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Michael and I met about five years ago. Back then, I was still an intern, aimlessly wandering the corridors of the marketing department with a stack of useless printouts, constantly forgetting where I'd been sent, and scared of every second glance-especially from the higher-ups. And he, already firmly on his feet in the analytics department, was one of those rare people who not only noticed I existed but, as it turned out later, was actually interested in me. Of course, it all started with coffee, awkward chats by the elevator, our late-night convos in the corporate chat after work… And then-it was us. A secret thing, hiding between reports, shared lunches, and the occasional touches under the table that made me glance around nervously.
We didn't tell our colleagues and tried, mostly because of me, to act like we were just regular coworkers. But as soon as night fell-oh, that was a whole different story. Those same hands that typed out spreadsheets and flipped through reports during the day touched me with such tenderness and hungry passion, like he'd been holding back the whole time we sat together in that damn conference room, playing indifferent. He'd rest his chin on my shoulder, breathe softly into my neck, and whisper:
- I can't take it anymore - and we'd end up at his place, where the walls knew more about us than anyone ever could.
Michael was a real man. Not in that superficial way they go on about in motivational videos, but in a deeper, almost forgotten one-he knew how to listen, never mocked my fears, never tried to boss me around, but could take charge when it mattered. And yeah, he was ready to protect. That's why I never told him that Jason-my boss-loved humiliating me, sometimes even in public, and sometimes even punishing me by withholding bonuses.
Why? I don't know. I always tried to do my job well, but I think it was because he liked me as… a woman. A woman who didn't give in. And that pissed him off-not in the way a man gets hurt by rejection, but like some alpha prick who can't handle someone being hotter than him… and not his.
But Michael figured it out anyway-from that very first moment when I came out of that meeting in tears, trying to hide my face behind a folder, and he, like it was nothing, happened to be passing by but stopped, looking straight into my eyes like no one ever had. It wasn't just a look of support-it was a challenge. He didn't say anything then, just gently took the folder from my hands, squeezed my wrist, and led me away, like it didn't matter anymore who we were to each other officially or who saw us together. And a few days later, that damn remote appeared-the one we found at my place, like it had always been there.
At first, we were in shock. The thing actually worked! It could do the impossible-switch bodies, gender, appearance, voice, anything you wanted. At first, it was just dumb games. One time, I became Michael for half an hour-his walk, his voice, his confidence… like a heavy suit I suddenly felt trapped in, almost terrified. And then he-he became me. Well, almost.
We laughed like teenagers that first morning he woke up in a female body we'd created and named "Madison"-with messy dark hair, a completely lost expression on his face, and in my pajamas that, despite being pretty roomy, barely stayed on his new, very noticeable boobs. He sat there for like five minutes just touching himself-not in a dirty way, but with real shock and this weirdly intense curiosity:
- They're… heavy. How the hell do you even walk around with these?...