“Mommy!” shouted one of my kids. I shot out of bed, startled by my child. Trying to collect myself, I realized I was on Meghan’s side of the bed. Thinking I had just slept very hard and drifted to her side, I told my son to go downstairs and I’ll be down in a bit.
“Hey buddy, I’ll be down in a minute”, I said.
Hearing my voice I screamed. It didn’t sound like me at all. Looking down, blond hair fell in front of my face and two mounds protruded from under my t-shirt. Looking further down, I saw a pair of slender, tan, hairless legs. But it was my feet that confirmed everything. Those dainty, pixie-like feet. Only Meghan had feet so cute. I screamed again, but this time the scream was more like a shriek, and my child began to cry from being scared himself.
Instinctually, I kneeled down and comforted my child. In the calmest voice I could muster, I told him he scared me, and I was sorry I screamed. Sending him downstairs, I heard a voice. “Meghan, is everything OK up there?”
What the fuck? That was my voice. What the hell was going on? Realizing he was waiting for a response, he said, “Meghan?”
“Sorry!” I said in the most cheerful voice I come up with. “He scared me when he woke me up so I screamed”.
“Oh, OK.” He said. “Can you come down? I have the kids almost ready for school, but I could use some help.”
Looking at the clock, I saw that it was almost 8:00am, and the kids needed to get on the bus any minute.
“Be down in sec honey.” I said. Those words sounded foreign and I knew I was faking to be her.
Knowing my time was limited, my heart raced. I had so many questions, but did not want to alert anyone to what had happened. I decided I would continue to fake being Meghan and get everyone out the door, and then regroup myself when I was alone.
In nervous anticipation, I walked into the bathroom. Our bathroom was very large, large enough, in fact, to put a full length mirror in it. Stepping in front of it, my heart stopped when I saw the reflection before me. There stood Meghan wearing just an oversized tee-shirt that just covered a pair of panties with messy long blond hair falling in every direction.
I looked down to confirm what I saw was identical to what was in the mirror. I could not believe it. How did this happen? I remembered the events from the previous night, but had no memory of what happened after the white light. Who is the guy downstairs? Is he me? Is Meghan in my body? So many questions, but I did not have time right now. I did not want to rush to conclusions, and I knew I would have time in 5 minutes to sort this all out.
Collecting myself, I walked into the closet and instinctually picked out a pair of my shorts. As I started to put them on, I realized they were mine and if I put them on, it would obviously seem strange, so I put them back and walked over to Meghan’s side of the closet. A rush of adrenaline pumped through my veins. My fantasy was coming true. But having no answers as to how this happened and what would happen next, I was scared to death; which took a much of the excitement out of the moment. Picking a pair of her gym shorts, I slid them on, relishing the feeling of the material against my smooth legs. They fit snug around my hips and ass, but the large tee-shirt hid some of what I thought might be a nice view.
Walking past the mirror, I consciously decided not to look. I needed to stay in character for a bit and did not need any more distractions at the time. I walked downstairs and was greeted by, well, me, for lack of a better word. He kissed me on the cheek and said, “I was up late, but wanted to let you sleep in. You looked so cute snuggled up when I went to bed. Can you get the kids their backpacks while I pack up my stuff to go to the office?”
“Sure… And thanks for….” My mind could not find the words to say I was so nervous. “letting me sleep in.” I faked a smile and proceeded to get the kids out the door.
Once they were off, I was relieved that half my mission was over. But the second half was going to be the hardest. Having to face “myself” and seem normal was key. If he thought I wasn’t feeling well, he (or “I”, or whatever…) would call into work and tell them he would work from home today. That would ruin my time to myself to figure things out.
Coming out of the garage from loading his car, he grabbed his coffee and took a sip. He looked exhausted. I looked at him for a moment. I was always so good to Meghan. I did things like he did this morning quite frequently. In fact, when I was suffering the most, I did things like this, just because it emphasized to Meghan how much I cared about her.
Finishing his sip, his face became serious, sad even.
“I guess I’m headed out. I’ll be home by 5:30 but will have work to do tonight probably”. His face looked defeated and it was only 8:05 in the morning.
My heart sank. I sympathized with him and he didn’t even know I knew how he felt.
“Have a good day honey. I love you. And I appreciate all that you do.”, I replied.
And with that, a smile came across his face. I hadn’t heard those words in forever, and apparently neither did he. Whatever was going on, I knew at that point he was me, somehow. And it’s not that I didn’t know Meghan appreciated my sacrifices, but hearing those words I could tell, meant the world to him.
He slowly came up to me and said, “You’re welcome Meghan.” And with that, he gave me a kiss on the lips.
I should have seen that coming, and wish I had. I fought back for a split second and he picked up on it. “Crap, I blew it.” I thought to myself.
A look of rejection came across his face and it made me feel terrible. Again, I knew how he felt.
Thinking quick, I replied, “I have bad breath”, trying to give a playful little grin, hoping he would feel better and be on his way.
“That’s OK”, he replied, believing he wasn’t being rejected. As I turned away anxiously awaiting his departure, he came from behind me and gave me a playful pat on the ass. I was surprised, not only because I wasn’t expecting it, but it made me feel good and I didn’t know why.
“I love you and have a good day”, he replied.
“Have a good day too”, I replied. I could no longer keep up the charade and fake saying that I loved him. He was me, after all, right?
