Three, two, one—jump.

Flying, twisting, soaring.

Searching, finding, falling, and…

One, two, three—enter.

Wiggle fingers, wiggle toes, open eyes, scan room.

Holy! Fucking! Shit!

It worked!

~ ~ ~

Four rings, hang up, call again, then you pick up—those are the rules. So pick up, Joe, pick the fuck up.

“Hey, is that you, Emily?”

“Yes, it’s me, dickhead,” I retort.

“What’s the password, then?”

Ugh. “Is the grass at Gretna Green green?”

Silence and then, “Oh my God. Holy mother of shit, it worked? Where are you? Nah, fuck that. Who are you?”

“I’ve no idea where I am, but get this. You won’t believe it though, I’m a fucking dude!” I wouldn’t believe it either, not if I wasn’t standing in front of a mirror with a hundred and ninety pounds of pure masculinity staring back at me. I pop a bicep curl, and damn, I’ve got some serious guns. Along with a fading six-pack, but nothing too shabby. And let’s take a look beneath the waistband; is that a…?

“Emily?” Joe’s voice slices through. “Emily!”

“Uh-huh?”

“Are you okay? I mean, how does it feel? Honestly, I thought all this astral projection stuff was bullshit. Seriously, tell me it is bullshit? What’s the password? Say it again!”

“Is the grass at Gretna Green green?”

Joe’s exhale carries through the phone. “So, what are you going to do now, then?”

Option one—drift inwards, focus, count backward from three, and return to my currently-empty body. Option two—end call and take this new body, along with its damn fine boner, for a spin.

“Are you alright keeping an eye on me for a while longer?” I ask, ever faithful, guard dog Joe; protecting his sleeping beauty.

“Of course. Don’t be too long, though. You don’t know how this shit works or how long you can stay out of body for.”

“Yeah, copy that. What time is it?”

“Nine fourteen,” he replies.

“Okay, I’ll be back by midnight.”

“A real-life Cinderella, huh,” says Joe. “Be careful please, Emily.”

“I will,” I reply. “Oh, and Joe?”

“Yes?”

“No funny business while I’m asleep, okay?”

The joke falls flat.

~ ~ ~

Ninety minutes later.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not gay. But then, I’m not, not gay either. Bi, pan, straight; who gives a shit these days? It’s what's in the mind that counts. Well, that’s usually what counts. But right now, I have a raging hard-on that belongs to someone else and I’m in desperate need of some pussy. Luckily for me, I’m looking straight at one that’s spread wide for the taking, juices dripping, and I’m about to sink right in.

“Hey, where did you go?” mewls blondie, with her dimpled cheeks and fuck-me eyes.

“Nowhere, baby,” I say, racking my brains for a name.

She wraps her slender legs around my torso, clutching me in. “You gonna fuck me then, or what?” That’s all the prompting I need to penetrate her silken lips.

“Oh yes,” she purrs as I plunge in, enveloping every millimetre of cock in ecstasy.

Fuck! So this is what it’s like for a guy? We get a teeny nub of pleasure and they get a whole nine inches of it?

“Mmm, yes, that feels so good,” blondie writhes and arches, a slippery serpent beneath me. Blood engorges every vessel until I’m brick-hard and overwhelmed with an urge to start pounding. Her hips find their way into my grip and I hold on tight, thrusting into her hot, wet cunt.

“Do you like it like this?” I ask.

She’s too lost to answer, and so she fills the void with a sweet melody of moans. Yeah, she likes it, just… like… this. So I fuck her fast, hard, and deep. And then faster, harder, and deeper. Ball sack banging against her cunt, juices squelching down her thighs, pussy walls contracting as she groans.

Then she screams out, “Yes, I’m cumming,” and, before you know it, I’m cumming too. Spurt after spurt, jets of warm cum shooting deep into her tight snatch. And even as my thighs shake, I carry on ejaculating until there's nothing left.

Holy fucking Nora!

Time check, it’s eleven thirty-eight. Twenty-two minutes left to find my way back to this ‘guy’s’ house, vacate his body and find a way back to my own.

~ ~ ~

12.15 am

Shit!

Shit! Shit! Shit!

~ ~ ~

3.17 am

Four rings, hang up, call again—thank God, he picks up straight away this time.

“Emily, where the hell are you?”

“It’s not working.”

“What do you mean, it’s not working?” says Joe, tripping over words that should be easy to understand.

“I mean, I tried to drift off, focus and whatever, but I couldn’t.”

“Then try again,” he says, full of palpable exasperation.

“I’ve tried again,” I snap. “I’ve spent the last three hours fucking trying, Joe. I’m telling you, it’s not working.”

Again, with the silence.

“Joe, are you still there?”

“I could try waking you up,” he says. It’s a bad idea; rule number one of astral projection, never wake the person. But then again, how the fuck am I going to get out of this... this body?

“Okay, try it,” I say.

Over the line, I hear Joe calling out my name, and I imagine him shaking my body like a rag doll. I scrunch my eyes, expecting to somehow vamoosh from existence. But nothing. Nada. Zip.

“It’s not working!” he yells.

No shit, Sherlock. Times ticking, think, Emily, think.

“Hey, look, I’m sure it will be fine,” I say, threading the first lie. “I’ll just chill here, fall asleep when I’m tired, and I’ll come back to you when I wake up.” I continue weaving the threads together, “I promise.”

“This is fucked up, Em,” Joe says, like I need him to state the bloody obvious.

“Yeah, I know,” I sigh. “But hey, I got to bone a hot chick, so it’s not all bad.”

The joke falls flat again.

~ ~ ~

7.29 am

Birds singing, daylight filtering, wiggle fingers, wiggle toes, open eyes, and—shit! I’m still here.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

~ ~ ~

Three months later.

Two pussies lined up, one stuffed full with ‘my’ cock and the other about to be penetrated and filled with cum. Fuck yes! I slap ass number one as she pushes back, grinding herself onto me. She has chestnut hair and a dragon tattoo winding along the arch of her spine and I’ve gotta say the view is fantastic. Plump lips oozing juices, cock slipping deep into her cunt—pure heaven.

I’ve learned to take it slow and let them feel every inch as I wheedle my way into their heavenly wet folds. She groans; sheer music bouncing off the bedroom walls. When her pussy pulsates, and the groans get louder, I want to cum so freaking badly, but ass number two is begging me, ‘My turn, my turn!’ So when the brunette is done, I slide out and manoeuvre sideways, lining my cock up with the next slit.

“Give it to me,” ass number two pleads, twisting her torso so she can watch as I take her from behind.

And so I comply, and give it to her thrust after thrust, pistoning away until I’m fit to burst. The brunette leans across, and the two women kiss. Ass number two shudders as she cums. I try holding back but it’s mission impossible. At first, it’s just a tiny spurt. Then a little more pumping and I flood her pussy with cum before withdrawing. I shove myself, still solid, back into the first cunt, trailing thick streams of cum from one pussy to the next. When I’m finally done, and every last drop is spent, I grab my jacket and get the hell out of there. Where ever ‘there’ is.

~ ~ ~

Four months later.

Joe’s house has been ‘home’ for as long as I can remember. Every tree in the backyard climbed as we played games of pirates. Every creak in the floorboard mapped during our midnight snack raids. Yet right now, the door in front of me feels foreign, and it takes a whole five minutes of deep breathing before I dare knock. There’s a shuffle of slippers and a ‘shut that dog up,’ before Joe’s mum opens up, leaving just a crack between the wooden door and its frame.

“Yes,” she says, beadily scanning for clues as to who I am and why I’m standing on her threshold. And I forget, just for a moment, that I’m somebody else. I’m not Emily, at least not to her. But then, in a heartbeat, I remember.

“Sorry to bother you, I’m a friend of Joe and Emily’s,” I disarm her with charm.

“Oh dear,” she says. “I guess you know then?”

Know what?

“Is Joe about?” I ask.

“Why, I’d imagine he’s at the hospital…with Emily,” she screws her eyes up some more. “Who did you say you were again?”

Fuck!

~ ~ ~

The motionless figure on the bed looks like some kind of AI waiting to have life breathed into it. A squabble of cables and tubes tracks along the length of the lifeless body, and it takes me a moment to realise who it is that’s connected to the machines. Then I see Joe, crumpled around the edges, but still ‘my’ Joe, sitting at the bedside.

“Hey,” I say, the word falling out cracked. “Is the grass at Gretna Green green?”

Joe’s brow creases, relaxes, then creases again. “Emily?” he says. “Is that... you?”

“Course, it’s me mother fucker.” I throw a half-hearted punch at his bicep. By rights, I should deck him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, immediately wishing I could claw back the question.

“Two months, Emily. Two fucking months and I’ve not heard a word from you. Why the hell didn’t you call? I thought you were dead.”

I think he’s about to cry, or maybe I’m projecting, because my eyes are a watery mess. My pre-planned speech vanishes, and all I can offer is a shrug. It’s not enough, but it’s all I’ve got.

Joe gets up, and I see he’s become a wisp of what he once was. My fault—all of it, so I offer a ‘sorry’ and Joe, being Joe, opens his arms wide and brings me in for a hug. It’s awkward, his thin frame wrapping itself around my bulk. But, as we stand chest-to-chest, the sharp angles dissipate and we soften into the embrace.

It’s impossible to package each of our stories into neat bundles, and so the words tumble out; first his, then mine, then his again. The finishing line for us both, "I’m sorry." All this alongside the ‘whoosh-swish, whoosh-swish’ of the life support machine that’s keeping my vacant body alive.

“Maybe you should try again,” Joe suggests.

And so I do.

Three, two, one—wiggle fingers, wiggle toes, open eyes.

Thank fuck! I’m back.

~ ~ ~

One year later.

“Hey, Em, slow down!” Joe’s voice breaks through the clouds like golden rays of sunshine. But I keep the pace, swooping daringly across thermals, high above the ground.

“Catch me if you can,” I holler back.

His infectious grin reaches me first, then we’re side-by-side, hands intertwined. Together we fly, twist, and soar, both of us searching until we find two sleeping bodies nestled into one other. A simultaneous decision and we begin our descent.

Three, two, one...