The Girl Upstairs

Vanessa Singer

 

I was smitten the first time I saw her. Maybe smitten is the wrong word, because it implies a kind of puppy love. No, what I felt for that girl was pure, unadulterated lust. The kind of lust that drives men to do strange, often unexplainable things. The kind of lust that, when left to fester, can turn to something much darker. And definitely the kind of lust that a 32-year-old computer programmer should not be feeling for a 16-year-old high school student. But, I did. From the moment she and her mother first arrived at my apartment building, I knew there was something special about her.

The object of my desire has a name. It is Jennifer Stevenson. She and her mother arrived on a very hot and humid June afternoon, their modest vehicle pulling a small U-Haul trailer filled to exploding with their possessions. Jennifer stepped out of the beaten green minivan dressed in a sinfully thin sundress and stacked-heel sandals. A ribbon held her thick, auburn hair back in a ponytail as she looked around, taking in her new home. I knew I should go down, introduce myself, help them move their boxes up to the fifth floor, but I couldn’t. I was too embarrassed. If I went down there, if I spoke to that girl, I might say something horrible. I could feel my eyes drawn to the luscious teenager’s body, and the vilest images filled my brain. I am an adult, and even if she looks like one, she’s just a teenager. So, I retreated to my bathroom and took care of myself to fantasies of the new girl.

As it turned out, Jennifer and her mother Ruth were moving into the apartment directly above mine. I remember hearing that the old woman in 520 had died, but it hadn’t come together in my head until that moment.

Now, there had been lots of girls through my apartment, but none of them were like Jennifer. I remember waking up early on Tuesdays and Thursdays, just so I could get a glimpse of the young lady headed down to the pool. She was sexy as hell and she knew it. She always dressed to impress. Her swimsuit was a two-piece that was two sizes too small, leaving nothing to the imagination. She made me hard just thinking about her, and I think she knew that too. Our relationship was exactly that for nearly a month. We would exchange the occasional glance, I’d admire her from afar and she’d give me a playful, forbidden glimpse.

The fateful morning came in July. I was awakened by a series of slow, steady raps on the door. In just my boxers, I stumbled out to the peephole to find Jenny Brand standing there. She was wearing a black sports-bra and biker-shorts, her hair was tussled up into a loose ponytail and she was slightly flushed. She knocked again, and despite my better judgment, I opened the door.

"Hel…hello?" I asked.

"Hi there…" She cooed, turning on a look of innocence that would have melted any man. "Mind if I come in?"

I opened the door, blushing as I excused my lack of clothing. She laughed, asking why I was embarrassed. I tried to answer, but my tongue was tied. I found myself staring at the soft, slightly freckled flesh between her breasts. I must have looked like a fool, my eyes locking on the deep canyon of bosom that the sports-bra left exposed. But she didn’t say anything. She just smiled and sat down on my couch.

"My name’s Jenny," she said softly, "but you know that already, don’tcha?"

"Uh…" I said, clearing my throat, "Yes, I think I’ve spoken to your mother in the elevator before. Ruth, right?" Jenny nodded as she looked around the apartment.

"Nice place." She said, kicking off her black sneakers and tucking her legs up under her well-rounded ass. She turned the small black bag attached to her waist to prevent sitting on it.

"Isn’t…yours just like it?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"Yeah, but I like what you’ve done with it."

There was a pause in the conversation that seemed to last an eternity before I got up the courage to ask, "What can I do for you, Jenny?"

She looked down at the couch sheepishly and whispered, "I just got done with my run and…well, I locked myself out of my apartment. I’d seen you around and you looked like a nice man…I was hoping I could crash here for the day…"

"Don’t you have school today?" I asked, my heart in my throat. She actually thought I looked like a nice man! Yes!

"It’s summer…there’s no school during the summer." She said, subtly licking her lips. "Anyway, I’m sure we can find lots of things to amuse both of us."

"Listen…I really don’t know about this…" I protested, but the girl had me by the balls. Standing up, she stretched, allowing me to see the incredible body she worked so hard to keep in shape. Long, supple legs, that perfect ass, narrow waist and those breasts…those gorgeous, ample breasts. With a face that successfully fused childish innocence and a wantonness beyond her years. Half Cherokee and half Irish, she was a living testament to the best of both cultures.

"Are you sure? I mean, I really think you and I could be good friends. Close, you know?" She said, walking over and running her manicured finger over my bare belly. Around her index finger, a delicate gold ring rubbed against my skin. She smirked sweetly, letting it fall to the boxers where she made a half-orbit around to the crack of my ass. "Do you work out too?"

I shook my head. I was neither a perfect specimen of masculinity, nor a troll. I was average, but blessed with a good metabolism.

I turned to face her, and found her on her tiptoes, her face pressed against mine. Our lips met, and a spark of electricity seemed to pass from her to me and back again. I gave in at that moment, wrapping my arms around the local Lolita and letting my passions take over. We kissed for only a moment before she pulled the bra off. My hands moved up, cupping her incredible tits. My cock felt like it was going to explode as we moved down onto the old rug in the living room. There was no time to move to a bed. There was just right now, and we took advantage of it.

"I’ve…wanted to do this…for so long." I admitted. I didn’t want to say it, but it just came out. She smiled, kissing my chin.

"I know. I’ve seen you. The way you look at me."

We fucked. That’s the only way to describe it. Making love seems too…sweet. What we did wasn’t sweet. It was hard and passionate. She insisted on being on her hands and knees, letting me mount her from the rear like two animals. I penetrated her, forcing her tight folds around my swollen, hot cock. She moaned loudly as I reached out and pulled the scrunchie out of her hair, letting the auburn locks pour down her back.

"God, you’re amazing." I whispered to her, cupping her tits as they hung beneath her. She smiled at me, her green eyes sparkling in the early morning sun. I pumped against her, driving myself into that body, making her moan and scream with pleasure. It was a timeless moment as we both approached our orgasms together.

"Are…are you ready?" I asked in a harsh, hoarse whisper.

"Are you?" She asked, tightening her cunt around my ready cock. As we reached the plateau, at the same time, a thought…a strange errant wish entered my mind. I’d never felt it before, and I don’t know where it came from, but just as my balls tensed and her juices started to flow, everything went black.

* * * * * * * * * * *

While it felt like only a second passed, I suddenly heard the sounds of movement around me. People talking and machines humming. I lifted my head and found myself back at work. My familiar cubicle. Across from me, my former intern Stan Gleason was compiling code for that bank software he’d been working on for the past two years. To my left, I saw Ellie McCardall and John Will hunched over a computer, debugging something with a pile of hard copies. I shivered a bit, and stretched. How long had I been asleep, I wondered, and what a fucking dream!

"Welcome back to the land of the living…" Ellie said as she looked over.

I shrugged it off, but there was definitely something wrong with me. Maybe I’d caught the flu. It would explain falling asleep at work and the way I felt now. My whole body ached and I felt like I was on fire. Walking down the hall to the bathroom, I splashed some cold water on my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

I hadn’t noticed them at first, but there were freckles. They were slight, and only along the bridge of my nose, but they were there. And, as I watched, more appeared. They were also very light, and were even less prominent since my skin seemed to be taking on a slightly olive complexion.

"What the hell?" I said, my voice cracking. Then, like a lightning bolt, my body began to convulse. I fell to the tiled floor, my muscles and bones not responding, groaning loudly as my body shifted and twisted beneath my clothes. I could feel only sections of it at a time, as signals from every nerve in my body were flooding my brain. Skin was smoothing. My hair was growing. My legs were cracking. My hips…were spreading? I groaned as they widened and my eyes grew wide as the white shirt I’d worn to work that morning began to puff up in front. Two small lumps were rapidly growing, taking on a very familiar shape.

I forced myself up, pressing my new breasts against the sink as I caught sight of my reflection. The girl looked like Jennifer Stevenson, but there were little aspect of me in there as well. My larger nose, my brown eyes and the scar on my chin I’d gotten in Little League. But, as quickly as I could catalog the similarities, they would vanish. My nose gave way to her small, upturned nose. My brown eyes turned green, and seemed to fill with girlish charm. The scar was erased as my face gained the elasticity and health of a 16-year-old girl’s.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I stood up and pulled open my shirt to find Jennifer’s lovely breasts hanging from my chest. I reached up with her small, delicate hands and rubbed them gently, feeling the nipples rise to attention. God, she…I had big nipples. Thick and round, and when aroused, they poked nearly half-an-inch from the soft mounds of my bosom. Within my pants, I felt her sex reacting to my self-examination, and it felt REALLY good. Closing my eyes, I didn’t see the door open, but I heard it.

Like a kid getting caught masturbating, I glanced over to see Stan Gleason walking into the bathroom. He stopped, stunned by the sight of the buxom 16-year-old girl dressed in business casual. I stammered, I wanted to explain what was happening, what had happened to me, but I knew that he couldn’t help me. I’d helped to train Stan, and he could barely balance a checkbook. How could he deal with a predicament of this magnitude?

"Er…excuse me, miss." He said, trying to avert his eyes. "I believe you may have the wrong bathroom." I nodded slowly, starting to walk toward him. My shoes slid off my feet, which were now five sizes too small.

 

"Do…you work here, miss?" Stan asked. I nodded again. I couldn’t speak. Something inside me felt strangely…intimidated by Stan. He wasn’t a big guy. And he wasn’t really that handsome. Well, he was kind of handsome. He had the yummiest blue eyes…

"I used to, but…I don’t think I do anymore." I said softly. Stan’s eyes were fixed a few inches below my face, thanks to the torn –open shirt that left a great deal of my chest exposed for all to see. My nipples were covered, thankfully, by the thick auburn hair that now came down over my shoulders and across my chest. I watched Stan watching me, slowly realizing that I felt very…attracted to him. Those blue eyes. That boyish inexperience. All the things that I’d found grating about him before were now quite enticing.

"Oh." He said matter-of-factly, still staring at my exposed breasts.

"I…really think you’re…well…pretty handsome, St…Mr. Gleason." I stammered. He smiled and reached out with a shaking hand, stroking my chin, then my cheek.

"I think you’re very pretty too, Miss…"

"Stephenson, sir. Jennifer Stephenson."

"Mr. Gleason…I really…" The feelings were growing inside me, out of my control. If there was any aspect of my mind that wanted to stop this, I doubt it stood a chance against the raging power of newly revived teenage hormones.

Without another word, he understood. Desperate as I was, the bathroom of a small software firm is not the place for that sort of thing. The Holiday Inn next door, however, would be perfect. It only took us eleven minutes to get away from work, walk next door to the small hotel and get a room. As soon as the door closed, Stan pressed his body against mine, kissing me as he slid his hands under my shirt, massaging my tits.

"Jesus…you are so beautiful." He said, dry humping my pussy through my pants. I must have looked absolutely ridiculous wearing a man’s dress shirt and blue trousers, but I think that Stan found it somewhat erotic. He pulled my shirt completely off, then his own.

"And…you’re a sexy man, Stan…" I said.

"Yeah…call me Mr. Gleason…" He said, a slight smile pulling across his face.

"Ok…Mr. Gleason…" I said, letting a soft girlish giggle escape my lips.

Stan picked me up and tossed me onto the bed, climbing on top of me. He put my hands behind my head as he grinned and pulled my pants down around my knees. Where I’d once had a proud, manly cock, now there was only the soft curvy sex of a woman. Full lips flanked by dark auburn curls. He loomed over me, admiring my body for only as long as it took him to get his own pants down and drive his cock into my folds. It felt strange at first, then painful. I let out a soft squeal as I felt something within me break. He felt it too and his soft blue eyes seemed to get even softer.

"You…you’re a virgin?" He asked, stunned. I hadn’t known that I was, but from the lingering pain within my new sex, I knew that it had been untouched. He leaned down and kissed me on the lips, driving his cock back into my slit. He filled me slowly, working up to the heavy, pounding thrusts that I’d dreamt about just an hour before. Every sensation was new to me. Everything felt so good and original. I wanted to scream in ecstasy when the air danced across my new bosom, or when the starched sheets rubbed against my rounded, much fuller rear.

"God, you’re so big," I whined, my knees bent and legs spread around Stan’s muscular body and strong ass. He was thicker than I had imagined, and each thrust forced my body to caress his cock with my juices. We slurped and sloshed together, his breathing heavy as I cooed softly on the bed. I felt so vulnerable, yet I’d never felt more alive. He groaned loudly as his hands moved down, kneading my tits, pushing them against my arms.

Stan kept at it as long as he could, closing his eyes and driving himself so deep into me that I felt like I was about to burst. But, about five minutes after we began, I felt him tense and explode within me, spraying my new pussy with his hot seed. He collapsed on top of me, kissing my lips and brushing the stray hairs out of my eyes. We laid there quietly for another ten minutes, just soaking in the afterglow. Then, Stan gave me another kiss on the lips and sadly, told me he had to go.

"They’re going to miss me soon." He lamented. I nodded, understanding.

"Can I call you?" He asked. I sighed, and then made up something about the phone company disconnecting my service. He nodded, looking dejected. I walked over and told him that I’d call him, which made the young man light up inside.

"I really want to see you again." Stan said.

"I want to see you again too." I said, and we parted with lingering, sexually charged kiss. After he had left, I got back into my ill-fitting clothing, found my car and drove home. I made a couple of wrong turns as I traveled, but still quickly returned to my apartment complex. As my hands gripped the wheel, massaging it, I felt a strange electricity pass through me. It was painless, and as it left my body, I felt a bit more at ease. Even with the strange mystery that surrounded me, I was content. Maybe there were some answers at my apartment. But, I doubted it.

I walked up to the fifth floor and knocked on the door to 520. I wasn’t sure which would be worse. To come face-to-face with my twin, or my twin’s mother. Either way, I knew there was going to have to be some serious explanations. The door opened and I found myself face-to-face with Mrs. Alexander. She was eighty-seven and a fan of Glen Miller who, as far as I knew, had died six months ago.

"Mrs. Alexander?"

"Yes?" She said, casting a very cautious eye over me. "May I help you?"

"Uh, I think so. I’m looking for…uh…Ruth and Jennifer Stephenson. They…I was told that they lived in this apartment."

"No, dear. I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. I’ve lived in this apartment for almost fifty years. And I don’t know any Ruth or Genevieve Stephens."

"Stephenson…"

"No, dear. I’m sorry I haven’t seen your friends. Would you like to come in?"

I stood there for a moment, just taking it all in. What the hell was going on? How much of this was a dream? Maybe this was all a dream right now? I pinched my wrist and, as a sharp stabbing pain shot up my arm, I knew that this wasn’t a dream. This was real life, even if it was making no sense!

"No, ma’am. I’m…sorry to have bothered you, Mrs. Alexander."

"It’s alright, dear." She said and slowly closed the door.

I walked down the stairs to my own apartment and tried the key. It worked, and I found the place just as I’d remembered. A bachelor pad for a man who hadn’t had a date in eight months and a steady relationship in three years. Only, that wasn’t me. Not anymore. What would a very pretty sixteen-year-old do with an apartment with NASCAR magazines and a monthly subscription to Playboy?

I sat down on the couch, overwhelmed by the day’s events. What could I do?

I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and opened it, staring down at the face I’d once had and the information of a man who no longer existed. I sighed, and ran my hand across the photo. To my amazement, the image shimmered and the words faded away, replaced by new text. Instead of a man with brown hair and brown eyes, a pretty young woman with green eyes and auburn hair appeared. And a name…Jennifer Alicia Stephenson appeared next to her.

"What the hell?" I said, and pulled out my Visa card. As it slid loose from the plastic binding, the whole card changed. Instead of a check card, I held in my hands a student ID belonging to Jennifer Stephenson. It said she was a sophomore at Mellon High School, which was across town. I pulled all the cards out, and watched some of them vanish as other took on whole new shapes. To the outside world, my old identity was slowly fading away while Jennifer Stephenson was being born.

Running into the bedroom, I started pulling out clothes. Some of them vanished before my eyes as my flesh touched the fabric while others morphed into attire that is more appropriate. My old sweatshirt from UCLA shrunk into a tiny white belly-shirt with a glittery flower ironed-on to the cotton. My dress shoes changed into a devilishly sexy pair of stiletto heels, while my beat-up white sneakers became beat-up white sneakers, but just five sizes smaller. Taking off the business clothing I had been wearing, I discovered that they were doomed to remain male, and doomed to find themselves in the garbage.

After an hour, I stepped out of my old apartment. Instead of the sexless androgyny of the business suit, I’d decided on something just a bit more risqué. Now, my luscious body was draped in a playful little sundress. Pink panties hugged my new sex while a white bra cradled my creamy C-cups. A green ribbon that had once been a checkered tie held my thick hair in a ponytail, and I walked with some difficulty on a pair of very sexy stiletto heels. Stumbling a few times, I walked down to my car. Only, it was no longer the car I remembered. Jennifer Stephenson, it seemed, would not own a three-year-old Oldsmobile Intrigue. Instead, parked in my spot, was a slightly dinged but still cute Volkswagen Beetle. It was yellow and had a dream-catcher hanging from the rear-view mirror.

As I drove around the city, my mind raced. I knew that I should be freaking out. The facts were crystal clear as I replayed them in my head. This morning, I had been a man. I had been a professional, with hopes and dreams, family and friends. This afternoon, through some fluke or magical mistake, I found myself in the body of a teenage girl that I could barely remember. As I was changing, I could remember lots of things about her. Now, as I passed the McDonalds, I could barely recall her mother’s name. Was she even real…or just some strange dream? That uncertainty was the only thing that bothered me. The fact I’d been suddenly transformed from one life to another seemed to cause me no worry at all. Which made me worry just a little.

I rode around for almost two hours, unsure of where to go or what to do. Finally, I made my way back to the one place I knew I had a friend. As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw Stan Gleason standing at the bus stop amongst other programmers, waiting to go home. His shirt still looked slightly tussled, which made him look even cuter to me. I pulled up next to him and honked the horn as I parked.

"Hi there!" I said, coming around to his side. A few of my ex-co-workers couldn’t help but stare. I remembered Ellie, but the others only gave me a deep sense of deja-vu. I couldn’t remember their names, but I knew that they worked with me. As I tried to recall them, Stan gently took me away from the staring crowd.

"Jenny…" He said, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you, Stan. I got a new car, and…wanted to show you." He glanced over at the car, gave it a nod of approval. But the look on his face when he returned to me told me something was wrong.

"What is it?"

"Listen…what we did this afternoon…we really shouldn’t have done." He said, glancing back at his co-workers. "I mean…how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

He shook his head, looking very disturbed to finally hear a number.

"Jesus, I’m nine years older than you, Jenny. I can’t be doing things like that. It’s…it’s illegal." He said in a whisper.

"I know, but I really…like you." I said, reaching out to touch his arm. He jerked back and shook his head.

"No… Jenny, no. We…we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I…don’t think we should ever see each other again." He said quietly, then turned his back and walked away. I stood there stunned, a hot breeze whipping the hem of my sundress around my thighs. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him how I needed someone right now, but I couldn’t. I felt hollow inside and I just wanted to go away.

I climbed back into the car and drove around the corner, where I pulled over and cried my eyes out. I couldn’t tell you exactly why I was crying, but the rejection by Stan had hit me in the deepest part of myself. I wanted him back. I wanted to lay down next to him, naked, and let his fingers touch my body. But that couldn’t happen. I knew why and I understood. But it didn’t make the pain go away any faster.

As the sun set on that day, I returned to my home and packed up everything that had been changed by my change. It all fit into three suitcases. Stuffing them into the Beetle and filling up the tank, I drove off into the night, headed for nowhere in particular. My old life may have been in this suburb of Los Angeles, but Jenny Stephenson’s life was somewhere else. And I was living her life, for better or worse, richer or poorer.

As I left the town, and the world I’d know behind, I found myself slowly regressing. I’ll always remember my life as a man, but the details continue to blur and memories do fade a bit. I know what a 16-year-old girl should remember, and the rest will probably be lost to me. Already, I can’t remember anything about the programming languages I used to use everyday, but that’s ok. The life of a computer programmer isn’t for me anymore. Now…I think I’ll go back to high school, go to college and find something I really want to do. While I’m there, maybe I can find some guy and, if I’m really lucky, we’ll fall in love. That’s the plan anyway, but after the last twenty-four hours, who can say where my life will lead me…

END

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Vanessa Singer. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.