However, there was one problem that I never had managed to tell my wife about, and that was my clothes fetish. You see, my sex drive is actually split in half. I have heterosexual urges, and then I have transsexual urges. Both are equally very strong, but I decided to act on my heterosexual drive since it was more conducive to the life I wanted to live. But oh, to be a woman, a lovely woman, would also be so nice.
I kept a box in one of the closets. Angie never knew what was in it. She never even noticed it. That's where I kept all my clothes. Considering they were just laying there, they were kept in remarkably good shape. I would pull them out when she went on to class, and indulge this half of my sexuality.
However, she must have found out somehow, due to what happened next.
One night, we were talking, and Angie said, "You know how we wanted to have children when we first got married?"
"Yeah, I remember. There were a lot of things we wanted."
"Well, I'd like to try for that tonight."
I snuggled up close to her and said, "So, you want to have sex."
She smiled and said, "Well, you were never one for adoption, so I think this is the only way."
"Well, then, let's do it."
We stripped each other down and went to our immaculate play. Compared to most couples, our sex was rather tame. But it was enough for us.
After our action, we both were pretty tired, and so we went to sleep.
When I got up the next morning, I let out a little moan. However, it was not my deep moan that I was used to. It was a soft, high-pitched moan.
I got up, and felt a long batch of hair hit my shoulders. I reached back and felt that it was, indeed, my hair. I looked in the mirror-and saw Angie's face! I looked down and saw her chest, her hips, and her legs. Yes, I was definitely Angela LaRue.
I spoke to test my own voice. "I can't believe it. I really am..."
I stopped, a little irritated. It was my wife's voice, but now my wife sounded as Hoosier as I was. "Well, they could have at least let me keep the southern accent." That was, in fact, one of the things that attracted me to her.
I then realized something-If Eric no longer existed, just vanished, this would cause a problem. I looked over to make sure that everything was still all right, and I saw my own body-dead.
At first, I gasped, simply at the sight of someone dead, but then I realized, "Oh, I guess we can explain it away after all. I can pass as Angie and..." THEN I realized what I was saying. "Oh, no! What's happened to Angie!"
I shook my own body, which just six hours ago I inhabited, but to no avail. I thought to myself, "I can't worry about this now! I've got to get to class!"
I threw on a pair of my wife's panties, grabbed a bra, threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, threw on some shoes grabbed my book bag and went. Fortunately, her first class was her Political Science class, something I knew well from my one semester in high school and a 4 on the AP test.
However, since she didn't have another class for two hours, I _promptly_ got back to the apartment. As I got up to the door and was about to open, it opened itself.
Or rather was opened.
By me.
Or rather whoever was now inhabiting my body.
I composed myself and said, in my imitated southern accent,(which I had just spent an hour perfecting) "Well, hello, Eric, how has your morning been?"
The response came in a masculine voice, but with an accent that was much more natural than my own. "Very well...Eric."
I couldn't help but be so shocked that I reverted back to my natural dialect. "How did you know it was me?"
My counterpart smiled. "Don't you recognize me? It's me, Angie. Your wife. Or should I say, your husband."
"Do you have any idea what happened?"
"Yes, I do. Let's go into the living room and talk about it."
And so, we did just that. And Angie explained herself.(or should I say HIMself?) "I knew you were a closet transvestite. One day, class was cancelled, and so I decided to come home. But I saw you in the window. Actually, I thought it was another woman, from that distance. So I found a coven of women who had this ceremony to change their husbands into the next person they had sex with. But then, while you were getting the groceries one day, I found your little box of treasures. I thought, 'Now what would Eric be doing with all these clothes?' Then I realized what was going on. So, I found a way to alter the spell to simply have you trade places with me."
Angie pulled out a vial and said, "This is the only way we can revert back. You must drink this vial. But, I'll only give it to you if you agree to stop your transvestite activites and get some psychological help with this."
Upon hearing her demands, and knowing my transsexual desires, as well as my attitude about psychologists, I said, "Well, I suppose you're right about this. But since you've done it, I think I want to stay like this."
Angie's eyes widened.
"No, listen to me. Sexually, I've felt I've had a duality about me for a long time. My transsexual side wanted to be a woman, but the stronger, heterosexual side of me realized that there would be too many complications. What would I do with my life? Would I get a job, get married, or what? And, of course, there was my music. So, I decided that it wouldn't happen by my own doing. But, like this, I get to be my feminine self, and you get my fame, glory, and power."
"Now, wait a minute. Think about what you're saying. Think about what you'd be giving up."
"I have thought about it. I've thought about it all my life. I wasn't going to do it by my own hand, but if an opportunity like this presented itself, I would take it. Now it has, so I'm taking it."
Angie looked at me, disgusted.
"Of, course, if you want to preserve the marraige, I'll go back. I'll give up the clothes." And then I pleaded with my parnter. "Just don't make me go see a psychologist."
I had her in a bind. Angie, too, liked music, but went into nursing simply because she was afraid the market for singers was too small. But how likely was it that she'd want to be a man?
She paused.
"All right, I'll do it. But you're going to have to help me. I mean, first of all, what are your fans going to think when their sophisticated Indianapolis gentleman becomes a southern redneck overnight?"
I smiled.
So now, I am Angela LaRue. I'm currently finishing up my last semester for my BSN degree. As soon as I'm finished, Eric wants to move the band out to California, one, so they can be closer to the record company, and two, so he can work on his graduate degree in computer music composition at UCSB. I'm sure I'll be able to find a job at a hospital out there, and he can write songs while taking care of the kids.
He never quite got the midwestern accent correct, but he found a way to intermix a Bostonian accent with an English one, and it sounds pretty realistic. As for me, I sound as southern as if I had been born there.
By the way, I knew he was kidding. Most southerners aren't the stereotypical hick with a pickup truck and a shotgun in the back. It's just that most of us Yankees don't know that.
Fin