New Music in the Hood, Part 3 (TG RC AR) (Patreon)

Harvey and Karen are a nosy white suburban couple in their mid-fifties who ruthlessly work to enforce the gentrified policies of their Home Owner Association. But when the pair make some unsavoury racial remarks about the new neighbours' taste in hop hop music, they suddenly find not only their genders swapped, but their races changed! And what's more, they both find themselves compelled to enjoy the sounds of hip hop, as well as playing it.

Warning: contains themes of racism. Any representation of a group does not necessarily reflect the author's views (seriously though, it's pretty clear from the story that the racist white couple are the badguys, while the neighbours are nice people just trying to have a good time).

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New Music in the Hood, Part 3

Nia/Harvey and Andre/Karen descended down the stairs, led by the punk rocker Asian woman with the half-cut. Both of them were nervous, confused, and trying to understand what was happening to them. Less than twenty four hours ago, they had been an ordinary suburban couple in their mid-fifties, with their biggest problem being the ‘thugs’ that lived opposite them. Now, they had somehow changed genders and race, becoming an unmarried, black-skinned couple with very prominent assets, and forced to play out their new roles.

Andre, formerly Karen,  whispered in Harvey/Nia’s ear. “What band? I don’t understand this shit?”

Of course, he hadn’t meant to put his question quite so . . . colloquially.

“I don’t know baby,” Nia replied, shrugging, her large breasts bouncing heavily with each step into the basement. “All I know is she thinks we’re in a band. She recognises us.”

It sent a chill up their spines. They may be bigots, but that didn’t mean they weren’t intelligent in some ways at least, and both of them were now worrying just how much of their lives had been transformed.

They reached the end, and the Asian rocker - one with far too many piercings for Andre’s still-feminine sense of fashion - gestured for them to go through the red door.

“Let’s get the party started,” she said with a grin.

Andre tried to ignore her good looks - her damn penis was reacting to everything apparently! - and stepped through.

“A party starting is what started this horrible mess,” Nia whined to herself, before following her ‘boyfriend’ in.

The two of them entered something quite surprising: a semi-professional in-house recording studio. Neither had seen anything quite like it before, at least in a neighbourhood setting. It had a glass soundproof screen separating the sound artist from the singers and musicians, and a nice wide space with plenty of sockets for equipment. Several professional speakers were built into the walls, and some fancy headphones were hung on slick racks in the corner, the kind that blocked all sound so the singer could belt his or her tunes out without worry.

“Fuck, this place is amazing,” Nia said automatically. To her irritation, she was genuinely impressed: as a man she would have loved it just as much, being a big believer in the ‘man cave’ where big hobby projects could be worked on. She’d had no idea this was what the neighbours had been building when they had all the extra trucks around after they moved in.

“Yeah,” Andre said in disbelief, though true to his continuing Karen nature, he was forcing himself to find it repulsive. It irritated him to see how clean and well kept the space was, and he looked around as best he could to find a single stain to mock.

“You guys are acting like it’s the first time you’re seeing it,” the punk woman said with a bit of laughter. “Or are you two just too mindblown from all that Saturday morning sex, huh?”

The two blushed, looking at each other, then looking away.

“Yeah, well, you know how Nia likes it,” Andre said automatically, “she’s a real morning person, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Yeah baby, but you always rise to the occasion, don’t you?” Nia replied, drawing her body close to him and giving him a passionate kiss. Once again, Andrew felt his large cock harden a little as his girlfriend’s breasts pressed against his chest. It was like a dream and a nightmare at once, like dancing on puppet strings.

The Asian rocker just groaned before laughing. “You two! I can’t believe it. Is there a time you aren’t going at it?”

“Hey, sex makes the world go round, right?”

Nia pressed herself closer against Andre, and the two briefly exchanged a look of fear. Neither had forgotten what it felt like to reverse the roles of penetrator and penetrated the previous night, or that morning.

The other woman just laughed and rolled her eyes. “I’ll fetch D and Yunique. They’ll want to talk to you. We gotta get prepped for our big performance.”

“Uh, performance?” Andre asked.

“Duh! The festival at Mayer’s Park in two weeks? The one that’s gonna be our ticket to actually start getting on the money train with this little hood band of ours?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Right. I dig it.”

The woman raised an eyebrow at Andre’s attempt to appropriate slang.

“Sure. That’s great. You two feeling okay this morning?”

They exchanged another glance.

“Never better,” they were forced to say.

“Coolio! I’ll go get the others, anyway. You two lovebirds stay here and try not to make out too hard.”

She opened a separate door that must have lead to a separate little recording booth, leaving the two alone.

“What the hell is happening, baby? Nia said.

“I have no idea, sexy,” Andre responded, “but we’re in deep shit. This girl knows us, and thinks Andre is my real name.”

“And we’re in a band.”

“A loud, gross, hood band,” Andre said, screwing up his face in disgust. “I bet they do drugs a lot. Lots of weed. They probably overdose on it all the time.”

Nia sighed. She loved her wife - well, boyfriend now - but her hysterics often irritated her. Even she knew that no one overdosed on weed. But then, he was still furious to be stuck as some revolting black bimbo, so the seas of racism were churning within him just as much.

A few more moments of awkward waiting passed, and then Deshawn and Yunique came through the door. Something must have changed in the mood of the room, because the Asian woman looked shocked, and the two others just looked confused.

“What do you mean you don’t know who they are, D?” she said. “They’re right here! Nia, our lead singer! And Andre, the best rapper in the burbs! Is this some sort of prank?”

The two looked at the transformed couple with utter shock. There was no recognition on their faces, and the changed man and woman felt an icy stab of realisation that they might not be behind this at all. They might not even have any idea on how to fix it.

Deshawn spoke. “Monica, I got no idea what you’re on about, but I swear I got no idea who these people are.”

It at least answered the question of who the other woman’s name was.

“D, you’re joking here, right?”

Yunique gave an awkward laugh. “Um, is this is a prank or something? Look, I don’t mean to be rude to you two, but have we met before? I’m Yunique - that’s the name, though the adjective suits just fine.”

She gave a winning smile as she extended her hand, and both Andre/Karen and Nia/Harvey shook it reluctantly and awkwardly.

“And this is my partner, Deshawn.”

Again, they repeated the motion. Andre couldn’t help but test her manly strength against Deshawns, until the two women pried them apart.

“Don’t be stupid honey,” Nia said, “you know that you’re man enough already.”

“Sorry, babe,” Andre replied.

“We do know you,” Nia said. “Trust me, you do. Please, can we talk in private or something?”

“Uh, sure,” Deshawn said. “Do you mind, Monica?”

The other woman threw her hands in the air like she was the only sane person in the room. “Go for it! I’ll just be upstairs in the living room, wondering if I’ve gone cray cray or something. How could you not remember each other? I call bullshit!”

She stomped off, leaving the four of them alone, and in silence. Neither Andre nor Nia knew how to start, so it was Yunique who did so instead.

“So, we know each other? Like, you two sorta seem familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“Yeah,” Deshawn added, “it’s like I’m feeling something, but not getting the whole picture. We’ve definitely met right?”

“A number of times,” Andre said, taking the unexpected lead. She normally let her husband take that natural position, but her system was being flooded with testosterone, and taking charge was beginning to feel natural. “But most recently you saw us at the party.”

“We looked . . . different then, right baby?” Nia said.

“A whole lot different, honey.”

“Yeah, I got that feeling,” Deshawn said. “Were you part of the argument? Did you help us deal with that crazy racist white couple when they started callin’ us thugs and shit?”

Both Nia and Andre’s eyes went wide.

“Holy fuck, they remember us, Nia!” Andre exclaimed. “You remember us before we changed, right?”

He was so excited that he grabbed Deshawn by the arms. Nia strode forth too and took Yunique by the shoulders.

“You remember us then, sister? The white couple across the street? K-K-K-UGH! The one that started with K and the other one that started with H?”

Yunique looked at her like she was a mad woman. “You talkin’ bout Krazy Karen and Hateful Harv? Yeah, I know who those crackpot racists are. Even their own kids don’t talk to them!”

“Hey, watch your mouth missy!” Andre spat.

Deshawn puffed his chest up in anger. “Don’t you dare talk to my woman that way, dude. You two need to get out of my house, right now.”

“No! No please!” Nia implored. She felt strangely submissive, like her busty, bodacious form was made for convincing instead of intimidating. “We don’t mean to offend ya’ll, we’re just looking for answers! We’re those people! The white ones you’re talkin’ ‘bout! Something happened last night. There was strange music - your hip and hop rappist lyrics-”

“That is the fucking whitest way of saying hip hop and rap I ever head,” Yunique interrupted.

“That’s just it! We’re meant to be white, aren’t we baby? The music told us we were changing, that we’d become black and beautiful or something. And that we’d be forced to live like this!”

The other couple looked to one another and gave that shared expression of ‘okay, we’re dealing with crazy people here.’

“Well, that’s great to hear,” Deshawn said diplomatically. “Look, if you’re coming down from some sort of high-”

“We’re not the druggie thug kind!” Andre cried, “that’s what you people do! You with your ‘hoods’ and your ‘crack’ and your ‘hip and hope’ and your unmarried lifestyles and your missing fathers! You’ve gone and turned us into something we’re not meant to be - we know it was you! We demand you turn us white again! And make me K-K-K - the one that starts with K again!”

Yunique burst out laughing. “Okay, first off bitch, no one talks to my man like that. Second of all, are you telling me in this crazy made up fantasy of yours, that you two switched genders? That Hateful Harv got a damn pussy and tits? And you got a big black dick? Nuh-uh, I ain’t buying it!”

“It’s true!” Nia declared. “Ya’ll gotta believe us.”

“Ya’ll ain’t even sounding like the real ‘ya’ll’,” Deshawn said with a smirk. “Unless you were some jive-talking fuckers behind closed doors when you were mighty whiteys.”

“It’s the curse, or whatever!” Nia said. “Back me up, baby, it’s making us talk all hood!”

“First of all, no it ain’t. You don’t sound ‘hood’ because I don’t hear no Hard Rs, and I’ll tell you now you won’t hear us drop any either - I don’t go for that shit outside of song lyrics, and even then I place ‘em careful.”

“Whatever! It’s the spell or magic that changed us. It’s making us sound - sound - sound . . .”

“Black. The word you’re looking for is black,” Yunique said, her eyes creasing.

“You said that, not me! You have to believe it’s us, ya’ll. Just ask us anything.”

Another exchange of looks, a sigh.

“Fine, fine. Let’s end this crazy prank cam shit. I bet Monica is setting us up, Yunique.”

“I bet.”

“But whatever. What was the first thing you said to me when we met?”

Nia wracked her brains, trying to remember.

“You were mowing your lawn and - and I told you that you needed to keep it regulation height or else the HOA would be all over your ass.”

“That’s not what you said.”

Nia blushed. “I said ‘all over your black ass,’ specifically.”

Andrew frowned a little. “Okay, weirdly accurate. I told other people that, though.”

“Give us another one then!”

Yunique stepped forward, looking Andre up and down, as if trying to visualise Karen beneath the skin. “I got one, Karen. You came to my door with what sweet? And what did you say when you left them? I’ll give you a clue, it was racist as all fuck.”

Andre could have cried. “It was brownies. I always make them for the neighbours. Except for you I said ‘Brownies for brownies, right?’”

Nia was aghast. The damn woman/former woman didn’t know the meaning of subtlety! But Yunique was clearly surprised, as was Deshawn, who hadn’t been told about this.

“I didn’t want to worry you, baby,” she said. “I could handle that racist bitch all on my own. But I didn’t tell nobody about that, so how could you know?”

“Because it was me!” Andre said, gesturing to his tall, masculine body. He still wasn’t used to his deep voice or dominating presence, and it felt strange to be bickering with this woman who was suddenly so much smaller than him! Still, a kernel of doubt was being seeded.

“We can answer anything!” Nia said, clutching to Andre like she was his loyal woman. “Throw anything at us! We swear it’s true.”

And so they did. Every interaction, every encounter, every little thing that only Karen and Harvey would know. They even tested them on their knowledge of what Deshawn and Yunique called ‘white people stuff’ - older shows like the Brady Bunch and the like, which Karen had watched religiously as a youngin. Increasingly, they became convinced, but what made it more and more clear was when Monica was brought back down to recall the neighbours across the street.

“This is them!” she protested. “Is the whole world goin’ crazy or what? Nia Costa and Andre Eastley, the only other black couple in the burbs is what you call them!”

It was clear that Yunique and Deshawn had no real recollection of this, but they accepted it after a pause, and Monica went back upstairs muttering something about them having ‘drunk too much memory away last night.’

From that point, they actually began to ask the pair about what happened to them. Nia and Andre recounted the full story, though their telling of it was more hyperbolic and filled with unfamiliar slang than they would have liked. They still couldn’t say their original names, but were able to tell the story with enough clarity to make the logical leaps. Nia even talked about how they were forced to act out their roles.

“Even . . . in other ways.”

Deshawn’s jaw dropped. “Ya’ll mean sex.”

Neither of the two responded, but the silence was clear enough.

“This is fuckin’ crazy,” Deshawn said, taking a seat in a recording chair. Yunique sat on his lap, and to their embarrassment, Andre and Nia positioned themselves similarly, with her big bubblebutt situated on Andre’s lap, her breasts pushed up against his side and making him feel all sorts of aroused again.

“Damn, this is comfy,” he muttered.

“I know baby, I just can’t help myself,” she replied meaningfully. She felt as if she were being some showy bimbo, particularly in her current outfit.

“You two really are Karen and Andre.”

“And you’re the only one that remembers the real us,” Nia said. “So you gotta help us!”

Yunique burst out laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, everything honey! This is just the sweetest karma, ain’t it babe?”

“I’m not sure I follow, baby.”

“Oh c’mon D, think! A racist, misogynistic dinosaur like Harvey, who was always perving on my tits when his wife weren’t around, is now suddenly stuck not only as an Afro-Latina chick, but one with a big set of tatas herself now! Not to mention that ass! And a pussy as well!”

Nia balled her fists. “This isn’t funny!”

But Yunique was in hysterics by that point. “But it is! Karen Johnson, who was always bitching me out, complaining about how ‘unladylike’ my hair was - ‘cause I had it in an afro at times and she’s a damn racist - is now a big strong black man. I know this lady well enough to know she was scared of men like you D. Well, now she is one. And you two are getting freaky! Have you sucked his big black dick yet, Nia?”

Nia went wide-eyed.

“Oh, the silence tells me enough girl! This is hilarious! And I bet you took it right up the pussy right - did it freak you out, finding out that a hot black guy has a bigger dick than you ever had? I bet it did. And I bet Karen felt all kinds of awkward when she was firing cum right up inside you.”

Andre put his arm protectively around Nia, who was feeling overwhelmed with emotion. Mainly shame.

“Stop this! Please!”

Deshawn patted Yunique on the thigh. “No need to taunt them, honey.”

“But don’t you see this is the universe punishing them, baby? It’s given them a new role so they can appreciate how racist and horrible they’ve been. They’re even part of our band!”

Deshawn seemed to weigh this. “I guess that’s true. ‘Cause we definitely didn’t change you - I’m not responsible for magic music, I can tell you that.”

Nia sagged. “We’ll have to go elsewhere. C’mon baby.”

They made to go, but then halted at the door when Yunique spoke.

“Where do ya’ll think you’re going? We got music to play!”

The two spun. “But-”

“But nothing but you’re fine ass, Nia. The universe, God, Mother Nature or whatever has changed you, and I aim to teach to follow the instructions they clearly laid down for us. You two are meant to be part of our little hip hop band in this new reality? Well, I’m gonna make sure you play your part.”

Andre coughed, horrified. “You - you can’t do that!”

“I’m willing to bet that what you told us of the rules is right, and that you two won’t be able to fight it. Right?”

It was true - because she’d told them to stay, they couldn’t move out the door.

“But - but Monique!”

She shrugged. “I’ll tell her we accidentally took some drugs or something last night - coming down from a high. That’s what we people do, right Andre?”

The new male was speechless, unable to think of a way out. Deshawn looked a little uncertain. “Babe, should we really do this?”

“Think about it, D, how else are we gonna help them? They stereotyped us, treated us like dirt, refused to understand us. Well, why don’t we give them a crash course in what it’s like to be us, and what our culture is really like?”

The man weighed up their futures, and seemed to arrive at a decision. The smirk that appeared across his face made Nia feel like she knew she wouldn’t like it.

“Okay then, Nia and Andre,” he said, using their new names. “Let’s get Monica back down so we can hear ya’ll ‘old friends’ sing. We’re doing hip hop and rap, which I imagine you’re probably good at now.”

“We’re looking forward to seeing what you think of it,” Yunique said. “I’ll just go get Monica and explain what’s happened. In the meantime, you guys can start practising.”

To their astonishment, Nia and Andre lost total control of their bodies again. They set the microphones professional, even put on the headphones, and Nia began rocking her body side to side in a sexy manner, as if warming up for a passionate song. Andre breathed deeply, his mind suddenly racing with a series of complicated rap lyrics, words he somehow knew. With a grin, Deshawn stood behind a keyboard and mixer, and with a slight chuckle, watched as the two transformed former-white couple prepared to jam.

“Well then, maybe Yunique’s right. Maybe you guys will enjoy this. Why don’t you show me what you got?”

Nia and Andre exchanged a terrified glance, unable to speak to one another.

And then Deshawn started the music, and the two began to sing to the beats that followed.

To Be Continued . . .