Lake Otherlife, Part 8: Home, Sweet Home (Patreon)

The next chapter is here! I have an end-game for this now. This story ended up being longer than expected as I had fun indulging in some of their changes, but I think it will be finished in the next 3-4 parts, and maybe an epilogue at some point.

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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Lake Otherlife, Part 8: Home, Sweet Home

Holly:

The flight home was certainly an ordeal. I think we were still grappling with the fact that we were actually stuck like this. Gabriella took it especially hard; he was a little tipsy on the first flight, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his movements were making a group of younger men practically salivate in his direction, like dogs after a steak. It wasn’t her fault, really. We had both agreed we would try to dress as our new selves for the trip, so as not to arouse any suspicion. For me, that meant a polo top and jeans. For Gabriella, it meant heels and a light flowery dress. She had told me she was “up to it.” I should have realised she was putting on a brave face; it was still only a few days after the revelation that we would be like this for a year.

“I’m all bueno,” she said, and it was such a cute statement coming from her full lips that I took it for granted. It was only later, seated on the plane, her still a little tipsy from the drink and clearly agitated, that she revealed how she was actually feeling.

“No bueno,” she mumbled, looking at me with half-lidded eyelids. “I can’t believe I’m wearing this ridiculous dress. I look like a hooker.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. She most certainly did not look like a hooker; she simply looked like a gorgeous olive-skinned woman in a beautiful summer dress, one she filled quite finely. I told her as much.

“You look fine, Gabriella.” She winced at me calling her by her new name. “Seriously, you look like any other woman, only . . . more so.”

The ‘golden globes’ were peaking a little out of her dress, showing a sneak preview of her fantastic cleavage. But truthfully, it would be almost impossible not to; she would have to wear a woollen sweater just to avoid it, and even then their generous profile would be evident to all.

“Gracias for the reminder,” she said, voice oozing acid.

“Well, I mean it,” I said, taking another sip of the wine I had ordered; I had pointedly told her not to have any more, and I couldn’t believe I was able to achieve such dominance that she went along with it.

“Well, if I don’t look ridiculous, I certainly feel it.”

I grew frustrated. “Well, how come you didn’t say so before we got on the flight? You can’t change now!”

She crossed her arms, pouting up at me. I bet that was quite the perspective change for her. “Why didn’t you sense that I was angry? I was hoping you would notice!”

I laughed. Loudly. Several other passengers looked our way, and I mouthed a few silent apologies before turning back to my fiancée. She was trying not to blush.

“What was that la risa about, hmm?”

I chuckled lightly again. I was actually struggling to breathe, I was still laughing so hard, albeit more silently. “Sorry honey, it’s just - well, you’re taking to womanhood quicker than I expected, and I guess I’m taking to being a man now without realising.”

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. Clearly, Gabriella had been practicising her makeup.

“How do you figure?”

“Well, think about that old cliche. The woman is frustrated because she doesn’t communicate her feelings and wishes her man would be more sensitive. And the man doesn’t notice because he wishes his woman was more blunt. Sounds familiar? We’ve switched roles without even realising it.”

“Merde, that’s not it.”

“Oh really, how else do you explain it?”

But my former manly man of a partner simply put her headphones in and began watching a foreign film. It looked Spanish. I couldn’t help but smirk when I realised she hadn’t even considered putting subtitles on.

George:

I tried not to stew on what Holly had said to me. Harry, I suppose. We were stuck in our forms for a whole year, so we had agreed to use our ‘new’ names as often as we could, so as not to break ‘character.’

Character. Like I was meant to exist as some spicy latina stereotype. Holly - Harry - called me it once or twice as a joke and I told her/him where she/he could stuff that particular comment. Besides, I was not ‘spicy.’ I was angry, and there was a goddamn maldito difference, thank you very much. Just because I’d been stuck with a sexy body with oversized boobs didn’t mean that I was trying to deliberately show them off.

Mind you, when we landed back in Sydney, that’s exactly what I felt I was doing. I could feel mens’ eyes crawling all over me. I asked Harry if it was just the airport or if women feel like that in public spaces all the time.

“Oh, Gabriella, it’s an ‘all the time’ thing,” he replied, smiling sympathetically. “And I’m sorry to say that because you’re beautiful, you’ll get it as bad as I did. Probably even worse.”

He gave that same slightly jealous look as he gazed over my form. I’d seen it before; he wouldn’t say it often, but it was clear my former female partner was a little frustrated that my new body was more . . . curved, than hers had ever been. I wished it wasn’t the case.

“Dios mio, I have a new respect for you,” I replied. “And for women. How does anyone put up with this.” I pushed past a tall white man who was staring intently at my tits.

“We learn to live with it. To be careful and cautious, and to rely on each other. Who knows Gabriella, in a year you might have your own sisterhood to help you out.”

“I doubt it,” I said as we finally exited the airport and hailed a taxi. “I’m hopeless at this. Even walking in heels is weird; it comes naturally to me sometimes, and other times I fall straight on my culo.

“Well, it is a damn fine culo.”

“Eyes ahead, big boy.”

“Did you just call me -”

“Cállate. Quiet!”

But I could feel Harry’s eyes on my ass. Dios, it felt big, and I couldn’t help but shake it a little from side to side as I walked. But more than that, I couldn’t help but feel strangely excited to know he was staring at it, and that made me feel all sorts of strange.

***

Home had not changed significantly on the outside, but I was deathly afraid of what was inside. I won’t lie; I was nervous as to how much of my life had changed within. What new photos would be there? What new evidence of Gabriella’s life, a life I had never truly known? I was a secretary now, apparently. How much would I be reminded of that fact? And conversely, what about Harry? He managed real estate now, and apparently we were better off. The male pride that still burned within my core desperately wanted not to acknowledge that. I knew it was wrong, but the notion of being provided for, of no longer being the breadwinner, was yet another burden on my ego. Harry hadn’t been wrong; I was weighed down by the need to take charge and be the strong one. But recognising that flaw and actually dealing with it were two different things, especially when suddenly you’re a woman and make less than half of what your male fiance does.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked. He placed a hand on my bare shoulder. I felt like pulling away, but it made me feel comforted.

“Si,” I replied. That urge to take charge remained, and I didn’t care at that moment if it was something that needed examining, or restraining. I needed to take the first step. I took the key and opened our door, and entered through the hallway.

My heart beat with anticipation, and it was right to do so; everything had changed. The carpet was no longer a minimalist black rollout on the floor, it had warped to become a long-haired red and black and white pattern of intricate swirls. The lights were no longer just lights, they were practically chandeliers! Gaudy fabric coverings in bright colours dominated the lights of the central room as well, but these were only the small changes. The couches were red and plush, covered in throw-on pillows. The previously beige blinds were now similarly red curtains, with yellow spiralling patterns upon them. The kitchen looked like it was from another world; the racks all neatly organised, new shelves installed just to contain the many spices and ingredients. Cookbooks devoted entirely to Spanish and Mexican cuisine lined another nearby shelf, and we apparently possessed a much larger fridge just to cope with all the excess demand. The living room television was far larger, and apparently we had amassed quite the foreign film collection in the cabinet beside it. Numerous paintings of desert landscapes and verdant coasts were situated on the walls; evidently, my ‘alter ego’ was quite the colourful interior decorator.

“I hate it,” I declared, at the same time as Harry said, “I love it!”

We exchanged a look, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’ve got good taste!” he said, putting down the bags. “Thanks for helping by the way.”

A light flush crept into my cheeks. I hadn’t even realised I’d let him take the bags.

“Well, you were just showing courtesy to a nice senorita,” I replied, trying to make humour of it. It got a light chuckle from him. “Seriously, it’s a bit . . . much, don’t you think?”

He just shrugged. “I was thinking of redecorating, but you were never a fan. Besides, apparently I liked Gabriella’s skill. And her looks.”

He gestured to one of the many, many framed images around the house, containing either or both of us and our families. My ample form certainly drew the eye, be it in a cute summer dress, a delicate winter coat, an elaborate Spanish ballroom dress, or, as was the case in several images, a delightful bikini that my bronze breasts were practically spilling out of. If the woman in the pictures wasn’t somehow me I would have been in love.

“Yes, very nice,” Harry said.

I snorted.  “One week as a man and you’re already a pervert.”

“Well, what can I say? We’re both straight now, sort of. And you certainly do fill a lot of these outfits.”

“I am deeply aware of how big these ridiculous boobs are.”

“Fine, we won’t talk about your spectacular body in that bikini. But we can talk about how Gabriella has done the house up.”

I huffed at that. “Well, don’t expect me to maintain it.”

“Oh, I’d never imagine it, George. You? Helping keep the house maintenance?”

I put my hands on my hips. “I put the bins out on Tuesday! I always mowed the lawn, didn’t I?”

“Both of those jobs only need doing occasionally! I was the one scrubbing the toilets, washing the dishes, cleaning the windows, fixing the bed, doing the laundy, making sure that -”

“Beuno, beuno, I get it! Well, at least neither of us have to do the dishes again.”

I gestured at the shiny new dishwasher we’d apparently acquired.

“Well,” Harry said, “I’ll be. Looks like ‘Harry’ is better at meeting his wife’s needs and providing some much needed rest time when it comes to cleaning dishes.”

It was meant as a joke, but there was an acidity to it, a slight bitterness that somehow hit me in my core. Before I knew it, there was a little knot in my stomach, and tears were brimming in my eyes. Harry realised instantly, but already hot tears were leaking down my cheeks, forcing me to wipe them.

“Oh honey, honey! I’m so, so sorry. That was cruel of me. This is all crazy, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it.”

I choked back a sob against his firm, masculine chest. His strength made me envious, but even more than that, I was comforted by it. It made me feel safe.

“No, no, it’s true,” I replied. “We had the money, but I never let you get it. I feel like - like I was an awful boyfriend to you!”

Holly:

I didn’t know what to say. It was the most direct admission of George’s flaws as a boyfriend and fiancé he - or rather she now - had ever given. Even contained within her smaller, beautiful little body as she was now, it was still like watching the Berlin Wall crumble. Something I’d always hoped to see on some level, but never expected to actually see. I held her against me, and the sobs wracked her body further. Warm tears ran down her cheeks onto my chest, and it occurred to me that I had been here before on the other side of this exact situation; I was the one sobbing once, and George had been the one holding me. For all that our relationship had issues, for all his bullheadedness and alpha male macho-ness, and his incessant need to take charge and hold his emotions in and never let them out all to his bloody detriment, for all that . . . he had always comforted me when I had my panic attacks. He had always held me as long as I needed when I felt flooded and overwhelmed by emotion, be it because of my period, or work, or simply because I was having a bad week.

I held Gabriella with that same love now, and slowly her breathing eased, and she wiped away the tears.

“Perdón. S-sorry,” she said, “don’t know what came over me.”

“Happens to all of us, love,” I said, still holding her.

“Not to me.”

“Yes, even to you Gabbie! You’re not an island. You’re made of steel. It’s okay to cry. Hell, you might even find it’s okay to let a bit of emotion in from time to time over the next year.”

She gave a soft chuckle. “I hope not. That felt like a lot. Dios, I have so many hormones running through me.”

“No more than I do, Gabbie. You think I don’t feel strange with all this damn testosterone? That man who bumped into me and gave me a dirty look at the airport? I was preparing to fight him, for God’s sake! Neither of us are used to this yet, so there’s going to be some teething issues.”

She nodded, wiping away the last of her tears. Even a little red from sobbing, she looked gorgeous. I let her know by leaning down a little to kiss her deeply. She returned it; it was an exchange we were getting more used to, now that we had been in our new bodies over a week. Our lips parted, and she stepped back from me, more collected.

“Feel better?” I asked.

“Si. Much better, actually.”

“That’s because you vented, darling. It’s a female thing, for the most part.”

She laughed. “I guess this explains why you always got annoyed when I proposed solutions to everything instead of just listening to you.”

“Exactly!” I exclaimed. “See? Solutions can come later. Sometimes it just feels good to have your feelings validated.”

She bit her lip, cocking her head slightly as if tasting the notion, sampling it. “I suppose . . . it’s not entirely bad.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve made some progress.”

“Just like you’ve made progress with your confidence?”

That struck me. “What do you mean?”

She placed her hands on her impressive hips and gave me a knowing look. “I mean that you obviously feel much more comfortable as a man, sometimes! It has me worried. But, at the same time, you seem to be less anxious. It’s like we’re switching roles.”

I stepped forward and placed both hands on her soft shoulders, staring deep into her large eyes. “Not switching,” I said, “just sampling each other’s experiences, a little.”

“And other cultures,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I have to constantly think in English in order to say it. It’s frustrating!”

“Well, think of it as a multicultural experience as well, Gabbie.”

She grunted in a noncommittal fashion. “Thank you though. I don’t want to do that all the time, but I do feel . . . better.”

“I’m glad.”

“But honey, one thing?”

“Yes?”

She glared in a joking manner. “Don’t call me Gabbie, si?”

George:

The next week was difficult, but we slowly got into a rhythm. After my embarrassing sobfest, it was like Harry saw me in a different light, but not the one I thought he would. I wasn’t some weak, emasculated flower, but someone with feelings and frustrations and concerns, and I soon found that voicing those concerns and being honest with how they made me feel allowed us both to tackle them more effectively. From which photos we wanted to stay up (no bikini ones, thank you!), to how we would organise dinner (I was willing to try a few Spanish dishes), to how we could work together to fit into our new roles (which did in fact include focusing more on the housework, which I now saw was much more work than I had assumed), being able to simply vent at times made the whole process so much more manageable.

The only subject I found that I couldn’t vent on very effectively to Harry about, unfortunately, was my body, which was indeed a source of frustration. Every time I complained about my big heavy boobs or ridiculous backside, or how most of my new clothes felt a little too snug around the hips, Harry would go a little red and hunch over awkwardly. I didn’t tell him that guys, even former guys, can always tell when one of their own is trying to hide a stiffy. I didn’t exactly blame him; he came out of the shower naked more than once before I requested he take his clothes in with him; the sight of those . . . appreciable back muscles did things to me, and with nipples like mine, it was hard not to show off the ‘headlights’, as it were. Occasionally my mind flashed back to that drunken night, and my new sex became heated and damp when I remembered the way his large penis had thrust so deeply into me. It had been such an alien feeling, and yet so unfathomably wonderful.

I won’t lie: I found myself pleasuring this body in the shower, in the bath, on the couch late at night when Harry had gone to bed. I had the misfortune of landing in the body of a woman who was deeply, deeply horny, and I soon found myself indulging in those needs sometimes twice daily. I suppose I at least had the good fortune of also landing in a body that orgasmed like fucking crazy. Seriously, the one thing I would most certainly miss when I finally got my body back in fifty weeks time would be the intensity of multiple orgasms. They were incredible. The simple feeling of slipping my fingers into my feminine opening, of finding my throbbing clit, and slowly rubbing at it, building the bliss, allowing myself to become hot and heavy. My tits too; as cumbersome as they were, their incredibly sensitivity sent me even further over the edge. I found myself pinching and teasing at my large brown nipples, caressing my areola, and even squeezing and groping the flesh entirely. They were so damn soft and sensitive that it made me briefly joyful to have such large, rounded boobs; they were so fun to play with!

It was only after I had to huff into a pillow to hide my ‘pillow scream’ that I realised what I had been doing, and shamefully got dress again and covered myself up. It wasn’t that I was turned on by my own body either; half the embarrassment came from the fact that I was always imagining Harry, or some other handsome man, being the one to grope and touch and even enter me. More than once I finished with the words, “Ohhhh Harry!”

It was bad enough that he nearly walked in on me once, and I had to play it off as if I was on my period, cramping terribly. I could only hope he didn’t see through it; my period hadn’t yet come in full, but I was dreading it terribly. It was, in many ways, the final feminine act. Well, not the final one; I’d had a dream where I was stuck forever as Gabriella González, walking down the aisle in beautiful white, my belly full and rounded with child. In my dream, it had been pleasant, joyful even.

Waking, I saw it for the nightmare it was. It was the kick up my prodigious backside needed to go out to the store, dressed in a loose jacket and tight-fitting pants, and purchase contraceptive pills and some condoms. Not that Harry and I were going to have sex again. That drunken act was just the once, and we could make it a year without indulging in . . . that, again. I knew we could.

After all, in just a few days we’d have to go back to work, and we’d finally be free of staring at each other’s ridiculously proportioned bodies. Harry would be a real estate giant, and me, well, I’d be a damned sexy secretary. The outfit I was expected to wear to the office stared at me every time I went to the cupboard, and it filled me with dread each time.

But it was coming, and soon Gabriella González would experience her first real working day. The first of many to come.

To Be Continued . . .