Turnabout Read online

  Turnabout

  Elizabeth Jewell

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2006 Elizabeth Jewell

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Changeling Press LLC.

  ISBN (10) 1-59596-337-5

  ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-337-6

  Formats Available:

  HTML, Adobe PDF,

  MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader

  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  PO Box 1561

  Shepherdstown, WV 25443-1561

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Maryam Salim

  Cover Artist: Angela Knight

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Chapter One

  When Fee woke the morning after St. Patrick’s Day, she had a dick.

  She didn’t really notice. Not right away. It was, after all, five in the morning, and she wasn’t really awake. But when she sat down to pee, she noticed.

  She stared at it a moment, bemused. She blinked slowly, wondering what the hell was going on. Then the insistent pressure from her bladder took over and she did what seemed to be the logical thing. She pushed the strange appendage down between her thighs and peed.

  Not that it was the easiest thing to do, since she was sporting a partial stiffy. But she got the job done, then let it pop back out so she could take a look.

  She was beginning to wake up by now, enough that a tremor of panic had begun in her chest. The dick wasn’t the only thing different; her thighs were hairy and leanly muscled, and if she looked a little farther down, she could see ugly man-feet. Her hands were masculine, as well, her neatly manicured fingers nowhere to be seen.

  Then she realized she knew this dick. She’d spent a lot of time with this dick. She’d played with it and fingered it and even had it in her mouth.

  Not that she could get it in her mouth now. Even her three yoga classes a week hadn’t made her quite that flexible.

  Slowly, she got up and moved across the bathroom to stand in front of the mirror. Her suspicions, strange as they were, were confirmed.

  Her husband looked back at her.

  “Huh,” she said, and went back to the bedroom.

  Mal always slept naked, so of course she found herself in that state. The figure remaining on the bed wore a familiar, faded, rose-colored cotton nightgown, and lay with her back to Fee.

  Fee stood for a long moment, just looking. This was her body. It didn’t look like her, though. The woman on the bed was a bit more svelte than she was. Was somebody else in her bed? What the hell, exactly, was going on?

  “Mal?” she ventured. The voice that came to her ears was familiar and yet not -- a bit deeper than Mal’s voice. It vibrated in her own mouth, in her chest. The strange sensation made her hesitate, then clear her throat.

  “Mal?” She tried again.

  The woman stirred. “Mornin’, Fee…” she said, in a familiar, lazy drawl that wasn’t familiar at all, because it sounded like her voice did when she heard it over the answering machine.

  The woman rolled over to look at her, a befuddled expression on her face -- Fee’s own face. “What the fuck?”

  Now Fee was positive something bizarre was going on, because she hardly ever said the word “fuck.” It was uncouth. “Something weird’s going on,” she said.

  “No shit,” said Mal. “What are you doing with my dick?”

  She shrugged. “Just peed with it, is all. Is that okay?”

  Mal looked down, then lifted his hands and cupped the breasts sprouting from Fee’s borrowed body. Fee watched him, more than a little disturbed.

  “Are you sure that’s me?” she asked.

  He plumped the breasts, still looking down at them with focused interest. “Feels like you. Looks like you.” He tweaked the nipples. “God, that feels good.”

  “Knock it off, Mal.” A strange sensation moved through her pelvis, and she looked down. “Oh, good grief, Mal. Do you have to have a woody every morning?”

  He looked at the curved cock sprouting from what Fee now had to claim as her own body and chuckled. “It’s your woody this morning, Fee.”

  Fee glared at it. It twitched, but didn’t go down. It seemed almost to be laughing at her. With a sigh, she trudged to the bed and sat down heavily. “This is insane.”

  Mal seemed far too absorbed in playing with his own nipples to really be paying any attention to Fee.

  “Man.” He looked up at her, puppy-like enthusiasm brimming in his eyes. “We should fuck like this. We should totally fuck.”

  Fee gaped, then picked up a pillow and flung it at him as hard as she could. “That is all you ever think about! Ever!” She lunged forward, almost losing her balance. Her center of gravity was off, because she had no breasts. She had no breasts because Mal had them. And he was playing with them.

  “Argh!” It was all she could manage. She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her.

  The Previous Night

  St. Patrick’s Day was Fee’s least favorite holiday. She hated green, wasn’t nuts about beer or corned beef and cabbage, and dancing a reel made her queasy. And with a name like Fiona O’Toole, that had always been a handicap. Not because she felt bad about it, but because people bugged her about it. Every year.

  Even Mal, her husband of two years, who was about as Irish as your average bratwurst, insisted on celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. Which was why they’d ended up at the local bar, drinking green beer and listening to a live Irish band who couldn’t keep their pipes and tin whistle in tune with each other.

  It was like the fifth circle of hell. Irish hell. Without the whiskey.

  Mal tapped his foot and bobbed his head to the music. “Aren’t they great?”

  Fee gave him a narrow look. Surely he wasn’t serious. “They suck. They suck, blow, and suck again.”

  He frowned a little. “They’re not that bad.”

  “They’re out of tune.”

  “Well… they’re enthusiastic.” He chugged down his green beer and waved for another. “Drink up, Fee.”

  “I don’t like beer.” She peered into her own glass. “There’s about nine zillion calories in this glass, and I don’t need any of them.”

  Mal scoffed. “Come on, Fee. You’re fine. A little beer and corned beef isn’t going to give you cankles.”

  She glared at him. “You have no idea how hard I have to work to stay in this size. Besides, it’s not even Irish. It’s… Coors with food coloring. They could at least serve Guinness.”

  “Guinness is expensive.”

  The silky smooth voice came from right next to her. She turned to see a slim, dark-haired man behind the bar. His eyes were gray, and his accent sent warm tendrils down her spine. It was Irish, and that should have annoyed her, but it wasn’t that fake-sounding Lucky Charms accent. It was a silky accent, like Pierce Brosnan’s, or Liam Neeson’s.

  “So?” Fee challenged him. “I’d pay for it.”

  “American Guinness?” His gray eyes twinkled. “What was your phrase? It sucks, blows, and sucks again.”

  Fee shrugged. “Never tried it.”

  “With a name like Fiona O’Toole, I’m surprised.”

  Her eyes narrowed, her heart doing a flip-flop beat in her chest. “How do you know my name?”

  The bartender winked at her. “
I know many things. Some of them half interesting.”

  The guy had suddenly lost most of his appeal. “Word of advice,” Fee told him. “The stalker look? Really not good on you.”

  Leaning forward, she prodded Mal, who was watching the horrible, no good, very bad band as they abandoned the ritualistic torture of their instruments to get a beer.

  “Let’s go, Mal. I have stuff to do at home.”

  “No way, Fee. It’s St. Patty’s Day. Time to party.”

  Fee regarded him narrowly. “I’m really not enjoying myself. And I’m going to have to be on the treadmill for an hour tomorrow to make up for this.”

  “You just need to cut loose, have a beer.”

  “I have a beer.”

  “Then cut loose. Work off those pesky calories on the dance floor.” He made dorky dancing moves from his barstool, and Fee rolled her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Mal. I just want to go home.”

  Something made Fee look back over her shoulder. Weird Irish Stalker Guy was watching her with a slight smile, one of those looks that made him seem like he knew something Fee didn’t.

  “This guy’s creeping me out,” she muttered.

  “What’s that?” Mal asked, raising his voice to be heard over the band, who had started to re-tune their instruments. Fee doubted it would help.

  Fee didn’t want Weird Stalker Guy to hear her, so she just repeated, “I want to go home.”

  Mal waved her off again. “No way.” He stood. “C’mon, Fee. Let’s dance.”

  “I just want to go.”

  “Fee, you’re such a wet blanket. Good God.”

  That was it. Fee couldn’t take it anymore. “Mal. I just want to go home. I don’t like beer, this whole evening is throwing me off my diet, I hate St. Patrick’s Day, and this band sucks gigantic donkey dong.” Of course the band decided to wind their tuning up right before she finished shouting, leaving “gigantic donkey dong” to ring like church bells through the small bar. She closed her eyes, pained.

  “I just don’t get you, Fee.” Mal seemed unfazed by Fee’s humiliation. “It’s like any time we try to have fun you’re all counting the calories and freaking out. I just don’t get it.”

  “No, you don’t get me. You don’t get me at all.” She was furious now, furious because he wasn’t listening, furious because she was embarrassed, furious because the bodhran player was giving her the evil eye. “You have no idea what it’s like to be me. God! If you could just be me for a day maybe I wouldn’t have this horrible urge to shove a tin whistle up your ass!”

  She stomped toward the door, all too aware that she had become the center of attention. And in the sudden silence, she swore she heard a word spoken, in a smooth, Liam Neeson accent…

  “Granted.”

  Chapter Two

  In the bathroom, trying to collect her temper, Fee stared at herself in the mirror.

  How had this happened? People didn’t just wake up in their husbands’ bodies. That was lame. Not to mention impossible.

  And Mal… God, if there was ever a man who didn’t need his own personal pair of breasts, it was Mal. Peeking back out the bathroom door into the bedroom, she saw him still sitting on the bed, playing with them. The nightgown was now in a rose-colored pile next to him on the bed. A surge of anger passed through her. Those were her tits, dammit. He had no right to sit there messing with them. The fact he’d messed with them before, many times, when they were attached to her, really had no bearing on the situation.

  Well, two could play at that game. She swung away from the mirror and sauntered back into the bedroom, hand wrapped around her -- Mal’s -- proudly erect cock.

  He looked up, and she stopped short, staring at her own face, her own naked body. She’d always thought she was dumpier than that, but the body seated on the bed was a bit sleeker, smoother. Her breasts, cupped by long, slim hands, were lush and full, a bit perkier than she’d always thought. Her green eyes regarded Fee in wonder, then she smiled. Lust rushed through Fee’s borrowed body, and the cock cupped in her hand grew suddenly steely hard.

  “You’re just beautiful, Fee.” Mal’s voice -- her own voice, deeper and huskier to her ears now -- carried the same wonder that lay in his eyes. His gaze moved down to the thick erection cradled in Fee’s hand, and he let out a low, sensual chuckle that made Fee’s loins burn. “See? Even without me in it, that body wants you.”

  She couldn’t deny it. She stood there in a cloud of lust, staring at her own body through Mal’s eyes. And Mal’s body wanted her with impressive intensity.

  Fee looked down at the hard cock in her hand, then back up at Mal. His expression took on a hazy air, and Fee couldn’t help wondering if she always looked that brainless when she was aroused.

  “This is weird,” Mal suddenly said.

  “You just now figured that out?”

  His gaze rose to hers, and she was once again struck by the pure strangeness of it, of her own face regarding her with that slack-jawed need.

  “How did this happen?” His thumbs still absently tweaked his full, pink nipples.

  “I don’t know.” Fleetingly, she thought of Stalker Guy at the bar last night, then she shook her head. That was ridiculous. And again, impossible.

  At the moment, though, it didn’t matter. She took a step closer to the bed, overwhelmed by the intense need that had taken her over. She’d felt surges of lust before, of course -- Mal knew how to make her body cry with need -- but this was different. More primal, somehow, grabbing her lower in the guts and wrenching her there. As she regarded her own naked body curled up there on the bed, legs tucked under, hands on her breasts, the soft, red-gold triangle of hair barely visible between her thighs, her brain could form only one thought. She wanted that body under her, spread out on the bed, legs open, wet and wanting and waiting for this hard cock to spear into her.

  She looked down at her hand, Mal’s long, strong fingers curled around the relentless erection. She was squeezing it a little too tight, but the pressure felt good, even riding the edge of discomfort as it was.

  She took a step closer to the bed. She could touch Mal now, the soft, rounded, female cheeks, if she just reached out. No makeup, hair disheveled, her face vacant with lust -- she was lovely.

  Her fingers reached out -- Mal’s fingers, dark and blunt, with bitten nails -- and brushed along the curve of her face. Mal shivered, eyes drifting shut. Long, dark gold lashes fell against the soft curve of cheek.

  Fee had never been particularly attracted to or aroused by women. But this body she inhabited was, and every movement Mal made sent Fee into hot convulsions of arousal. She didn’t want to think about the fact she was looking at herself, responding to herself, lusting after herself. She just wanted.

  She touched Mal’s lips, feeling the heat of his quickening breath against her finger. She imagined she could hear his heartbeat, the quick, trip trip rhythm. Suddenly she needed to feel it against her fingers.

  Her hand shifted, seeming to her almost to float until it rested against Mal’s warm skin, between the curve of his breasts. Fee could feel the pulse there, rapid and fluttery, speeding up at her touch.

  The weight and heat of the breasts on either side of her questing fingers drew her. She let her hand move again until she cupped that heat.

  It was strange, yet familiar. She’d handled this breast before, of course; it was hers, and she knew its textures and contours. She thumbed the nipple, and Mal gasped.

  “God.” His hand went to his abdomen, and Fee knew exactly what he was feeling -- the vague cramping that often accompanied her arousal. “It hurts,” he said, his tone perplexed. “It’s not supposed to hurt, is it?”

  Fee tweaked the pink nipple again, a little harder. “That’s normal. And it’s nothing. Stick around a while -- maybe you’ll have a period and then you’ll really know what pain is about.”

  Mal’s head moved back. He was frowning, and suddenly seemed less interested in the burgeoning foreplay. “I don’t like
the sound of that.”

  “Of course you don’t. You’re a man.” She dipped her head and caught the turgid nipple in her mouth, letting it roll against her tongue. It felt good, tasted good. It should have felt unnatural, strange, she thought, but it didn’t, and she decided she didn’t want to think anymore. Her cock begged to plunge into Mal’s deep heat, and something in her borrowed body remembered what that felt like. The sensation flooded her, seizing her again with mindless need.

  Mal’s hands gripped her shoulders and she scraped her teeth lightly over the nipple, her other hand moving to cup the other breast. “This is so weird,” he moaned, his voice strained. But he didn’t push her away.

  “Yes.” Fee lifted her mouth from the heat of Mal’s warm, heavy breast and captured his mouth with hers.

  His mouth -- her mouth -- was smaller, the lips fuller, and as it parted under hers, she pressed her tongue inside, tasting, more forceful than she ever had been in her own body. “Want you,” she managed, pulling back just enough to speak.

  He drew back a little more. “I’m not sure about this.”

  Fee shifted toward him, her lips just brushing his. “You were the one who said we should.”

  “It’s… it’s just weird.”

  “Not like we haven’t done it before.” Her hand moved lower, to the soft curve of belly where she knew he was feeling the odd mixture of turgid fullness and aching need, begging for something to come in, hard and deep. Fee felt almost helpless in the flood of lust, but kept it in check as best she could, waiting for Mal to be ready for her to proceed.

  Mal’s lips moved against hers again, hesitantly. Fee pressed Mal’s stomach, fingers drifting a bit lower. She could feel the heat, could smell the soft musk of female arousal. Again, familiar, but affecting her body in a very different manner than usual. The lust had become a living thing, filling her chest like air, almost too much to contain or control. Fingertips brushed the coarse hair, edging closer to the heat below.

  “So strange,” Mal murmured, then stopped, as if only then becoming aware he was speaking.