masculine hand against my cheek. I could feel my developed cheekbones against it.

“Honey . . . you know it’s okay to talk about this. This isn’t usual.”

For just a moment, I felt an overwhelming urge to cry. Just cry. Let it out, vent it all, and hold my partner close. It was an impulse I’d had before, several times in fact, but for the first time ever, I came very close to breaking. I could feel tears threatening to form in my eyes.

I pushed the feelings away.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said. “We need to get to this Lake Otherlife, and get our other lives back.”

Holly looked like she was going to say something, but then just nodded, sadly. I moved to ready our things, my seriously-big culo - dammit, I mean my ass! - wobbling in time with my movements, which I couldn’t help but swing my hips with. This body had a hundred ways to humiliate a guy.

I had organised this trip to save our relationship. It had taken a wild turn, but I was still intent upon doing it.

Holly:

George looked ridiculous. At least I had adapted - I had always been the adaptable one in the relationship. I was a man now, which meant I was wearing male briefs to contain that monster between my legs, a set of male hiking briefs, and a large-sized shirt to cover my impressively muscular upper half. He, on the other hand, was a gorgeous, busty model of a woman, and he was wearing a loose white shirt and set of male shorts held up by an overly-tight belt and bits of hope. His tits wobbled as we moved to the car, catching the eye of half the male population, and I could tell he was utterly red-faced and embarrassed by it. At one point, George yelled at a man “Pervertido!” which I had to imagine meant exactly what it sounded like.

Ironically, the way he cupped his breasts underneath his shirt just to stop them bouncing so aggressively was giving far more of a show to the boys than any bra would have. It didn’t help either that with the lack of bra, his prominent nipples showed through the fabric.

“A white shirt,” I commented, as we moved to find a place in the banquet area of the hotel ground floor, “you really know nothing about being a woman, do you?”

He looked at me quizzically, and what a damn perfect face he had. Full slips, high cheekbones, big emerald eyes. Somehow cute, adorable, pretty, and downright sexy at once. God, he was going to be a deer in headlights once we got out into town. In the meantime he simply looked down at his shirt.
“What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, chica,” I said, unable to help myself from the comedy of it all, “it’s set to rain in Darwin today.”

“And? What has that got to do with anything?”

I just shook my head. “Oh, nevermind. What shall we have for breakfast, do you want me to grab you something?”

“How are you so okay with this? It’s humiliating!”

I shrugged. “I’m not. I’m terrified. But dear, I’m also hungry. This male body; I can see now why you used to eat so much.”

She - my fiancé - slouched in his seat, and simply nodded assent at my proposal. “Órale, just get me my usual. A few sausages, bacon and two eggs, and some of that tomato and lettuce I like.”

I raised an eyebrow as I stood. No, I loomed now. She was tiny in my presence. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Thank you, honey.”

I went to get the food, and already my nature as a man became evident. Several women looked appreciatively at me as I passed, and at least one man seemed to size me up and down with his eyes. I was certainly tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular. My usual threat detection, my woman’s way of keeping safe from potentially dangerous men, was being thrown off by the fact that all of them were now smaller or weaker than me. It was oddly empowering.

I reached the banquet and directed the woman behind the racks of food to the items I wanted for the plates.

“That’s so romantic of you,” she said with a smile, as she served out the food. “My boyfriend never offers to get me food.”

I chuckled. “Oh, honey, that’s too bad. I get the other end: My boyfriend always has to be the man and grab our food for himself, despite the fact that I’m capable of getting it myself!”

She gave me an odd look until I realised what a stupid social faux pas I’d just made. “Uh, I mean that’s what my fiancée, Gabriella, always complains about.”

The server nodded with renewed understanding. “Well, she doesn’t know how lucky she has it! Especially with such a good-looking man at her side!”

I thanked her and returned with the food, and only realised as I was making my way back that the server was probably flirting with me. Huh. It felt complimentary, instead of the predatory comments I often receive from men.

My feminised fiancé was still slouched, looking miserable and defiant. I sat the veritable pile of food in front of ‘him’, and began at my own. We largely at in silence.

“Looks like we’re not too out of place,” I remarked, as found myself astonished at my own appetite, “it seems that to the wider world, we really are Harry and Gabriella now.”

“Great, just great,” she said in that honeyed accent. “I know neither of us have family, but won’t our friends be surprised? Horrified?”

I showed him my phone, with its long stream of images depicting Harry and Gabriella on various dates; dates we both remembered, but were now totally different. In one, I as Harry was dipping my new fiancée back as I kissed her deeply, her soft arm around my back and chest squashed up against me. We were at the aquarium, surrounded by beautiful fish native to the Great Barrier Reef. It was a beautiful photo, except that image should have had our positions reversed.

“No way,” she said, as she struggled with some hash browns. “no es posible!”

“And look, there’s more.”

I showed more images I had looked over while my husband had his little fainting incident. One of us on a walk, him clad in white and gold sundress. Another photo, this one with us on a rollercoaster from our trip to Dreamworld. It was the classic shot of us screaming as we fell on the Giant Drop, except that a very amply endowed woman was in George’s place, and the hundred-metre accelerated drop meant she was the absolute verge of coming out of her top; her cleavage was almost hitting her own chin! And there I was, as Harry, looking appreciatively at the sight even as I fell.

“I’m screaming in the photo,” she said. “I don’t scream on rides. I never scream.”

I put a hand over hers. “It’s not you, honey. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

She nodded, certain of herself. Even changed into a hispanic woman, George could keep himself collected. Or, more accurately, would keep up the image of being collected.

“Show us some more,” he said.

I did, and the history spanned right back. Our social media profiles were similar, until we learned of the point of divergence from some of the stories that Gabriella had posted. Turns out, she was adopted at the age of twelve by a lovely Australian couple who couldn’t conceive, both of whom raised her with love and care, until they both passed away when she was in her late teens. I felt my fiancé’s hand tense; take out the adoption, and the story wasn’t too different. He was a foster kid, and didn’t have a wonderful experience for a few years afterwards.

“Hey, it’s okay. You still had Irene and Herb as your folks.”

She wiped at an eye. “Yeah. That’s good at least. Sorry, these fucking onions.”

I wasn’t aware she had any on her plate. I scrolled further. It seems the points of divergence weren’t immense, but were still present; Gabriella had gone to her leaver’s dinner in a gorgeous red dress, and by that point in time her bust had grown, making her very popular with the boys. George was utterly humiliated to learn that in this new timeline, Gabriella had dated quite a few men, and was more than happy to show off her body in nice fitting bikinis and dresses.

“No wonder there were so many in that damned suitcase,” he muttered. “Damn, for some reason I can’t even finish half my plate. It’s like my stomach is already full.”

“Your stomach already is full, ‘Gabriella’. You’re not a man at the moment, you’re a petite thing. I on the other hand.”

I reached out a fork and took some bacon and eggs. My partner crossed him arms and pouted, unaware how cute it made him look. I felt the penis - my penis, I supposed - between my legs stiffen a little in response to him. Yeah, this body definitely was at least a little straight now.

I’d have to be careful with that.

George:

It was mortifying. Utterly mortifying. I was trapped in this busty body with its big boobs, and half of the guys in the cafeteria staring at me, and to make matters worse my entire history had been rewritten. I was Gabriella González, and apparently had been all my life. I was simply relieved that my foster parents were the same. But that shot of me in the aquarium, to see one of my most romantic gestures flipped around on to me, it was emasculating.

We got up together to pay the morning breakfast bill, and I was shocked when the server smiled at us both but only talked to my fiancée. She seemed just as taken aback, and when we walked away I was even more aware of the presence she now commanded compared to my own.

I was determined to fix that: as we entered the streets of Darwin, I hurried my pace to stay ahead of her, keeping my head high and proud. The moment of confidence was immediately shattered when she gave a manly chuckle.

“I’m sorry George, but you look ridiculous.”

I turned, feeling the slight jiggle of those ridiculous breasts. “What? I’m taking charge.”

“You look constipated, that’s what.”

I screwed up my face. “I’m walking like I normally do.”

“No,” she said, sighing down at me, “you’re trying to force yourself to walk like you normally do. You need to realise your new gait is different, and learn how to walk naturally. You can’t strut like a man; you’re just sticking your boobs out and moving your legs like Roadrunner - you don’t honestly think you can keep that pace up, do you?”

It was true, these legs were long - but only compared to my small body. I was over a foot shorter, and I felt it.

“Well, you’re one to talk,” I said, “if I look constipated, you look as if you’re about to fall over at any moment. What is all this mincing about?”

The handsome - I mean, strong man that had been my fiancée looked over herself. “What am I doing wrong?”

“You’re twisting your hips and keep moving side to side. What’s up with that?”

“Well, normally I have to move for everyone! And I’m used to having wide hips, thank you very much!”

“And you’re also putting one foot in front of the other!”

“And you’re not!”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m a man, and you’re a woman now, George. Don’t throw sticks in glass houses!”

I quieted down, took a breath. Once again that urge to cry, to just vent it all, emerged. But once more I successfully pushed it down. I had to be strong, and figure this out.

“We’ll figure out this walking thing later, when we’re back in our bodies. For now, we keep things as normal, and work towards getting a rental jeep again. I’ll take charge.”

“Of course you will.”

I ploughed ahead, not heeding that last comment, though it hurt. We were both getting snipey, and we were meant to be repairing our relationship. But we couldn’t save it while we had these other lives.

As we moved through the streets of Darwin, something about the small city felt different, somehow. Darker clouds were beginning to pool over the city, and some mid-range showers were expected soon. We’d get a little drenched, but no worries otherwise. But something else was strange. It took me a while to realise it was the people: they weren’t moving for me. The men, specifically. Normally, I could walk in a straight line through any bustle, but now I was having to dodge and weave or else crash into these much larger individuals.

In addition to this, I was also receiving stares from many of them. I knew those kinds of stares. I’d given those kinds of stares, when I’d seen a particularly well-figured woman walking down the street. But being on the receiving end was another matter entirely. It made me all the more aware of the constant heavy jiggle of my enormes pechos. My huge boobs. Not to mention the sway of this ridiculous new ass of mine. I swear, it didn’t matter which way I faced, I was putting on a show either way.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, it started to rain.

Holly:

Just when I thought things couldn’t get funnier for my poor fiancé, it started to rain. We didn’t have far to walk until we got to Joe’s Rentals, but we were most certainly going to get a little wet. Darwin may be known for its dry heat, but it could have some impressive rain seasons. And as our clothed became damp from the falling rain, the white material of the oversized men’s shirt George was wearing began to stick to his skin. Around two prominent points in particular. He was about to have a fine lesson in why women avoid wearing thin white material on rainy days.

“Oh. Oh shit. Mierda!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. The material was nearly transparent from the rain, and she was, as they say, ‘beaming her headlights’. George’s nipples were dark and proud, and clearly showing through his top. Moreover, the wet shirt clung to his large orbs, revealing their perfect teardrop shape and even resulting in a slight dip, a tantalising tease of her cleavage. She looked at me with horror.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

I shrugged. “I did. I told you not to wear a white shirt, George. But as usual you had to barge ahead and make your own decision, not caring about what I suggested.”

He fumed in response, and I had to admit to myself, it was not natural to me to make such a response. Previously, I would have apologised profusely, or not even let him hang out to dry - er, wet - like I did. But being a strong man with testosterone flooding through his system had made me somewhat bolder, and it was easier to push back now.

“I - I look ridiculous!” she said, her accent becoming sharper.

“You look pretty good to me.”

Even in the rain, even with her gorgeous dark olive skin, I could see his cheeks flush a little. “You don’t have to say such things, Holly.”

“What? It’s not ridiculous to say. I’m sorry George, but you’re a hot little chica with a set of big tatas, and you can’t deny it.”

“And you’re a man now Holly, so you’re in the same boat as I am.”

I grabbed the bridge of my nose in frustration. “I don’t like this any more than you, George, but at least I’m trying to adapt while we sort this out. You’re right, you do look ridiculous. You’re swaggering about like a man, even though you’re a buxom little hispanic woman. You’re only attracting more attention; don’t you think a bra would have been good right now?”

My fiancé looked down at his wet shirt, even as a group of young teenagers walked past, obviously staring at her overdeveloped chest. Her nipples were incredibly obvious against the thin material.  “Maybe you’re right.”

It made me smile, despite myself. George was a good man, and I loved him, but God it bothered me how stubborn he could be. I was even worse, being anxious all the time. But something about becoming male dimmed that anxiousness a little. Perhaps it was simply being able to say the things I’d always wanted to say.

It put a new stride in my step.

George:

Holly was striding ahead, and I had to get her to slow down more than once. She was simply too tall now, and I had to race to keep up with her. It didn’t help that I was still not used to walking like a woman; I kept alternating between trying the same manly swagger, and walking in a more feminine fashion that left my hips rocking. The latter was something I was intent on avoiding. It made me feel bad for the number of times I’d pushed ahead while in town and expected her to keep up with me. If nothing else, once we were in our own bodies again, we’d understand each other a little more.

After a few more blocks, during which I was subjected to some serious stares from men and women alike, we made it to Joe’s Rentals. We stepped in, wet but not incredibly so, and Holly was good enough to lend me her jacket so I could cover up these ridiculous cow tits. They were seriously huge. Just enorme. The interior was just as I remembered it when booking out the car. It was only yesterday that had happened, but now it was a lifetime and another gender away.

“Hello,” I said, approaching the counter, where a man with a name badge labelling him as ‘Roger’ stood at the counter.  I gave an easy smile; it was the same bloke as yesterday, so that made it easier. “We’d like to rent a jeep; we’re going through Kakadu National Park.”

“Wonderful,” he said, turning to Holly, “what kind of vehicle are you after? I will warn you that with the rain there’s a chance that the park is less ideal right now, but it should clear by the time you get there.”

I folded my arms, trying not to jostle my breasts. The breasts. They were not mine. This ‘Roger’ had acknowledged me with an easy smile, but was continually defaulting to talk with my wife. It was infuriating! At several points during the hiring process, I managed to get his attention, but it was like the damned fool was hardwired to listen to Holly first. The only benefit to being the largely ignored outsider was that I learned several important things:

1. We had apparently returned a rental jeep the day before, so in this new timeline our actions yesterday had largely been the same.
2. Our names were confirmed in the system, and Roger even stated that he ‘remembered us’; his eyes flitted to me as he said it, and I could tell what he was thinking.
3. Our funds were bigger than expected, though not fathomless. It was a bit of a bruise to learn that in this new life, Holly’s real estate investing was making her more money than I ever did. I was a fucking secretary in this life!

The transaction finished, and Roger went to hand the keys to Holly. I snatched them from his hand.

“Next time, treat your clients equally!” I snapped, and walked away. I knew I was giving him a show; this ridiculous ass still stretched the material of my trousers, but it was as close to a victory as I could get. I heard Holly laugh it off and catch up to me; a little too quickly for my tastes. Damn those legs of hers.

“That was a little rude,” she said.

“He was ignoring me in favour of you.”

“Wow,” Holly said, folding her large arms and smirking. “That must be real hard for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, George, that up until now everyone always ignores me in favour of you. You have presence! Now, your presence is a little different, and I can’t tell you how nice it felt that I actually got a say in that conversation.”

I sighed, trying to ignore the wobble of my boobs. The boobs. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair, dear. I didn’t realise. I should have.”

“Well, at least one thing is going right, George.”

We reached the car, and I unlocked it. “Yeah, what’s that?”

My fiancé looked down at me, grinning sheepishly. “We’re learning to understand each other a lot more.”

I rolled my eyes and got in the car. For a few moments I had to fuss over the seat due to my reduced stature, and the seatbelt was a nightmare; it ended up crossing into the cleavage of my boobs, making them even more prominent. Worse, they were quite sensitive, making me ‘blare the headlights’ as Holly joked, even more.

“Are you ready?” she said, once I’d fixed myself up.

“Yep,” she replied. She had also struggled with the seat, for the opposite reasons. She needed more leg room. “Let’s get going before this stupid piece of meat between my legs sticks up again for no reason.”

That did lift my mood. I chuckled.

“They tend to do that. And frankly, I’d like to put up with that nuisance once again. Let’s go get our bodies back.”

I started the car, and we left the lot, heading out into the rain in search of our previous lives.

To Be Continued . . .