A goddess offers to give her power to a rich man if he can survive being switched into the body of a beautiful young woman in an impoverished country for two weeks in Gods and Men (Part 1), available on Smashwords or Amazon.
Two grizzly looking men with guns strapped to their backs strolled by and eyed him hungrily.
“Hey, chica,” one said, leering at him. “Out for a stroll?”
“We can give you some company,” the other added with a creepy laugh.
Alastair gasped, and fled back inside the house. The two women in the kitchen threw questions at his back as he fled into the bedroom he’d awoken in and slammed shut the door behind him.
He was breathing fast. Too many things had happened at once. His mother-in-law was a god? Where was he? Was this what they meant when she said he had to lose his power? He had to lose everything? Even…he grabbed his crotch at the thought, felt the impossible smoothness.
Alastair had apparently taken over someone’s life. Someone young and powerless and desperately poor and…female.
Alastair fell onto his stomach on the thin mattress, head in his hands. The feelings of helplessness and despair were overwhelming and he found himself crying. He sobbed into his hands. A part of him registered the strange soft contours of his nose and cheeks and the enticing new scent of his body. Faintly floral and sweet. He cried like a little girl, trembling, until he was empty.
When he was done he wiped his eyes with his palms and sniffed. He rolled over and sat up. Christ, when was the last time he’d cried? He was so good at tamping down his feelings but this had taken him by surprise. It felt better to get it all out.
A woman for only five minutes and already he was crying. Come on. Two weeks. He could do this. Two weeks as a young, beautiful woman in a poor country. With his brains, how hard could it be? He considered himself, looking down at the petite body he now owned, admiring the swell of his simple curves beneath the light dress. Hell, this might even be fun.
There was a cracked mirror leaning up against one wall and Alastair stood and approached it. His reflection stepped into view and he paused to look at himself. The woman staring back from the mirror was a beautiful South American woman. Petite and with a youthful, innocent face. Long eyelashes. Slender eyebrows arching over dark, almond-shaped eyes. Plump lips, slightly parted in a way that made him look continuously dumbfounded. He resembled the kind of woman he used to fuck in the brothels while on business trips to the Philippines. Pretty but stupid.
Alastair stood and pulled the dress off over his head. Sweeping back his long hair, he stared down at himself. This body was stunning. He ran his hands down his chest, over the swell of each breast and down his trim tummy. He was so soft and warm. When he reached his hips he slowed, watching as he neared the wild tangle of hair between his legs. He slid his fingers into the dark forest of hair over his crotch, gliding gently over the two soft lips tucked together beneath.
His desire for this new body created a soft stir deep within him, a gently unfolding restlessness. He returned his hands to his breasts, cupping them softly. They seemed large from his new perspective but he could cup his hands around each of them. They had the firmness of youth and he squeezed gently, watching as his fingers dimpled the soft skin. Even within this woman’s body he had a masculine fascination with breasts, and he played with himself for a while, stroking his tits, gliding his fingers over and under each one. Splaying his fingers across them, he gathered them in his hands, squeezing them up against his chest and making them balloon out. The restlessness within him grew, urging him on. As he stroked and teased his tits, his nipples grew taut, spiking into sharp diamonds.