Site icon Beyond Ourselves


Story by Liam Slade / Posted May 16, 2020

One night while heading home from work I saw a young couple making out in the subway, completely unable to keep their hands off each other. I was morbidly fascinated. I hadn’t seen that kind of passion in a while. That night I went home I looked at my wife in bed and couldn’t help but wonder… where did we lose it?

We had been together for so long I hardly recognized myself as I went through the paces of our day to day life together. I still loved her, don’t get me wrong, but it felt more than a little stagnant, stifling. The deep, meaningful conversations of our early relationship were replaced with quiet acknowledgments – Dinner? Soon. Work? It was fine. Movie? TV. Sleep? Sure. My only consolation was that we never fought, if only because there was nothing to fight about.

Even worse, we were barely touching each other anymore. Not more than a peck on the cheek. We just didn’t want to. Only eight years together and we had seen it all, done it all, felt it all, and it was like we had mutually decided we were done with it. Our once-wild all-night sessions in the bedroom were now a thing of the distant past, belonging to another life, another couple. The bed was for sleeping only.

I found myself in a stag shop downtown. It was clear my wife was no longer overly interested in sex, so while there was a plethora of marital aids designed to spice things up, there was something so futile about pursuing that. Instead, I decided to indulge by looking at the devices of self-pleasure. Some were lifelike, flesh-pink rods with moulded openings to simulate the female anatomy. Others, big marshmallowy looking tubes with more abstract openings.

The girl at the counter encouraged me. She was beautiful in a way that made me regret being married – long eyelashes, painted red lips, high round cheekbones. She had bangs, which my wife had never been able to pull off, which made her look dangerous, worldly and wily. Her body was defined by an hourglass shape – round hips, a thin waist and perky breasts. Her arms were decorated up and down with tattoos, which I could see from her low cut top extended onto her breasts as well. She handed me a simple device – discreet but rather lifelike – and told me this thing would give me everything I was missing. I probably would have bought cold lemonade from her if I lived in the arctic, but this was what I was looking for so I paid and went home with my new toy.

I waited until after my wife as asleep, as I tended to do, before sneaking off to the bathroom to try it out. I got my cock stiff, applied lubrication to it and inserted it into the spongy, receptive hole. It felt a little alien at first, compared to the real thing, but it was way better than whacking off by myself. I pumped and pumped and pumped away, feeling the moment of release nearing.

But then something strange happened. I couldn’t dislodge my member. Far from it, it felt like the thing was glued to me – more than that, that it was apart of me. It started to recede, like my cock would after coming, merging with my flesh. “Oh God,” I cried out with a gasp, clapping my hand over my mouth so as to not be heard.

Deeper and deeper it sunk, through my grasp, pushing its way into my pubic area. I could feel changes inside me too as it sunk all the way in, eventually leaving a flat pubic mons with a familiar – yet alien – aperture at the base.

BMy hip bones widened, my waist narrowed, my butt ballooned. With each breath, my chest grew fleshier as my formerly firm, if slight, pecs sagged further down and gained in mass and heft. I tried to hold my breath to stop it but they wouldn’t. Soon they started to balloon outward into a pair of supple, teardrop shaped mounds, each about the size of a softball, resolved in a perky, pointy nipple that pointed slightly up.

Behind me, I could feel my butt cheeks expanding to match my hips, sticking right out back.

“Babe?” A voice called from the other room. “What’s happening?” It was hers, but not hers, as it creaked into a lower register.

I opened the door to find her there in her nightgown, which strained against her rapidly broadening shoulders. She grew taller – or was I growing shorter, or both? And a light shadow of stubble appeared on her chin, which was starting to look square and rugged, and her hair – the short bob of a long-married woman – receded into her scalp into an Ivy League cut. Behind my neck, a long flowing lock of reddish-brown hair fell, landing just past my shoulder. I could feel similarly long strands framing my face, hanging down past my chin.

A scream of terror caught in my throat.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice settling into its masculine baritone. She stepped closer to me, closing the gap, as her gown became a pair of flannel pajama bottoms.

She peered at me. I gazed at her – now him. My heart beat quickly. Could she not see what had happened? Did she… not know who she was, who we were supposed to be?

“Were you having trouble sleeping?” this man who resembled my wife in some way, as if she were a close male relative, asked, gently reaching out to me with his hand. He was handsome, better looking than I had been, with a cool kindness in his eyes. He looked like he really cared about me.

I didn’t know what to say. I looked away.

“You could say that,” I muttered, my voice a soft, feminine coo.

He brushed my new hair back behind my ear. He had to bend slightly down for his lips to reach it – it made me flinch when he did so – and planted a small kiss on my earlobe. I had never been kissed that way, never been touched or held like this. I was the man, this was how women liked to be held.

He reached me and placed his arms around my slender shoulders. I found myself quickly enveloped against his masculine torso. I breathed in deep. He smelled slightly of sweat. The odor tingled my nose in a way that was not really lovely, but not objectionable either. It felt oddly familiar, even homey.

I was liking it. I felt small and…. protected.

I felt a strange twitch between our legs. It wasn’t part of me.

“I know how we could get back to sleep…” he said in a soft, soothing whisper, his breath nuzzling my ear.

He took my little hand – with its new, slender fingers, intertwined with his big rough, yet smooth ones, and guided it to his hip, sliding it across his body to the center, and down, where a stiffened rod awaited. His own hand traced a line up my torso – my new slender waist, my flat tummy, up to the bottom of my soft breast, which hung gently and free in the night air of the apartment. His touch tickled. My heart fluttered.

I turned around to look at us in the bathroom mirror. His head was resting just on top of mine, his arms crisscrossed over my breasts, cuddling me. My back rested against his abdomen, and below that, his hard cock pressed up into the crack between my soft, round buttcheeks.

I was beautiful – tired-looking with no makeup, but youthful, with those long silky locks, perfect frame, bedroom eyes and full kissable lips.

And he was… he was hot. With the angular features of a model, perfect cheek bones, a narrow nose and a wry grin. He was in shape too – I had never paid much attention to my own fitness. Now I could see, that was an error.

I turned to face him. He just kept smiling expectantly. The person who was my wife was in there somewhere, just happening to forget what she had been. What he had been. What I had been. Now we were just this, but we were still us.

I placed his hand back on my breast and let him cup me. Being touched there, now, felt better than it ever had in my life. I stood on my tiptoes to reach his lip and he bowed down to meet me. It was different from any kiss we had ever had but the same at heart. Better even. More love and passion than we had felt in years.

His hands began to explore my body more and more freely, caressing and kneading my breast, my butt, His fingers lightly tickled around my nipple, as if he knew exactly what to do with them, sending a chill up my spine. I raised my thigh up for him to hold, instinctively, parting my legs in an ever-so-subtle invitation. Even I didn’t know where this was coming from. But I was on fire inside and needed to proceed as quickly as possible. I pressed my new midsection against his – arching my back to make room for my new breasts as we kissed breathlessly, tongues overlapping, breath hot in each other’s faces, as intimate as we’ve ever been. I could feel the tip of his instrument tickling the outside of my new crevice, weakening my knees and turning me to jelly inside.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I want it so bad.”

He picked me up into his arms and carried me back to bed.

Copyright 2020 Liam Slade, All Rights Reserved

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