The light from the street lamps softly flooded the asphalt, turning the ordinary park path into something that looked like a scene straight out of a romantic movie. Sophie stumbled over a small stone and swayed backward, but Stephen’s strong hands instantly caught her by the waist. She laughed, and that bright, ringing sound, full of happiness and a light drunkenness, floated through the cool evening air.
— Oh God, haha! Thanks... I think I had a bit too much of that wine at dinner, — she swayed, pressing herself against his chest, and her short dark hair brushed against his cheek.
— It’s okay, — Stephen whispered, breathing in the scent of her hair. His hand slid over her shoulder, feeling the smoothness of her black dress. — I’m here with you.
— With me... — she murmured, straightening up and turning toward him. Her large eyes shimmered in the dim light. He saw in them the reflection of the stars, his own face, and something else. Something strange, yet painfully familiar.
Her hand, with its thin wrists, rested on his cheek; the touch was both gentle and firm.
— You... I... This is all so weird... You know, right? You must know. Because I’m you, and you... you’re— — she fell silent, glancing toward the bench, — maybe we should sit down? My head’s spinning a little.
He nodded silently and led her to the nearest wooden bench beneath an old oak tree. When they sat down, Sophie leaned her head on his shoulder. Her body was warm and soft, smelling of her perfume and wine. He felt her breasts lightly press against his arm, and it made him uneasy. Not from fear — from something else.
— You believe me, don’t you? — she asked quietly, without lifting her head. — That it’s real? That inside this... this shell... I’m still you. I’m still Stephen.
— I... I’m trying, Sophie. Really. But... how is that even possible?
— I don’t know, — her shoulders trembled. — You remember how I... how you... how we used to joke online, fool around, talk about how cool it’d be to copy your mind into a perfect female body? Well. Looks like someone or something heard our... I mean... my jokes.
Stephen shifted, turning away and furrowing his brows. He didn’t want to say it out loud — the shame of that reckless fantasy weighed on him, the one he’d secretly shared with no one. The fantasy that had both aroused and thrilled his imagination. To become a girl, to feel a new body, its proportions, its sensations... it was unreal.
— I’m not—
— Oh, come on already! I know everything about you, isn’t it obvious? I was you. You want this! You dreamed about it. And now... God... you know what hurts the most? — her gaze dimmed. — That all these sensations... this... — she ran her hand down her body, over her waist, her hips... Stephen noticed her breasts gently move as she did, and felt a sharp pang of arousal.
— What? — he watched as she looked doubtfully at her hands, then at her dress.
— That all this shit. This weird heaviness here, — she pointed at her breasts, which so temptingly pushed against the neckline of her dress. — These stupid legs that feel way too long... And the guys staring, — she shuddered. — You have no idea how... annoying it is.
— But I... — he mumbled. — I think it looks... amazing.
Sophie looked at him in confusion, then her lips curved into a sly smile.
— Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything else from you. It’s your fantasy, after all. And you’re enjoying it, looking at me. But I... I can’t just accept this. It’s... too strange.
She stood up, walking slowly down the path, her black hair shimmering in the light of the lamps, her steps a little unsteady. He got up after her, feeling panic rise inside him. What if she just walked away? Where would she go? Where could someone with his memories and a woman’s body possibly go?
— Sophie, wait. What are we going to do? — his voice came out rough.
She stopped and slowly turned toward him.
— You want to fuck me, don’t you? — she asked bluntly, and the words sent a chill through his stomach. — Admit it. You look at me, at my body, and you want me. You want to feel what I’m feeling right now. And then you want me to tell you everything. In detail.
Stephen stayed silent, unable to say a word. She knew. She was him. She knew his deepest desires — the ones he had never told anyone. The feeling of betrayal mixed with an irresistible pull.
— Quite a situation, isn’t it? — she stepped closer, her face just an inch from his. — Here he is, the man whose mind I carry, staring at me like at... an object of desire. Your desire. You’re such a pervert, Stephen.
Her breath was warm and smelled of wine. He saw her lips tremble slightly, her eyes widening at some thought he couldn’t even guess. And strangely, it only turned him on even more. Even that word — pervert — seemed to pump more air into that growing balloon of erotic tension inside him.
— I... I don’t know what to say, — he stammered, feeling his cheeks burn.
— Tell the truth. You don’t just want me. You want to be me, — she ran her finger along her breasts, over the very spot where the deep neckline of her dress emphasized her femininity. — You want me to... ‘kiss’ you?
She said the word kiss with a certain accent, as if there was something more behind it than just a simple kiss. He nodded, unable to take his eyes off her lips. They were soft and wet, gleaming in the light of the lamps.
— And then she leaned in and touched his lips with hers. It wasn’t a passionate or hungry kiss — it was something else. Gentle, exploring, filled with doubt and yet with an irresistible pull. He felt her tongue carefully slip into his mouth and shuddered. It was like kissing himself, and yet completely different.
Her hands rested on his shoulders, and his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. He felt her body, her warmth, her breath. There was nothing left in his mind except the feeling of her lips on his, her fingers on his neck. He knew it wasn’t exactly right, but at that moment, he didn’t care.
When they pulled apart, Sophie looked at him with wide, astonished eyes.
— Holy shit... — she whispered, pressing a hand to her lips. — That was... that was really weird.
— What? — he asked, his heart pounding so hard it seemed she could hear it. — What’s wrong?
— Everything! — she burst out laughing, but her laugh was nervous. — I’m kissing you. A man. And in my head, there’s my own damn voice screaming, ‘Oh, come on, it’s just you! You wanted this yourself!’. You can’t even imagine what a mess that is.
She sat back down on the bench, but this time a bit farther away, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Her dress bunched slightly, showing more of the skin on her thighs.
— I thought it would feel different when... well, you imagined it too. I thought it would be pure excitement. But instead— Stephen, what the hell?!
Her eyes froze on his cock, sticking out under his pants. He instantly crossed his arms and covered himself, blushing even harder. He’d been so caught up in her words and sensations that he hadn’t even noticed his own reaction.
— Oh, sorry... I didn’t mean to— — she quickly turned away, but then looked back at him. — Okay, no. I won’t pretend. This, at least, feels familiar. I remember what it’s like. But seeing it... on you... from the outside... that’s also really weird.
She fell silent, and for a moment the only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city.
— And... just so you know, I’m not gonna give you a blowjob, — she muttered with a crooked grin.
Her words hit like a punch below the belt. He didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed, angry, or just laugh. In the end, he chose the latter.
— I didn’t ask you to, — he replied, and his voice carried no offense, only mild irony.
— Oh, please. I know you want it. I am you. Remember? I think that phrase deserves some kind of award by now, — she ran her hand through her hair, — but still... yeah, I’m not doing it. So don’t count on it.
She patted the bench beside her lightly.
— Sit down already, you’re scaring me, standing there with that look.
He sat, trying to keep a respectful distance, but she immediately leaned in, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, feeling the tension in her body slowly ease. There was no passion in that embrace — only a strange, almost familial tenderness. He stroked her hair, breathed in her scent, and tried to make sense of everything.
— We always liked hugging... didn’t we? — she whispered into his shoulder, and he felt her tremble slightly. He nodded silently, understanding she wasn’t talking about them as a couple, but about them as one and the same person — someone who just loved hugs. Loved the warmth of another body, simply to... feel. And now, sitting there on that bench beneath the old oak, he realized that, in that moment, they both needed it.