Lake Otherlife, Part 4: Searching (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?

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Part 4: Searching

Holly:

I wish I had put my foot down. It was a common feeling when I was Holly, but as Harry, it was even more embarrassing. I was a tall, muscular man in a four-wheel drive jeep, being driven by a busty little Mexican in ill-fitting men’s clothing. Something innate to me, in this new testosterone-filled drive of mine, told me it should be me at the wheel. Yet, as always, I swallowed that little protesting voice and let George take charge. Despite how comical he looked.

“Okay, water?” he asked. Or rather, she asked. Something about her furrowed brow was immensely cute, and I couldn’t deny that this new body of mine found her, and women in general, a lot more attractive.

“Check,” I said, burying that voice once more. “Three jugs plus our water bottles.”

“Food.”

“Check. We could be more prepared on that front, but we’ve got some snacks, protein bars, packed sardines, and some rice.”

“Do we have a rice cooker?”

“Yes. The little portable one.”

“Buena.”

She blushed a little as she fell into Spanish, and I tried not to smile. It was actually a little hot, but I wouldn’t want George to know that. He didn’t want to acknowledge any part of his new identity as Gabriella.

“Backpacks and hiking equipment.”

“Check and check. I picked up our hats at the hotel - you might not like yours though.” I showed him the broad green and white hat that had the words Spicy Latina and Proud! inscribed on the front in bright red. George groaned in displeasure.

“It’ll have to do. So long as I don’t have to wear anything else. What about our chargers? We’re going to be using the map apps a lot if we’re going to find this place.”

“Final check, senorita.”

She - I mean he - looked at me, giving a glare. The ‘spicy latina’ hat would suit the look well, really.

“Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“This is our lives, Holly. We came here to save our relationship, not to change it! I need you to take this more seriously.”

I bit back another comment: Have you considered that we needed to change our relationship in order to save it? It was good too, because he would have interpreted that as in favour of our changes, which I wasn’t. As funny as it was to suddenly be the strong breadwinner while headstrong George became the sexy secretary girlfriend, I was keen on getting my boobs back. And my pussy. And the rest really. Even if it was pretty nice being a lot stronger for once. And having people pay attention to what I was saying. And the confidence in public.

I put my mind away from the positives, and focused on the drive. Soon Darwin was well behind us, and the open country of the outback beckoned us. I looked to George, who was largely silent and focused on the road. Damn, she was good looking. She would have looked perfect riding shotgun while I drove, but at least I could ogle her a little. About an hour into the drive, she noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just admiring how you look right now.”

She scoffed, shifting slightly to the side. I couldn’t help but notice how her rounded ass gave her some nice padding on the seat.

“You don’t need to keep teasing, Holly.”

“I’m not teasing. C’mon, George, you know you look amazing, right?”

“I look like I fell out of a porn magazine.”

I laughed. Wow, even my laugh was deep and manly. If George ever lightened up in that body, I’d be curious to know what her laugh was like.

“George, the only reason you look like that is because you refused to wear the outfits that would actually fit your body. You do realise the ‘woman wearing a man’s clothing’ gives a certain impression, right?”

The former man groaned. “I’m not going to wear women’s clothing, Holly. That would be admitting that this - this - this body is . . .”

“Female?”

“Exactly. I’m a man up here,” he indicated to his very womanly head, “and that’s what matters most.”

“Well, you’re a downright sexy man then, even as a woman.”

A sigh. “Well, I’ll take it, I guess. So long as we can fix it.”

“I hope we can. Especially since you’re not going to like it once we hit the dirt road.”

He looked at me. “Why not?”

“No bra? No fitting clothes? And with those monsters on your chest? Trust me, you’ll find out.”

George:

Holy shit, Holly was not wrong. From the second we hit the gravel road, my enormous boobs began jostling and bouncing, often painfully, on my chest, and they had not stopped since. Every pothole, every bump or rut in the road made them wobble off into a new direction, and several times when I drove over a series of bumps they jiggled so quickly and constantly that I felt utterly ridiculous. I recalled a video I once enjoyed watching, of a busty supermodel in a rally car driving over a rough circuit, and the way her breasts jiggled up and down, forming some downright sexy cleavage as she nearly fell out of her top. The amount of bouncing she was doing nearly had her breasts flying free. Well, my chest must have been a half size again bigger than hers, and I was starting to appreciate why women opted for bras, because not only was it embarrassing, it was starting to hurt by back and shoulders.

“Maldito sea! Damn it to hell!” I whined as another pot hole made them jostle up. The curve of my breasts became more rounded when they rose, and I had no doubt Holly was looking appreciatively at the sight. She seemed to take a perverse pleasure in my unwanted bosom.

“Told you,” she said, grinning like a damn cheshire cat. I tried to ignore her and keep driving, but every few minutes I had to grab the neck of my white shirt and pull it upwards, lest my melons escape.

“Fine, fine, you were right. These things are impossible. I swear I must look like Salma Hayek.”

“Well, you certainly aren’t dressing like her.”

“Nor will I. We’re going to find that lake.”

“I could take over driving for you? You could at least hold them in your hands; it helps many a woman running from the shower to her clothes in the bedroom.”

I shook my head. More than anything, I needed control right now.

“No, it’s . . . well, it’s not fine, but I can manage. Besides, the road is getting better.”

Another pothole hit at that very moment, sending my fatty chest trembling like two great landmasses. None of us spoke as we waited for them to settle again, but I could tell Holly was about to crack up at the timing. I was prepared to be annoyed, but even I had to laugh at the ridiculousness of the moment, and soon the two of us were cracking up laughing.

“Parar! Parar! Stop! You’ll make me run off the road!”

But Holly only laughed louder, in a deep baritone that made me a little jealous. It made my body tingle a little, and I wasn’t sure why.

“Sorry, George, it’s just, those things just about broke into orbit!”

I fell into laughing again, and some tears flowed as well. They fell freely, and I had to wipe them away before Holly saw. I’d never been much of an emotional man, it was easier to bury such things away. I wasn’t going to start being all hormonal now.

“Okay, okay, I’ll - how do you say it? Parer?”

“Parar,” I corrected.

“Parar. Well, I’m glad to see you at least lighten the mood, George. I’d missed hearing you laugh. And it is a lovely laugh you have now.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” I said in my new accent, “because in a few hours we’ll have our bodies back, and you can kiss this big culo of mine that you keep looking at, goodbye!”

Holly:

It was indeed a big culo - a big ass - as George had said several hours ago. We’d reached our destination, and were getting ready to hike out. George was grappling with the fact that he could no longer carry as much as usual, just as I was beginning to realise just how much I could carry. I didn’t want to rub it in, but I was reasonably sure I was stronger than George ever had been as a man.

“Do you remember the way?” I asked.

“Sí,” she said, “that means ‘yes’, by the way.”

I laughed. “I know what sí means, George. I haven’t been living under a rock. But at least I’ve learned some other words of Spanish from you.”

“Well,” she said, taking up her backpack stubbornly - the one that was more fitted for me, while I was more fitted to carry hers, “let’s get going then. I’ll teach you a few more so you can remember them as trivia for when we turn back. I’ll lead the way.”

I was more than happy for her to do so. Even in the male-sized shorts, her ass was quite obviously rounded and, as the kids say, ‘thicc’. The same could be said of her brown thighs. At least she was less likely to get sunburnt.

We began walking on our trail, and I surprised myself with how easy I found it, yet another perk of being male. Even just my 6’1 height made a huge difference; my stride was so much greater compared against George’s diminutive 5’3, and I could tell it embarrassed him/her to have to push on ahead on weaker legs and smaller stride. She was clearly still getting used to walking with those lovely hips of hers; they swayed from side to side quite suggestively, and it was a trial not to say something complimentary. In the end, I went with the cliche:

“George, I’ll say this now that you’re a lovely latina: those hips don’t lie.”

“Oh, shut it!”

She tried, unsuccessfully, for several minutes to maintain a more manly swagger. It just ended up looking comical. It was clearly an effort to sustain, as soon she was back in her sashaying walk, just as I was becoming used to stepping forward in a more manly fashion.

“No putting one foot in front of the other,” George said when he saw me, “a man walks with purpose, and their hips don’t move like that.”

“I guess we’re both learning a little about how the opposite sex moves,” I replied. “I guess I don’t have to walk in a way that reduces the chest wobbles either. You, on the other hand, probably want to, um, ‘bounce’ a little less on your feet. Try to keep your motion more even.”

“Mierda, so much to learn! Thank goodness I won’t have to learn it for long!”

She barged ahead, even as she began to sweat more profusely and chug at her water. At one point, she lifted her water up and spilled some down her white top, once more letting a see-through patch to her startlingly deep cleavage. I decided not to tell her this time, and just look. Damn, I was actually jealous! Yes, they were quite impressively large, but they were perfect on her frame, the kind of curves most girls wish they could have, including me. Mine were nice, at least they were when I was a woman, but they were like conical pimples against her perfectly rounded boobs.

I realised something as we continued walking. I had stopped thinking of my George as a ‘he,’ and started thinking of her instinctively as a ‘she’. Looking at her incredibly womanly form, it was easy to see why. I just hoped I wouldn’t start thinking of her as ‘Gabriella’ instead of George. That would be a much bigger leap, somehow.

George:

Something about Holly’s movements were triggering a strange reaction in this stupid new body of mine. Bad enough that my enormous tetas were bouncing to and fro, and my hips were going crazy, but seeing him - I mean her! - moving so ruggedly and certainly was a far cry from the Holly I was used to, and it was hard not to be jealous. But there were other sensations too; I breathed a little quicker in her presence, and my damn huge nipples would occasionally harden. I couldn’t help but just watch him sometimes, and it made me thirsty for more water.

I pushed away the feelings. It was the heat, and the shock, and the exhaustion of walking in a weak female body like this one. We made our way through the track that first took me to the mysterious lake we now knew as Lake Otherlife. The scrub was thick, and I winced as several branches scratched at my brown legs and lower thighs. It hurt more than usual, or perhaps I just had a lower pain threshold. Weren’t women meant to be better at coping with pain? Of course, that was always a fact brought up in connection to childbirth, and I had absolutely no intention of pursuing my experience as a chica to that degree. An hour more, and we would uncover the lake, and I could say ‘adiós Gabriella’ for good!

Despite the ridiculousness of these breasts and hips and ass and everything, it was truly wonderful to be back in Kakadu. The place really does possess a magical beauty; from the red of the land to the great rock formations, to the beautiful and diverse flora of the region. I could tell that Holly was appreciative too; it was enough to give pause to conversation and even feelings of oddness between us. We reached a beautiful plateau that looked over a large sweeping section of this dry land, and in the midday light it was astonishing, and the wind casting shades of red dust through the air. Holly put her large arm around my rather tiny waist, and we simply stood there, taking it in. I pressed against her, not caring how my boob mashed against her side, or her greater height, or even the way I was very much adopting a classically feminine pose. What mattered was that we felt close in that moment, and that even in those brief seconds, it felt like a small gap between us had been breached.

“This is what I wanted it to be like,” I said, my latina accent making me sound even more wistful than intended.

“I know, George. It is wonderful. And it was a good idea, accidental change not withstanding. But I wish you’d let me plan it with you. I should have had some say.”

I turned to her. Damn, I had to look up to her; embarazosa!

“I thought you liked me to take charge,” I said.

She sighed, and her barrel-like chest expanded against my much softer one. “I do, it’s just that you put the whole world on your shoulders, George. It’s hard to be engaged to a man that has to bottle all his emotions in and never lets even his fiancée in. It’s okay to lean on me sometimes, just like you’re doing now.”

I don’t know if it was her words, or the beauty of the landscape, or these stupid femenina hormones, but that was the moment I began to well up. I couldn’t help myself; my gut lurched, and I pressed further against Holly as more and more tears flowed from my eyes. I sobbed, and it sounded like a woman overcome. It was humiliating, but Holly only held me closer.

“It’s okay George, it’s okay. You can let it out. It’s okay.”

And I did. Madre Dios, I did. It was as if the stress of the day, of keeping our relationship together, or being the man when I was suddenly cast in the role of a woman, all came crashing upon me. The tears continued to flow, even as Holly kept me held tight. I folded against her, and I couldn’t help but savour her warmth and strength, feeling safe and taken care of in those arms.

“I’m s-sorry,” I whimpered, “I d-don’t know wh-why I’m like this.”

“It’s a good thing,” was all she said.

I cried some more, for what felt like several minutes, until finally the sobbing trailed away. I wiped some stray tears.

“God, these boobs even wobble when I’m crying,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. It worked: Holly laughed, letting me out of her arms. But I could tell she was looking at me in a new light, and I wish I knew if it was in a loving way or just a pitying one.

“Sorry about that. Let’s find the lake.”

“Wait,” Holly said, and before I could react those arms were around me again, and her lips pressed firmly on mine. It felt, and I don’t know how to feel about this, absolutely wonderful. Her lips were strong, and mine so full and soft, and yet it felt as full of passion and care as when we first professed our love to one another. As if it were the same night I first proposed, and she accepted with glee. When she pulled away, part of me was disappointed, and once more I felt a tug of something. A want I perhaps did not want to recognise. My nipples were harder, and I quickly tugged at my shirt so she couldn’t see.

“That was . . . nice.”

“I can see that. We need to get you a bra.”

Damn, I’d hoped she hadn’t seen that. “Well, I’m starting to appreciate how much ‘help’ a woman’s body needs.”

“Oh hun, you have no idea my little senorita.”

I scoffed, marching ahead. “Well, that’s the last time you get to call me that, because we’re nearly there. Just a few minutes through the bush and we’re right there.” I hurried my pace, becoming excited at the prospect of turning back. “Soon I can be George again, and you Holly instead of Harry, and we can put this whole loco business behind us, sí? And then we can work on repairing our relationship, just like I intended. And this will be just some weird blip on our radar, and maybe something funny we can laugh at, because just around this corner here we’ll be able to see . . .”

I trailed off at the sight.

“See what, Gab - I mean, George. See what?”

“See . . . see?”

“Yes, I know sí means yes. But what do you see - ess, ess, ee?”

Nothing. I saw nothing. Just a cliff face that was identical to the one that hid away the lake, and a jutting series of rocks identical to those covering the small nested lake on the other side.

Only there was no lake. There wasn’t even a chasm. Just rocks, and scrub, and no water to speak of.

Lake Otherlife, impossibly, had disappeared.

Holly:

George was in a panic, and I wasn’t feeling great either. Usually our roles were reversed; I was the anxious one, he more in control. But something about the confidence of this new form allowed me to be a little more stoic in the face of disaster.

And it was one big disaster. Lake Otherlife had vanished.

We checked the cliff faces, we checked the area where the chasm was supposed to be, we even dug at the dry earth. We investigated the surrounding area, just in case this pattern of cliff was repeated elsewhere, but to no success. There was no other conclusion to make than that the lake had vanished, or somehow moved elsewhere.

George was in tears again, though trying to hide it. She was hurling invectives in long streams of Spanish, her sultry voice having become the very stereotype of a spicy latina screaming her passionate anger to the sky. I only managed to catch a couple of words I recognised. “Chinga tu madre!” was my favourite: ‘Go fuck your mother.’ But in the end she simply collapsed on her knees, overcome with rage and boiling emotion, leaking hot teas. Once more, I comforted her.

“There, there. It’ll be okay, love. We’ll figure this out. I know we will.”

“It has to be here,” she said. “It has to be.”

“We can come back,” I suggested. “Figure out back in Darwin what to do next. But we can’t stay here.”

She shot to her feet, wiping away further tears. She awkwardly adjusted her poorly-fitting shorts as she waved a hand at the surroundings. “No! We can’t leave. Not until we’ve found it. I am not staying in this body! I’m not Mexican. I’m not a woman. I am not Gabriella!”

She stepped up a particularly rocky section, only to immediately overbalance and slip on crumbling rock. She yelped, looking with fear at the rising ground, but my own body moved like lightning, and I caught her easily in my arms. I couldn’t believe how light she felt. I lifted her red-faced back up to her feet.

“George, I know all that. I’m not Harry, remember? But there’s no point cooking out here when we’ve been searching for hours and we’re running low on water. We need to be smart about this, okay? We are getting back in the car right now, and we are going back to our hotel, and we are going to relax for a moment, breathe easy, have a drink, and then figure this out, okay?”

Not in a million years would George have ever given me the expression he was showing now, not if he had remained a man. It was something approaching deference.

“Fine,” she said, placing her arms beneath her impressive breasts, not realising the display she was putting on. Jeez, those hooters were huge. They were literally the only thing stretching the otherwise large shirt.

“Really? Fine.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You make a good point. We’ll come back tomorrow. Or do some searching. But I am not giving up.”

“Neither am I.”

George moved to the driver’s seat, but I snatched the keys from her. She looked utterly aghast.

“My turn to drive, honey.”

She placed her hands on her hips, utterly unaware again how sexy she looked. “I always drive.”

“Well, you said you wanted our relationship to improve, he’s one way; letting me drive for once.”

I got in the driver’s seat, and after a moment’s shock, she got up in the passenger’s.

“You never used to be this assertive. Must be all that testosterone.”

“Blame the testosterone if you want, honey, but I meant what I said. It’s okay to not always be in control.”

I gave her a little wink, then put the jeep into gear and took off.

It was a long drive back, and it was largely in silence. My stomach rumbled; I was not used to needing so much food. By the end of the trip Gabriella - I mean, George - was hungry too. We grabbed some takeaway as we were heading back to the hotel: we still had a couple of days with the car, at least. But before we made it all the way back, George finally spoke.

“I need a drink.”

“There’s water in the back.”

“No, Holly. I want a real drink. I want to get absolutely sloshed so I can forget about being a chica for tonight.”

I nodded. “To the bottle-o it is. I’ll grab something too, I think. It’s been a long day. Why don’t we get ourselves a good wine, huh?”

“Get two.”

I smirked, contemplating exactly what a very drunk Gabriella would get up too. Or indeed, a very drunk Harry. The thought of unwinding after such a strange and frankly terrifying day was quite appealing.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go get shit-faced.”

I just hoped we wouldn’t regret it. Too much, at least.

To Be Continued . . . sexily . . .