I wake slowly and reluctantly to the sound of an alarm that isn’t mine. The jingling of electronic chimes confuses me more than it wakes me. I roll over in bed and fumble for the snooze button. When I bury my nose into the pillow beneath me, I smell Annika — thick and concentrated, sweet and a bit salty. I miss her — it’s been a month since my last visit — but it’s like she’s right here with me.
It’s the warm, slick sensation of silk, not my polyester sheets, that wakes me further, until I sit up with a start in bed and curtains of brown hair spill forward over my shoulders. It’s a prank. It’s got to be. I tug on the hair and wince — it’s mine.

I take a quick, panicked glance around the room. Annika’s belongings surround me: her minimalist decor, a potted plant flourishing in the corner beside a small desk and chair, and, on the other side, the open door to the adjacent bathroom. The sheets beneath my gaze are a shiny turquoise, bunched at the edges. I throw them back to reveal slender, athletic legs.
What the fuck.
What the fuck.
What the fuck.

Okay. I’ve somehow woken up in Annika's body. This is happening. At least, I think it is. None of this feels like a dream; my dreams are never this realistic. I chance a look down, seeing small mounds of flesh (that I don’t normally have) under a tank top. I don’t venture there yet, instead looking past at the soft rolls of my stomach, pudging a little under the drawstring of my shorts. I wiggle my toes, struck by how cold they are, and shove them back under the sheets. No wonder her feet are always icy when we’re in bed together.

I grab Annika's phone and dial my own number, hearing my own voice answer. Indeed it turns out to be her in my body, as confused about everything as I am. It takes us a while to get things sorted out. By then the panic has dissipated, and we’re left only with the handful of logic we can muster to work through this until we solve the problem. Part of my duty is to calm her down, as she’s more worried by my end of the bargain than hers — while I can work from home, Annika routinely goes to work in the university and has a set schedule she can’t miss. She gives me the rundown of her classes and meetings and various to-dos, most of which are written in her phone and her calendar.

Annika tells me to get off the phone and get ready for work, but not before she gives me directions to her office, her gym, and anywhere else she typically goes. When she hangs up, I’m left on my own again in a wildly familiar yet brand-new space and a body that will take getting used to. My first steps out of bed make me feel like a baby gazelle until I coordinate.

Finally, for the first time, I look at myself in the full-length mirror by the door. It’s like looking through a window where I can see Annika—but when I move, she moves. I smile a little—her eyes crinkle and she smiles back. Checking every angle of my face, I comb a hand through my hair, long and soft and a rich shade of sandy brown. I tilt my face up, running a hand down along her slightly higer cheek bondes, my jawline and neck. My fingers trace over my collar, dipping into the clavicle, and connect the dots between her moles.

I wiggle my toes into the carpet and rub my calves together. They’re silky smooth and warm, with a few fast hairs prickling as they rub one another. I’m vaguely familiar with the sensation, from my own stubble when I don’t shave my face, but somehow this is different.

My thighs rub closer together and I shiver, a trace of heat rippling through me. I’m not used to this—there’s usually something in the way, but now nothing stops me from letting everything touch. I do it again, my lower regions clench up, and something like arousal, but more sensitive than I’m used to, sparks up into my abdomen, tight, almost shy. I’m strangely shy, too, nervous as I experience Annika from the other side of the glass.

My hands flirt with the hem of the tank top, preparing to take it off. When I shift about, the loose fabric brushes over my nipples, hard and raised from the cold, out-of-bed air. My breasts, though small, bounce slightly as I pull the top over my head. I’m surprised by the feeling, not having expected the weight of them, the way my new body suddenly shivers from soft, delicate touches, how that same heat echoes down my spine and goose bumps rise to my cheeks.

I stare into the mirror with fascination, though it isn't anything I haven’t seen before. Annika’s flat chest, breasts not even big enough to make bumps in the top she’s had on, her nipples standing up perkily. I turn side to side, looking at her (my?!) chest from every angle, a tiny feeling of admiration or maybe jealousy stealing over me. She is flat, definitely, but Annika seems to pull it off well, her small breasts fitting her slender frame perfectly.

And where she is lacking in the chest area.... I pivote, looking back over my shoulder. Gingerly, like it still isn’t mine to touch, I slide my hands over Annika’s rear, giving it a squeeze. My rear feels perfectly plump and round, my hands hardly able to cover it. After a moment’s hesitation, I give it a light smack, feeling the sting and watching the slight jiggle in the mirror.

Heart racing and feeling a little more confident, I squeeze my rear a little more, smiling nervously at my own reflection, and then turn back. I lean forward to the mirror again, caught up in Annika’s reflection for a moment. I touch my face, hand tracing the same path it has before down my neck, collarbone, shoulders, but this time arriving at my bare chest.

My hand just barely brushes my nipple, but the effect is immediate. An involuntary shiver runs through my body, stopping my hand cold. I jerk back, hands jumping away from my chest, and I look down.

It is still the strangest, weirdest, most almost wrong feeling to see a different body when I look down. Annika’s nipples are hard from just the simple touch of the hands, and I can see them poking up from the tiny mounds of my breasts. Hesitantly, I raise my hands, hovering over Annika’s chest for a tense moment, then slowly cup my breasts.

I have to bite my lip as the touch of my hands send a tingle through my body. A live wire of excitement stretches inside me, and as I slowly, gently squeeze my new Annika breasts with the smallest of motions, I feel a crackle of arousal shoot through my chest and then lower, down between my legs, making them involuntarily draw together.

I feel my heart thumping in my chest, my hands gripping the breasts tightly. As I slowly relaxe my grip, I lift my fingers and lightly brush them against my nipples.

“Aahh…” a moan escapes my lips as my legs nearly buckle, the simple light touch against my nipples turning up the heat inside this body. I lean against the wall, staring at the Annika in the mirror, feeling the warmth stir between my legs. In the reflection, I see Annika’s hips, her thighs drawn close together, kneading her shorts between them. Slowly, I let go of my chest, hands slipping down my body.

I have to stretch the waistband of my shorts to get out of them, but once they’re past my hips, I can let them drop to the floor around my ankles. I step out. Annika’s underwear, a simple pastel pink pair of panties, fits snugly to my butt and abdomen, just shy of my navel. I run my thumbs along the inside and tug down. The cold air hits quickly, but my thighs are still keeping me warm.

I chance a glimpse down. Wiry brown curls are revealed to me, and when I run my hand through them, each hair moved echoes through the follicle into the skin underneath. It’s almost comforting to feel, to run my hand over it. It’s fun. Like scratching an itch that never gets completely satisfied.

Does Annika ever do this? Do girls do this often? A door of new possibilities seems to have opened itself up to me.
This is amazing.

The sensation repeats itself in the opposite direction when I pull on a fresh pair of panties, lavender, something that seems to have thinner fabric than the first. I can see my pubic hairs underneath, pushing up against the cotton, a few hairs having already poked their way through.

It’s at this point that I’m starting to realize that I need to pee. I’ve been nervous about this area of things, and I wanted to take it slow but I don’t have much more time to spare.

I dash over to the toilet and tug my underwear back down, revealing the curly brown hair of Annika's bush. Sitting down onto the seat, legs splayed over the toilet, I look down at my crotch, marvelling a bit at how… bushy my, er, bush was. I am feeling tense as I’ve tried to hold it in, but as soon as I relax myself, it starts.

Nervously spreading my legs just a little more, a sigh escapes my lips as I pee as Annika for the first time. And oh, that’s interesting. I can’t linger too long right now, but the rush of it is warm and spreads out a little, spraying out of my crotch, feeling very different from how I am used to, over what I believe are the lips of my vulva.

I try to blank out my mind so that I’m not focused on it, focusing instead on the shhhhhh sound of it, the soft splashes into water, and soon it’s almost as if my lower regions are numb. As the current of pee begins to ebb, I spread my slightly-shaky legs just a bit wider. I can’t quite tell that I’ve stopped. But then I know — it’s done — and I quickly bunch up a bit of toilet paper to wipe.

Back to front, or front to back? Back to front makes more sense. I do it fast to avoid the shiver it might cause me, suppressing a gasp as my slim fingers slide over Annika's slit, wiping away the last drops of urine. I toss it down, and flush.

There’s more, I know. But I’ve taken way too long already—any further and I’ll get caught up past the point of no return. I’m going to have to get dressed and go, and I’m already running far too late...