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Exchange Students

By: Exchange Students



"I know," Dr. Minsky replied, "it's a little peculiar."

She yelled her response. "A LITTLE PECULIAR?! ARE YOU NUTS?! This is downright awful, horrible, terrible, a disaster! I can't go to classes looking like this? What will my parents say? Who is ever going to date me now? How will I fit into my clothes? I just bought a new dress! What am I supposed to do with that?!"

These were all very good questions. Unfortunately, Dr. Minsky did not have an answer, at least for most of them.

He tried to speak in his most calm, confident, and reassuring voice. "It will be okay, Marcia, trust me. It will be fine. All we have to do is to reverse the process, and then everything will be fine."

Well, that was reassuring, at least. The professor didn't seem to be upset at all. He appeared to know what went wrong and how to fix it. "Oh, okay, okay, I guess. Well, good, um, let's do it. Let's get this done."

"Yea, well, um, like I said, the cables shorted out, and I have to check for further damage, you know, to the mother board. So, um, well, we won't be able to do it until, well, tomorrow." His heart seemed to freeze as he waited for her response, her reaction. Frankly, he was not at all sure that he could even fix the apparatus, and he certainly didn't know if he would have it running by tomorrow. It could in fact take weeks. That was what he would know tomorrow, he hoped.

Marcia didn't like hearing that. "Well, what am I supposed to do until tomorrow?"

Dr. Minsky tried to sound comforting and unconcerned. "Well, what we've done in the past when this has happened, is just have the participants go along with their normal routine, do their business. Think about it like a little adventure. I mean, how many girls get to live in a guy's body for a day, or so. It could be kind of interesting, don't you think? Yes, yes, I'm often rather jealous about this, when it happens. I would myself like to try it sometime. Yes, yes. Um, well, just wait here a second. I need to explain all this to Michael as well." He didn't want to wait for her response, particularly as he had dropped a partial hint that he might not even be able to conduct the reversal tomorrow.

Marcia didn't think it would be interesting at all. How could it be interesting? Frankly, it all sounded rather disgusting, and even more disgusting to think that this guy, Michael, whoever he was, was going to be in her body. Again, what was he going to do with it? He'll probably go out and eat fast foods, lots of big greasy hamburgers. Where else did he get this pimple! And, he probably drank lots of beer. How much weight would he put on her before she got her body back?! Although, she did then check her, or his, tummy, and Michael did feel like he was in pretty good shape. Maybe he really wouldn't mess it up, too badly. But, still, it was a guy! Why couldn't it at least have been another girl?

As Dr. Minsky made his way back to Marcia's, or Michael's, room he realized that in future experiments he was going to need to have his participants take some Valium. These kids are really upset. He wondered though if he would in fact be able to get approval for that. To do so he would have to admit that something like this could go wrong and so it was important for the participants to remain calm, and then he would have to explain specifically what could go so wrong as to require Valium. No, he wouldn't seek approval for a tranquilizer. He sure as heck didn't want this glitch to get out. Maybe he should at least though have a drink available, that did always help him calm down when he was stressed. Of course, these students were not old enough to have a drink, but maybe an exception could, should, be made when you have traded bodies with someone else. A drink couldn't hurt at a time like this, could it?

Michael was not terribly surprised by Dr. Minsky's explanation. By the time the professor had gotten back to his room, Michael had largely figured it out. He had also found Marcia's purse, saw the reflection of himself in her compact mirror, and found her driver's licence with a picture of her, now him, on the card. He also found a tampon. He studied that for awhile. It was curiously quite interesting. He wondered what other little treasures might be in this purse when Dr. Minsky opened the door. He quickly laid the purse aside, tucking the tampon back inside.

After Dr. Minsky explained the circumstances Michael replied, "So, we'll be back in our own bodies tomorrow?"

"Yes, yes," Dr. Minsky replied, trying to sound entirely confident. "I usually have all the spare parts readily available, but the short this time was unusually severe. It's just a matter of getting it hooked up and running again. No problem, no problem at all," at least he sure hoped so.

Michael took a deep sigh, noticing in his lower vision how his, her, breasts rose up and swelled with his deep breath. He did it again, just to see them expand. That was kind of cool. He wanted to touch them, see how they felt, but he couldn't really do that in front of the doctor. Wearing a woman's body for an evening could actually be kind of interesting. "Yea, well, okay, I guess." It wasn't like he had a lot of choice in the matter. "I'll get at least five hours credit for this then, won't I?"

That was another glitch Dr. Minsky hadn't anticipated. The fact was, he was only authorized to provide three credit hours for his experiment. He couldn't give Michael anything more than three hours. Still, he should get some sort of compensation for this, shouldn't he? It's not every day that you get stuck in someone else's body for an evening, and potentially even longer. He then had an inspiration.

"Actually, Michael, this really works out to your advantage. What I do in cases like this is turn it into an experiential independent study. What I want you, and Marcia, to do the rest of the day is to take careful notes of your experience, and return them to me when you come back. I can then publish these findings, with your approval, of course." Frankly, this was all really quite true, or would be true. He certainly would want to learn what the experience would be like for them and their report would boost substantially the appeal of his publication, as well as providing necessary documentation. "And, in return, I will give you full credit for an independent study. That will be a full credit for a semester long independent study, but it will in fact only last one day. What do you think of that!?"

The professor did have the authority to provide that option. He could enroll any student he wanted within an independent study course. They are never monitored or audited.

Michael liked that option a lot. Credit for a whole course! He could drop biology now and still be fully enrolled. But, still, there were other important matters to clear up. "Will there be a test?"

"No, no test."

"What grade will I get?"

"An 'A.' You will get an 'A' for the independent study, as long as you turn in your report and, of course, maintain the confidentiality of the study. You can't let anybody know about this. It could very well ruin the study, the experiment. If anyone finds out, then you may in fact not even get a passing grade." He couldn't really enforce something like that, but Michael didn't know it.

Michael though had no intention of telling anyone about this anyway. He wasn't too sure his male friends would be entirely sympathetic about this experimental screw-up, and would in fact likely find quite a bit of humor in it, all at his expense. Plus, what girl would want to go out with a guy who was once a girl? No, he had no plans of telling anyone anyway. In fact, now that the doctor mentioned it, he had a further concern. "My name won't be in any publication about this, will it?"

"Absolutely not, absolutely not, Michael. Complete confidentiality. Here, let's shake hands on that. I want to reassure you absolutely on that point." He held out his hand. "Are we agreed?"

Michael felt a bit suspicious, a bit uncertain. The professor seemed awfully anxious to close this deal. He wondered if he could get anything more out of this. But, still, credit for a full class, an 'A" grade, and this rather cute little girly body to play with for an evening. It really didn't sound so bad. He shook the doctor's hand. "You got a deal, doctor," a smile on his face.

The professor, of course, could not be happier, could not be more relieved. "Excellent, now you wait here. I just need to get Marcia to agree. We really won't be able to do this if both of you are not on board." That was not, of course, at all true. His publication would be fine with just one participant, but it wouldn't hurt for Michael to feel that it was the professor who was doing Michael the favor, and that perhaps he might even need Michael to help convince Marcia.

As he strode back to Marcia he was feeling much, much better. If Marcia agreed to this he would be in the clear. All that would be left would be fixing the laboratory equipment and then reversing the process. And, really, maybe it wouldn't be that hard. When he thought about it, it wasn't even a matter of reversing anything. It was just a matter of doing it over, and then the result would naturally be reversed. Of course, inducing the electrical overload might be a bit risky. He would have to give that some thought, but not right now. He would have all evening to figure that out. He strode back to Marcia's room, looking and now even feeling more confident, comfortable and assured.

As he entered her room he said, "Well, this is going well, isn't it Marcia."

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!" Was this professor some sort of mad scientist? How in anyone's mind is this going well? "I'm in some guy's body, for goodness sake, and, even worse, he's in mine!" Actually, it wasn't really clear to her which was really worse. But, still, they were both pretty darned bad.

"I know, I know, but we will, I will, get this fixed, and Michael has agreed to participate in the additional study. As I explained to him, while you wait to have the process reversed I want the both of you to take careful notes of your experience, and then return them to me when you come back for the reversal. I will then publish these findings, with your approval, of course, and, in return, I will give you full credit for an independent study, with an 'A' grade, naturally." He paused, waiting for her pleased and grateful reaction. "There won't be any test," he added.

Marcia sighed deeply, noticing how much deeper sounding her sigh was with Michael's body. "I don't need any independent study. I don't need any 'A' grade." That was true. Marcia was a shy girl, but she was an extremely good student. She in fact took considerable pride in her course work and in her grade point average. Independent studies didn't really count for much, as far as she was concerned.

Well, that wasn't the reaction he was hoping for. "Yea, well, but, um, if both of you don't agree to participate, then Michael won't be able to get any credit himself."

"So? What do I care? He's got my body, what else does he want? Hey!" She just had a sudden realization. "I've got a biology test in a few days. What about that? I've got to study for it! Or, he does, somebody does. I don't want him messing up my GPA."

Dr. Minsky hadn't thought about that. That was perhaps another glitch. He had to just shoot from the hip. "Um, no, don't worry, not a problem. When you switch back you will take with you all of your new memories. What you won't have is any knowledge, or memory, of what happened within your body over that time." That made sense, he hoped.

Of course, he wasn't at all sure they would even get their own bodies back, let alone know about what would happen with any new memories.

To Marcia that sounded good, and bad. On the one hand , she really didn't want to know what this guy might do with her body. It would be like putting on the dirty clothes that someone else had been wearing. Do you really want to know how the clothes got dirty? On the other hand, she of course did want to know. She loaned a dress to a girl friend last week. It came back with a pretty odd stain. She wondered about that, and her body was considerably more important to her than the skirt. Although, still, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know all of the details regarding that stain. She would like to think that it was just some sort of spilled drink, but the splatter didn't really suggest that. She immediately got it cleaned, wishing that her friend had cleaned it first so that she would have never known about the stain. Similarly, maybe she would rather not know at all what this Michael guy does with her body, and he sure as heck better take a shower before he comes back in tomorrow!

It was at least unambiguously good to hear that if she studied tonight she would retain the memories when the switch was made the next day. "Well, okay, that's good, I guess." There was though something that was still troubling her, besides the obvious one of not being in the right body. "Nobody is gonna hear about this, are they?"

"What?"

"Nobody is going to hear about him being in my body, are they? I don't want this to get around. If he tells anyone, he's going to be in big trouble!" She also felt that the professor sure as heck should, and would, get into big trouble if he told anyone, but she wasn't comfortable threatening him directly. She assumed that he understood that she meant, by implication, him as well as Michael.

"Oh no, no, nobody, dear, not at all." He couldn't believe his luck. He had been terribly fearful of getting caught, of having to file an incident report. But, the girl wanted it to be secret and Michael had agreed for it to be secret in order to get the independent study credit. He was at least safe in this regard.

Marcia was relieved. Imagine the embarrassment, the shame, to be the girl whose body was possessed, was owned, was used, by a boy for a full evening. Something like that would spread pretty fast across campus and likely be the brunt of quite a bit of teasing, if not outright shunning. Talk about being damaged goods, being used and tossed aside. You can hardly claim to be pure and innocent, to be a virgin, to be a good girl, if some guy fully and completely possessed your body for 24 hours. She shuddered to think of what he might in fact do with it. No, she really, really didn't want to know, and she definitely didn't want anyone else to know. "He signed something, to say that he won't tell anyone about any of this? You made him sign, like an agreement?" She wanted to be very certain. If Dr. Minsky didn't agree to full confidentiality, then she would herself file a complaint. There must be some sort of confidentiality rule for research participants, isn't there?

"Well, he hasn't signed anything. We shook hands on it though."

"He's gotta sign something."

"Yes, yes, I agree. I'm sure that's no problem. I'll write up a little contract, a legal contract. I'll do it right away, and then both of you can sign it. I'm sure he'll sign it."

"And you won't say anything to anyone?"

"Not a word. Of course, I will someday write a scientific report on this, but your identity will be kept confidential. I'll change the names and even provide wrong details of physical appearance that will lead persons astray if they try to figure out who you two are."

Actually, Marcia did feel it would be kind of cool to actually be in a scientific report, to be the subject of the report. It was kind of like being the first heart transplant patient. Talk about making a contribution to science! She had second thoughts of it being confidential, at least at that point. She would want it to remain confidential though while she was still a student at Livingston. "Well, okay then."

"Excellent! I'll get the contracts put together right away."

"And, I'll also get the independent study credit as well?" She didn't really need the credit, but if she was going to do this then she might as well get the credit. It wouldn't hurt and, besides, she wanted to let the professor know that she wasn't a pushover.

"Sure, sure, of course, but, then, well, I will want your report."

"Oh yes, of course, certainly." She didn't mind doing that. In fact, it would be kind of cool to read the professor's scientific article when it came out, and then see something in it that she had written. Her parents would be really proud of that! But, then, of course, she was unlikely to tell them about it. Well, maybe she could tell just them, later on, when the report came out.

"Excellent, just wait here and I'll get the contracts prepared."

"And, hey, wait, I want my purse. He's got my purse, I guess, over there." She wasn't quite sure where he in fact was.

"Oh yes, yes, of course. In fact, would you like to meet him?"

"No way!" Whoa! Imagine how weird that would be, to actually meet yourself, or at least your body, being worn by someone else. Plus, it would be such a concrete reminder that this guy had her body. What if her hair was all messed up? Would he fix it? Actually, maybe she should see him. He obviously wouldn't know how to fix her hair or make-up. No, no. She really didn't want to see him or, more accurately, herself. It was just too weird.

The professor was a little surprised at her adamant declination. He thought it might in fact be kind of fun for them, like twins meeting each other for the very first time. He really liked that Disney movie, "The Parent Trap." But, he was not about to push his luck. In fact, he felt tremendously lucky. Both of these students were now willing to swear to confidentiality, albeit for different reasons. Marcia was in fact insisting on it. He could not believe that he was going to get through this. In fact, not only was he going to get through this, but he might indeed have made the scientific achievement of a lifetime! His heart beat with a frenzied excitement as he rushed to his office to prepare the contracts.

It didn't take long. He just had to modify Independent Study contracts to further emphasize and require complete confidentiality. He then moved quickly to Michael. He would have him sign first, and then show the signature to Marcia.

Michael was sitting patiently in the easy chair when the professor arrived. As soon as he had left to speak to Marcia, Michael had instantly grabbed one of Marcia's boobs. Actually, whose boob was it now? It was just too weird to say it was his boob, but it really was his boob at this point in time, wasn't it? In any case, he felt such a rush of excitement, of pleasure, as soon as he grasped it. His first tit! He was grasping, groping his first boob! Man, if only he still had his cock, he could stroke his dick at the same time. He began to reach under her skirt, realizing that, holy crap, there was something a heck of a lot more interesting under there!

But, then, he suddenly stopped, letting go of his tit as well. He looked around the room. He didn't see any cameras. But, experiments are often recorded. There was even a big mirror embedded in the wall. It was obviously a one-way window, and on his side it was a mirror. There could be somebody looking at him right now, filming him. This whole thing could be some tricky experiment. Whether it was or it wasn't, he really didn't want the doctor, or anyone else, seeing him play with himself. Of course, it would look like she was playing with herself, but still, they would know it was him.

He wondered if that would in fact be some sort of sexual assault or molestation, or something. Is it against the law to feel up someone else's body when you're actually in the body? It's not really her body anymore, is it? He recalled that court case in Dr. Briere's class in which a woman with multiple personality disorder claimed she was raped by a guy because when she consented she was somebody else. It wasn't her real self, or at least the one that was there from the beginning, who would not have consented. She actually won that case, Michael recalled. This might not be much different.


Exchange Students



But, man, how could the doctor expect him, really, to keep his hands off?

When the professor returned with the forms, Michael quickly signed them and handed over to the doctor Marcia's purse. As he did so, he suddenly realized there were a few remaining questions. "Hey, doc, um, like where am I supposed to stay? Should I go to her apartment? I mean, like, I don't have any clothes to wear, other than these. What will I wear tomorrow?"

'Crap!' the professor thought. This keeps getting more and more complicated, although perhaps he really shouldn't be too surprised. It wasn't like he had planned this through from the beginning. "Yea, you're right, excuse me. Let's see, uh, the two of you can exchange keys to your apartments. Do you live alone?"

"Yea, sure. I'm a junior." Many of the students at Livingston still lived with their parents. If they didn't do that, most of the remaining students lived in a dorm. However, many of the juniors and seniors lived in apartment complexes. They were not the most expensive, desirable apartments in which one would want to reside, but they were certainly affordable. Living by oneself for the first time was such a treat, even if the accommodations are not so good.

"Okay, okay," he said. "Um, let's see." He looked inside Marcia's purse. Her keys were there. He wasn't sure though which one on the key chain was her apartment key and so he just handed all of them to Michael. "I'll get, um," for a moment he was getting confused as to whose keys he was getting, "Michael's keys, your keys, from Marcia. I'll be right back."

He hurried back to Marcia, thinking that this would be so much easier if they just worked it out themselves, or even just moved in with each other. But, obviously, Marcia wasn't about to do that. She didn't even want to see Michael, let alone live with him.

Marcia was relieved to get her purse back, and she quickly went through it. It wasn't like she was expecting anything to be missing, but she did wonder if that guy had been looking in it. Her face flushed as she saw the tampon, realizing that he had seen that. But, in fact, something was missing! "My key! My keys! Where are my keys?"

'Geez,' this girl really is a problem. "I gave them to Michael." Was an explanation really necessary? "We figure, I figure, that the two of you would trade places until you get switched back." Speaking matter-of-factly, "That's how we usually handle it, when something like this happens."

"Yea, well, that's not what's going to happen now." Marcia was surprised at how assertive she was. She wondered if it was because she was in a boy's body. They do tend to be more forceful. She almost smiled to herself, thinking that she could now even perhaps beat some other guy up. Boys do that, you know, and it can be pretty impressive how tough and strong they are. But, imagine, returning his body with a black eye. He probably wouldn't like that, but maybe it might serve him right, assuming that he wouldn't be entirely respectful of her body. In any case, she was not about to have him move into her apartment. "I'm not going to have him poking around my bedroom. It's bad enough that he can poke around my body." Her face went beet red just from saying such a thing. "I'm not going to have some strange guy in my room, going through my things. My goodness, doctor, he would be able to see my undies, my things, my diary!"

Dr. Minsky restrained himself from pointing out that he could already see one of her panties and brassiere. He was in fact wearing them, and would soon see what was underneath them. Still, he understood her concern about a diary, and perhaps there might be other things within her room that were of a personal nature, her "things" as she put it. And besides, each of them would probably be more comfortable in their own places. "Yea, yea, sure, we do it that way sometimes as well," he lied. "You can stay in your own places, if you wish. Here, look, why don't you empty your pockets and I'll bring everything over to Michael, and then I'll get from him everything that was in your pockets, plus I'll get the keys back. Okay? Will that be okay?" He hoped the impatience in his voice wasn't too obvious.

Marcia thought about that for awhile, wondering what she did in fact have in her pockets, in her skirt and blouse. She didn't actually have anything terribly personal there. The tampon was the worst thing, and she had that back. "Okay, I guess."

She reached into his pockets, shuddering a bit at the thought of what might be in there. What if there was some condom, or something. Or, probably a dirty handkerchief with snot all over it. But, it turned out to be pretty inconsequential. Just some pens, his keys, change, chapstick, a comb, and his billfold in a backpocket. She cursed herself for not having looked through that while the professor was out of the room. She might have been able to find out something about this guy.

She handed everything over to him, and studied the contract as he rushed back to Michael with the goods.

When he got there he explained the situation. Michael had in fact been wondering about this problem himself. He really would feel better being in his own apartment. He doubted that she had any of his computer games and, even if she did, he would need her password to get to them. Plus, he wasn't too excited about her discovering his collection of magazines deep inside his closet or, even worse, his collection of movies on his jumpdrive, if her snooping did in fact go that far. Certainly he would go that far if he was in her apartment. What else could he do while he was hanging around there, waiting for the equipment to be repaired.

He handed over her keys, emptied her pockets, which didn't have much in them, just some kitkats (he did like them), some gum, a pen, some change, and other inconsequential things. Much of her good stuff had been in the purse.

But, now there was still that same problem. "Doctor, what am I going to wear tomorrow? This body is too small for my clothes. And, you know, I might have to go out for something, like for food."

It just kept getting more complicated. "Yea, well, um....I'll see if she'll loan you some of her clothes, and make-up, and things. Anything else you might need, you just call me. I'll give you my number," he said as he wrote it on Michael's copy of the contract.

"Make-up?! I don't know nothing about no make-up, doctor, and I sure don't want to be putting on any make-up." That seemed rather gay to him. Obviously, none of his friends wore make-up. Boy, he was definitely glad that this was all confidential, at least this part of it in particular.

"Yea, well, um, I'll be right back. I need to give Marcia her keys." He didn't know what to say. He also didn't know how to put on make-up. He couldn't help Michael with that. He wondered if he should contact his colleague, Professor Kluft. She might be willing to help, but he quickly rejected that option. He really didn't want to get anyone else involved in this, or at least aware of it, not until it was resolved.

Marcia was relieved to get her keys back. She handed the professor the signed contract. He was very relieved to get that. But, not surprisingly, she now had additional concerns. "Professor, what if my friends call me up or come over?"

"Well, you could pretend you're sick whenever a friend calls, or at least just not feeling that well to go out."

"But if they call, it won't be my voice answering the phone."

"Yes, that's right, you've got laryngitis, or a cold. Just talk in a hoarse whisper."

It sounded rather flimsy, but it wasn't like she had a lot of choices here.

"Well, okay then, I guess. Well, um, okay then." She knew that there must be a hundred more questions, but she couldn't come up with one. "I come back here, tomorrow, and you'll be all set?"

"Yes, yes, that's right."

"Alright then, I guess."

"Yes, and, well," the professor added, "I'll stop by your place this evening, just to see how everything is going, and to pick up some clothes, for Michael."

"What?"

"A change of clothes. He's going to need more clothes than he has now, and he certainly can't wear his own."

He did have a point there, but this was really going too far. "Hey, he's got my body and now he wants my clothes?" It was going to be bad enough getting her body back after this guy had been in it. She didn't want any reminders of the clothes he was wearing. She doubted that she would ever again wear the clothes he was wearing now, and certainly wasn't going to hand over any more panties or brassieres and, of course, there was no way he was touching her nighties. Why would he even need them? "If he needs some clothes then you buy them for him." A boy's body can be really so assertive.

"Yea, yea, sure," Dr. Minsky replied with some frustration. But, he knew he shouldn't be surprised. Girls can be awfully picky about their clothes. He now just wanted to get this girl out of there before any other problems came up. He handed her another sheet of paper upon which to put her sizes, for virtually everything he might need. This might cost a pretty penny, he thought. And, to include her address and phone number. He did want to keep in touch, just in case a problem did arise, and especially to keep her in line. He also provided his own phone number and address. "Excellent, yes, well, I believe we're all set."

"Yea, I suppose so," she replied, with considerably less certainty and confidence than him. Marcia walked tentatively and reluctantly from the lab to the door in which she had arrived, her legs a little shaky, a little wobbly, her mind a little confused. She had come into this lab a young lady, and she was now leaving a young man. It was rather disconcerting. He sure as heck better have this thing fixed tomorrow, she thought.

Professor Minsky watched her depart, noticing that "he" looked rather odd as a guy, walking along with Marcia's purse. Marcia apparently hadn't thought about that, nor was he about to point it out. Instead, he rushed back to Michael. "Okay then, we're all set. Marcia has headed home. I've got her size and measurements. We can go out and get you some clothes." It just dawned on him that Marcia hadn't asked anything about Michael's clothes. "Um, and maybe we can stop by your place to pick up some clothes for her?"

"Why doesn't she just give me some of her clothes?"

"Yea, well, she wasn't entirely comfortable with that."

Michael was surprised to hear that. He was already in her body, wearing her clothes. What difference would an another outfit make? But, you can never predict what will bother a girl. "Yea, well, alright."

"Excellent. Here, let's get going. We can head over to Walmart for some clothes, and then I'll drive you home."

"What about the make-up?"

Nuts! He had been so anxious to finish up with Marcia that he had forgotten to ask her about that, although frankly that might have even been subconsciously intentional. He knew that she wouldn't volunteer to help Michael with the make-up.

He lied once again. "Actually, she said it's not a problem, that she doesn't wear much make-up, a little rouge, eyeshadow, nothing much. We can pick up some of that as well at Walmart. You'll be fine."

"Sure, sure," Michael replied, not feeling entirely comfortable about this.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Michael became even less comfortable as they strode into Walmart. He felt like he was a guy dressed as a girl, and that he might be discovered as such. How embarrassing would that be! Being caught wearing girls' clothes, all the way down to panties and brassiere. He did though wonder what her panties and brassiere looked like. He still hadn't seen them, and he was especially curious about what was underneath.

He quickly realized though that he couldn't get caught. Where was the proof it was him rather than her? Well, there was his wallet in the pocket of her skirt. Nevertheless, he would obviously be unable to convince anyone that it really was him even if he wanted to, rather than have to explain how and why he got into her body.

However, what if they came across one of her friends? What would he do then? He wouldn't be able to even recognize them, let alone pretend he was her. They really should have spent some time together before they separated, trading information and the like. "We better not take long, doctor," he asserted. "One of her friends could be here."

That was a good point. Frankly, the professor as well was feeling rather uncomfortable about this. What if one of his colleagues saw him? Michael was right. They shouldn't stay here long. He was taking Michael to Walmart largely because he didn't want to spend much money, and plus it was a rather anonymous store. He really didn't want a saleswoman poking her nose around them, asking all sorts of questions, wondering why this older man was buying clothes for this young, attractive coed, and you could do a lot of shopping at Walmart without ever speaking to a salesperson.

Still, if he ran into a colleague of his, how would he explain this? Professors generally don't take undergraduates out to buy dresses, blouses, panties, brassieres, and make-up. That would not look good at all. He could perhaps say that she was his niece, but isn't that such an old and obvious deception? Uncles don't buy all these things for nieces either. He hoped that none of the other faculty shopped at Walmart. They probably didn't. "Yea, yea, let's not waste any time."

They hurried through the various sections. The professor suggested that they split up, but there wasn't anything on the list that Michael felt competent to purchase on his own. He suggested that he just wait in the car, but the professor nixed that. He wasn't about to be buying all these things by himself. Plus, what if Michael had to try something on?

"There is no way, doctor, that I am going to try something on." He was dying to see what he looked like underneath the blouse and skirt, but he was not going to model new outfits for him.

The algorithms for size, though, were so darned confusing. She wrote down that she was a miss petite 12. What the heck did that mean? The professor repeatedly held up dresses, blouses, and skirts against Michael, checking to see if they looked like they would fit, embarrassing Michael all the more. The professor though was so glad that Michael hadn't waited in the car. He couldn't make any sense of this.

Michael insisted on the professor buying a few of everything. He wasn't at all sure how well anything would fit and so he wanted some options. The professor could see money drifting away as Michael tossed stuff into the shopping cart. Well, he would more than make up for this loss once the article was published.

The brassieres were the most difficult. Marcia hadn't provided her breast size (she wasn't about to tell them that). Perhaps he didn't really need to buy her more brassieres. How often does a girl wear a brassiere before she washes it? Well, he knew he should buy at least one pair. "Michael," he whispered, "at least just go to a dressing room and see what the size is. It's on the brassiere you're wearing."

"Can I help you sir?" the saleslady asked. Just when you don't want one, one does arrive.

"Oh, um, no, yes, well."

She could see that the man was having a difficult time buying clothes for his daughter. His cart was laden with all sorts of clothes: skirts, dresses, blouses. She had to work hard not to giggle at the sight of him fumbling with the brassieres. He clearly didn't know what he was doing, and his daughter was not being particularly helpful, repeatedly scowling at him. "Well, now, sweetie," she asked, "what is your size?"

"What?" Maybe it would be a good idea to go to a dressing room. Not only would he extricate himself from this very awkward situation but he would then finally have his chance to look under these clothes.

The saleswoman could see that the young lady was feeling a bit awkward about this. She had to admit that she found it rather curious herself to have a father buying clothes for a young lady. She must be in her late teens, if not early twenties. She could certainly buy her own brassieres at this point. Well, she didn't want to make her feel any less uncomfortable. She took the man by the arm and drew him a bit away from her, to whisper, "I believe she is probably about a 34B, sir, but you know, maybe perhaps she might feel better if she purchased these things herself."

He could feel his heart pounding. This was precisely what he was worried about. "Yea, yea, you're right. You're right. I'm sorry. Here, I'll, um...go over there, um, I need to get some slacks myself," and then quickly left the saleswoman with Michael.

Michael did not appreciate that. "Hey, where're you going?!"

He said over his shoulder as he was walking away, "Just got to get a few more things of my own, dear. The nice saleslady will help you," and quickly extricated himself from the situation.

The saleswoman furrowed her brow as she noticed no wedding ring on the man's hand. He must be an uncle or something, which actually made better sense for why he is being so awkward and clumsy about this. She turned to the girl, "I could see that was a bit awkward for you. 34B, isn't it?"

Michael thought they were a lot larger than that, but he wasn't about to dispute the saleswoman. "Geeez, yea, man, why does he have to be here." He realized that just speaking the truth was actually a good lie in this situation.

The saleswoman felt this girl spoke less ladylike than she would have expected, given her rather petite, feminine appearance, but adolescent girls these days are a bit more outspoken and strident than they were in her day. Plus, he had obviously been making her feel very uncomfortable. "Is he your uncle?" It really wasn't any of her business, but she was a little curious and, frankly, a bit concerned. Something about this just didn't seem right.

"Yea, yea," Michael responded. "I'm just visiting, thinking of going to college here. He's a professor, here that is, and, um, all my luggage got lost, on the flight, all of it." He waited to see if that worked. It was the best he could do.

Apparently it did. "Oh, my goodness. I'm so sorry! That can be so frustrating. That's happened to me as well." It still didn't make sense why he was accompanying her as she purchased a brassiere. Still, some men, especially older, single men can be really dense when it came to women, particularly young women. "Well, here, honey, we have some very pretty brassieres over here that are just your size. And, our panties, are over there." She decided she would leave her on her own. She was obviously old enough to do her own shopping.

Michael strolled over to the brassieres. Frankly, they did look kind of cool. It was like a colorful treasure trove of feminine frilly delights. Like any young man, his eyes would linger as he passed a display of brassieres in a store, trying not to look obvious as his eyes looked right while his feet walked forward, slowing down a bit to enjoy the colorful frilly scenery. Now he could just gaze upon them, study them as close and as long as he wanted. And, he did just that, contemplating all the various sizes, colors, textures, and shapes. There were full cup brassieres. He didn't really like them. But, these sexy half-cup ones, with all the lace, now they were pretty darned cool. Boy, would he look sexy in these. Of course, as soon as he thought that he realized how weird it was. Still, he could feel a warmth in his briefs thinking about it. Briefs? No actually, his panties. Well, he again felt weird. He selected about ten brassieres, all sorts of different colors and styles. If the professor was buying why not go whole hog. Plus, these could make for pretty good souvenirs when this was all done.




Exchange Students



He draped them over his arm, feeling a bit awkward to be doing that in a public store, but realizing that it really wouldn't look awkward for a girl. He proceeded to the panties, and then caught the eye of a couple of boys looking at him, looking at the pretty girl with the short skirt, tight sweater, perky boobs, carrying a ton of brassieres over her arm. Frankly, they seemed to be more leering than looking, and he glared back at them. They quickly looked away. He couldn't really blame them, of course. He would have done the same thing, as a guy. But, as a girl, he didn't really appreciate it.

When he got to the panties he was again stuck. What the heck were these sizes? The doctor said she was a petite 12. But, the size 12 panties looked awfully big to him. Frankly, it seemed to him that she was well on the small size, hence the word 'petite.' She wished the saleslady was still there. He could ask her. But, he then realized he really shouldn't ask her. At his age, a junior in college, he really should know his own panty size. Although, what was her age? He didn't even know that. He knew she was a college student, like himself, but for all he knew she could just be a freshman. Well, no matter what class she was in, she most certainly would be at least 18 and would have to know her own panty size.

He studied the panties for quite awhile. He actually didn't mind doing that. These were even more fun to consider, to feel, to explore, to fondle. He probably should, though, go to the dressing room to see what size he was currently wearing. The warmth in his thighs was getting stronger and stronger. He knew that if he still had his own body, he would be sporting quite a big erection right now. One advantage of being a girl is that you can get pretty darned excited without anyone being the wiser.

The professor appeared behind him. The saleslady had drifted far away, around a corner and out of sight, and he wanted Michael to hurry it up. "C'mon, c'mon, pick something out and let's get going," he urged. He didn't feel this was going so well, and he was getting more worried about bumping into someone he knew, or knew her.

Michael was annoyed. He was finally beginning to enjoy this and now the professor wanted him to hurry it up. He decided to take two sizes: 2 and 4, plus quite a few options within each size. He didn't select as carefully as he had done with the brassieres, but he still got quite a variaty.

"What are you doing?" the professor complained. "You don't need all of those!" He knew that girls tended to buy a lot more clothes than they really needed, but this was a boy for goodness sake. Maybe his mind was becoming more feminine the longer he was in her body? That would make sense, but it concerned him. When he returned the students back to their own bodies he was assuming that there would be no lasting harm from occupying the body of the opposite sex, but perhaps that was naive. Michael was so far, up to this point, rolling with the punches, but he wondered how Marcia would take to becoming more masculine.

Michael though was not becoming more feminine, or at least he didn't think so. In any case, it was his male gender that motivated him to buy all of these panties. They would again be another great souvenir. And, besides, he kind of liked sticking it to the doctor. "I don't know what size I am, and I gotta have a fresh pair, don't I?"

He was right about that, the professor acknowledged. But, it was like he was buying enough for a whole week. Still, given that he didn't really know if he would have the apparatus fixed by tomorrow, a few more extra panties might not be a bad idea. Of course, why couldn't the boy wear his own underwear? Who was going to look under his skirt?

Well, he didn't really want to get into an argument with Michael in the store. What if that saleslady came back? Besides, the cost of a few extra panties was more than outweighed by the benefits, prizes, and rewards he would receive with the publication of this study. In fact, the garments, as part of the study, would also be tax deductible. He really shouldn't be so restrictive. Let the young man buy anything he wanted. He needed to keep his eye on the ultimate prize, the Noble Prize.

Michael dumped all of the panties and brassieres into the shopping cart. It was getting pretty full. They stayed only a short time within the make-up section. Michael was not the least bit interested in this, but the professor did say that they should get some things, like perfume, rouge, eyeliner, and mascara. But, the selection was so difficult and they were so worried about that saleslady returning. The professor just grabbed what looked like the closest to what she, he, was currently wearing. But, even the lipstick seemed awfully difficult to match.

With that last set of purchases they appeared to be done. They now only had to get through the checkout line and they would be home free. The professor, though, noticed one additional matter as they passed through feminine health care and beauty products. "Do you think she, um, you, well, need some feminine hygiene products?"

"What?!" Michael's face turned a deep red, as he glanced over to where the doctor was gesturing. There were all sorts of things: sprays, douches, powders, lotions, and soaps, all for what was in between his legs. He had no fucking idea, and he had no fucking interest in any of them. "No fucking way, doc," he spoke with considerable authority, and not at all sounding like Marcia.

The professor could hardly blame him, but he felt he should at least bring it up. He wondered if he should bring this up with Marcia. He was intending on calling her that evening, to see if she was doing fine, or at least holding to the agreement, the contract. And, there was one quite important matter. "Yea, well, we should at least get some tampons."

Michael looked away in mortified embarrassment. He felt like a prepubescent girl out with her father, shopping for her first tampons, or at least he imagined that its got to feel pretty much just like this if your dad took you out to purchase them for the first time. He started to walk faster, trying to separate himself from this man. He really didn't want to talk to him about this, although he had to admit that he did see a tampon in Marcia's purse. Maybe it was the time of month for her? For all he knew she might have one stuck up in there right now? What a screw that would be! He gets a girl's body for the evening and she's on the rag the whole time! If he was renting it, he would definitely ask for his money back.

The professor could see his embarrassment, but he did reach over and pick up a box. He had no idea though what size to purchase. Why did there have to be different sizes for these as well? Well, actually, it made sense to him that there would be different sizes and he certainly didn't begrudge Marcia for not telling him her tampon size. Although, when he did pick up one of the boxes, they didn't really seem to be different sizes more than they were different strengths, plus there were different applicators (plastic and cardboard), scented and unscented (he picked scented, that sounded nice), and then four different degrees of flow: lite, regular, super, and super plus. She was awfully petite, so he doubted he would need the heaviest size. But, in a matter such as this, it was best to err in the direction of too much rather than too little protection.

"Doctor," Michael complained, standing down at the end of the aisle. "Hurry it up, that saleslady is coming back." She actually wasn't, but he wanted him to end this now. He was taking much too long to pick something that there was no way he was going to use. Although, actually, if it was happening, he knew he didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. He felt like telling him that the next time he does this experiment he should really screen out the girls that are on their periods.

The doctor grabbed a box for super flow: Pearl, plastic, super scented. That seemed good. He dropped it into the cart and they made their way to the check-out line. Michael stood off by the side. He didn't want to even watch him buy the tampons while he was standing right there.

The cashier was a bit surprised at the extent of the purchase. The number of blouses and skirts weren't that unusual, but so many brassieres and panties, and two different sizes. Well, she had seen worse.

The two of them were rather quiet on the ride to Michael's apartment.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As soon as Marcia had left the research building she opened her purse, retrieved her compact mirror and studied the face. She had not yet been able to see what she now looked like.

'Goodness,' she thought, 'he is cute.' That was at least something. He has dark, thick wavy hair, a sharp, rough, manly chin, even with a bit of stubble (now it didn't seem so bad to her; in fact, it looked kind of nice in the mirror), and really nice, sweet, even romantic blue eyes. Well, at least she had been put into a nice body. That was some sort of consolation.

But, she then realized that she, or he, was holding a purse. That would have to look awfully weird. She clutched it to her side, hiding it with both hands as she quickly made her way back to her apartment. She lived alone, which was certainly good, given her situation. As she made her way to the second floor location of her apartment she briefly worried about someone seeing her, or him, entering her apartment, but just as quickly got over it. He could easily just be a relative, a cousin or, even better, maybe a boyfriend. She didn't mind her neighbors thinking that she had a cute boyfriend, and even one who now had a key to her apartment.

Tammie, who lived across from her, had tried to set her up with a guy a couple of times. It obviously didn't work. She didn't mind Tammie trying but she really hated blind dates: all the tension over whether he would like you, whether he would think you were pretty enough, whether he might obviously just want to end the date as soon as possible. Plus, the conversations on blind dates were just awful. They would both try so hard to pretend like what a surprise it was that they were such a great match, and isn't Tammie a wonderful person, when in fact by the end of the evening they were largely bored, the novelty had worn off, and they were noticing things they didn't like in each other. They promised to get in touch, but they never did, and both hoped that they wouldn't run into each other again, which made it difficult going out with Tammie. Well, this might at least end that. Perhaps she should even stop by to see Tammie, introduce herself, himself, my self, as a guy, as a guy dating Marcia. This was a little hard to get used to.

As soon as Marcia got into her apartment she felt so much better. All around her were things she recognized, the things that were hers, the things that defined who she was, as a girl. She instantly went to her bedroom to get out of these boy clothes and into one of her own outfits. She knew she would feel a whole lot better when she was wearing a nice frilly dress, a pretty blouse, perhaps even put on some perfume and make-up, making her feel, once again, like the girl she really was.

She tore off his shoes and socks, noticing with disgust that one of the socks had a hole in it. What is it with guys anyway? Don't they have any self-respect? She then took of his shirt, and stopped. 'Goodness,' she thought, 'he does have a nice chest.' She paused for awhile to admire its muscle tone, its strength. She went over to her wall mirror and stood before it. 'Whoa! He is not only cute, but gosh darned muscular and manly.' She clenched her chest muscles, admiring how toned and crisp they were. She turned to the side: not a bit of a paunch, really nice abdomen. She ran her fingers along his stomach muscles. He was even a bit ripped. She stood facing the mirror again and raised up her arms, clenching, squeezing her, his, biceps in the traditional muscle pose. It was a silly pose, but it really looked kind of nice.

Her interest, her curiosity, went somewhere else, someplace a bit more interesting, someplace even more masculine than his chest and muscles. Her heart began to race as she slowly undid the buckle of his belt, the button for his slacks, and slid down the zipper. 'Oh my goodness!' she thought. She was actually taking down a boy's pants! It was a little strange watching herself do it, and certainly even more strange doing it to herself, as the boy, but that did not diminish the drama, the excited expectation. If anything, it made it even more intense, watching herself do it. Plus, she was by herself. She was feeling no pressure of the boy's watchful eyes, wondering what he was thinking, worrying what he was thinking. She could explore this boy all by herself. Perhaps the professor had been right, perhaps this might be interesting; in fact, real, real interesting.

She pulled down his slacks, stepped out of them, and turned back to the mirror. Now he looked a little silly, standing there in his jockey briefs. Jockey briefs were for boys, weren't they? Didn't real men where boxers? These were the undies that her little brother wore. It was a little disappointing. Nevertheless, he did still look awfully cute, standing there in his briefs. She could now see his muscular thighs, and more fully appreciate his narrow waist. She turned to the side. He even had a bit of bulge, and her face reddened as she gazed at it.

She had never actually seen a naked boy's penis before. Well, that's not at all true. She had seen plenty of pictures of them. It's kind of hard to avoid them on the internet, even when you wanted to. Well, that's also not true. You did have to look for them, but they were pretty easy to find. But, she had never seen one in real life before. She could feel a strange sensation in her, his, loins, his crotch, a sense of growing energy, even movement. 'Oh my goodness,' she realized, 'he's, I'm, getting a boner?!'

She pulled down his underwear, kicked them aside, and returned to look in the mirror.

And, there it was, just beginning to swell, standing out from her a bit, like a big, thick, heavy, worm. Well, that wasn't the best word for it. It was a lot bigger than a worm. It was more like a snake, but she didn't care for that word either. Whatever it was, it was intriguing, to say the least. She wrapped her fingers around it, and a spark of instant pleasure coursed through her body. 'Whoa! This does feel good!'

She placed her thumb just below the lip of the crown and her fingers along beneath the head and stem, squeezed it tenderly, and began to stroke it softly, up and down, up and down, up and down. It immediately began to swell further and further and further, growing before her eyes. 'Wow,' she thought, 'this is so impressive, and it feels so darned good!'

She knew of course that penises could get really, really big, but somehow she had not expected, imagined, it could be this impressive, or feel this good. She gripped it tighter, stroked it harder. Michael was apparently not circumcised and she noticed how she could use the foreskin to really stimulate that soft, round swollen bulb. Boy, wouldn't it be so nice to have some lips wrapped around that, kissing that? She wasn't sure right now whose lips. She just knew that wet, soft lips would sure feel awfully good.

In any case, she certainly knew now why boys liked to masturbate. She heard from her friends, as far back as in high school, that boys masturbated a lot. She had done so a few times herself; well, even more than a few times. It did feel good, awfully good, and she wasn't suggesting, thinking, that it's better for a boy than for a girl. Perhaps it felt better right now because this was the first time she masturbated as a boy, and the first time is often the most intensely pleasurable. But, still, it was so, so cool to see this thing get bigger and bigger and bigger, swelling up so hard that it looked like it might just burst through its own skin! Talk about a visual demonstration of your excited state! She was really impressed.

When she felt she had gotten it about as big as it would get she let go to admire it, to study it, in the mirror. She loved it! She really did love it. Well, that was a bit much. It wasn't like she wanted to date it, to marry it, to have children with it. Actually, that was kind of what you did with it, didn't you? After you married him? Well, it was a little early in her relationship with this erect penis to be thinking of children. In fact, if there is one sure way of scaring away a guy, it would be to talk about marriage and children on the first date, and she sure didn't want him to lose his proud stiffness. Of course, it was also rather obvious that whatever might slacken him, she could bring him back into action pretty easily and quickly.

She swung her body back and forth, watching his stiff dick swing left and right, like it was a crane on a reckless tractor. She jumped up and down, watching it bob and bounce. It looked a little funny, but it was still so cool! You could probably do a lot with these things.

She stepped up closer to the mirror, to study the erect penis more closely. She was really impressed by the head, the crown. It was so large, so swollen, so purple. It was like the crown of a big, bad battering ram, split down the middle by a deep fissure, through which he would deliver his seed, his sperm, his, dare she say it, his cum.

She reached with her, his, left hand to grasp his balls. She lurched and bent over with pain. She had grabbed them too eagerly, too hard. She stood back up, and more gently felt, fondled, and cradled them. It was from these that his sperm, his seed, his cum, was generated. It was from these that he would make a baby, a baby for his wife. For such an important organ they felt so soft, so vulnerable. Leave it to a guy to be the weakest where he makes his babies. Well, that really wasn't his fault, was it.

She took hold of his cock again with her right hand, and softly stroked it while she also fondled his balls with her left. This really did feel awfully, awfully good. Her eyes half closed, losing herself in the blissful sensation of her masturbation. She imagined what it would be like to put this thing up inside a girl's vagina, her vagina. She had put things up her vagina herself, of course. Certainly her finger(s) a number of times. She even had a little woman's helper in the back of her bedside table drawer. But, she now realized how good it would feel, to the penis, what was now her penis, to have it slide up inside such a warm, wet, tight channel. Oh, to have one right now, tightly gripping this, this, this, big hard cock!

She opened her eyes, and stopped. She was breathing so heavily. Her heart was racing. She wondered if she had ever felt this sexually aroused, this excited before. Well, she knew she had, but she sure now appreciated the lust of a boy. As one of her professors had said, you never really know somebody until you walk inside their shoes. Well, she was doing a bit more than that right now.

She paused to regain her composure, and to again admire herself, or him, in the mirror. Wouldn't it be nice to have both of them, both a penis and a vagina, a cock and a cunnie? Imagine being able to do it to yourself, with yourself. It was a rather perverse thought, perhaps, and she was kind of surprised that she was thinking such a thing, but wearing a guy's naked body, sporting an awfully impressive erection, will take a girl's mind in new directions.

She suddenly wondered how truly impressive his penis really was. She rushed over to her vanity table, where she kept her sewing things, her stout pole waving before her, giggling at the sight of the stiff thing swinging around, and once there she pulled out a measuring tape. She stroked her cock a few more times, trying to be sure that she was getting it at its longest, biggest state, and then carefully measured it from the base, all the way up to the very tip. It was about 6.5 inches long. That didn't sound very big.




Exchange Students



She went over to her computer and turned it on, waiting patiently for it to boot up. Actually, she was waiting quite impatiently. Why were these things so slow? Her TV came on real quick. But, she did manage to fill the time by continuing to feel, explore, and stroke the erection. It was a pretty nice way to fill in the empty spaces and times of life, stroking your cock.

Once her computer systems were all up she immediately googled Wikipedia, typed in 'average penis size,' and hit enter. Up popped, so to speak, a picture of a guy's erection, along with a few others in various states. It really isn't that hard to find a hard one. And, most importantly, hers did look pretty darned good in comparison to the ones they had there. She scrolled down to 'erect length,' and carefully read, all the while feeling hers with her left hand as she scrolled with her right.

It was actually kind of confusing, and surprising. One study, published in Journal of Urology, said the average size was 5.08 inches. 'Goodness,' she thought, 'my penis, Michael's penis, is more than a whole inch bigger than that!' The next study said 5.35 inches. She was still pretty much ahead of that. The third and last one said 5.9 inches. She wasn't much bigger than that, but she was still bigger and, besides, that study was conducted on college students at spring break in Cancun. College students was the right comparison group, but she couldn't imagine that was a fair study. She giggled at the thought of measuring boys' erect penises on spring break. Albeit inaccurate, the study must have been a lot of fun.

In any case, she did win each time! It was kind of cool to realize that you had a big penis. Actually, it wasn't hers, but it was hers for awhile, at least. She would have to put his size in her report. She wondered if Michael had ever measured himself. Wouldn't he be so happy to find out how big it really is? She returned to the mirror to further admire her trophy cock, her prize stallion, her big, manly truncheon. This was indeed a cock to admire, to applaud, to adore.

It felt so good to play with his, her, balls, as she stroked and fondled his, her, cock. She realized that she could easily do this for hours. It was just a pure, base, fundamental, unadulterated pleasure. She was feeling no doubts, no concerns, no insecurities, no anxieties, just simply physical merry delight, joy, and exhilarating, invigorating, basic hedonic stimulation and satisfaction. It was like being high, but a natural, healthy one.

She softly fondled the testicles, tickling them with her fingers. He was in fact quite ticklish right behind them, causing her to bend over giggling. She could never tickle herself as a girl. Boys must have all the fun.

She quickly found though that it felt most good to caress, stroke, and rub the crown. She knew she would have to remember that when she had a real boy's erect penis in her hand. Well, this one was real, but she knew what she meant. And, boy, he was especially sensitive on the underside of the crown! She began to concentrate on that with her right hand as she softly stroked him with her left.

She also began to thrust her hips while she stood before the mirror, imagining that she was in fact fucking someone. Although, she would prefer to be the one being fucked, at least in her mind. She looked at herself, or more accurately, him in the mirror as she jerked him off, and she imagined that it was in fact him, pounding on his cock for her amusement, her pleasure. Beating off for her as she sat on the floor before him.

She again reached for his balls with her left hand and stroked herself harder and faster with her right. She grasped his shaft tightly with her fist, and plunged her fist up and down. She could hear the foreskin sliding on and off the bulb, his precum heavily lubricating the engorged, sensitive crown, her heavy breathing and gasping were filling the room, and then she felt this sudden intense surge in her loins and a heavy, forceful pressure course through her body and up through the shaft that twitched in her hand and suddenly released out the head a large white glob of his thick, hot sperm.

Her eyes opened wide in shock and delight as she watched his cock repeatedly twitch and spurt, squirting out globs and ropes of white sticky cum that splatted and smacked against the mirror, quickly covering the reflection with gobs, drips, and splots of thick, white, sticky gism.

Her legs felt weak, her knees buckled, and her head felt faint, but she maintained her stance as best she could to continue to douse the bedroom mirror with his full, heavy, young male load. It was such a terribly impressive sight. She felt so powerful, so manly, blasting forth such a heavy, mighty, potent load of male gunk, all the time accompanied by waves of blissful pleasure coursing throughout her body. So, this is what a boy's orgasm felt like and, man, it was pretty darned good!

When she was done she stood there a bit, catching her breath, admiring how thoroughly she had covered the mirror. She never squirted as a girl. She heard that some girls did, but she knew if she did it would never be anything like this. This was a pretty darned impressive way to orgasm. It was just such a blast to have the intense spasmodic waves of pleasure be accompanied by such a visual display of force and violent release, literally dousing the mirror with the stuff of his climax.

But, she then realized that his cum was running down the mirror, dripping down onto her fine bedroom carpeting. She ran to the bathroom, got a wash cloth, dashed back, and got as much of it as she could, realizing as well how much was also still leaking out of his penis. She squeezed it, milking out the last drops, and also realized that one wash cloth was really not enough, but at least she hadn't messed up the carpeting too badly.

Her face reddened at the thought of putting all of this in her report. The professor had clearly stipulated to put in everything. That was in the contract she had signed. When she had signed it she had not realized, expected, that anything like this would occur. He wouldn't really expect her to put in all of what she had just done, would he? There was no way she could do that. But, how could she explain how she had obtained the length of his erection? And, what the heck was going to go in the report if not for this? She was now feeling very self-conscious about what she had just done. Well, at least the penis size would definitely go on, for his sake.

It was perhaps, though, understandable, wasn't it? She again imagined, realized, what Michael must be doing with her body. If she immediately went to jerking herself off with his body, just imagine what he must be doing!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When the professor and Michael arrived at his apartment he offered to help carry in the bags.

Michael declined. It looked to him that he could carry them all in, even in one trip. None of it was particularly heavy, but the professor insisted. He reminded him that he was a girl now, and girls didn't lug around lots and lots of bags, certainly not in one trip, and certainly not when there was a man there. Michael wondered if that had been possibly true in the professor's day and age but not now. Still, it might seem odd to anybody watching for the man not to be helping the petite young lady who was carrying everything in by herself, in one trip.

Dr. Minsky wanted to help also because he wanted to call Marcia from Michael's apartment. He wanted to give her Michael's phone number. It really would help if they started speaking directly to one another, although he wouldn't push it. In addition, he thought it best to call Marcia in case Michael had some questions regarding the things they had purchased. He seriously doubted that they got the right size of brassiere. And, frankly, one important question would be whether Marcia was having her period and would Michael need to use a tampon. He hoped that the insertion of those things was self-explanatory. They must have directions on the box, or at least he could get that information off the web, if Michael had a computer with internet access. 'How stupid of me,' he thought. Michael was a college boy. He obviously had a computer with internet. Frankly, he had himself been rather slow to get hooked up. He still didn't even have a cell phone.

Michael felt a bit funny walking into his ground floor apartment, dressed as a girl, carrying tons of plastic bags filled with girly things, followed by this older man, hauling along an even larger load. But, he didn't mind if anyone noticed this girl entering his apartment. They might just think that she was his girlfriend, or perhaps his sister, visiting with their father. It would be kind of cool though to have them think that she was his girlfriend. She was pretty darned cute. Maybe, once the professor left, he could somehow manage to let some of his neighbors see him in her undies or something, make them really think that he had a girlfriend, and a rather hot one at that.

Once he got into his apartment he felt a wave of relief, being now surrounded by things he recognized, things that were his, things that identified and defined him as Michael, a young man. It was so good to see all of it, to be reassured that he was him. He so looked forward to getting back into his old self, his own body.

"Here," he said, "just toss the stuff down over there, on the couch, that'll be fine."

"Aren't you going to try anything on?" The Walmart bill was pretty darned high, despite being Walmart. This boy had purchased quite a lot of stuff. "If something doesn't fit, I can take it back right now and exchange it."

That was a good point. It was a lot to try on, but he could at least find out which panties didn't fit, and they probably did purchase the wrong size of brassiere. "Yea, well, okay." He began to pull up her sweater.

"Wait, hey son, wait a second," the professor protested, looking away. "Don't you want to do that in the bedroom?"

Michael looked at him, his sweater pulled up to reveal her white tummy. "What do I care? I'm not actually a girl. It's not actually my body. What do I care if you see it?"

The professor turned back to him. That was a good point. What did he care? Why should he care? Well, perhaps he should care, but what harm is there in just seeing it. It's not like Marcia was there anymore. It's not like she would care. Well, maybe she would care, but she wouldn't have to find out. Well, if he included this in his scientific report she would find out, but he couldn't see why he should or would include this particular moment. Not everything had to be in the article. There were, after all, space limitations in scientific articles. He can't report virtually everything that happened.

He didn't say anything, not feeling like he wanted to make the decision, and certainly not wanting to discourage Michael. After all, this was still part of the experiment, wasn't it? As the researcher, he really shouldn't interfere with how the subjects are participating in the study. Yes, not saying anything was the right thing to do. It was the most scientifically credible and objective thing to do. He watched with scientific interest, and prurient delight, as Michael brought Marcia's sweater up and over the round white cups of her brassiere, his dick instantly growing within his slacks, and he made a quick adjustment before the sweater cleared Michael's face.

As Michael pulled the sweater over his shoulders, off his arms, and laid it aside, he hesitated in going further, his eyes gazing down at her young round breasts, still covered by the brassiere. "Wow," he said quietly.

"Yea," the professor added, even more quietly.

They were both witnessing something that was really quite wonderful, and that neither had seen in quite some time. Actually, Michael had seen such a thing only once before, when he got Penny Anderson to take off her blouse. If he had a cock, it would swell pretty fast and hard now.

The professor certainly had a cock, and his was indeed at attention. He slipped his left hand into his slacks and over to his cock, both to pull it tight against his abdomen, as well as to hold onto it. He tried to look casual with his hand in his pocket, but he felt far from it. He said lamely, "She has a nice brassiere, doesn't she, son."

"She sure does," Michael replied, and promptly reached back to undo the clasp, thrusting her chest, her breasts, way out, as if he was actually trying to show them off to the professor, trying to get them to look as perky and big as possible, trying to encourage him to reach over and clasp them in his hands.

At least it looked that way to the professor.

And, doing such a thing was certainly on the professor's mind, but he held his ground, as well as his stiff dick. Grabbing Marcia's boobs was probably going too far. Even Michael might not like that.

Michael was struggling with the clasp. He had struggled with Penny's brassiere as well. Penny had been a friend of his cousin, Sally, and he had met her at a dance 'for the young folk' at the family reunion on Goose Lake. She said that she normally didn't do things like that, but it was such a special time: summer vacation, at the lake. She would let him at least play with them. But, he struggled so long with the clasp, and she hadn't helped with all of her giggling and teasing. And, just when he felt he had gotten it undone she heard someone coming down the path and pushed him away to get her blouse buttoned up.

And, this seemed even harder than with Penny, as he had to reach around behind his back. He knew he must look awfully stupid. He sure felt that way.

"Here," the professor said, "let me help you." He strode over to the clumsy boy, got behind him and deftly unclasped the brassiere. Perhaps it was indeed good that he stayed while the boy tried on some clothes. He obviously needed some help. His dick also swelled as he gazed upon the brassiere strap. This was a boy, but he was looking at a girl's brassiere on a very pretty girl's body. He didn't think any of his colleagues would approve of this, particularly if they didn't realize that a girl was not actually present in the room. But, he did like to imagine, in his own mind, that he was unclasping the brassiere of a very pretty, young coed and, when it came to her body, he was certainly doing that. He had never imagined an opportunity like this ever happening. Not only would he likely get a Noble Prize, but a nice peek at a fresh, young feminine body as well. Sometimes science was a pretty darned good profession.

As soon as the clasp was undone Michael pulled the cups from his breasts, Marcia's breasts, and let the brassiere fall to his feet. His eyes widened with wonder and lust at the sight before him. Marcia apparently had really, really great tits. They weren't super large or anything, but apparently 34B was still pretty darned good. And, they were so round, so perky, so white. He reached up and grasped them in his hands, grasping for the first time two lusciously soft melon breasts. He never felt anything so wonderful in his life. They were so feminine, so squishy, so sexy. He even clasped the nipples between a finger and thumb and gasped at how good that felt, to his fingers, as Michael pinching them, and to her, as Marcia feeling them being pinched. Yes, indeed, being in a girl's body was rather interesting.

The professor had moved around in front of him. He had to get a good look at this, at Marcia's young naked tits, and he was not disappointed. This girl was indeed very cute, and looking all the better with her blouse and brassiere removed. Plus, she (well, he, but it really looked like she), was playing with them, playing with her young, firm, soft boobies right in front of him. He wondered if perhaps it might be useful to get some pictures, for the article, of course, for the scientific record.

Michael, with some reluctance, let go of Marcia's soft round boobs and then quickly unclasped her skirt, letting it fall to his feet in a crumpled pile at his ankles, and for a moment gazed upon her panties. Marcia apparently liked very feminine panties. They were pink, and covered with all sorts of different colored little flowers, some rose, some yellow, some aquamarine, some violet, some pastel blue. The waistband and trim were all lacy, and in the middle, right above the cunnie mound, was a tiny pink bow.

The professor's dick strained in his pants.

The panties were so sexy to Michael that it was almost a shame to remove them, but he was more interested in what they were hiding. He slipped his thumbs into the waistband of Marcia's panties, and pulled them down to his ankles.

He didn't even step out of them, he wanted so badly to see what their removal revealed, and he was not disappointed. "Man!" he exclaimed, as his eyes feasted on Marcia's sweet, little, feminine cunnie. His angle was not the best in the world, and he had to bend over to get a good look, but what he could see did look awfully, awfully fantastic.

Marcia did not have much of a growth. It was more of a wispy patch of thin peach fuzz than a thick bush, which Michael sorely appreciated as he could see very clearly that which interested him most: her cunt slit. On the one hand, it wasn't much to look at. It was just a soft, white mound split down the middle by a single, delicate slit, but it was the most beautiful, the most wonderful slit he had ever seen in his life. 'Man,' Michael now said to himself, 'this girl has one sexy cunt!'

It looked awfully good to the professor as well. With Michael's eyes clearly occupied, he felt and squeezed the cock in his slacks, softly rubbing it as he gazed upon the girl bent over, her colorful panties at her ankles, staring at her cunnie like it was the first time she ever saw it, never really appreciating how pretty and sexy it was. "Marcia" even reached down with her little feminine fingers and felt it, gingerly and tenderly exploring it, even clasping the lips in her fingers to pull it open, opening up the slit to show him her moist inner lips. It was like he was witnessing a young lady discovering her sexuality, standing right there before him, allowing him to watch her explore her young body for the very first time.

If she kept this up, and he kept it up, he would cum in his pants. Perhaps Michael would understand. Wouldn't he do the same thing if he was in his body? Maybe the boy would like some help with how to insert a tampon. It wasn't quite what he would like to insert in that pussy, now so deliciously spread open, but it might be best to proceed carefully with respect to that feminine product. It was a delicate matter, a delicate situation.

Michael, so absorbed in the sight, the feel, of Marcia's wonderfully naked body, that he had momentarily lost track of the fact that the professor was standing right there. He wasn't embarrassed, certainly not embarrassed in the manner that Marcia would have been. But, he had other things now on his mind, things that he would rather do in the privacy of his bedroom, things that he would rather not do with the professor watching, things that perhaps the professor would not approve.

He let go of Marcia's pussy lips and stood back up straight, noticing in his lower peripheral vision how her breasts jiggled and wiggled with his movement, and then settled back into their firm, perky position once he stood still, standing out from him so proudly. "Yea, well, professor, I think I'm good now. I think I can handle the rest of it."

The professor didn't really want to go. Who would want to leave a pretty naked coed, standing there so deliciously nude, every inch of her body so lovingly exposed, her hips so narrow, her skin so white, her breasts so round, her nipples so stiff, her slit so moist with arousal and lust. But, he had to keep in mind that his ultimate goal was to get through this problem without getting discovered, without getting into trouble. It took all his professorial ethical strength to deny himself this temptation, but he knew he would feel better about it tomorrow, or at least maybe he would. "Yea, well, let me at least leave you Marcia's phone number."