I had a dirty, little secret; I enjoyed body swapping while my wife was away on business trips. Not that I did it obsessionally, just every couple months to forget my daily troubles and live in the world of someone else.
I’ll never forget that June 22 while I was in the body of Jennifer Morreson, a cute 26 year old insurance agent, lounging at a local resort when I got the call. She died racing my sport car in my body. Without my original body, I was stuck in hers, forever. Being a girl for a weekend was one thing, but the rest of my life? The Body Swap Clinic assured me this wasn’t the first time this had happened, and promptly informed my grieving wife the situation. She took it just like I expected. She amicably agreed to let me come back to our house on the terms we went to intensive couple’s counseling. We tried everything our therapist suggested: recreating old dates, sleeping in the same bed, romance exercises, trust exercises, even having a schedule and instructions for trying to get sexy together. That is right, the therapist asked me to done a strap on and ride my wife, and that we did. Despite our efforts, I never heard the end of my wife’s snarky comments: “Nice tits Jennifer” highlighting my body’s name for extra effect when I was changing clothes; “I just wish I had someone strong around the household”; “At least you don’t leave the seat up anymore”; “Are you PMSing? You certainly are acting like it”; “I am beginning to think you wanted this all along”.
The truth eventually comes out, and one rainy day my wife broke down crying, “I love you but I am not a lesbian, I am sorry”. The truth was, neither was I. Even though through our therapy exercises we kissed each other off to work, soaped each other in the shower, and cuddled every night to tv shows, the more I looked in my wife’s eyes the less I saw my romantic partner, and the more I saw the eyes of just a woman, another woman. With guilt, in those times of intimacy I started dreaming my wife was someone else, a man. When she was on business trips, I was fingering my new body to Men’s Fitness Magazine. Boys (large, slender, lean, buff, beared, anyway they came), I couldn’t get enough of them. And for the life of me I couldn’t understand what I had found so captivating about women and their breasts, butts, soft skin, or feminine personalities. So I took the plunge, and we divorced.
We eventually did mend our relationship, this time as gal pals. That is right, my ex-wife and I get pedicures, manicures, watch Nicolas Spark movies, do crafts, and shop till we drop; all habits I came to enjoy in my new life. She was a little rocked when I admitted I now dated men, she was under the impression I was still into girls. But she came to when I explained how happy my boyfriend made me. I never mention what goes on in the bedroom to her out of respect for our former relationship, but jesus I love being the receptive partner (penis’s are a lot of a fun). Who knew that a vacation would lead to double dates with my ex-wife and our boyfriends?