The Erotic Magic Club Part 6

Part 6: Swapping with Sandy

My fiancée -- I still can't get used to calling her that -- my fiancée, Josephine, came into the study with that sly smile that she wears when she's planning something.  "What are you doing on Sunday Week?" she asked.

I clicked up my diary and scrolled down ten days.  "Here we are -- May 6th, nothing.  Why, what do you have in mind?"

"It's Sandy's birthday," she said, "can you come to the Club for her party?"

"I thought these parties of yours were girls only.  What does she want me there for?"

"Jim asked her what she wanted by way of a present, and apparently she wants to be a bloke for a few hours.  I volunteered your body for the afternoon.  Jim thinks it's a great idea.  So, are you in, or what?"

I clicked on "New appointment", and typed "Sandy's party".  "I'm in," I replied, "God knows why."

Jo grinned hugely.  "Great," she said, "I'll call Jim."

Jim is the resident magician at the club where Sandy and Jo are dancers.  He's everyone's caricature vision of mad scientist, absent-minded professor and stage magician all crossed together.  He never stops being a magician, which makes for an unpredictable life even when he's off-stage.

Sandy is a contortionist, half-and-half Chinese and Belgian, and about five and a half foot tall.  She's mute, and uses British Sign Language.

Jo, of course, you've met.  Six foot of Icelandic goddess, with a blonde buzz-cut, the best legs in the world, and a wicked sense of humour.  We've been engaged for just a couple of weeks.

I was looking forward to this party, and dreading it at the same time.  This is normal behaviour for anyone anticipating some magic from Jim.

Sandy's birthday came round, as birthdays do, and so Jo and I walked round to the Club for the party.  Jim's mum greeted us at the door.

"Ho, Mrs D," I said. "I didn't think this was your sort of thing.  What are you here for?"

"Catering, dear," she replied, "so you young people can concentrate on having a good time."

"Have you done us some of your Special Cake again?" asked Jo.  My eyebrows shot up.

"Oh no, dear.  I've had to stop using that recipe."  My surprise grew. "The boys and girls in Her Majesty's Customs gave me a big fine and suggested I used some more conventional ingredients.  This one's got alcohol in it instead."

Shaking my head in disbelief, I followed Jo into the Club.  As I walked through the door into the main auditorium, I was greeted by a cheer from the half-dozen dancers assembled there.  Suzy was behind the bar, Sally and Tessa were stood in front leaning on the counter while Gail and the twins were sat at a nearby table.  Sandy, whose party this was, was nowhere to be seen.  There was a deal of good-natured ribaldry directed at me, and plenty of evidence that the girls had been drinking for a while before I arrived.

Ten minutes later Tessa MacDonald, the girl who does the tassel-twirling, had cornered me and was rambling drunkenly on about the delights of her home in Govan when Jim arrived with Sandy.  Grateful for a chance to escape a conversation which was going nowhere, I stood to greet the birthday girl and her escort.  She signed hello, and asked if I was ready for the forthcoming swap, but before I could answer, Jim took us each by the hand and led us to the centre of the crowd, announcing the commencement of proceedings.

Suzy had placed two chairs in the centre of the room, facing each other a couple of feet apart.  Jim sat Sandy and myself in these two chairs while the other girls arranged themselves in a sort of loose circle around us.  Mrs D was polishing glasses behind the bar and watching us at the same time.  I was wearing jeans and a denim shirt with blue canvas deck shoes.  Sandy had a pair of yellow Lycra cycle-shorts reaching to about three inches above the knee, and a very tight stretchy tee-shirt which left a few inches of waist showing.  She was wearing nothing underneath either garment, and was barefoot.  She smiled nervously at me, and signed something which loosely translates as "Here we go".

Jim placed his left hand on Sandy's head and his right on mine.  He glanced at us both and then looked blankly forward and spoke.  "Quiet please, this takes some concentration."

I looked up at Jim and watched him close his eyes and take a couple of deep breaths, followed by a very, very deep breath, which he held.  Suddenly, his hand on my head dropped sharply in temperature, and was icy on my scalp.  The shock made me gasp.  I went as if to reach for his arm, and found my limbs unresponsive, and then, over the course of the next three or four seconds, all my senses died away.  Sight, hearing,  even the feel of the chair at my back faded until I seemed to be hanging bodiless in some dark and silent zone.  A fleeting sense of being stood with arms outstretched, my lungs bursting, was followed by the same eerie, empty universe.  And then my body faded back into my life over another three or four seconds.  I could hear once again, I could feel the Lycra taut over my breasts once more, and the picture of Jo's boyfriend sat opposite me blurred into focus.  Jim's roasting-hot hand at my forehead cooled once more to body temperature, and he let his breath out in a long sigh.  He sank gently to the floor and knelt there gasping from his recent exertion.

My voice came from my body opposite, and I heard it say "It worked!  Hey, girls, I got a new body for my birthday, with a dick and a voice and everything!"

I raised my voice to comment and, somehow, I couldn't work out how to form the words I knew I wanted to say into sounds and get my mouth to deliver them.  I sat and spoke, but the sound coming out was a mess of vowels without any structure to them.  I clamped my useless mouth shut and sat silent and ashamed.  Jim, still breathing hard, looked up and grinned, as if he'd just won a bet with himself.  He probably had.  "You've got about an hour and a half before you jump back," he said, "maybe two hours if you get lucky.  It wears off quicker the more energy you burn."

Sandy, in my body, with my voice, stepped clumsily over to my chair and taunted me.  "Hey, you dumb chink chick.  Cat got your tongue?"  Her -- His? manner softened then.  "Sorry, I didn't mean that.  I've had idiots saying that to me all my life.  I just had to get them back, for a moment.  Look, you're in my body now, the whole voice bit just doesn't work.  Jo told me you could sign -- for today, you just got no choice, yes?"

I haven't used BSL for about ten years -- not since my grandfather died.  Watching someone use it and working out what they're saying, anyone can learn that.  Jo tells me that it only took the girls about two weeks before they could all understand Sandy.  Learning to use it myself would have been impossible in just one afternoon, but the whole family grew up signing for Granddad, so it all came back pretty swiftly.  Lucky old me.

While I was mentally assembling a sentence and trying to remember which hand did what, Sandy and Jo exchanged a couple of quick words, clasped hands and nipped off to the dressing-rooms.

What are those two up to? I signed.

"They're getting the second half of Sandy's present" said Spanula.  Her sister gave a low chuckle.

What's the second half? I asked.

"We all agreed we wouldn't tell you," drawled Tessa from the bar.  "You'll find out soon."

I asked again what was going on, but no-one would tell me.  It's very hard to be forcefully insistent if you're a girl who can only ask with hand signals.  There were a number of unsubtle hints, however: it seemed that Jo was showing Sandy exactly what she could do now that she was male.  I couldn't work out if I should be jealous or not.  In the end I decided that whatever Jo and Sandy were doing together, they were doing it with my body, so I wouldn't worry about it.

"Hey, if Sandy's busy finding out what it's like to be a boy," called Spica, "what say we show Doug here what it's like being a girl?"

I signed that I didn't fancy studying the topic too closely.  I wanted to find out what it was like being a contortionist.  While I was saying all this, I discovered that I didn't know the sign for "contortionist", so I had to spell it out a letter at a time, all thirteen letters of it.  I nearly broke my fingers.  One of the girls asked me to spell it again.  Very funny.  Har har.

When the girls realised what I was saying, a gleam entered their collective eye.  Suzy put on her fairground-barker's voice, calling over her shoulder as she strode towards the storeroom: "Roll up roll up, see Doug's fabulous flexibility, in his beautiful bendy borrowed body." 

While she was gone, the other girls called out instructions at me to test my bendy limits:

"Cross your legs.  No, with your ankles on top."

"Cross your arms behind your back.  Touch your toes."

"Bend over and touch your nose on your legs."

"Bet you can't kiss your own bum."

Jim settled down on a chair nearby to watch proceedings.

I was just starting to put my feet behind my head when Sandy brought the box over.  As the climax of her act, Sandy opens a small hatch on the side of this box, and packs her whole body in.  This box is about sixteen inches on a side and made out of clear plastic.  Suzy started the chant and the other girls quickly joined in:  "Box act, box act, box act…"

Spic and Span brought one of the tables over, and Suzy placed the box on it and opened the door.  You'll have to tell me exactly what to do, I signed.

"First you get your clothes off," said Suzy, "Sandy always does the box act in the nude.  Top and bottom, yes.  Now sit on the table with the box on your left.  Put your foot in this corner here."

Following Suzy’s instruction, I gradually packed myself into the little box.  Once my left leg was in, I eased my hips through the hatch, pushing them in until I hit the rear of the box. Then I had to wiggle myself over to the left, so that my left thigh was wedged into the diagonal and I could pop first my left shoulder, then my head in.  My shoulder ended up in the corner above my left hip, and my head was pressed down towards my breasts by the top of the box.  I had to push my elbow into the tiny space between my thigh and ribcage.  I eased my right shoulder into the box and popped my right knee in to follow it.  Finally, Suzy pushed my last foot in and left me with just my right arm sticking out of the doorway.  She got me to feel around for a chain attached to the door, which I found, so I pulled the door shut.  I was in!

There was no space to move, certainly no space to sign anything.  I was all very squashed in there.  Now was the time to get out.  I gave the door a little push, and it swung gently open, but Suzy quickly snapped it shut, holding it closed with her hand.  She spoke to one of the girls.  "Windy, could you go and call Jo and the Birthday Boy -- we're ready for lesson two."

I didn't like the sound of that at all.  While Gail nipped out to bring back the other two, Suzy turned the box over onto its face, so that it was resting on the door.  I was clearly not going to escape any time soon.  I was shocked, however, when I realised Suzy had opened a second door, one I had known nothing about, in what used to be the base of the cube.  I peered between my squashed breasts and saw the opening, perfectly placed immediately behind where my legs met my body.  I suddenly felt very vulnerable.

"Now, Doug," explained Suzy, "Jo's been teaching Sandy what it's like to be a boy.  It's only fair that you should learn what it's like being a girl."  She reached through the small opening between my legs and eased one of my nipples out from the thigh against which it was pressed.  She tickled it until it stood up and then pinched it gently between her thumb and finger, rolling it back and forth.  "You see, some girls can get off on just this."  She brushed me with the fingers of her opposite hand, testing.  "You, for example, are juicing up nicely.  I think you're ready for your next lesson."  I moaned gently but could do nothing to prevent the assault.  "Now, if Jo's finished going over the theory," Suzy concluded, "it's time for the practical."

Sandy, returning in my body, approached the table.  From my restricted viewpoint, I saw her clumsily steer her (my) hijacked genitalia towards me and, finally, into me.  Very quickly she was pounding away at me, with Jo desperately calling out "Gently, gently" in contrast to the aggressive shouts of encouragement from the other girls.

I doubt that you've ever been rogered to a violent orgasm by an insensitive sexual novice whilst occupying someone else's mute body trapped inside a cramped Perspex box in your first couple of hours of being female.  If you have, fair enough, I don't need to tell you what it was like.  If you haven't, I'm not sure that any description I could give would do it justice.

Just as my extraordinary orgasm was about to break, my senses went black once more, just momentarily, and then I found myself back in my own body again, stood naked in the centre of a ring of fascinated spectators, my hands bracing the transparent cube within which Sandy was imprisoned, listening to her insensible howls and my own animal grunts as I took the few closing strokes of her lesson in what it's like to be a boy.

Furious, I stepped back and turned on Jim.  "Bastard!" I said. "I'm two seconds short of my first ever female orgasm, and you swap us back just to late to enjoy mine.  She got them both, and I had neither."

"Doug, Doug," said Jim, "I had no control over when you swapped back.  I told you, it varies with energy consumption.  In any case, if anybody could choose when to swap, it would be her, because she commissioned the illusion.  She who pays the piper and all that.  And if she's two-nil ahead, well, it is her birthday after all."

Slightly mollified, I turned round to see the sweat-streaked Sandy struggling exhausted out of the cube, which Suzy had stood upright once more.  She sat on the edge of the table and signed at me: Do it again?

I was just wondering how I might persuade Jo to let me have another go when Mrs D entered, pushing a huge trolley laden with good things.  Pride of place was held by a large chocolate cake, giving off a distinct whiff of brandy.  "Tea up," she said, glancing at Sandy and I in our unclothed disarray.  "I see you young people have been enjoying yourself."

Well, despite the interruption we managed to do it again after tea, a little differently this time, and once again Sandy managed to get two to my zero.

I wonder if I can persuade her to try best of five?

story continues in part seven - Norwegian Wood

10.04.04