“What the fuck? Why am I Cara?” Mark, topless in front of the full-length mirror in his ex-girlfriend's old apartment, grasped at the boobs on his chest, “What year is it?”
There was a magazine on Cara’s bedside table: March 2016.
They’d fought. He’d stormed out. He hadn’t seen her since. That was over five years ago.
Mark had since met the love of his life, Lindsay, and they had been together now for four years.
He had finally worked up the nerve to propose. He had gotten down on one knee, pulled out the antique ring, and—woke up here.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to remember what happened next. Did she say yes? He remembered Lindsay's stunned face, her smile, then nothing.
So why was he here? In his ex, Cara’s body? In 2016? Before they even met?
He glanced around the room, at the walls painted a soft yellow, at the yoga mat rolled up in the corner. Her old apartment, he figured. She used to talk about it sometimes, nostalgically, back when things were good.
He stumbled away from the mirror, nearly tripping over a pair of pink running shoes. The room spun; he reached out, steadied himself on the bed.
Mark clutched at his chest, unable to deny that the boobs felt pretty real against the palms of his hands. He squeezed them tentatively, each press of his fingers confirming the impossible reality of the soft, fleshy mounds on his chest.
The shape of them, the weight and heft, the way they reacted to his touch—they triggered a cascade of memories. He remembered how they'd been back then, how it had started with just sex. They'd been fuck-buddies at first, an arrangement of convenience that neither had expected to become anything more.
As much as he loved Lindsay, as much as he knew she was the woman he wanted to spend his life with, he couldn’t deny that the sex with Cara had been more intense, more impatient, more immediately lustful. How could he forget those nights, those months, that year? He didn’t even know if it had ever been love. Thinking back on it now, perhaps it had always been doomed to failure. But maybe that was what had made it so thrilling—its inevitable end. The forbidden danger of what they knew couldn’t last. They burned together brightly until it was over, and then it was.
He touched his chest again, and it set off the same thrill he’d felt when he was fucking her. The rawness of it, his hands on her, her hands on him, their bodies fused and sweating. It was overwhelming.
He had hated her with all his might at the time, furiously, inarticulately, believing that her stubbornness, her refusal to commit, her constant wavering and indecision, was a kind of betrayal. He had said awful things, called her things that made them both flinch. He remembered the day he left, the echo of the slamming door, her voice a distant, diminishing scream behind it. That was it. Over forever. Just like they'd always known it would be.
But now he was Cara, wasn’t he? The thought was dizzying. The more he touched his chest, the more unreal it seemed. There was the odd sensation of hair tickling his shoulders, long hair—Cara’s hair. The more he touched, the more convinced he became, but still, he felt a surge of disbelief. It all seemed so impossible, so ridiculous.
His hands, guided by equal parts curiosity and disbelief, wandered down the length of her body. There was a desperate search for something, anything, that might confirm he wasn’t hallucinating, something that would prove that this was actually happening and not just some cruel dream. He had to know if the rest of her body would respond the way his chest did. His hands moved over her hips. There was the unmistakable curve of her waist, soft and familiar, reshaping the hollow in his palm. He ran his fingers tentatively along her thighs, up again over her stomach, down over her calves to her feet. Could this really be her everything?
This was real, all of it, yet his mind refused to accept it. How could he be Cara? He tried to understand, to make sense of such a strange and surreal occurrence. The reflection showed someone he hadn’t seen in years, and yet here she was. Here he was.
His heart pounded in his chest, but it wasn’t his chest, not really. It was hers.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. There was a scar on Cara’s left wrist, a thin white line she’d once told him was from a childhood accident. He traced it with his finger.
“Oh my god,” He sighed.
It was Cara’s voice. He sounded like a fucking girl.
Fuck, he was a girl.
The longer he sat there, the more he felt his panic crystalize into something else, something colder. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? Was he supposed to just live her life five years ago, like it had never happened before? And what about Lindsay?
The thought of her made him ache. He felt tears pressing at the backs of his eyes. The knot in his chest tightened.
His mind raced back to the proposal. Could it be that everything he’d built since Cara was just... gone?
The thought was unbearable.
He decided it had to be temporary. It couldn’t be anything else. He’d find a way back to Lindsay. He had to.
But first, he needed to figure out what the hell was going on, why he was here like this. He forced himself to breathe, to concentrate, to fight the rising panic. He looked around for clues, for anything that might help him understand.
“Cara?” came a voice from the front door, “You home?”
Mark froze. It couldn’t be—
His stomach flipped. The voice was achingly familiar.
He opened the door cautiously, his heart thundering in his chest.
There he was—Mark—himself from eight years ago, standing in the doorway with the same stupid haircut and leather jacket he'd almost forgotten about. 2016 Mark was grinning like an idiot, holding a six-pack of IPAs, and there was a recklessness in his eyes that he hardly recognized anymore.
“Cara?” 2016 Mark asked, puzzled by her hesitation, “You okay?”
Something in the expression on his face, the confusion and uncertainty behind his smile, sent a stab of unexpected pity through Mark’s—Cara’s—chest.
“Yeah,” he said finally, fighting to keep the shakiness out of his voice, “I’m fine.”
Mark felt sweat prickling at the base of Cara’s neck. He had no idea how to do this. How to be this version of her, with this version of him.
The way he was looking at her, puzzled but hopeful, stirred up so much inside of Mark. He knew exactly how 2016 Mark felt, what he wanted, how he’d react to every word, every touch. It was like seeing himself for the first time, full of all the naïve certainty that he could make things work with Cara.
2016 Mark pulled him into a hug. He could smell the leather of the jacket, the faint cologne. It was strange to be on this side of it, to feel how Cara must have felt back then, being held so tightly and certainly by someone who wanted her so completely. He squeezed back awkwardly as 2016 Mark whispered in her ear, “I missed you.”
“Yeah,” he managed to say, “I missed you too.”
He remembered how he’d lusted for Cara’s body at the time and realized it was weirdly erotic to be inside it now. She had seemed so distant back then, so unwilling to make things serious, but maybe she’d just been overwhelmed by the intensity of him. Maybe he could change things this time. Make it right with her.
What was he thinking?
Was he really considering this? The absurdity of it made him want to laugh. Despite everything, despite Lindsay, he felt a pull. How could he not? It was like reliving the most intense year of his life, getting a second chance at every reckless mistake. Maybe it wasn’t forever; maybe it was just until he figured out how to get back.
He caught 2016 Mark staring at his chest in a way that made him blush furiously. The look was so familiar, so hungry, and he remembered being the one giving it, the burning impatience and desire.
He found himself wondering what it could’ve been like if Cara had been a “better” girlfriend to him. A more compatible, committed version of herself.
The thought was so deliciously tempting that he couldn’t help but wonder if that was why he was here. A second chance. A way to make it right.
Maybe he’d been given this opportunity for a reason. Even if it was temporary, even if it was madness, what harm could come from playing along? He’d be Cara, but better. Different.
But now he was here as her. He knew everything about himself—what 2016 Mark wanted, what he hated, what made him run. How many times had he wished Cara would just see things his way, come around to his side sooner? Too many to count. Now he could make it happen.
And on top of that, he’d get to experience living as a beautiful girl, feel what it was like be wanted in a body like hers. He could be the fantasy. Maybe it would be fun.
He dared himself, in the privacy of Cara’s head, to take it all the way. To seek out the ultimate forbidden thrill—to fuck himself. His pulse raced at the thought.
The more he thought about it, the more possible it seemed. He could make it better, mess around with fate. And once that was done, maybe then he’d find a way back.
Mark rambled on about his day. He laughed when he should, nodding and teasing with a lightness Cara had never managed before. It was easy now, knowing what he knew. He saw 2016 Mark’s eyes brighten, responding eagerly to this new version of her.
“Hey, I got you something.” 2016 Mark rummaged in his backpack and tossed him a t-shirt.
It was from a concert. She’d never liked concerts much; the crowds gave her anxiety.
Now he met it with an eager smile.
“Awesome,” he said, slipping it on right away even though it was too big. 2016 Mark looked thrilled.
It was ridiculously easy to please him. Had Mark been that desperate back then? He supposed he had.
They sat cross-legged on the worn couch, sinking into its familiar softness. Mark let 2016 Mark wrap his arms around him and pull him close again, close like Mark always wanted her to be, close like Cara had never let him before.
The TV flickered quietly in the background, some show they didn’t care about. 2016 Mark opened the beers and handed him one, his eyes never leaving Cara.
“So,” he said, “you wanna pick up where we left off?”
Mark knew exactly what he meant. There’d been a fight. One of the stupid ones—she’d cancelled on a show, or maybe he was just being too intense for her—but this was the night they’d made up with sex so incredible it had lodged itself in his memory ever since. He felt a flush run through him just thinking about it.
“What do you think?” Mark shot back with a grin that was pure Cara.
2016 Mark laughed and lunged for her. The beers clattered to the floor as they fell back into the cushions.
2016 Mark, like present-day Mark, was a boobs-guy and had never been able to keep his hands off them. He hungrily grabbed Cara’s chest and Mark found himself gasping at the sensation. He remembered the roughness of his own touch, the way he’d always gone for it like this, with all the urgency and impatience that had embarrassed him in hindsight. Now, feeling it from this side, it was intoxicating. He ran Cara’s hands up his back, pulling him closer.
“God, you’re sexy,” 2016 Mark murmured into Cara’s hair.
He’d always thrown those words around so easily. Too easily for someone like Cara. But for Mark, they were electric.
He let 2016 Mark kiss him—her—hard on the lips. It was a shock how good it felt to be in Cara’s body like this, how much he was enjoying it.
He reached into 2016 Mark’s pants and grabbed his penis —it was his after all.
“Whoa,” 2016 Mark said, pulling back with surprise and pleasure.
“What?” Mark asked, pretending innocence, but feeling a wicked thrill at being so forward.
“Nothing,” 2016 Mark gasped, “Just... wow.”
Mark pushed him over on the couch and climbed on top. He could feel 2016 Mark straining to be patient, his breath shallow with excitement. Mark kissed his way down the chest he had once inhabited, slowly, giving 2016 Mark what he knew he wanted. It felt good to have Cara’s body in control like this.
Then he released 2016 Mark’s buckle, coming face to face with his own dick. He took it in Cara’s hand and stroked with the perfect pressure, the way he’d always liked it. The effect on 2016 Mark was instant, his body tensing, his voice catching in his throat like he hadn’t expected this from her. It was surreal to watch himself unravel at the hands of a version of Cara he’d never known, one more willing and eager than he’d ever hoped.
For all the amazing sex they’d ever had, Cara never liked giving head. He remembered how much he’d wished she did.
But he never imagined he’d willingly be putting a dick into his own mouth.
He hesitated, feeling the hot pulse of it too close to his face. But then 2016 Mark moaned and said her name and it was impossible to resist. He took it in her mouth.
“Oh my God,” 2016 Mark said, his voice breaking, “Oh my God, Cara.”
This was insane. Insanely hot.
Mark let himself get carried away with it, pushing himself further than Cara ever had. The power was intoxicating—he knew exactly how to drive himself crazy.
2016 Mark was panting harder now, saying things like he was losing control. He gripped Cara’s hair and muttered, “I’m so close—”
Mark pulled back.
“I want you to come inside of me instead,” he said, surprising himself with how much he meant it.
The hunger in 2016 Mark’s eyes only fueled him more. He let himself be lifted and thrown onto the couch, felt the frantic tug of clothes being peeled away.
2016 Mark pushed inside him, the thickness of it suddenly real and raw and overwhelming. Nothing like he’d imagined. Cara’s body responded instantly, the sensations new and intense, the slick heat of it making him cry out. 2016 Mark buried himself deeper, thrusting hard, his ragged breath in Cara’s ear, his hands down her back.
His mouth sucked on her breasts, his thrusts hard and deep and desperate. It was everything Mark remembered but so much more than that—his senses were exploding, every nerve on fire with pleasure.
Mark felt like he was reclaiming power from the wreckage they’d made. Over the end. Over Cara and everything she’d refused to give him.
Their breakup had been his obsession for so long. His wound. This was his chance to be in control of it, to make the memories bend to his will. To be in control over everything. Over the relationship they’d had. Over every last reason she’d ended it.
Over Cara.
“Fuck you, Cara,” he thought, a raw defiance rising in him as he wrapped Cara’s legs around 2016 Mark’s waist and pulled him deeper.
Fuck you for leaving. For never being this.
Now that he was her, he wouldn’t let her win. He wouldn’t let her ambivalence ruin it this time. He pulled tighter, feeling 2016 Mark thrust harder, feeling himself take it all in, feeling the power of finally having it his way.
Make this work. Make Cara pay for bailing. Make everything better, even the way it ended.
Fuck you, Cara.
He had the power now.
“Fuck, fuck,” 2016 Mark gasped, pounding harder. He was losing control, his movements wild and frantic as he drove into Cara with everything he had.
“I’m gonna come…”
Mark came with him, every part of him screaming and shaking as he felt the release hitting them both. Mark let out a shuddering cry, half in shock at how intense it was. 2016 Mark’s body collapsed on top of him, his release emptying into Cara’s body.
The sudden warmth was electric, and Mark felt himself arch into it, riding the aftershocks as they pulsed through him. He was Cara now. Completely. Everything he’d always wanted and never truly had.
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