6:30 AM. The alarm buzzed. I slammed down the sleep button, with every intent of going back to sleep. Five minutes later, I had to go to the bathroom and got up to go. I turned on the light. I looked in the mirror. My wife looked back. I screamed.

“What’s wrong, Dan?” I heard myself say, from the bed.

“Come here, Jessica. ” I heard my wife’s voice say. “Come here. NOW!”

I saw myself walk in. “What’s wr....DAN! What’s going on?”

“How should I know? I woke up...and I’m you!”

“Well, I’m you! What are you going to do about this?” It was nice to see that, even though we had switched bodies, some things didn’t change. Like this was my fault.

“What am I going to do? I think WE have a problem, don’t you?” I said, with my hands on my hips.

“Sorry, I meant we,” she said, laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. Look at yourself, with your hands on your hips. Is that what I look like?”

I started to laugh, then dropped my hands. “Fair enough. What are we going to do?”

“You’re having a dream. Go back to sleep.”

“How do you know this is a dream?”

“Um, because people don’t switch bodies,” she said, with her voice rising at the end. It was strange. It was my body, with my voice, but distinctively female cadences.

“You must be right.” With that, we went back to bed. Half an hour later, the alarm went off. I rolled over and said, “Honey, you wouldn’t believe the dream I had....holy shit!”

“What?”

“You’re still me!”

“That’s crazy,” she said, rolling over. “Oh...my...god!”

“Fuck...Dammit...what are we going to do?”

“About?”

“You’re me and I’m you, that’s what about....”

“Sorry, I’m freaking here...what happened to us?”

“How should I know? All I know is that we have somehow switched bodies, and now have to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Call in sick? Give us a day to figure this out?”

“We can’...or I can’t...I have a hearing today that’s already been adjourned once. It’s before Gilberg.”

“Oh...yeah.” Even my non-lawyer wife knew that Justice Gilberg hated adjournments and would make life miserable for any attorney who asked for one for any reason other than death...his or her own.

“How am I going to explain this one...’well, your honor, my wife and I swapped bodies last night and...”

“Well, what am I going to do? I have a meeting with my sales directors about the new launch, and they’re not exactly expecting you either...”

“Maybe, there’s some kind of out for us.”

“An out? Like what?”

“I dunno...let me see if I can get someone to cover for me...give me my Blackberry.”

Jessica handed me my Blackberry. I took it out of its holster and instinctively looked at my e-mail. The first read to “[email protected],” my firm’s e-mail address. “This is weird.”

“What?”

“My e-mail...it has the firm name, but your name.”

“Let me see.” She grabbed the Blackberry. “Huh? This is clearly your e-mail. Something about some kind of case.”

“Check yours.”

“Yup. Here’s an e-mail from Jim,” her boss, “to dan.silverman. It’s like we’ve switched lives or something.”

“That’s impossible.”

“More impossible than switching bodies?”

“Guess not. Check the answering machine. There was a message from your mother yesterday. “

“So?”

“See if that’s changed.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Just check it, OK?”

She pressed, ‘play.’ Her mother’s voice came out. ‘Hi, you two. Danny, call me when you get this.’ “Wow,” Jessica said. She walked into the hall. “Come here. Look at this,” she said, pointing to our wedding photos. We were still in them, but now, in the family shots, I, I mean she...I mean the new me or the old she...was with my family, and she...I mean the old me....I mean, I don’t know...was with hers.

“Oh, shit...we did it. We switched lives.”

“Why did this happen?”

“I don’t know. Since I didn’t know it could happen, I can’t tell you why it did happen, can I?”

“Nice to see you’re still the same pedantic you...”

“Anyway, in Turnabout, this couple stood in front of a statute and unknowingly said the other one had a much easier life...”

“What’s Turnabout?”

“TV show with John Schuck and Sharon Gless. They switch bodies..but not lives.”

“I never heard of it.”

“On for half a season in 1979.”

She laughed, “Oh boy. If you’re going to be me, you’ll have to lose the TV trivia thing...girls don’t do that.”

“Anyway, they wished on a magic statute. Stood in front of any magic statutes lately and wished I could see what your life was like?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. Not that I’m aware of. You? You want my life?”

“God, no!”

“Oh, calm down. I was kidding.” She reached over and kissed the back of my neck.

“What’s that for?” I said, jumping back. It felt good though. “Besides, not now.”

“Boy, you really have become me. Yesterday, you wouldn’t have turned down sex if we had been in a car accident.”

“Yeah, yeah. But, I’m kind of trying to figure out how we’re going to get through today. Look, we need to figure out a plan.”

“Get in the shower.”

“You can go first, if you want.”

“No, you need to,” she said, smiling. “First lesson in being a girl. It’s going to take you longer to get ready,” she reached down to rub my leg. “You need to shave, unless you’re going all dykey on me.”

“Very funny, ha ha. You’re getting to into this. It’s not funny.”

“Just get in there. Call if you need help.”

I walked into the bathroom and my wife stared back at me. She was 5'6", 160 lbs with brown hair and blue eyes. She was reasonably attractive, but she and I, after 5 years of marriage, had both let ourselves go. We both needed to do something, but marriage breeds complacency.

She walked in and handed me a shower cap. “Put this on. You don’t need to wash your hair and getting it wet will just add to your headaches...what’s up? You look depressed.”

“Nothing...just thinking,” I said, putting it on. “Huh...”

“What?”

“It’s funny. Looking at you is kind of like an out-of-body experience.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You know how when you see someone every day, you don’t notice changes. But when it’s someone you don’t see regularly, the changes look pretty drastic.”

“OK?”

“Looking at you now, I see myself through another set of eyes.”

She looked at me. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

“Say ‘yeah.’”

“What?”

“Guys say yeah, not yes.”

“We’d both be better off not saying too much, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Sorry, yes. Anyway, looking at you I see what I’ve done to myself.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’ve let myself go.” And I had. I was 6'1". When we got married, I weighed 190 lbs., now I was 225 lbs and going up. Whenever things got back to normal, I was getting back to the gym.

She stared at me. “I see what you mean. I could lose some weight too. Anyway, let’s get through today first, then deal with resolutions.” She smiled and slapped me on my ass. “Get in there.”

I got into the shower, turned on the water and grabbed my soap. “Use the body wash, honey. Soap will dry my skin out and I want my body back same as I left it,” she yelled. I grabbed the body wash and lathered myself up. I rinsed off, lathered my legs and grabbed her razor. I started to shave my left leg.

“Ouch...shit!” I screamed. as I cut my leg.

She came in. “What’s wr...oooh, cut yourself?”

“Yes...now what.”

“Let me watch you shave...”

“Pervert...I’m not some slut on the web.” I said, giggling. I meant to laugh, but it came out a giggle.

She rolled her eyes. “Mmmm, that’s it baby....just shave.” She watched, then said, “Longer strokes and rinse the razor more often. You’re not shaving your face.” I shaved without incident and got out of the shower. “All yours, you big stud.” I figured if I was stuck, I’d play with it.

“I left you an outfit on the bed.”

“I could’ve picked something.”

She laughed. “I can only imagine what that would have looked like. Either a skank or a homeless woman..a homeless woman with no color coordination.”

“Very funny. I have style, I’ll have you know.” Bad style. But style nonetheless. On the bed was a navy blue pantsuit and white blouse. That and a bra, pair of plain white panties and black socks. “No pantyhose?” I said, walking into the bathroom.

“You want pantyhose?” she said in shock. “That’s a little weird.”

“No. You wear them. I figured I was supposed to.” I looked at myself naked. Damn, no wonder she didn’t want to have sex with me very often.

“I would. You’ll have enough problems today. You don’t need that. That’s why I left socks. You want the whole nine yards, we can do it. Dress. Stockings. Heels. If you don’t trip and break your ankle, you’ll be adorable. Not right for court, but adorable. Just wear what I left, OK?”

I did what I was told. I went to put on the blouse and got confused. Then I realized that the buttons were on the left side. I was grateful she left me a pantsuit. It was just like getting dressed, except there was no zipper. Which of course wasn’t really necessary.

She came out of the shower and looked at me. “You look good.” She looked around. “You couldn’t leave anything for me to wear? Nice to see something’s don’t change.”

“Sorry, it’s hard to see myself like this.” I rummaged in my closet. “You need business casual or a suit today?”

“Please get me a suit. It’s a big meeting. I’m running it. I should look good.” I took out a charcoal gray suit, white shirt and blue tie. “This is boring,” she said.

“You’re a guy, remember. Guys don’t dress very interestingly. You can choose gray or navy blue. Stripe or no stripe. That’s it.”

“OK, OK.” She put on the shirt and fumbled with the buttons.

“Other side. I had the same problem.” She pulled on the pants and then went to tie the tie.

“This is hard,” she said, fumbling with it.

“Hang on, sit on the bed. I’ll do it.” She sat down and I climbed on the bed behind her. I wrapped my arms over her shoulders and grabbed the tie. I don’t know why but, when I saw our reflections, it started to get me excited. I kissed her neck.

She turned around and kissed me. It felt strange. I’d never been kissed with such force. It felt wrong, but right at the same time. “I thought you weren’t interested,” she said, with a grin, as she pulled away. I blushed. “You’re blushing. How cute.”

“I don’t know why I did that. I guess something about wrapping my arms around you turned me on. Anyway, sit back down.” I grabbed the tie, “Take the two ends. Make the skinny end shorter. Over, over, under and through. You look good.”

She stood up. “Boy, that was easy. I could get used to this in the morning.”

“Don’t. This is only temporary, I’m sure.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. We need to do your makeup now.”

“Do we have to? Can’t I get away without it?”

“No,” she said, with a grin. “Maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe you’ll learn something about life on the other side. Sit down and watch.” I must’ve looked nauseous. “Oh, relax, you baby. It’ll be simple. It’s not like we’re going to a formal affair or anything.” She handed me a pencil. “This is eyeliner. Pull down your right eyelid and run the pencil along it gently. You don’t want to look like a raccoon.”

“No, I’m not sticking a pencil in my eye.”

“Grow up. You’ve worn contacts since you were, what, 16. It’s the same thing. We don’t have all day.” I took the pencil and gingerly ran it along my eyelid. That wasn’t so bad. I didn’t poke myself or anything. “Very good. Now the other side. Good.” She handed me a brush. “This is blush. Just lightly dust your face....good. You’re really good at this. Sure you haven’t done this before?”

“NO!”

The vehemence of my response must have thrown her off guard because she looked at me funny and said, “It was a joke. I was kidding. But, methinks the lady doth protest too much, maybe.”

“I’m not...never mind, sorry. This is weird for me, you know.”

“And it isn’t for me?”

“I mean, the make up and all. You’re wearing basically the same thing I am. I mean, I have the makeup and the breasts. It’s kind of scary.”

She grabbed her crotch. “Hey! I’ve got this. Not exactly in my comfort zone, you know.”

“It’s different. It’s not as big...”

She smiled, “You said it. Not me. Look, this is scary for both of us. We’ll get through today and wake up tomorrow and it will all be back to normal. Come on, let’s get some lipstick on you. OK, watch. I’ll do it once, then wipe it off, so you can try.”

“Why do we have to do that?”

“Because, at some point today, you’ll have to touch it up and you can’t look like a clown, can you?”

“I guess not.”

“OK, watch, it’s like coloring. You’re a good artist. Just follow your lips...what?”

“This is getting me hot.”

“Lipstick is getting you hot?”

“I dunno. It’s strange. It’s the closeness of your hand to my lips or something.”

“Pretend I’m gay. OK, let’th do thith,” she said, with an exaggerated lisp. She finished and took a tissue. “Blot your lips on it.” I did it. “That gets rid of any excess,” she said, wiping off my lips. “Now, you try.” My hands shook a little, but I did it. “How’s that?” She looked at me, “Very good...are you sure...never mind. Wipe it off and do it again. You need to do it more quickly in case anyone’s around.”

“Who’d be around?”

“In the ladies’ room, genius. Where do you plan to do this?”

“I can’t go in the ladies’ room.”

“Look at yourself. You can’t very well go in the men’s room. And you can’t hold it all day either, can you?”

“Maybe, I’ll skip the hearing. Or come home after.”

“Just do your lips again...very good. You’re a fast learner. Now, you’re ready to go...wait, you need something,” she said, reaching into her jewelry box. “These are the pearls my mom...or your mom...gave me on our wedding day, be careful,” she said, fumbling with the clasp. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For all the times I thought you were a clumsy oaf when you put these on me. OK, there we go,” she said, putting them around my neck. What was wrong with me? I felt aroused again and turned around.

She smiled, “Are you looking for practice putting on lipstick?”

“Huh?”

“If I kiss you, you’ll need to put it on again. Calm down. Maybe later, OK?”

I felt frustrated. “OK, let’s do this.” I regained my composure. “The way I see it, we need to keep the talking to a minimum today.”

“Why?”

“So, no one figures us out? Duh?”

“Look at us. Listen to us. We may be freaking out, but to anyone else, we’re who we were yesterday. You’re Jessica. I’m Dan. If we act strangely, that’ll be a problem. Just remember, you are Jessica Silverman. You’re an attorney at Sagman Bennett. I’m Dan Silverman. I’m the senior product director for Stone Pharma. If we act like nothing’s wrong, nothing will be wrong. I’m no happier about this than you are, but it is what it is, so let’s do it. Call me when you get back from court. I want to know my girl is safe.”

“Ha ha, Jess.”

“Dan.”

“What?”

“Remember, I’m Dan. You’re Jessica. Keep saying to yourself, ‘Jessica. Jessica.’ You don’t need to make any mistakes.”

“Boy, an hour and half with a penis and you’re already thinking like a man.”

“Meaning?”

“Cool under pressure. Not like me. I’m pathetic.”

“Stop it. Go to court and do your job. Focus on work and the day will be over soon enough,” she said, handing me a pair of flat black shoes. I put them on and went to leave. “Don’t forget your purse,” she said, putting in my makeup. She kissed me lightly on the lips. “Don’t want to mess your lipstick, Jess. I love you.”

“I love you too...Dan.”

We lived on 87th and 2nd, so I went to 86th Street to catch the train to Brooklyn. The 4 train pulled up and I tried to jostle my way in. There was, as always, one of those assholes who wouldn’t move away from the door , no matter how empty the interior is and no matter how many people who are on the platform. I said, “Excuse me,” and he smirked and refused to move. I threw a shoulder block. Both he and his smirk remained immobile. ‘Huh? Why the hell is this so damn difficult?’ I thought. Then I realized. I wasn’t 6'1" 225 lb. Dan, I was 5'6", 160 lb. Jessica. I had no upper body strength. He stepped out of my way with a sneer, and I moved into the middle of the car to make room for other people. At the pole just off the door were all the women, small children and short men. I always hated these people because they, instead of stepping in, rudely made it difficult to fill the train. I pushed my way in to the middle and went for the overhead rail. I had to stand on tiptoes and realized I had shrunk seven inches. I realized that, maybe, all those people in the middle weren’t rude but too short. I lowered my head and grabbed the pole with the women...I guess, the other women. I kept praying that this was still a dream but, by 14th Street, I realized this was not happening. My back started bothering me, when I realized what the problem was. The aforementioned weights on my chest. Maybe Jessica was feeling the same way about her new penis, but I had that my whole life, so I never thought about it that way. I stood up straighter and the back pain went away.

Finally, I got to Borough Hall and went to the courthouse. I went through the attorney’s entrance, and the court officer said, “Pass?”

“Hang on a sec,” I said, fumbling through my bag for my Secure Pass. The Secure Pass is an i.d. card that lets attorneys avoid standing with the great unwashed to get into court. Or one could argue that it was a way of preventing lawyers from corrupting the general public. Either way, I started fumbling, “It’s here somewhere.”

I heard men behind me moan, “Women.....” I wanted to turn around and scowl, but realized that, yesterday, I would have been one of them.

I found it and mumbled, “Sorry. I...uh...switched bags yesterday.”

“Whatever, counselor. Step through.” I felt embarrassed and headed to the courtroom. The calendar call was for 9:30 but, as I learned early on, that was for attorneys. Judges on the other hand took their time. As my first boss used to say, “If you get there after 9:30, you’re late. If you get there before then, and the judge shows up at 11:00 AM, he’s not late, you’re early.” I didn’t see opposing counsel, so I sat down to read my paper. At 10:45 AM, The clerk called, “Step up on Keller Stationery v American Machine”.

“Da...Jessica Silverman, plaintiff.”

“Forget your name, young lady?” saidd my opposing counsel, Ron Di Nardo. Ron Di Nardo was a perfect specimen of a Court Street lawyer. For those unaware, Court Street is the street that, not surprisingly, runs in front of the Kings County Courthouse. Every Northeastern city has its “Court Street” lawyers. The term started as a slur by big firm, Ivy League snobs for the lawyers who graduated from lesser schools who represented poor or middle class people, small store owners and the sort of people a big firm who wouldn’t let cross their threshold. Mario Cuomo, for instance, started as a Court Street lawyer. However, by this point, the “Court Street” lawyer had devolved into the sort of lawyers who have the big sign reading, “Divorce. Personal Injury. Criminal” facing the street to attract people who come to court without an attorney, and who get paid in cash. Court Street lawyers came in two types. One was the sort with slicked back hair, who wore double breasted fake Hugo Boss suits with matching tie and pocket square, and represented the kind of guy who appeared in three episodes of the Sopranos and got whacked. The other type was like Di Nardo, who wore a dumpy, ill-fitting blue suit, usually covered with crumbs from this morning’s bagel, a stained tie and brown plastic glasses most recently seen on junior high school science teachers in the 1980s. In a TV show, Di Nardo would turn out to be a brilliant litigator. This, however, was not TV. Instead, he was a bastard who, to make up for his lack of legal skills, tried lamely to throw you off your game by saying things like, ‘Forget your name, young lady?’

“Counsel, enough,” said Justice Gilberg, looking me up and down with a look of disgust. I wasn’t really sure what I had done to provoke this look. “This is a settlement conference, our second. Have we settled?”

“No, your honor,” I said.

“The last time we were here you two promised me you were close to settlement. I don’t hold second settlement conferences, but you, Miss Silverman, said,” and he adopted a high pitched voice, “Your honor, we will settle this. I promise.” Di Nardo snickered.

I was shocked by Gilberg’s tone, but soldiered on. “Counsel has refused to budge from his intial offer of $10,000. My client suffered $100,000 in lost orders, which I can prove is due solely to client’s defective merchandise.”

“Your honor, Miss Silverman is being too emotional about this. Her client has no case. But my client, to avoid the expense of trial, has made the eminently reasonable offer of $10,000. She needs to think rationally. Perhaps you can help.” Sexist bastard. I’d heard him make comments like this before but, as a guy, I just ignored him.

“Mr. Di Nardo, keep the comments to a minimum. Clearly, Miss Silverman has rejected your offer. If this is where we are, counsel, you should have cancelled this conference and moved for trial. Miss Silverman,” he said, again looking me up and down disdainfully, “what will your client take, for real.”

“$50,000.”

“Mr. Di Nardo?”

“$15,000, your honor. Although my client will be upset.”

“Well, we certainly don’t want that, do we? Perhaps, you misunderstood Miss Silverman. I asked for a real number. She said fifty, which seems quite reasonable. Fifteen is not. You’ve been around the block, Mr. Di Nardo.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning if that’s your final offer, I assume we’re going to trial. And I assume that you have informed your client that, if we go to trial, I will not be happy. And I will not be happy with the party that wouldn’t be reasonable.”

“Is that a threat, your honor?”

“Advice, counsel. So?” Gilberg stared at him, and drummed his fingers on his desk. “Trials are inherently risky, and it seems this young woman has recognized that. Take some time, think about it.”

Di Nardo breathed out. “Forty-nine five.” He smirked. Way to go, you hack. Got me down five hundred.

I smiled, “Your honor, I cower in the face of Mr. Di Nardo’s brilliant legal skills. Rather than face him at trial, I will accept forty nine five.”

“Calm down, Miss Silverman,” said Justice Gilberg with a smile. “See, counsel? When we all work together, we can settle. Draft a stip. Step down.”

We drafted a stipulation of settlement and handed it to the clerk. As we were leaving, she said, “May I see you a second, Miss Silverman?”

“You’d best not change that, Miss Silverman,” said Di Nardo, leaving the courtroom.

“Get your meds adjusted, Di Nardo. Paranoia’s getting worse.” With that, he left.

“What’s wrong, ma’am?”

“May I offer you some advice?”

“About?”

“Your outfit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been before the judge before. He hates pants on women. He’s old school that way.”

“Shit, that explains why he kept looking me up and down.”

“Exactly,” she said, with a smile. “He likes skirts or dresses and heels. You know that. You’re lucky opposing counsel was Di Nardo. Judge hates him.”

“I woke up late this morning. I totally forgot what a sexist he was.” I knew that. Every attorney who appeared before him knew that. But, I never cared. I wore suits. Who cares what he made women go through?

She laughed. “You’re not wrong. But you know, his motto...” Together we said, “He who wears the shmatta makes the rules.”

“Next time, I’ll remember.” I left the court shocked. What right did he have to set what counsel wore, as long as they look professional. That and the cursing. It’s incredibly unprofessional, but neither I nor women didn’t need to have my dainty ears protected.

I got back to the office and called my boss. “How did it go, Jess?”

I paused at ‘Jess.’ “Um, fine, we got forty-nine, five.”

“Forty-nine five, not fifty? Oh wait, Di Nardo,” he laughed. “Way to go, Ronnie. Regular F. Lee Bailey. Did I tell you I went to law school with him? Nice to see things haven’t changed. Anyway, where’s the Techno-slate memo? We want to file it tomorrow, and I need to check it.”

I checked my e-mail. Rachel, my first year associate, was supposed to have finished it this morning and e-mailed me it. It wasn’t there. “Let me call Rachel and see what’s going on. I’ll get back to you.” I hung up and called Rachel into my office.

Rachel was a mousy little blond girl, about 5'2" and 100 lbs. dripping wet. She was twenty-five and looked about sixteen. She was very sweet, but afraid of her own shadow. I tried to explain to her that, if she wanted to litigate, she would need to toughen up. Get a bigger set of balls, as it were. Not that I was one to talk anymore.

“Rachel, where’s the Techno-slate memo? Mike asked me for it. You were supposed to have it for me for this morning.”

“I’m sorry, Jess, but Steven,” her boyfriend, I think. I met some guy who was with her at a firm party “and I had a big fight last night. He’s so awful,” she sighed, looking at me hopefully.

I ignored that. “Look, I’m sorry you two had a fight. But, we have work to do. Get to it.”

She looked shocked. “Bill gave me another project.”

“I don’t care. This came first, and should have been done,” I said forcefully. “I’m sorry you have personal issues, but the Southern District isn’t interested in Steven.”

“What’s wrong? Did you and Dan have a fight?” I wanted to say, ‘No, we’re able to see things from the other’s perspective.’ But I didn’t. Besides, what did my personal life have to do with anything.

“No, we didn’t,” I said, annoyed. “What’s wrong is there’s a motion looking for a memo. A memo from you. This is what you get paid to do. So go do it. I’ll cover with Mike, but I need it ASAP. Order in, if you have to, but just do it.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “I’m sorry ‘my life,’” she said, making air quotes, “got in the way. I’ll go do it now,” she said, walking away like a kicked puppy.

“Thank you,” I said, wondering what just happened. I called Jessica at her office.

“Dan Silverman’s office,” said his secretary.

“Hi, Lena, it’s D...Jessica. Is s...he there?”

She laughed. “Hi, Jessica, you OK? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“I just woke up funny today.” By way of example, with tits and a vagina.

She laughed again. “You and Dan both. Hang on.”

“Hey, sweetie. Glad to see my girl’s safe. How was your morning, princess?” he said, laughing at his own joke.

“Very funny, J...Dan. Hang on, let me close my door,” I said, getting up. “You wouldn’t believe what happened.” With that, I recounted my whole day so far, from the train to the unspoken dress code, when he interrupted me.

“Congratulations.”

“On?”

“You’ve now learned some of what I go through. Guys getting pissed when you can’t find something in your purse. Older guys calling you ‘young lady’ and wanting you dressed in skirts, not pants. Like pants on a woman threaten their manhood.”

“Way to go, Camille Paglia.”

“I’m serious. As long as you’re me, you’ll see it. And, maybe when this is done, you’ll know better.”

“I didn’t do that before today. Anyway, I get back here and Rachel feeds him some bullshit story about not doing a memo because of a fight with her boyfriend. That’s never happened before. What the fuck’s up with that?”

“Welcome to my world. You’re her female boss and female subordinates see female first, instead of boss. Like you’re supposed to let them get away with things a man wouldn’t. Speaking of which, I had a weird conversation with Wendy this morning. She was wearing a cute top, and I said, ‘cute top,’ like I always do and she looked all freaked.”

I laughed, “Jesus, honey. You can’t say that.”

“Why not?” she said, sounding hurt. It was strange to hear my voice sounding so hurt.

“First, no straight guy has ever used the words ‘cute top,’ ever. Second, she works for you. She could call HR on you for harassment.”

“I get it. I get it. What am I supposed to say?”

“Honestly, good morning. How are you? No comments on clothing.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding deflated, then she brightened up, “So, how is it being me?”

“Weird, I’m not used to being so short. I feel powerless.”

“Powerless?”

“Doors feel heavier. I can’t reach the overhead rail in the train. And I have to change the whole way I walk because of your tits. You?”

“First, tell me about. This thing of yours keeps getting in my way. I went to pee and had to remember to stand up. Although, that’s really convenient. Have you peed yet?”

“Not yet. How’s everything else, besides my penis?”

“Actually, it’s really fun. The secretaries asked me to change the water in the cooler and I lifted it no problem. People got out of my way and my meeting, not that you asked...”

“Sorry. How did that go?”

“Great, everyone listened to me. Cameron, that asshole, didn’t interrupt me once...”

“That’s weird.”

“I know. I felt, I don’t know, more respected or something,” her voice lilted.

“Stop ending sentences like questions. Guys don’t do that.”

“I understand.”

“Got it. Say, ‘got it.’ Speak in more clipped sentences.”

“Thanks, dear. Anyway, how do you feel?”

“I told you. Everyone seems more condescending. I have to see how the rest of the day goes. I have a meeting with Sandy Feldstein today, let’s see how that goes.” Sandy Feldstein was a client, who was a self-made construction mogul. He hated being sued, but hated lawyers’ fees more. He was crass and brusque but, once you showed him that you did your job efficiently, calmed down. “Let me get ready. I just want this day over.”

“Tell you what, let me take my girl to dinner tonight.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Oh, calm down. Go get ready. I’ll see you later...oh, don’t forget to check your face before your meeting. Bye, my little Jessie”

I groaned. “Bye....Dan.” My meeting was in 15 minutes, so I figured I’d better go pee and..eech..check my face. I walked to the bathroom and, by rote, pushed on the men’s room door. Luckily, I saw the man icon and instead reluctantly went into the women’s room. I looked around the room. Two women were in there. I expected the two women in there to shriek or yell but they ignored me. I instinctively searched for a urinal, but realized (a) there weren’t any and (b) I had nothing to use in one anyway. I went into the stall, pulled down my underwear...I mean panties...and the pee came in the kind of powerful stream that I hadn’t had since I was 20. I finished and went to stand up until a voice in my head said “wipe.” I must’ve used half a roll of toilet paper to make sure I was dry and stood up. I walked out and went to the mirror to check my lipstick. Check my lipstick. I felt ridiculous.

Robin, a bitch in the real estate group said brightly, “Hey, Jess, how are you?” Robin was beautiful. 5'10", 150 lbs. Jet black hair and emerald green eyes. Every guy in the firm lusted after her. She had never said more than three words to me. I didn’t know why. So, I decided she was a bitch.

“Um, good and you,” I said, somewhat shocked.

“Great. How’s life in litigation?” By that sentence, she said more to me than she had in my seven years at the firm.

“Fine. How’s real estate?”

“Boy, you’re a woman of few words today. Busy. We have a Feldstein project today. You know, Sandy, I want everything but hate paying.”

I relaxed. She wasn’t so bad. “Tell me about it. I have a meeting with him in ten minutes. He gives you guys headaches. When litigation gets involved, something went wrong and it’s our fault.” This was actually nice. She was really not so bad. I pulled out my lipstick.

“Isn’t it?” she said, laughing. “That’s a great shade for you. What is it?”

I looked at the top, “Um...Bobbi Brown...sexy coral,” I said, blushing.

She smiled. She was even more beautiful when she smiled. “Sexy coral makes you blush? What do you do in bed?”

Now, I really blushed. “I...I...just stop,” I giggled. Again with the giggling. “I have a meeting.”

“OK, OK. This will relax you. Think of Sandy Feldstein naked. His gray, hairy chest. His pot belly. His shrunken balls and shriveled penis,” she said, laughing. “Do you think he takes the big gold chai off?”

I laughed out loud. “You are unbelievable, Robin, you know?” She was really funny and crude. I don’t know why everyone thought she was a bitch.

“Behave yourself,” she said, laughing. “Go get ready. And just remember, ‘oooh, Sandy. Take your Viagra and make me yours....wait a second,” she said, fixing the shoulders on my jacket. Normally, this would’ve made me hot. But, strangely, I felt nothing. “That’s better.”

“Thanks.” I walked out laughing. That was, needless to say, more of a conversation than I ever had in a men’s room. The most I said was, “You don’t buy beer, just rent it.”

I got my files and walked to the conference room. Sandy was sitting at the conference table. I had to stifle a laugh thinking about what Robin said.

“Something funny? Me getting sued funny to you?”

“Sorry, how are you,” I said, sticking out my hand and instinctively gripping his tightly. He looked at me askance. What was so strange about a handshake? “So, a sub is suing for the cost of cement provided. Tell me what happened,” I said, taking out a legal pad.

“What happened? What happened? I’ll tell you what the f...happened! Sorry....” With that, he went into a strange diatribe about how everyone was out to get him and how the ‘greasy guinea’ sub-contractor gave him watered down cement and how he had to re-pour four foundations. What made the diatribe strange wasn’t his paranoia, racism or his complete denial of any responsibility, it was his stifling his language. Normally, Sandy sounded like second place in the Bad Mamet festival. Today, however, he kept stopping and apologizing.

After a tenth apology, I said “What are you sorry for?”

“For talking the way I do. My wife tells me to stop. I tell her I’m seventy-four, I’m not stopping. But I should act nicer. Especially around pretty women.”

I smiled. He relaxed. Amazing what a woman’s smile will do. “I’ve heard worse. I’ve said worse. Although I’ve never seen someone use the word ‘fuck’ so creatively. But, let’s get to it. He...did,” I paused to remember to add more words, “he really provide watered cement?”

“What the f....did I just say?”

“I understand that. I’m asking this between us. It’s privileged. I wanted to know, because if this the usual ‘I don’t want to pay him because I just don’t’ thing, you’ll be caught with your dick in your hand at trial.”

He looked shocked. “Dick in your hand?” grumbled Sandy. “Your mother know you talk like that?”

“Sorry.” His shock amazed and, for some inchoate reason, bothered me. “Excuse me, you’ll,” I took a deep breath, “be embarrassed at trial and you’ll lose and it will cost you lots and you know he’ll ruin your rep with every sub on the Island. Of course, you don’t need me to tell you that, ” I said sweetly. I knew that playing to his ego would calm him down. Always worked on me.

He broke into a smile. “Despite what your boss says about me, I pay my subs. I need sh...things from me.”

“So, I’ll file a standard denial and counterclaim. Relax, I’ll take care of it.”

“Every time my wife says that, it costs me money.”

“She lives with you? She doesn’t get enough.”

“I’m not paying you for that. Send me the fu...papers before you answer. Tell the fat fu...man I’ll call him.”

“Goodbye Sandy, and you can say fuck all you want.”

“My age, saying’s all I can do.” He actually looked ashamed. “Sorry about that.”

“Not as sorry as your wife is, I imagine,” I laughed.

He looked shocked, “You have a dirty mind. You shouldn’t talk that way.”

I went back to work and found the memo from Rachel in my in-box. “Sorry,” she wrote, ending it with a frowny face emoticon. I rolled my eyes. She needed to act professionally. I’d have to talk to her about that. Forty-five minutes later, Mike called me into his office.

“I just got off the phone with Sandy Feldstein,” he said, looking displeased.

“What’s wrong?”

“You cursed. He was very upset.”

“I cursed? He curses like a longshoreman with Tourette’s.”

Mike laughed. “Longshoreman with Tourette’s. That’s funny. Anyway, he’s from the old school. Hard enough to get him to accept women lawyers. But one who curses, I had to calm him down. Don’t do it.”

“Excuse me, but would you be having this conversation with David or Jim or Kevin? Or is it just because I’m a woman” I said, my voice rising with offense. I heard myself, and was shocked at the tone.

“Calm down,” he said. “Look, I don’t like his cursing. And I hate it in meetings under any circumstances. But, he’s the client. And it’s the golden rule - he has the gold, he rules. If it makes you feel better, I told him he can’t curse and expect that no one else will.”

“You know he didn’t hear you.”

“Thanks,” he said ruefully. “Kill my mood. Anyway, he likes your work, so keep the cursing to a minimum next time, OK? This case his usual garbage or legit?”

“Who knows? I got his usual Christopher Columbus Foundation approved rant against subs. I’ll deny everything. His name. His address. The whole thing.” With that, I left his office and worked for the next four and a half hours. I went home on the train, this time standing at the pole to start. When I got home, I, or should I say, my body, was sitting on the couch.

“Hey, sweetie, how was the rest of your day?” he said, leaning down to kiss me. It was strange. I had to stretch to look into my own eyes. “Get through everything OK?”

“Fine. You wouldn’t believe what happened with Sandy Feldstein. Sandy Fucking Cocksucker Feldstein. He kept trying to stop cursing, and then he kept apologizing. He’s never done that before. Then he got pissed when I cursed. Called Mike and everything.”

“I’m not surprised. The older guys in my company do it all the time. They apologize like you’re some dainty flower. It’s a way of subjugating you while seeming like they’re just trying to be polite or something. Then they get angry when you curse. Welcome to the world of double standards.”

“Look at you. You’re no dainty flower.”

She grabbed me. “You know it, baby.” I tried to push away but couldn’t until he loosened his grip.

“On the upside, I had a really nice conversation with Robin.”

“The one you lust after? I thought you said that she was a bitch.”

“No, it’s funny. She started it. Was really nice. We made fun of Sandy together. Then, she straightened my jacket for me.”

“You must’ve gone through the roof with that. Isn’t that like the fantasy of every guy in your office?”

“Nah, it’s weird. I would have thought I’d lose it, but it just felt like a nice gesture.”

She looked at me quizically. “Huh? Anyway, she was nice?”

“Yeah, she’s funny and crude and really sweet. I wonder why.”

“Maybe, because you weren’t leering at her or hitting on her. Maybe, if you, Dan not Jessica, treated her like a person and not a sex object, she’d be nice. Jeez, you’d think you’d know this.”

“Sorry. How was the rest of your day?”

“Good. Fine. Fun. Like I said before, it’s fun being big. Walk where you want. Stand when you pee. Not have to check your make-up all the time. Speaking of which, nice job on the lipstick. You have a real knack for it.”

“Great....”

“Oh, relax. I think today was good for you. You sound like you’ve dealt with some of what we deal with.” With that, she slid next to me and started to give me a back rub. “This OK?”

“Actually, it feels really good....”

Then, she leaned down and kissed my neck. “Don’t jump. We have no place to go.”

“I’m not jumping. Keep doing the backrub. I feel tingly all over.”

“Tingly?” she said, laughing. “Cute.”

“Shut up and keep doing it,” I said, as she kept kissing me and rubbing my back. I turned to face myself. She leaned down and kissed me full on the mouth. Lipstick be damned, I didn’t move. On the one hand, being kissed with such force by a guy scared me. On the other hand, it felt good. She grabbed my waist and pulled me closer.

“Mmmm,” I moaned, as she put her hands under my shirt and began rubbing my back again. I did the same. It felt off-putting rubbing a guy’s back, but it felt like reciprocating was the right thing to do.

Then, she put her hands in my pants and began rubbing my ass. “Hey,” I said, weakly, as I pulled my lips away.

“Trust me, you’ll like it,” she said, kissing me again. She was right. It felt good. Then, she moved around her hand to my vagina. “Stop it,” I said. “That’s weird.”

“Just try it. It’s mine. I know you’ll like it,” and with that, she began rubbing my clit. I moaned, “Oh...oh...oh, that feels so good,” I whimpered. She began moving me towards the bedroom. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” she said, roughly.

“What?”

“Make love to you. Fuck you.”

“No...”

“No?” she said, rubbing my clit some more. “No? You don’t like this?”

“No...I mean...this feels so good....but...”

“But what? If this feels good, let me fuck you. Come on, it’s my body, I’ll know what feels good.” It’s weird, not only had we switched bodies, it was like we’d switched minds. She wanted sex and I didn’t.

“Yeah, but it feels...gay.”

“Gay?” she said, pulling away. “Gay? What does that mean?” she said, sounding irritated.

“You have a penis. Someone sticking his penis in you makes you gay.”

“And me sticking something in a vagina makes me a lesbian?”

“No, you’ve used a vibrator, it’s different.”

“That is unfuckingbelievable,” she said, tucking in her shirt. “You killed the fucking mood.”

“I’m sorry. This is weird for me. I don’t know. I feel weak. I know that’s really obnoxious. But, you sound like you had a good time today. You got to be stronger and taller and listened to. I got treated like a little girl. And now you want to fuck me and I want you to fuck me, but then I feel like if I let you, it’s like I’m being totally emasculated. Which is funny because I have a vagina. But, am I making any sense?”

She sighed. “I know you’re scared. Believe it or not, I’m scared, too. But, this is just some weird dream or something. If we make love, we’re making love to each other. I’m not a guy fucking you, Dan. I’m your wife. Maybe, I don’t look like it, but this won’t make you gay. Besides,” she said, smiling slyly. “I know what I like. If you’re a good girl and pay attention, when we change back, I’ll let you try out your lesson, OK?”

“I don’t know,” I said coyly. “I mean, you’re this big strong man and I’m just this little girl...”

“That’s it, baby. Get into it,” she said, pulling me closer, sticking her hands back down my pants. Thankfully, she started fingering me again.

“Mmmm....get me in bed before I change my mind.”

“That’s my girl,” she said, moving me backwards, kissing me and fingering me. This felt so amazing. Note to self: Finger the clit...finger the clit. We went into the bedroom and instinct took over. We started stripping each other. She threw me on the bed, and scared me with the ease with which she did it. She went to her drawer and threw her pink negligee on the bed. “Put this on...”

“Why?”

“Trust me.” I put it on and liked the way the silk felt against my smooth skin. It actually put me more in the mood, which scared me.

She started to rub her hands over the lingerie. “Do you like the way that feels?”

“Oh yeah...”

“Say I like it when you rub your hands over my lingerie.”

“I like it when you rub your hands over my lingerie.” Where was she going with this? Who cared? I liked the way it felt.

“Do you feel all girly?”

“What?”

“If you want me to keep going, say it.”

“Oooh, I feel all girly.” I didn’t like where this was going, but I did like the feeling. “What about you? Do you feel like a big strong man?”

She grunted, “I am a big strong man,” she said, sticking her hands under my lingerie and pinching my nipples.

“Fuck me, Dan. Fuck me hard,”I moaned, almost involuntarily.

“Not yet,” she said, spreading my legs and eating me out. “How’s that?” she mumbled.

“Oh...oh...oh...please...please....please...fuck me. Fuck me now!” This was amazing. I never felt this good and I never heard Jessica moan this much. She kept licking me, faster and faster. “Now...oh god, please...please...NOW!” Suddenly, I felt her hands push down on my wrists and she looked down at me with an evil leer. “Hang on. Tell me how big I am.”

OK, that was momentarily weird. “Huh?”

“Tell me how big I am. Bitch.” Someone’s getting into it too much.

“Oh, you’re so huge. I don’t know if I can handle you.” Now, I was getting into it. She touched the tip of her cock onto my clit. I involuntarily bucked, taking her into me. She pulled out slowly, then slid it back in. I was scared, but couldn’t deny the pleasure.

“That’s it,” she said, “Arch your back.” She started thrusting and I started bucking. We kept at it, as she pinched my nipples and teased my clit. I kept bucking my hips, as my body took over my mind. I stopped thinking about who we were and enjoyed the moment. I wished I had a pad to take notes. I figured if I could do this, we’d be at it every night. After ten minutes, she grunted like a rutting pig and we both came. She rolled off of me and said, “So, was it good for you?”

I leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. “That was amazing, actually...we should do that more often.”

“Were you a good girl and paying attention?”

“Yes. I promise when things get back to normal, I will do everything you did. That felt phenomenal. How was it for you?”

“I came, didn’t I?”

“Wow, you’re really taking on the guy role, aren’t you?”

She laughed. “All that thrusting’s so much work, and my arms are kind of sore.”

“See? It’s not so easy, is it. You get used to it though. Although I hope you don’t.”

“Why? Was that so bad?”

“Oh, jeez...yes...I mean, no...I mean, it felt great, but now it feels backwards...”

“You were definitely getting into it...fuck me...fuck me...now. Come on, admit it.” I blushed again. “You are so cute when you blush,” she said, kissing my neck again. “I’m hungry,” she said.

“Me too...but unless you got someone else’s body, you haven’t reloaded yet, if you know what I mean.”

She laughed. “No, I mean I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat. You might want to clean yourself up.”

“Huh?”

“Wipe yourself. Like I always do.”

“Oh,” I said, standing up. “Yeech,” I said, as cum started leaking out of me. “This feels gross.”

“Welcome to my world. See, you’re learning so much,” she grinned.

“These are some fucked up lessons, you know?”

“Go pee. I’ll get you some clothes to wear.”

“Do you need to me get you anything?”

“I’ll throw on some jeans and a shirt. Hey, I like this. Dressing without thought.”

“I’m so happy you’re happy.” I peed and when I came out, I saw a black skirt, sweater and red bra and panties on the bed. The bra and panties were all lacy, unlike the plain bra and panties I wore before. “What’s with all this?”

“We’re going out. I wanted you to look nice.”

“Why can’t I wear pants?”

“If this is only a day, I want you to understand everything I go through. And with a skirt you’ll be much more aware of what you’re doing, how you’re walking, how you’re sitting.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much. I’m not making you learn things.”

“What’s to learn? Be insensitive to your partner’s needs. Wear whatever you want. Walk like you’re in charge.”

“Ha ha? What’s with the bra and panties?”

“Well, you know what they say about a girl who wears a red bra and panties....” she leered. “Oh, you’re blushing again, how cute.”

“Stop,” I said, putting on the bra and panties. “I hate to say this...”

“What?”

“These feel, I don’t know, sexy. I’m sorry, that’s got to freak you out.”

“Sort of. But let’s just treat this as a game. You’re a girl. I’m a guy. We’re going to dinner. Let’s leave it at that.” She kissed me again. “But, if I buy you dinner...”

“You men are all the same,” I said, starting to leave.

“Don’t forget your lipstick, sweetie. I want you to look good.” I quickly swiped on the lipstick.

“How’s that?”

Now she looked concerned. “Good. Good. You did that really...well.”

“Stop it. Let’s not get self conscious about this. It’s a game. Remember?”

We walked outside and I realized she was right. I could feel the wind up my skirt and it made me more aware of how I walked. It felt bizarre, but liberating at the same time. My legs were free and the wind tickled my legs. I felt her eyes on me. “What?”

“I...you’re walking so femininely.”

“Huh?”

“Shoulders up, chest out, ass wiggling oh so cutely in that skirt. It’s getting me hot but it’s scary to think my husband’s in there.” The glow of sex had worn off, and now I think everything was hitting us. We weren’t playing a game. Somehow, we had switched bodies and all that we had just done was repeating on us. Would she ever be able to have sex with me knowing I had said I was girly and wanted to be fucked. We could pretend it wasn’t anything, but it was.

[to be continued, if there’s interest]