What they don't tell you about body swapping is how your perception of the world changes completely once you experience life in a new body—Part II— other POV.
What they don't tell you about body swapping is how your perception of the world changes completely once you experience life in a new body—Part II—another POV.
If I kept going like that, I wouldn't last long. Looking at myself disgusted me. Flabby, weak, small, and harmless. "You're so cute"—I lost count of how many times I’d been told that.
Dozens of doctor's appointments, and every time, the same thing: "There's nothing wrong with you; this is your body's natural shape." My face was handsome, sure, but those huge breasts, wide hips, and tiny penis always destroyed my self-esteem; that’s why I could hardly ever connect with anyone—except Oliver.
Oliver always treated me well and defended me against anyone who tried to attack me. Unlike me, he was a real man. Lean, firm, and slender. A man's body. I would have given anything to have him—to *be* him. It turned out there was a way, apparently.
"It's a new therapy, dear," "harmless and safe," my mother said. "Oliver has even agreed to help you." She didn't need to say another word; I was already convinced. That night, I masturbated while thinking about him—about being him.
A week later, we were at the clinic, lying naked side-by-side in a bizarre machine. He was studying me, probably wondering if it was really worth it—taking on my pathetic body. Meanwhile, I was in awe of his masculine features; I *needed* to be him.
When I opened my eyes, my mother was looking at me. "Feeling better already, dear?" she asked. "I think so," I replied in a deep voice. I looked at my arms and saw hair. I looked at my torso and legs, and I was finally a real man. And finally, my new penis. Oliver's penis was now between my legs. In reality, I was Oliver.
When I was finally alone, I began to explore my new body without guilt. It had been over a day since I’d bathed, and my own male scent was driving me wild with lust. Right there in the hospital, I pleasured myself as Oliver for the first time.
We went on like this for weeks; I was loving every second of it. But apparently, Oliver wasn't having as much fun in my pathetic body, and the thought of going back to being that fragile thing made me sick. So, I decided to exploit my old self's greatest weakness: his infatuation with Oliver.
We went to the movies together—it was fun, but that wasn't all I wanted. I kissed him, and the confusion on my old face was unmistakable. I wanted to make things even stranger, to break the boundary between us and consummate our swap once and for all. And so I did. He didn't resist—after all, how could he? He was now weaker, shorter, insecure, and obedient—just as I had been my whole life.
We got home; we were living together during this time to help us adapt to the body swap—a doctor's recommendation. I laid him down on my bed and stripped him completely naked. I had always been disgusted by myself, but from this perspective, I kind of liked what I saw. Big breasts, wide hips, a pathetic penis, and an angelic face. Completely hairless. That body was born to obey and be dominated, and my new form immediately answered the call.
I kissed my old mouth, smelled my old scent—sweet and slightly musky—and was driven to ecstasy. As I penetrated my old anus with my new member, I saw something snap in his expression; he was me now, and I was him. I smiled and let the hot, thick fluid from my new body fill the new Oliver.
A few days later, we returned to the office to reverse the swap, but neither Oliver nor I were the same anymore. "Are you sure?" the doctor asked. "Yes, we are," I replied firmly.