I want to be a guy....if only for a week. The male form is overwhelmingly strange to me as a woman and yet, magnetically, visually appealing (in the way that circus freaks were attractive to victorian audiences). Angles, lumps, bumps and stray follicles of pheromone dipped hair....what a strange beast. I imagine what I would do if I had unlimited ownership of one of those bodies.

First I'd test out my blank male face. Poker, stone, a whitewashed barn wall with razor edged stubble. I could make you think I loved you by flashing only a hint of a smile. Sad commercials and serious blows to the head would get nothing from me. Not a whimper. You'd look at me and think "Jeeeeezus, is anyone home in there?"

I'd wear the same pair of underwear for two days in a row just to see what kinda junk would build up in there. I'd have to stop at two days though, since I'd still be myself inside and my inner hygiene freak would surely rebel. I might end up burning the soiled pair of undies in my kitchen sink....but I'd leave the ashes there to fester for days.

Of course, I'd masturbate. Immediately, if what I know of male inclination is any judge. I'd be keen to find out how my female hand-job abilities actually stack up. I think I'd employ the yank and tug method if it were my own appendage....just to remind myself that that lumbering piece of log-like flesh was actually adhered to my body. That knowledge in itself would get me off at least ten times.

When I was done Jerkin My Gerkin™, I would pad into the bathroom on my big wide feet. It might be fun to have feet like that, with hairy toes and yellow nails. Feet that ground you, that make no excuses for being feet. Ugly feet hidden in sweat socks that will never see the inside of a pedicuritsts scrub bucket. Nothing like the fancy accessories women's feet are supposed to be. No worry about toenails matching the handbag for supreme summer sandal fashion.

In the bathroom, I would see to the call of nature (and I would call it that, too). I've always wanted to pee while vertical. Holding my penis in my big hand and, perhaps, leaning my forehead against the wall behind the toilet. It'd be the forceful, rushing kind of urination that only guys are capable of. Whooooosh! With my accuracy, speed and volume, I would show the world who's boss.

Then I'd go out into the world. Walking tall on thighs that appeal to my sense of ideal self. Strong calves, powering my rugged body across the terrain. Legs that can escape rapists and rabid dogs. I would put myself in the way of danger just to test those powerhouse gams out.

As I walk down the street, legs slightly apart, I would brush against other people, not caring about personal space and fear of confrontation. My shoulders broad and fulfilling. I might stop to chat...no, not chat...talk. Talk in serious tones to a friend that I met there on the sidewalk. We would speak to each other in that important way men do about where we're going tonight. We'd speculate in loud voices about what we'll drink, how much and who we'll fuck by the end of the night. It would be unspoken, but known that most of this is just bravado. When later we meet up in a bar somewhere, we'll keep a brotherly silence between us.

Sex. I'd definitely want to have sex several times with this self-assured body....I'd even want to make love to other men if I could arrange it in the time I was in possession of this body. Partly to see what it would be like, but partly just to push this man's body where it might not otherwise dream of going. I imagine homosexual sex would be a strange but enlightening experience. The miraculous softening that occurs when you place two of these hard, angular bodies together. Supernatural.

Women wouldn't escape my lusty pioneering either. I would absolutely need to find out what it felt like to push myself into a woman. Feel her heat and fluid softness grip around my penis. Of course, I'd fuck her missionary to get the historical view of things, but I wouldn't miss out on doggie style either. I'd want the full range of feeling. If she was game, I'd ask her to get on top with her back to me to feel that unnatural but not unpleasant feeling of being bent.

Sexual stamina exhausted, I'd rid myself of my partner (or partners....always account for the unaccountable) and settle into myself for the night. I'd lay on the couch for a while, with my hand down the front of my jeans, and contemplate my good fortune.

Of course, in the morning, I'd wake up as my old self again. The curse back on me....breasts and hips and emotional chaos. Familiar terrain would meet my touch. But I'd feel more alive, I think, having been a man returned to woman. I'd feel well traveled and somehow more entitled to my body.

Listening To: Bloodhound Gang - Bad Touch