Another Girl

Chapter Two

 When I awoke the following morning my mind was cloudy. I didn’t remember going to bed that night or a single memory after Paul and I fought and I talked to that little old lady. Everything was confusing me, and I felt lighter as I sat up in bed. I yawned, stretching and gripping the bed sheets below me.

 I stood up, walking to the bathroom like I usually did in the morning. Did I drink last night? I was feeling what felt like a wicked hangover, only I didn’t even remember picking up the bottle in the first place. I was beyond confused, and to make things worse, I had misplaced my glasses, so I couldn’t see. Eh, that was alright. I didn’t usually wear them, so why did it matter? I bent over the bathroom sink to splash my face with water.

 And that’s when it hit me. I didn’t decide right away what was so unusual about this whole situation but what I did figure out was that something was off. My hands were smaller, my fingers thinner. Maybe something really dramatic had occurred with my skin last night and my hands were now as soft as a girl’s. Maybe in my drunken ventures I had gone and gotten my hands taken care of by some prissy littleprofessional manicure artist.

 But that wasn’t the case. When I looked up into the mirror I gasped at what I saw. Instead of my reflection was the reflection of a young girl with straight tan locks and eyes as brown as mine. She held similar features to me and almost appeared as if she could have been my sister. Then I realized; this was my reflection.

 I quickly covered my mouth to exterminate my incredibly high-pitched shriek.What the bloody hell was going on? I looked down at my body, now covered in lumps and curves that were not there the night before. I grasped my chest to make sure what was there was real and was oddly delighted. That meant only one thing; these breasts were real.

 I looked back up into the mirror just to make sure everything I had seen before was real. It was indeed the same face I had seen before, only now I was getting more used to it. I wasn’t half bad looking as a girl. But still, I wished I had my normal John-self back.

 I couldn’t stop staring at this girl in the reflection, wondering if what I was seeing was reality. Perhaps George or Ringo or even Paul had played some type of sick prank on me. Maybe they’d stuck me in a bra and filled it with pudding or something, and maybe this was just a wig. Maybe this was just mascara, and my lashes weren’t actually this long. Maybe, just maybe, this was some horrible, horrible dream-

 There was a sudden knock on the door, and I jumped with fear. George’s voice echoed through the cracks of the room, his fist pounding lightly on the wood of the door. “Open up, Johnny boy, we’re gonna get breakfast.”

 My natural reaction and instinction was to reply, but for fear of replying in a female’s voice, I stayed silent. With one final look at myself in the mirror I darted back into the bed, hoping maybe I could pull it off to make it look like female-me  was a bird that regular-me had shagged the previous night. That would work, right?

 George opened the door and walked in, glancing around for any sight of regular-me. I tried to fake asleep but as George’s eyes darted over my mess of light brown locks, he chuckled and my eyes blinked open.

 “Hey there, dolly.” He sat beside me on the bed, seemingly not recognizing the similarities I had seen when I looked in the mirror. Perhaps, only I could tell that female-me looked like male-me. I wasn’t all that sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. “Do you know where John went?”

 “He left early this morning,” I replied, shocked out how light and airy my voice sounded. It sounded much like a bird from the pictures, all perfected and feminine, unlike any girl I’d known in real life’s voice. That was the thing about movies; the girls were typically much hotter than the girls in reality. That was just the way it was. Their voices tended to be prettier, too. But I suppose I wouldn’t want to end up with a girl from the pictures due to the amount of makeup they wore. Cyn was a thousand times more naturally pretty than Bardot.