Role Reversal

By Elizabeth Jewell

Two erotic novellas by Elizabeth Jewell—two couples whose lives go topsy turvy.

Turnabout
On St. Patrick’s Day, Fee and Mal switch bodies. What are they supposed to do with all these new body parts?

If It’s Tuesday, There Must Be Dildos
Delia and Scott’s marriage needs some spicing up. Some experimentation is in order—but exactly how far will Scott let Delia go?

These stories were originally published at Changeling Press.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Notes on Vellum
• Release date: Sep 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781370022373

Book preview

Role Reversal

Two stories by

Elizabeth Jewell

©2012 by Katriena Knights

Smashwords Edition

Turnabout

If It’s Tuesday, There Must Be Dildos

Originally published by Changeling Press

Chapter One

When Fee woke the morning after St. Patrick’s Day, she had a dick.

She didn’t really notice. Not right away. It was, after all, five in the morning, and she wasn’t quite awake. But when she sat down to pee, she noticed.

She stared at it a moment, bemused. She blinked slowly, wondering what the hell was going on. Then the insistent pressure from her bladder took over and she did what seemed to be the logical thing. She pushed the strange appendage down between her thighs and peed.

Not that it was the easiest thing to do, since she was sporting a partial stiffy. But she got the job done, then let it pop back out so she could take a look.

She was beginning to wake up by now, enough that a tremor of panic had begun in her chest. The dick wasn’t the only thing different; her thighs were hairy and leanly muscled, and if she looked a little farther down, she could see ugly man-feet. Her hands were masculine, as well, her neatly manicured fingers nowhere to be seen.

Then she realized she knew this dick. She’d spent a lot of time with this dick. She’d played with it and fingered it and even had it in her mouth.

Not that she could get it in her mouth now. Even her three yoga classes a week hadn’t made her quite that flexible.

Slowly, she got up and moved across the bathroom to stand in front of the mirror. Her suspicions, strange as they were, were confirmed.

Her husband looked back at her.

Huh, she said, and went back to the bedroom.

Mal always slept naked, so of course she found herself in that state. The figure remaining on the bed wore a familiar, faded, rose-colored cotton nightgown, and lay with her back to Fee.

Fee stood for a long moment, just looking. This was her body. It didn’t look like her, though. The woman on the bed was a bit more svelte than she was. Was somebody else in her bed? What the hell, exactly, was going on?

Mal? she ventured. The voice that came to her ears was familiar and yet not—a bit deeper than Mal’s voice. It vibrated in her own mouth, in her chest. The strange sensation made her hesitate, then clear her throat.

Mal? She tried again.

The woman stirred. Mornin’, Fee… she said, in a familiar, lazy drawl that wasn’t familiar at all, because it sounded like her voice did when she heard it over the answering machine.

The woman rolled over to look at her, a befuddled expression on her face—Fee’s own face. What the fuck?

Now Fee was positive something bizarre was going on, because she hardly ever said the word fuck. It was uncouth. Something weird’s going on, she said.

No shit, said Mal. What are you doing with my dick?

She shrugged. Just peed with it, is all. Is that okay?

Mal looked down, then lifted his hands and cupped the breasts sprouting from Fee’s borrowed body. Fee watched him, more than a little disturbed.

Are you sure that’s me? she asked.

He plumped the breasts, still looking down at them with focused interest. Feels like you. Looks like you. He tweaked the nipples. God, that feels good.

Knock it off, Mal. A strange sensation moved through her pelvis, and she looked down. "Oh, good grief, Mal. Do you have to have a woody every morning?"

He looked at the curved cock sprouting from what Fee now had to claim as her own body and chuckled. It’s your woody this morning, Fee.

Fee glared at it. It twitched, but didn’t go down. It seemed almost to be laughing at her. With a sigh, she trudged to the bed and sat down heavily. This is insane.

Mal seemed far too absorbed in playing with his own nipples to really be paying any attention to Fee.

Man. He looked up at her, puppy-like enthusiasm brimming in his eyes. We should fuck like this. We should totally fuck.

Fee gaped, then picked up a pillow and flung it at him as hard as she could. "That is $all you ever think about! Ever!" She lunged forward, almost losing her balance. Her center of gravity was off, because she had no breasts. She had no breasts because Mal had them. And he was playing with them.

Argh! It was all she could manage. She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her.

The Previous Night

St. Patrick’s Day was Fee’s least favorite holiday. She hated green, wasn’t nuts about beer or corned beef and cabbage, and dancing a reel made her queasy. And with a name like Fiona O’Toole, that had always been a handicap. Not because she felt bad about it, but because people bugged her about it. Every year.

Even Mal, her husband of two years, who was about as Irish as your average bratwurst, insisted on celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. Which was why they’d ended up at the local bar, drinking green beer and listening to a live Irish band who couldn’t keep their pipes and tin whistle in tune with each other.

It was