Girls' Night

My name is Brian, and I’m a 30-year-old washed up single guy. I live with two roommates, Sarah and Josh. There’s really nothing remarkable about my life. At least, until a few months ago, when I discovered the transmogrifier at a thrift store while visiting my parents back in my hometown.

I tested it on a squirrel at first, turning its coat from a shade of beige to a deeper red. Then, I transformed a squirrel into a seagull, simply by thinking it as I was triggering the device.

It was a revelation. But I couldn't think of a truly good use for it.

Of course, I brought it back to my place, deciding to keep the device a secret for the time being.

One day, I was chilling on the couch when Sarah walked past me, “Hey Bri, I’m heading out with the girls.”

“Cool,” I replied, “Have fun!”

“Thanks! Uh, have you seen Josh, by the way?”

“I think he’s away for the weekend.”

“Ah, cool. Alright, see ya!”

“See ya!”

I sighed, my mind flickering back to the transmogrifier. I finally had the whole place to myself. That left plenty of time to experiment.

But what could I do?

Part of me knew, but part of me was in denial. I couldn’t really do that, could I? That wouldn’t be okay…

I breathed nervously as I stood up and walked to Sarah’s bedroom door.

I pushed the door open, feeling like a burglar, but also not. This was an experiment, I told myself. A creative venture. 

I aimed the transmogrifier at my own chest, my hand shaking.

Before I could change my mind, I squeezed the trigger. A shiver ran through me, and my vision blurred. For a split second, I wondered if I'd fried myself. But then, everything snapped into focus.

Did it work? My heart pounded in my ears. I stumbled toward the mirror and gasped.

Sarah stared back at me—her perfect hair, her skeptical eyebrows, her unmistakable gaze now my own. I touched my face (her face?) and watched the reflection mimic every move. The sensation was dizzying, like staring into a mirror but seeing someone else entirely. My brain spun wildly with the impossibility of it all. This was insane.

I was Sarah.

My first thought was that I needed to change back, immediately. This was so utterly not okay. This was too much, too strange, too uncanny. But then... I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax. I let the moment linger, unsure but intrigued. Was it really so wrong to stay like this for a little while?

I glanced down at my new self, heart still pounding. I was still wearing my old clothes, but they hung differently on my new frame. Everything felt unfamiliar. I touched my hair—long and silky—and then gingerly poked at my lips. It was mine yet not mine, familiar but foreign.

This was wild.

Hesitantly, I tried out her voice.

“Hey…” It came out perfectly, like she was standing right next to me, but it was.. me.

I tried again, “Hello?” 

A nervous laugh escaped my new lips. I sounded just like her.

“Hey, I’m…” My voice trembled as I tried the words, “Sarah.”

Sarah’s reflection stared innocently back at me, undisturbed, like it was just another day. Like her body wasn’t being inhabited by her creepy roommate.

The absurdity of it all hit me, and I laughed—really laughed, a genuine Sarah-sounding giggle that filled the room.

I rummaged through her things with a sense of urgency, like a thief unsure of his own intentions. After a moment of hesitation, I picked up one of her bras, my heart beating with a peculiar mix of excitement and embarrassment. Would she notice? Would she even suspect?

My hands trembled slightly as I held it. I caught my reflection in the mirror, Sarah’s startled expression staring back. I wondered if she’d be furious or horrified. I was doing it, really doing it. Could I really be getting away with this?

Then I pulled out a tank top with those tiny spaghetti straps that Sarah often wore around the apartment. I paused, almost too stunned to continue, still unsure of how far to take this experiment.

I tugged off the loose clothes I was wearing from before, the old T-shirt slipping easily over my head. Underneath, Sarah’s slim, feminine form looked surreal and startling.

I had never seen her naked before, but there she was, her tits right there where my chest used to be. The sight made me pause. 

I could change back, I thought. Right now. Scramble out of here before I crossed some unspoken line. But the curiosity was electric, and it pulled at me.

I silently brought the bra up to cup my chest, trying to warm up to the idea of actually trying it on. It fit perfectly. I fastened it with clumsy fingers, the straps biting a little into my shoulders.

The tank top came next, sliding cool and smooth against my skin. Then her jeans.

I had to see.

I spun around, faced the mirror.

There she was: Sarah in all her casual glory. Her bra, her tank top, hanging perfectly on her new frame. Her jeans hugging her cute butt. This was wrong, so wrong, but I couldn’t deny how insanely cool this was too.

I spun around, watching Sarah’s reflection move with me, watching her hair swish as I turned my head. This was crazy. This was unbelievable. Her scent enveloped me, and I felt a thrill at being so thoroughly someone else.

There I was: Brian as Sarah, every inch of her.

Caught up in the moment, I sank into her desk chair and spun once around. Sarah’s giggle escaped my lips again; it seemed to fit the situation.

I kicked my legs playfully, feeling the denim pull in new ways against my thighs.

What would Sarah do if she were here? What did she do when nobody was watching?

The idea planted itself firmly in my mind. I could actually find out.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and pretended this was my life. That I was her.

Then I abandoned all pretense and let it consume me. I was her, no pretending necessary.

I wandered around her room, touching things as if to claim them. I was Brian, my mind screamed, but I was Sarah, my eyes reminded me.

I rifled through her desk drawers, pulling out bits and pieces of her life—lip gloss, concert stubs, half-burned candles. I smirked, holding up a photo of her and her friends at the beach, dressed in bikinis. It looked exactly like me now.

I sat on her bed, bouncing slightly. Then I spotted it: her guitar, resting on its stand in the corner. Singing and songwriting was a hobby Sarah and I both shared.

I picked up the guitar and started to sing, testing out her voice. It was surreal, hearing Sarah’s voice come from my own mouth.

I looked at the photo again as I strummed. My eyes fell on her cleavage in the picture. I glanced down at my own chest, the tank top stretching tight across it.

I stopped playing and put back the guitar.

I’d never thought I’d find out what it felt like to have boobs. I gingerly cupped them and then let go, as if unsure how far I dared to take this.

I walked back out to our shared living room, where I had said goodbye to Sarah moments prior.

My hand nervously rubbed the back of my –her– neck 

as I stood there, absorbing the quiet. A sly grin crept onto my face. 

Nobody home.

I wandered to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine, imagining Sarah doing the very same thing, the way she’d laugh and toss her hair.

I sighed a casual, contented sigh and sat cross-legged on the couch. It felt strange, sitting like this, feeling so light and… petite? I took a sip of wine and let it linger, savoring the moment.

“Hey, guess what?” I said out loud to nobody, “I’m Sarah!”

The front door burst open.

“Brian, I forgot my—”

I froze. She froze. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of… herself.

And then, she screamed.

“What the actual hell?”

I stood up too fast, spilling wine on my—her—tank top. I looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Oh god. She was going to kill me.

I couldn’t admit that I was Brian. That would ruin our friendship forever.

“What are you?” Sarah’s voice cracked.

I opened my mouth and closed it, floundering. Think. THINK.

I started walking towards her, but she got frightened and turned to run out the door. But I got there first and shut it.

She looked at me in horror and opened her mouth to scream again. I clapped my hand over it before she could make a sound.

“Please,” I begged, “please give me a second to explain.”

Her eyes were fire, full of rage and fear. I felt them boring into me, accusing, demanding answers. Slowly, I took my hand away.

She didn’t scream this time.

“What are you?” she rasped again.

My mind raced through a hundred possibilities. None seemed good enough.

“I’m… you,” I said helplessly.

Her eyes narrowed, “You’re not.”

A beat passed where neither of us moved.

“Give me your clothes,” I demanded.

I couldn’t let her out of this apartment. Not now. I would have to take her place at the girls’ night.

She gaped at me, disbelief mingling with anger.

“You’re insane,” she said, her voice shaking.

I grabbed her arm, “Sarah, I—”

She wrenched it away, “Don’t touch me!”

I lunged for her, and she dodged, her eyes darting to the door. But I was faster. I grabbed her wrist.

“Let me go!” She struggled.

We both tumbled over, landing hard on the carpet.

In a flash, I was on top of her, pinning her down with my—her—body. Her expression was wild, desperate.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I panted.

She thrashed beneath me, and I loosened my grip. In that split second, she twisted away, scrambling towards the door. But before she could reach it, I hurled myself forward and caught her ankle. She fell again, sprawling across the floor.

This time, she just lay there, chest heaving. Her eyes glistened with a mix of anger and something else—something softer.

“Please don’t,” she said quietly, and it hit me like a punch in the gut. She sounded... defeated.

I crawled over to her side and began to pull up the dress she was wearing.

She flinched but didn’t resist.

I tugged it over her head, leaving her in her bra and panties.

Then I pulled off the wine-stained top and the jeans I had been wearing and slipped into the dress. It fit snugly over my—her—curves.

Sarah sat up slowly, watching me with a look of disbelief mingled with reluctant acceptance. She drew her knees to her chest, shivering slightly.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

It felt hollow and weak.

“If you follow me or tell anyone about this, I'll make sure no one believes you,” I warned, the words tumbling out harsher than I intended.

She bit her lip, and for a second, I thought she might cry. But she just nodded, eyes locked onto mine—her own eyes staring back at her.

I stood up, awkwardly adjusting the dress. She stayed on the floor, hugging herself.

“Don’t do this,” she said softly, almost like a plea.

My heart twisted, but I turned away, grabbing her purse from the table by the door.

“I have to,” I said, “Just tonight.”

I didn’t look back as I left the apartment.

I walked quickly, the heels clacking beneath me. Once I was a block away from the bar, I slowed down and took a deep breath, letting the city air fill my lungs.

For now, I’d do what I set out to do: be her.

At the bar, her friends were already gathered around a small table, cocktails in hand. When they spotted me, they waved excitedly.

“Sarah! Over here!”

I plastered a smile on my face and sauntered over, feeling her dress swish around my thighs. 

“You look amazing,” Emily said, pulling me into a hug.

“Aw, thank you!” I replied, slipping into Sarah’s familiar cadence, “You too!”

“Where have you been?” Jess asked, shoving a margarita into my hand.

“Getting prettied up for you girls,” I laughed, taking a sip and letting the alcohol burn sweetly down my throat.

It was risky, but thrilling. I could do this. 

I marveled at how easily the words came, how natural it felt to banter and giggle as Sarah, to feel her friends lean in close like conspirators.

But every now and then, a flicker of doubt crept in, like a shadow flitting across my mind. Sarah’s defeated voice echoed in my head: Don’t do this.

I pushed it aside, diving back into the moment, determined not to let anything spoil it.

The night flew by in a whirl of laughter and drinks. We snapped pictures, toasting with glasses raised high.

I was Sarah. At least for tonight.

It was well past midnight by the time I finally stumbled back to the apartment, shoes in hand, the city spinning gently around me.

Fumbling with the key, I hesitated. The night had been a wild success, but now came the reckoning.

I opened the door slowly.

The lights were dimmed, and Sarah was there on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, sleeping. 

I sank into a chair across from her, the dress still hugging my—her—body. The silence stretched out like a chasm between us.

“Sarah,” I whispered.

She didn’t stir.

I watched her, feeling the weight of her purse on my shoulder. The guilt gnawed at me, sharp and unrelenting.

I stood up and made my way back to her room to get the transmogrifier gun.

The sleek metal cylinder was hidden where I left it, tucked beneath a pile of sweaters.

I stepped out of her dress, stripping down to a bra and panties, and tip toed over to the bathroom across the hall.

The cool tile sent a shiver through me—her—and I caught my reflection in the mirror. 

Sarah.

I grinned, then frowned, her earlier look of betrayal slicing through my buzz.

Would she forgive me for this? 

I reached out to grab my toothbrush but stopped as I saw hers. I hesitated for only a moment before picking up hers instead. My toothbrush. It felt like a minor rebellion, like a kid getting away with something they shouldn’t.

I drank in the sight of her boobs nestled in her bra, as I scrubbed her teeth. I touched my—her—skin, marveling at its softness, the way it was mine.

I slipped out and padded into her room, the gun cool in my hand. I thought about pointing it at myself. 

No, not yet.

I slid into her bed, clutching the gun like a talisman. Her scent wrapped around me like a second skin. The softness of her sheets, the familiarity of her space—it washed over me, making my heart race with an intoxicating blend of guilt and glee.

“What do I like to do when I’m all alone?” I whispered into the dark, feeling bold and in control.

My hands drifted down beneath the duvet, running across her curves. My curves now.

My hands roamed and climbed again to cup the fullness of her chest. I let out a moan and then a sigh as my body—and hers—trembled at the touch. The discovery of her body was a delicious wonder, and I luxuriated in the newness of it, the strangeness of it, the absolute thrill of being her. 

I was Sarah, really and truly, and it took my breath away. 

My hands made another greedy pass, unable to get enough. Her skin was impossibly soft. Every touch sent a jolt of pleasure through me, filling my senses to the brim. I closed my eyes, reveling in the feel of her body stretched out beneath me, the perfect weight of her breasts, the delicate slope of her stomach. 

My fingers lingered everywhere, unsure where to focus as I explored and caressed my new shape. Her shape. My head spun with an intoxicating mix of desire and disbelief, and I could almost hear her say it again: Don't do this. But the words slipped away as I let my hands trace over every inch of her skin, marveling at how it felt to be her in every possible way. 

“I’m a girl,” I marveled proudly, barely believing it myself. 

I knew I had to pleasure myself in her body, as I lay in her bed. The idea terrified me to an extent, but then I thought about how normal this must be for the real Sarah. And that it must be normal for me, too.

My hand slipped further down, and my breath caught in my throat as I pushed past the lacy fabric of her panties. My panties. I let out a shuddering gasp at the unfamiliar sensation, feeling a thrill at how different it all was, how incredible. 

I bit my lip and arched my back, every nerve alight, feeling more alive than I ever had before.

I marveled at the strange sensation of my fingers going all the way inside of me, wedged deeper than I thought possible, filling me in a way that I had barely dared to imagine. The sensation was nothing like I expected, more intense, more thrilling. I felt every movement acutely, felt my body respond and tighten around the intrusion. No longer just a thought, it was real, and it was happening now. It was a revelation, understanding how it must feel to be Sarah, to be her when she—when I—did this. My fingers slipped further, and I gasped at the unfamiliar pleasure, at how different it was, how astonishing, how absolutely incredible it felt to have something... inside of me. For long minutes I climbed towards a peak, and everything else faded away—my guilt, her words of protest—until nothing remained but the pleasure of discovery.

And then I reached that peak and tumbled over it, crying out softly into the night as wave after wave washed over me.

My body convulsed with each pulse, helpless in the grip of unfamiliar ecstasy. It was a thousand times more intense than anything I’d ever imagined. My skin felt too tight, my senses were electrified and overwhelmed, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming in sheer delight. 

I lay still for a long time, panting, unable to move, the aftershocks of pleasure still echoing through me. The whole world seemed transformed by what had just occurred.

Finally, my breathing slowed, and I nestled into the warmth of her bed. My bed. I slipped into a deep sleep feeling drunk on my own nerve.

When I awoke the next morning, sunlight streamed through the window, painting golden stripes across the floor. It took me a moment to remember where I was—who I was. 

I hugged myself beneath the covers, exhilarated by last night’s memory, the way it filled me with giddy astonishment.

I pulled on some of Sarah’s clothes: soft sweats and a loose tee. Then I walked out to the living room.

She wasn’t on the couch anymore.

“Sarah?” I called, my voice uncertain.

There was no answer. For a second, panic seized me. Had she left? Would she tell someone?

But then, I heard the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen.

I padded out cautiously. She stood by the sink, washing a coffee mug, her movements slow and deliberate. She didn’t turn around as I approached, but I could feel the tension rolling off her in waves.

I shakily lifted up the transmogrifier, pointed it at her back, and fired.