Switch by Nomdreserv (FG)

Switch by Nomdreserv (FG)

Postby j2001 » Sat Nov 10, 2012 3:30 pm

I've found this story by Nomdreserv in my archive. I don't know for how long I've been having it, but somehow I can't find it in the web anymore. Neither this board nor Nomdreserv's site (through webarchive) have it. So I'm posting it here to make it last.
It's a "role reversal on a world basis" story. The female main character whishes for a world where girls are bigger and stronger than males. She gets what she wants.

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Switch

By Nomdreserv

Debbie Hutton slammed her purse down in anger and disgust when she finally got home. It had been a terrible day. First, she’d been passed over yet again for the senior manager position that she knew she deserved, watching yet another man get one of those supposedly invisible but widely recognized boosts up the corporate ladder in preference to a woman. Then, when she’d been complaining bitterly about it to her current paramour, John Richmond, he’d had the infuriating gall to start into a discussion about how this perceived favoritism towards men was just a result of their natural aggressive tendencies and long bio-cultural imperative as hunters, and to use himself as an example.

Now, it was true that John was a quite tall and strong, features that had attracted her in the first place, but also allowed him to slide intuitively into an obvious gender superiority complex. Whatever he thought, Debbie knew for a fact that he’d gotten his own promotion to vice president over the equally qualified Margaret because of his cozy golf relationship with the chairman. When she’d pointed this out, he’d become quite angry, leading to a bitter argument that spilled into other parts of their relationship, such as his demands on her to always look good, and to be ready sexually whenever he wanted it. Again, typical guy stuff, but she’d had enough of that in general and his attitude in particular, so they’d ended with a violent split.

And now she was home alone, still angry and bitter, but also wondering if she’d done the right thing. He was incredibly insensitive sometimes, but most guys were – a result of untold generations of dominance and assumed prerogative. As she settled into her computer chair to check her mail and the news, she thought bitterly again about the dictates of biology. How easy it was to assume that there were actual psychological and character advantages to being male, when in fact it was just that you were naturally bigger and stronger.

A very strange email flag caught her eye. It was addressed to her particularly, but had a different icon from her normal mail symbol. A small gold object that almost looked like one of those storybook Arabian Night lamps. She clicked on it.

“Congratulations!” the email read. “You have been selected as the recipient of one wish from CyberMagic, the online leader in wish fulfillment. Our agents have determined that you qualify for our special introductory offer of one revenge or status-altering wish, in accordance with the terms and conditions contained herein….”

She stopped reading at that point, wondering who was responsible for the prank. Probably John, she thought bitterly, trying to goad her about her “bitchiness.” She wished she could see how he and all the other men would fare in a world where the women were naturally bigger and stronger. Then they’d see how far “natural aggressiveness” got them.

There was a beep from the computer. Her eyes went wide to see that the opened email had changed.

“Thank you,” it now said, “for making your wish. We will do all that we can to see that it is granted properly. Please understand that some wishes require extra time to implement, and there may be some temporary anomalies during any reality flux.”

And then, without her doing anything, the message disappeared. She couldn’t even find the opened message in her email list. Weird. However, she soon forgot about the strange message and settled into some online consolation shopping with a tub of Edy’s next to her.

The next morning, she woke up and stretched, feeling a little odd. She noticed that her nightshirt felt a little tight and rode higher to her mid-thigh when she walked to the bathroom, and hoped that meant it had shrunk in the wash rather than her gaining weight. When she pulled it off to step into the shower, she decided that must be the case, since she certainly didn’t look any fatter. Almost the opposite. She looked better than usual. She wasn’t sure why exactly – her legs looked really toned, and her arms and shoulder just seemed more impressive, almost like she’d been working out again.

After showering, she had the same experience with her work clothes though. Everything seemed just a little tighter or smaller than usual. Her knee-length skirt rode a couple of inches up her thighs, and her shirt felt tight across the shoulders. Even her shoes pinched a little as she squeezed her toes into them.

Even more remarkably, she noticed the same thing about other women as she rode the bus into work (driving her car every day was just too costly and impractical). Many of the women’s clothes were obviously small or tight, and many a skirt rode up to reveal unexpectedly strong looking legs and thighs when their owners sat or stretched. She noticed that several very tall women were also riding the bus today – taller even than most of the men.

And speaking of the men, they looked different too. Maybe it was just the contrast with the unusually tall women, but most of them looked shorter or smaller, like they were slouching. Only it wasn’t just a trick of their posture. Many of them had pants legs dragging the ground over their shoes, and sleeves from their jackets half-covered their hands. It was noticeable enough that some of them even looked like boys wearing their father’s clothes.

She tried to stop staring and opened her newspaper. The sports page had a big article about a girl who had won the starting quarterback position on the local high school football team. Although some players and parents were complaining, the coach pointed out that she was bigger and faster than most of the boys, and certainly had the best arm on the team, so he could hardly choose NOT to start her. She was an impressive figure too. The story noted that she was six foot one and weighed 180 pounds. As a joke, they’d posed her next to the team’s kicker, a boy who stood only 5’8”, and had to look up to her. Her bigger shoulder pads and equipment also exaggerated her natural size advantage.

At least she assumed those were pads.

Debbie noticed that the women’s basketball scores were displayed more prominently than usual, and found an expanded coverage of the league when she started to read. Maybe the papers were finally paying more than lip service to covering all sports.

At work, she nearly ran into John, and they exchanged rather frosty looks as they passed. She stopped suddenly to look around at him again. His jacket hung loosely, and his baggy pants were dragging the floor. It wasn’t like him to wear such ill-fitting clothes. It really made him look…shorter.

John’s day hadn’t been much better. He had woken up early as usual to work out, but been momentarily confused to find only a set of 15 pound hand weights instead of his usual full set of free weights. His mind had adjusted a moment later, however, and he did his light workout enthusiastically. The light weights proved plenty to handle, and he couldn’t imagine why he’d momentarily envisioned something so much larger. Besides, he was just trying to keep toned. It wasn’t like he was looking to bulk up.

Though perhaps he should have. All his clothes seemed too big when he got dressed, and even his shoes felt large which was really strange. He even had to move the seat up in his BMW when he got in to drive to work. The car was a bit of a luxury, but he thought he deserved the reward when he finally made vice president. He thought he should have made it last year, but couldn’t argue that Margaret hadn’t actually deserved it more. He took some consolation in the fact that he could still beat her on the golf course, though it was a near thing.

He tried to ignore Debbie after their breakup yesterday. Unfortunately, something about their near collision bothered him. He finally realized it was that he hadn’t recognized her earlier, mistaking her for a bigger woman. Even now, a quick glance back made him uneasy. She must be wearing unusually high heels today.

Things continued to be strange for Debbie during the day. Far from being upset by their tight clothes, many women ascribed it to their recent decisions to start working out more. Some even happily showed off their new biceps bulges from weight training. This surprised Debbie, since she’d never known any of them to even talk about muscle building like that, let alone sport the results so proudly, and she knew for a fact that at least several had been publicly disdainful of female athletics.

She saw that the boss had sent more work her way that day – without explanation, almost as though she normally carried the primary duty assignments. It made for a very busy, though rewarding day, and she was actually glad to go home that night to relax. She turned on the TV just in time to hear a report of another woman who had made the jump to starring on her school’s football team, but this time it was a college team, and from a pretty well known school. The female reporter was summing up by noting that girls had been playing football on the high school level for some years, and it was about time for them to move up like their male counterparts. That struck her as odd, since the article in the morning paper had made such a big deal about the high school team, but she put it down to local interest.

An ad for a local car dealership came on, and Debbie gritted her teeth. It was a family business, but the front man was an obnoxious 30-something guy who always appeared flanked by nearly-naked, buxom models while he screamed his pitches. She was surprised instead to see a young woman, conservatively dressed, who spoke in a calm and friendly manner about her family’s long commitment to quality and value, etc. Debbie kept waiting for her dress to disintegrate or something, but she just smiled and walked around the floor, showing a few of their special deals. She wondered about the change, and where the usual leering looudmouth was, but so no sign or mention of him. No wait, there he was. They had shown a quick shot of “our happy sales team” and there was the old manager, tucked away anonymously among the other lower paper shufflers, looking almost small and meek compared to normal. Weird.

She was also surprised when the evening shows came on to find a couple of new ones, apparently mid-season replacements. Even more surprising, they both featured women in the leading roles, one as a police detective, and the other as an army officer. Neither made any big deal about their gender, as these shows were wont to do (“Oh look, I'm a woman doing a man’s job. Isn’t it impressive? Aren’t you challenged in your stereotypes? Wait, let me just unbutton one more shirt button here. There. Gosh, it’s hard being a woman doing a man’s job. Let me explain just how hard it is in detail so we can be sure you’re getting our socially progressive message.”)

Flipping channels brought “Baywatch” up, and she grimaced. Before she could change it, though, she was surprised to find that in this episode, a woman was the chief guard. When had they done that? Instead of bikinis, the female cast were wearing tight trunks and cropped shirts. They were still very sexy, though the styles seemed to accentuate how fit they were, emphasizing noticeable muscles in their thighs and upper arms, instead of big breasts. Even stranger, a couple of the men were wearing bikini-style bottoms. Though also fit, they seemed less muscular than usual, barely exceeding the women’s physiques. They seemed to spend a lot of time with the cameras trained on the men’s backsides while they ran too.

The whole experience was just a little unsettling, as though there had been some change she wasn’t quite in on. She went to bed still feeling odd.

The next day dawned. Debbie stretched in bed, enjoying a surprising sense of strength as she stretched her shirt out, then pulling her arms back quickly when she heard a rip. When she stood up, she was surprised to see that the shirt only came to her upper thighs now, and she could swear her legs looked even more muscular than before, with defined bulges to her thighs and calves.

She decided to skip her morning workout, walking by the 15 pound dumbbells she kept in her bedroom, because of her morning meetings. Then she froze. Morning workout? Free weights? When had she…?

She looked around in surprise, as full wakefulness finally hit home. Her apartment was bigger. As strange as that was, even stranger was the fact that it wasn’t hers.

Oh, she recognized it all right, at least subconsciously. In fact, as she looked around, it started to feel more and more “right” to her, even as she mentally noticed the differences. The plants and flowers she always kept were all but missing, with one low-maintenance plant by the window that she “remembered” getting from a boyfriend. The walls and carpets were a neutral color instead of the pastels she favored.

Surprised and confused, she walked to her closet. Her clothes looked pretty much the same, except there were a lot fewer skirts. And no heels. She only had a few pairs of shoes, quite practical looking, and they were nearly flat, with no more heel than a man’s.

She walked into the bathroom. Most of her makeup was gone. Her memories seemed to struggle, with her conscious ones slowly yielding to a new set of unconscious replacements. She could distinctly remember the huge array of cosmetics women had, and could even remember wearing them herself, yet at the same time, the image was absurd. Most men and women wore only light makeup, just enough to groom their natural features a little more.

Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye and made her freeze. She was taller, a fact made more obvious by her now undersized nightshirt. It was drawn taut across her upper body, and in fact that was where the tearing she’d heard before had been centered. Even more boggling was her physique: she now had wide shoulders and noticeable upper arm musculature, giving her the V-shaped build of a very fit teenaged boy – except for her large breasts, which looked even bigger thanks to her more developed chest muscles. Heck, she had stronger looking arms than some of the men she’d dated.

A memory war ensued again. Why should that surprise her? Men and women had always been about the same size and build. There was nothing unusual about her being bigger than some of her boyfriends.

This time, the alien memory couldn’t supplant the old one. Where the hell did she get that idea? She shook her head as she tried to reason it out.

And then, her computer chimed.

She walked to it without thinking, then froze as the familiar gold-lamp icon became visible. She sat down to click on the mail symbol, her undersized shirt completely exposing her strong legs.

“Greetings from the Cybermagic group. We hope you are enjoying your wish fulfillment. As noted, we are encountering some mild anomalies as we integrate your wish properly. This may result in some memory aberrations. Please be advised that these are a natural consequence which are most pronounced in the wisher herself. Most clients feel that their retained memories of the pre-wish conditions actually add to their enjoyment. If this becomes too disagreeable, we can reset your memories for a nominal fee.”


There was a box for reply, marked yes and no. Debbie stared in disbelief at the screen for several minutes, then looked once more at her new size and physique. With a smile, she selected “no” and sent the reply.

She took her shower and got dressed, wearing a standard business suit that seemed cut in what she could still recognize as a more traditionally male style. She smiled to “remember” that it was normal for both sexes to wear these suits for business, though it was still women who chose to wear skirts because of their wider hips.

She rode the bus, (she had stopped in shock to find a Lexus in her parking space, but been afraid to drive it just in case it wasn’t really hers) and covertly studied the people around her. Men and women were virtually equal in average height, though thanks to her shadow memories she could still recognize that the men were shorter than they were before, and the women taller. Six footers weren’t out of place in either group, but were much less common among the men than before. Their clothes today had changed to adapt to their new respective sizes. Debbie noticed that the men’s pants tended to be tighter than before, and their shoes were more varied, both in color and style, as though this was one of the areas they could show personal touches. She couldn’t stop herself from staring when one man walked to his seat wearing an open-toed shoe in a shiny pastel leather, but no one else seemed to mind or find it unusual. Well, except for a man across the aisle who leaned over to compliment him and eagerly ask where he’d found the shoes. She also felt very strange to see that at least half the men wore traces of eye-liner or a dark, blush-like makeup that served to accentuate their cheekbones, and several wore their hair longer and in a more obviously styled fashion. The few mustaches or beards present were very highly styled, with flourishes and highlighting.

John slowly got out of bed and stretched, his oversized underwear sagging on his lightly built frame. He decided to skip his morning calisthenics since he was already running late. He showered and dressed, choosing his loafers with the two-inch heels (he liked to give himself a little height to bring himself closer to average), then walked out to his Honda. It was several years old, and a little dinged up, but still ran well. Even so, he thought he might treat himself to something nicer if that promotion to vice-president came through. Margaret had hinted as much, though he resented her rather transparent attempt to soothe his feelings after she’d routed him at golf the other day. He hated the way she hit those long drives that shamed his, and he was sure she wore those really short sleeves to emphasize her sizable biceps and help psych him. It wasn’t fair that some people were so physically favored, especially when it translated to a business advantage. He was sure that if his game were a little better, he could have made it into those cozy foursomes with the boss that she so casually mentioned. He sometimes thought her game might have aided her early promotion.

Debbie had been reading the sports in amazement. The baseball season was nearing its completion, and women were leading the American League in batting and home runs, while a certain Randi Johnson was closing in on her 4th Cy Young award. There seemed to be at least as many women playing in the majors as men, and they dominated the statistical leaders. In fact, as impossible as it seemed, she could have sworn that the player in second place for home runs had just changed in the last minute from a Fred Flick to a Jannette Robinson. Fred was now third…no, wait. Fourth? Were her eyes playing tricks on her?

The headline was about the local NFL team having finally decided to start their first round QB choice, Jessica Chambers. She was reported as being 6’4 and 220 pounds, but from her picture, it didn’t look like there was an ounce of fat aside from her rather prominent breasts. She’d had something of a reputation as a party girl during her college career, including at least one or two whispered accusations from boys who’d felt “taken advantage of,” but these were dismissed as normal for any healthy girl growing up a star like this. The offensive line also seemed mostly female, though there were still many men on the team.

There was no WNBA, of course, since both men and women played in the same league. However, there was an article wondering about the future of the league, since more and more of the younger players seemed to be female. It was also noted that the well-recognized fact that the average height for women had increased by a full inch the last decade while men had remained stable (or, as some hinted against official proscription, were getting shorter) probably had something to do with it, and the writer actually suggested tongue-in-cheek that if the trend continued, they might have to form a separate league. Of course, that would be ridiculous. Who would expect a professional league of shorter, slower players to support themselves?

When she got to work, she headed towards her old cubicle, only to stop short when she found a rather small, thin young man occupying it. The cubicle was decorated with pictures of fuzzy kittens and fat birds. He turned to her with the wary greeting of someone expecting extra work.

“Morning, Ms Hutton,” he piped in a high voice. “Need something?”

She simply stared in confusion, but at that point another woman put a hand on her shoulder.

“Lost? Or just visiting for old-times sake?”

Debbie turned to see Nancy, one of the secretaries smiling at her. At least she recognized her as Nancy from her face. The woman was almost 6 feet tall, and wore a business suit that emphasized broad shoulders.

“Um, my cubicle…?” she started.

“Hard to believe now that you’re in that nice office, huh?” Nancy asked. She dropped her voice to a whisper, thinking that Debbie referred to the office decorations. “He’s a little overboard in the cutesy department, but you have to allow them some freedom.” She slapped her on the back, and laughed. “Come on, let’s pick up some coffee before the managers’ meeting.”

The meeting revealed an equal number of men and women in the senior positions, though most of the men were older, as though it took longer for them to reach the same level. Debbie easily adjusted to her new role and expanded responsibilities, thanks to her still-developing “new” memories. During a break, a man wearing a tight, silk shirt, a sort of hybrid pair of men’s heels, and very tight shorts walked in to serve refreshments. The women eyed him with surreptitious appreciation and exchanged smiles, hoping the male managers wouldn’t catch them. Timmy was one of their favorite assistants. His small, tight clothes weren’t really appropriate in a professional setting, but every office needed at least one bimbo.

While reviewing her notes, Nancy sat down and spoke quietly.

“You still seeing John?”

Debbie hesitated. “Well, we had a fight…”

Nancy nodded. “You might want to wait a bit before trying too hard to patch things up. I heard his promotion didn’t go through. Tough break, but Susan’s really been outperforming him, even though she’s barely out of school. He may decide not to stay. Course, I'm not convinced he’s really officer material anyway, if you catch my drift.” She squeezed her breasts in a signal.

Debbie tried to look severe. “Nancy! You’re terrible! Men are just as…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Nancy interrupted. “You don’t have to give me the whole sensitivity training garbage again. It’s just that everybody knows women are just a little bigger and stronger for a reason.”

Debbie looked around. There were at least two fewer men present, and they were now shorter than most of the women around them.

Nancy patted her shoulder again. It felt strange through her thicker shoulder fabric. Now that she noticed it, the men’s suits seemed cut in a lighter fashion, emphasizing slightly smaller shoulders even more.

“Anyway, just a warning in case he gets into one of those moods they do.”

John was sitting unhappily in Margaret’s office. She was leaning back and tossing a football in the air. He noticed she still had several trophies and plaques from her college athletic achievements to decorate the office.

“Sorry, buddy. I thought I’d better tell you myself.”

“It’s not fair,” John said, fighting tears which suddenly seemed all too easily to come to the surface.

“Life’s not fair,” she shrugged. “You know not everyone has to be a vice…” There was a momentary blur. “Manager,” she continued. “Every job is important. What is it you do again?”

John blinked. He was standing now, while Margaret sat, with a more formal air, no sign of the football or pretended camaraderie. He wiped away an incipient tear before it could affect his makeup. Margaret was important, and his whole division’s boss, and he supposed he should be grateful she took interest in ordinary employees.

“I'm a…” There was another blur. “A level 2 administrative assistant,” he finished proudly.

Margaret smiled. It was funny the way men hated to be called secretaries these days. She stood up, a powerful figure who towered over John by at least 5 inches. Her bulging calves and thighs were plainly visible since she liked the way skirts showed off her long, muscular legs. She smiled.

“Well, that’s something to be proud of, right?” She looked him over carefully. Not bad. Trim, nice buns. She knew of the rumors linking him to Hutton, but thought there might be a couple of nights worth of fun in him anyway. “Look, I’ve been considering a new secretary. Maybe we should have dinner tonight, talk it over.”

John considered. It would be a step up, and his old Dodge was in the garage again. He had really hoped a promotion would mean he could afford something more recent, maybe even a new car if he was careful.

“That sounds OK,” he admitted.

“Great,” she smiled in a predatory fashion and walked to put an arm around him, rather obviously copping a feel to see how firm his pecs were. “Look, you…take precautions right? I mean, most men do.”

He flushed scarlet, though it was more from anger than embarrassment. She was obviously asking if he were taking birth control pills, as most men were expected to do. The pills suppressed testicular function and all but eliminated viable sperm production, and were widely used despite their side effects of weight gain and malaise since it allowed women their full sexual range without responsibility. Most women demanded their men use them, “so we can enjoy sex more.” Many men had gone along with it, since until recently, there had actual laws that could put a man in prison (or killed, in the fanatically matriarchal Middle East societies) for getting a woman pregnant without her permission. Before their development, the time-immemorial method of birth control involved women flexing their incredibly powerful vaginal muscles, preventing men from climaxing unless the women allowed it. Usually, the men had to pull out before they could come, which frequently left them frustrated and reduced to covert masturbation, since women were rarely interested after achieving their own orgasms.

But that was their problem. As women joked, if God wanted men to enjoy sex, she would have given them a clit.

He tried to slap her, but she just laughed and caught his hand, effortlessly overpowering the blow and his subsequent struggle. She pushed him towards the door.

“Have it your way,” she said coldly. “I can do a lot for you…or against you.” Before opening the door, she stared down at him, clearly intimidating him with her size and importance. “And if you get any ideas that this is harassment, forget it. It’s my word against yours.” A pat on his behind as she opened the door. “Come back anytime. When you’re being more reasonable.”

John looked around at the other men staring secretly over their desks while they typed and answered phones. Angrily and with some embarrassment, he adjusted his extremely tight pants and walked away. He didn’t notice that his shirt had crept up into the new, belly-shirt style. If he had, he would have just thought it was to show off his new navel ring.

Debbie couldn’t get over the way the office had changed – and kept changing. Slowly, it seemed most of her colleagues had morphed into feminine forms throughout the day, and she recognized several assistants or support personnel in new roles as managers and leaders. Conversely, the support staff were now mostly male, and the changes were more dramatic than their jobs. The men were smaller, and much slimmer, with almost no noticeable musculature at all. Beauty standards generally favored men to be thin (many a man protested the anorexic “sticks with cocks” that adorned the fashion magazine covers), and frowned upon too much upper body conditioning. Most men exercised only to tone their asses and pecs, and both were displayed shamelessly. They wore extremely tight pants, with spandex added these days to make them almost skin-tight, to show off their buns, and the packages in front. Most men wore some kind of jock strap, ostensibly for protection and to keep things restrained (women could tease them mercilessly when they spotted an erection – “Ooh! Somebody’s brain just went south!” “Careful where you point that thing, Sweetie.” Etc.) but it was well known that they almost always added a little padding or support to increase their apparent size. Some, more desperate for attention or cruelly endowed, would even go to plastic surgeons for “enhancing.” (Women were pretty cruel about this, making many jokes and routinely asserting they didn’t “feel real.” Somehow, however, they never stopped looking at or drooling over even the most outrageous implants.)

Older men often resorted to “bun bras” to help support and artificially tighten their sagging behinds. Most men carried purses, since pockets or wallets would ruin those all-important ass lines. Shirts were either loose (to billow open and allow glimpses of toned pecs, sometimes even without tan lines on the more daring), or tight to show off smooth chests. Bright colors were the norm, as were impracticably high heels to help accentuate their legs. This was understood and accepted. After all, you always had to work at it when your primary function as determined by biology was to attract a powerful and desirable mate.

This tenet was widely held, sometimes openly taught, and implicitly believed. Sexual dimorphism was a norm in the animal world, and females almost always held the positions of power. From insects through birds and eventually to man, the larger female held court while the smaller males tried to attract her attention (with colors, plumage or a really tight ass, as her old professor would joke). Although in some species the males existed only to procreate, womankind had evolved to allow males a much more integrated lifestyle. Most even nominally accepted them as “equals,” thanks to the men’s liberation movement in the last century, even while the women happily sustained the hegemony that had held sway for untold thousands of years.

After all, they would point out, it wasn’t their fault. It was biology. Women had evolved to emphasize size, strength, aggression and intelligence. Men had evolved…for other things.

Debbie had some trouble trying to reconcile her residual, retained memories from the new reality that kept supplanting them. The changes had come much more quickly by the end. She thought some reading might help settle her thoughts, and picked up a copy of Sports Illustrated in her office. In fact, it was the infamous swimsuit issue, though in this case with a lurid cover of a sultry, slim man posing under a waterfall. He had pouting lips, smooth, hairless skin, and wore the barest of jockstraps, his hand resting close to its sagging bulge. Debbie found herself turned on even as she recognized how inverted the image was.

Inside, there were many more purely vealcake shots, though dressed up as always with detailed discussions of the men’s fashions and exotic locales. As if any woman bought the magazine to look at the swimsuits!

The articles included a review of the recent Olympics, and featured several pages that further showed how the world had transformed. One about men’s figure skating, showed extremely short, thin men dressed in effeminate, tight costumes with frills and ruffles.

Oh, wait a minute, that wasn’t really any different.

The women’s skating costumes were, however. They were practical, full-length body suits that not only kept them warm and cut down on air resistance, but also showed off their pronounced musculature to great effect. The article pointed out that while men’s skating relied on presentation and vague ideas of “artistry” (read, whoever looked best in tights), the women’s scores depended on speed, distance jumping, and the number of turns in a jump.

Another article questioned whether men were really cut out for Olympic hockey, since the physical play that dominated the women’s game was actually prohibited in the rules. No one questioned they were cut out for figure skating, but for anything that required real physicality, well…

A separate feature piece pointed out that men could be athletes and still be no less “masculine” than their weaker and less active comrades, though the writer seemed to be a little condescending in her attitude towards male athletes nonetheless. It included a picture of the infamous Andrew Kournikova, the blond tennis star who always looked great in his micro-shorts and crop tops, but who had never actually won a tournament.

She flipped through the pages in amazement. It was 90% women’s sports, with only fleeting coverage of men’s. Women’s sports apparently were the only successful ones. It was true that men had their own circuits in tennis or golf, but in reality, most women only watched those sports to see the men wearing their incredibly tight and short outfits. The men’s attempted professional baseball and basketball leagues had been poorly accepted and attended, only grudgingly covered by the media in an attempt at “fairness” dictated by official equality.

But as many a woman joked, boys could play whatever sports they wanted, you just couldn’t make anyone PAY to watch them.

She looked up from her reading to find John standing in the door. It took a moment to recognize him, and when she did, she almost burst out laughing. He was extremely petite, no more than 5’2, with girlish arms, styled hair, and feminine jewelry. He wore a belly shirt that showed off his flat abs to effect, and extremely tight pants that stopped a few inches above his strap heels. She found herself looking with some longing at the sizable package that bulged in the front (Not surprisingly, despite men’s small stature and builds, years of natural selection had left them larger where it really counted – to the women.)

He saw where she was staring and flared in anger.

“Mary Christ!” he swore. “Don’t you women ever think of anything else? At least look me in the eye!”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, then noticed his eyes. He’d been crying. “Bad news?”

He nodded, his anger dissolving with the chance to talk openly about it. “I really thought I was going to get into that management course. I don’t want to be a secretar…an assistant forever, you know.”

“I know,” she admitted, feeling a little guilty about her spacious, private office. Especially when she “remembered” having taken him a few times on the floor after hours. She paused. Details of their relationship kept winking or changing in her consciousness. It was as though their whole history was being rewritten.

He came in and sat down, then had to adjust his pants and seat. As usual, exposure to his female’s pheromones were making him hard, another evolutionary twist that ensured men were always ready when women wanted them.

“Damn you,” he muttered, though not with any real hostility.

She saw his problem and smiled. “Maybe you’re not as mad at me as you thought.”

He blushed. “Um…about that…I’m sorry I was being such a butch.” He looked at her with big eyes and switched to his best little boy voice. “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

Debbie laughed. “How can I be, when you’re so damned cute?”

He tugged and tucked his tight shirt primly, obviously gratified, then looked serious.

“It’s not fair, you know. If I had been a woman, they would have let me in that course.”

Debbie hesitated, tempted to say something about how tight and short his pants and shirts tended to be, or the height of his heels, and how they reflected on him, but bit her tongue. Men got extremely defensive when you criticized their clothes. It was an obsession with them.

“Now, I don’t know,” she started. “I don’t think these days…”

“Cowshit!” he cut her off. “Everyone knows that ‘old gals’ network watches out for people who matter, and only people with eggs matter.”

She was a little put off by his crude language. It was alright for women to joke about their “eggs.” In fact, they frequently did, but only among themselves. For example, when a woman pulled off a particularly daring or audacious act, women would joke that “She must have just popped a big one.” But to hear a man talking that way always made them uneasy. (Alone, they’d roll their eyes and say “Someone’s trying to grow ovaries.”) They just expected a little more refinement from males. In this case, she decided to ignore it.

“Tell you what,” she offered. “Take the rest of the day off. Why don’t you go treat yourself – take a bubble bath and have a little glass of wine or something. Then tonight, we…”

He interrupted, relieved and hopeful. “We?”

She nodded, smiling. “We’ll go out to dinner. Serino’s. And we’ll be sure to save room for that incredible dessert cart.”

His eyes sparkled. He was so glad she still wasn’t mad. He immediately determined to make it up to her in the bedroom that night. Instinctively playing a little coy, he patted his flat tummy where the crop top left it bare.

“You’re just trying to make me fat so no other women will want me.”

It was an unfortunate truism that society had always had unreasonable expectations about how trim men should be. It led to a significant incidence of eating disorders.

“We can talk about that over a big helping of pasta carbonara.”

He laughed, jumped up and ran to kiss her, then looked up into her eyes. She was so tall and strong, yet so sensitive, not like most women. It was part of what had drawn him to her in the first place.

Debbie looked down at him, so short, slight and obviously devoted to her and felt an immediate wave of maternal protectiveness. As politically incorrect as it was, women really wanted to take care of their men. Another memory suddenly appeared. She reached into a pocket and held out her keys.

“Here, take my Beamer. I’ll catch a cab.”

His eyes danced. “Thank you! You know how I hate to take the bus.” It was a fact that some women used the close quarters and motion of a bus ride to “accidentally” bump up against a man, and grab his behind.

Turning to leave, however, John made sure to give his butt a good shake for her benefit. It was an implicit promise he’d be willing to put out later.

Debbie watched him go and sat down, overwhelmed by her new life and world. A beeping sound came from her computer. Her heart jumped as she recognized the golden lamp icon. A click brought up a new message.

“We are pleased to inform you that your wish has now been almost fully implemented. We trust you are satisfied with the results. We also understand that, pursuant to the third law of wishing dynamics, that unforeseen secondary effects or third party consequences may leave you ambivalent regarding its permanency. At this time, we would like to offer you, free of charge, the opportunity to undo your wish. Reality would be reset to the previous norm, with no unpleasant side effects. Please indicate your preference.

She stared at the “Finalize Wish” and “Unwish” click points, then looked around the transformed office. She felt a little guilty about how well things had worked out for her, especially in comparison to John, and slight pangs each time one of the men outside would struggle when they tried to lift a heavy book or folder. She had slowly strengthening memories of the way men had to struggle, not only because of their reduced strength and stature, but the way they primped and dieted and dressed and flirted, always striving to attract and please women.

But then, she looked around her spacious office, emblematic of her prestigious job. She stretched, luxuriating in a six foot frame loaded with muscle, fairly bursting with unknown size and strength. And she looked once more at the cover of that Sports Illustrated with a nearly naked man posed provocatively, coming on to women everywhere.

And without another thought, she pressed the button.

END

Copyright 2002 by Nomdreserv
j2001
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Re: Switch by Nomdreserv (FG)

Postby DeeAvery » Mon May 13, 2013 3:26 pm

This is one of the best stories I've read in a long time. I read so much of this stuff its nice to see something different and original.
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Re: Switch by Nomdreserv (FG)

Postby darami » Thu Dec 28, 2023 9:23 pm

An excellent story.
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