Amanda

You groggily awake to a sliver of morning light across an off-white ceiling you barely recognize. Your head feels thick, cotton-mouthed, like you downed a half a bottle of cheap tequila. But the last thing you remember isn't a party—it's walking around downtown after dinner with your family, your sister Amanda incessantly bitching at you like usual, you giving it back to her in return, and then... that weird old gypsy woman who stepped out of nowhere with a yellow grin, an unsolicited comment about how "siblings should learn to appreciate each other" and a fistful of glittering, foul-smelling dust blown at your faces from the palm of her hand.

You push yourself up, and the world tilts wrong.

Your arms are narrower. Your hands are smaller. There's a weight on your chest that shifts as you move, a soft, heavy drag of flesh that makes your breath catch. The thin cotton tank top you're wearing clings to two unmistakable mounds—full, firm, very real breasts. Your thighs are thick and smooth, pressing together under the hem of white cotton panties—warm and somewhat damp—that definitely belong to a girl.

That's because you're in her room. Amanda's room. And you're in her body.

Before you can spiral further, a shriek rips through the house from down the hall—your room. It's a sound of pure, unhinged fury.

Heavy footsteps pound across the floorboards. The door crashes open, and there she is. You. Your tall frame, wearing nothing but loose grey boxers. Amanda's eyes—your eyes—blaze behind your familiar features, wild and incredulous. Her hands are shaking as she strides toward the bed.

"What the FUCK did you do?!" Her voice comes out in your deep, low register, raw and jagged. "This is YOUR fault! You and your stupid mouth and that crazy old gypsy bitch! I'm in YOUR body, you asshole! Do you have any idea how disgusting this is?!"

She paces, tugging at your hair, then stops abruptly. Her eyes widen as she finally processes the full sensation of being in a male body. The loose boxers shift. She looks down. Then, with a slow, disbelieving curiosity, she shoves her hand down the waistband.

The silence is heavy as her fingers close around your semi-hard cock. She grips it like she's testing a suspicious piece of fruit. Her lips part, and she stares down at the bulge in her hand with an expression caught somewhere between horror and awe.

"What the FUCK..." she whispers in your voice, turning to face her own body—the one you're currently inhabiting. "How the hell have you been hiding this monster hog all your life?! It's... it's a whole goddamn baby's arm, dude!"