The Ancient Mystical Egyptian Gender Switching Panties Read online

  The Ancient Mystical Egyptian Gender Switching Panties

  By

  Stacey Fox

  Copyright 2014

  Written by Stacey Fox

  All Rights Reserved

  Years ago a friend of mine talked me into going to see a hypnotist at one of those late night shows.

  I don’t know if you’ve ever been to see one, but usually what happens is they get everyone in the audience to raise their arm or clasp their hands together, then they use whatever “magical power” it is these hypnotists claim to have and supposedly if you can’t lower your arm or unclasp your hands then you’re a prime candidate for being hypnotised.

  Then what they do is invite you up on stage where they “put you under” and make you do stupid things like behave like a chicken, or, as is usually the case on the late night shows, make you kiss another guy or something equally stupid.

  To be honest, I never wanted to go as I was a bit sceptical about it all anyway.

  I always think these things are a setup, but I went along with it. I did everything he said, but I could still lower my arm when he told us to try. Apparently that meant I wasn’t a good hypnotic subject.

  All it made me think was it was a load of bollocks, like most magic tricks. Hence the word “tricks”.

  But what happened to me last week has made me change my mind about all this mumbo jumbo ancient magic stuff.

  If you had told me this was your story, I’d have laughed in your face, but this is no laughing matter.

  What happened turned my life upside down.

  But I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t enjoy it just a little bit.

  It was all my mate Dan’s fault.

  Him and his stupid bloody drunken dares.

  We’d been in town drinking most of the day last Friday. Dan had just been promoted at work, and it was one year to the day form his divorce, so it was kind of a double celebration. We had sunk a few, drifting from pub to pub, stupidly mixing our drinks from beer to shorts to spirits and back again, so by the time it got to late afternoon both of us were well on our way to be extremely hammered.

  We were halfway between the King Albert and the Broken Monkey, when we decided it would be a good idea to visit the Egyptian exhibition the town museum was holding. (I’m sure there was some logical, half drunken reason for it that made complete sense at the time but for now it escapes me).

  We both staggered in, and proceeded to laugh our way around the exhibits, joking and fooling around like a couple of children. Most of it was boring lumps of pottery or wooden statues and apart from one mummy in a sarcophagus it was pretty boring to be honest.

  We we’re just making our way towards the end of the exhibit, when Dan spotted something in one of the cases. We had stopped at a collection of ancient Egyptian clothing.

  “Hey, check this out Andy” he shouted at me, much too loudly as his voice echoed around the cavernous hall.

  I wandered over to the glass cabinet he was pointing into.

  “He he he, check out these old ‘Gypshan panties” he slurred.

  Inside the case was a clothing store dummy, crudely painted to vaguely resemble an Egyptian woman.

  Over it someone had draped an old tatty cloak/headscarf thing.

  On “her” feet she had the remnants of what must have at one time been a fancy pair of slippers, and she wore of what can only been described as underpants, although I guess they must have been panties. They were dirty white but trimmed in a light blue lace and had what looked like embroidered flowers on them.

  “He he, dirty panties” we both sniggered together like stupid schoolboys. Being half drunk made everything hilarious to us.

  “Hey, look” he said, walking around the side of the case, “they haven’t locked the case. I dare you to nick the ‘Gypshan panties. He he he” Dan slurred.

  “I’m not nicking some stupid tatty old panties!!” I replied.

  “Why, are you scared his “mummy” will come and get you? Geddit? “Mummy”!! Ha ha ha ha”. Danny found himself hilarious when he was drunk.

  “Fine then. If it will shut you up” I moved to the edge of the glass case. It had indeed been left unlocked and it was sitting slightly ajar. I pulled the door open enough just to get my arm in, took hold of the edge of the panties and tugged them down off the legs of the dummy”.

  “Here you go then” I said, and threw the panties at his head.

  “EEWWW, get them off me” he said, and threw them back at me.

  Suddenly a voice bawled at us from the end of the room.

  “OI, WHAT ARE YOU TWO UP TO!!!” It was one of the museum’s security guards/

  “LEG IT!!” I shouted at Dan, and I stuffed the panties into my pocket as we both bolted for the door.

  There was no way the guard was going to catch us as he must have been at least 75, and we both spilled out the revolving door, laughing as we ran off down the street.

  We stopped a few hundred yards further along the street, both of us leaning on our knees and fighting to catch our breaths while coughing and laughing. We kept ourselves amused with another few pubs and another half dozen beers each and retelling our story to anyone who would listen.

  It was growing more and more exaggerated with every re-tell.

  We waved the panties at everyone and scared the women with them, and I promised I’d go back the next morning and sneakily post them back through the museum door.

  It was very late by the time I drunkenly managed to find my way home. I fumbled my key in the lock, and weaved my way to my bedroom. As I stripped off my clothes to head for bed, the panties fell out of the pocket of my jeans. I sniggered to myself recalling our “great museum raid” and our narrow escape from the half a dozen guards who chased us for half a mile. I picked them up off the floor, and for some inexplicable reason, the urge to try them on overtook me.

  I slipped off my own underwear, and stretched them up over my thighs (I’m quite a large bloke. I’m already about six feet two and I work out around three times a week, which means I have quite a large torso and thick, muscly thighs).

  I looked at myself in the mirror and burst out laughing. What did these cross-dressers see in this? I looked ridiculous, standing there with my not inconsiderable package bulging from inside the tiny white panties.

  I remember dreaming that night of cross-dressing too.

  I dreamt I was a woman with huge big DD titties, and I was running around naked in a field being chased by a group of naked men. My titties were bouncing up and hitting me in the face, and I couldn’t see where I was running because of them, but the men still couldn’t catch me as they kept tripping over their huge cocks which were swinging between their legs.

  I must have fallen straight into bed that night and fallen asleep almost immediately, as when I awoke the next morning I was lying face down on top of my bedcovers.

  I glanced to my left where my bedside alarm clock told me it was almost 11am.

  My chest felt uncomfortable, and I rolled over onto my back and reached down for every man’s usual first-thing-in-the-morning bollock scratch.

  Hang on, something wasn’t right. Where were my balls? Come to think of it, where was my cock too?

  Ah, I must still be dreaming I thought. It took a second or two for reality to kick in.

  Hang on a minute!!

  I wasn’t still asleep!!

  I sat up bolt right in bed and grabbed at my crotch.

  WHERE WAS MY COCK?!!

  I was still wearing those stupid panties I’d stolen, and I tried to look down at my usually huge bulge, but there was nothing there!!

&nbs
p; Panic gripped me, and I tugged the panties to one side. There was nothing. Nothing at all!! I reached my hand in between my thighs. My fingers slipped between fleshy lips surrounded by a light, downy bush.

  WHAT THE FUCK!!!

  I HAD A PUSSY!!

  I jumped off the bed and went to the full length mirror on the back of my bedroom door.

  I stopped dead and stared at my reflection.

  Staring back at me was….well….someone else!!

  It was me, but not me.

  It was a girl version of me!!!

  It still looked like me, to a certain degree, but gone was all the masculine muscle and body shape I’d spent hours honing in the gym.

  Instead I had flowing curves, wide hips, long blonde hair and TITS!!!

  And what a pair of tits!!

  I cupped my massive jugs in both my hands. They were both really heavy and tipped with large, pale pink nipples.

  I stood there dazed, tits in hand, staring at myself in the mirror. How had this happened?

  It just didn’t make any sense at all.

  The panties.

  It must be something to do with the panties.

  Maybe there was a mummies curse or something on them I thought, then laughed at myself for thinking of something so stupid.

  But what else could have caused this?

  I reached down and pulled down the panties, dropping them to my ankles and kicking them to one side.

  I opened my legs a little and parted my pussy mound with two fingers.

  My pink labia peeked out at me from inside.

  Curiously I flicked at the hood of my clit with my fingertip. A little jolt of pleasure shot up inside me.

  Damn that felt good. I pushed down, and my little clit popped out from inside. I rubbed on its tip with my finger and that gorgeous sensation jumped through me again.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing after all I thought.

  I rubbed my finger down the long slit of my pussy lips, and felt curious little electric shocks tingle through me.

  I went back and laid on the bed, spreading my legs wide. I parted my mound, exposing the soft pink flesh inside to the cool air, and began working at my pussy. I teased at my clit with my finger while sliding them up and down the length of my labia.

  I’ve had plenty of women in my time, so I know what I’m doing in the pussy department and it wasn’t long before my juices started to flow, my fingers sliding up and down with ease.

  Damn this felt good.

  I’d always thought that women got more from masturbating than men, and I was right!! My fingers were all slippery now, and I slipped one up into my hole, finding the nub of my g-spot just inside.

  I gasped with pleasure as little tingles of pleasure flowed up from my crotch, and I eased a second finger into me, feeling my pussy stretch to take them.

  My mind was blown with how sensitive and responsive my folds and labia were. Even the slightest touch was making me shiver all over, and it wasn’t long before I peaked into my first ever girls orgasm.

  It started with a funny, butterfly feeling deep down inside my pussy, building in little ripples through my insides, climbing my body like a wave.

  My legs started shaking uncontrollably and it jammed my fingers into me faster and faster as it gathered pace, my hand slick with juices. I kneaded my fat titties, tugging on the nipples and it all just sent me over the edge.

  I cried out in pleasure as I climaxed, and my whole body felt as if it was on fire. Spasms wracked through me, and I clamped my thighs shut over my hand as my orgasm pulsed over and over.

  Finally after what seemed like an age my body relaxed and I slumped exhausted onto the bed.

  If this is what every orgasm is like I thought then I don’t want to go back to being a man.

  Eventually I forced myself to get up and decided to take a shower. I took great delight in exploring my new body, soaping myself all over (especially my tits) and I couldn’t resist slipping my soapy fingers up inside me again. It was a pity I had to go to work. I could have stayed at home and played with myself all day.

  Then it dawned on me.

  Shit!!

  Work!!

  I couldn’t go into work like this?

  And there was no way I couldn’t go.

  I was already on my final warning for not turning up for my last two Saturday shifts (Dan’s fault again for persuading me to go drinking).

  I could phone in with the some awesome excuse. Tell them my parents had been wiped out in a bus crash or something.

  Nope. No use.

  I’d already used the dead relative angle for my first excuse.

  I racked my brains as I fixed myself some lunch but couldn’t come up with anything that was going to sound plausible enough to not get me sacked.

  Then it hit me.

  I could just go myself!!

  Surely if I’d sent a “relative” to pass on my excuse it would be far more believable than just a phone call.

  I looked at myself in the mirror again.

  Yeah I thought, I could easily pass myself off as my sister or something.

  I hadn’t been working there that long so my boss didn’t know what family I had anyway.

  Yeah, this could work.

  What could I wear thought?

  I went back through into my bedroom and began digging around in my wardrobe, but anything I owned that was even vaguely unisex was still not girly enough to pass myself of as a woman properly.

  I guess I’d just have to go shopping then I thought.

  I threw on old jumper and some jeans (which I had to hold up with a belt). I also grabbed the panties as I thought I better return them to the museum and headed out towards the city centre

  As you might have suspected, shopping for women’s clothes was a whole new experience for me.

  Normally, as a guy, I don’t tend to do a lot of browsing when it comes to picking out everyday clothes. Usually I breeze into a couple of clothes stores, grab a few t-shirts, the odd pair of jeans and I’m done.

  Women’s clothes shopping was a nightmare!!

  For some reason I was no longer happy with the first few things I picked up. In fact, nothing I saw I liked.

  It was either too baggy or too skin-tight or too plain or not plain enough, and I won’t even begin to go into the curious feeling that came over me when I walked past the shoe department!!.

  It was going to take all day at this rate and I was due at work in less than an hour.

  Finally, after trying on at least a hundred different things I settled on a short skirt and tight crop top (well I’ve got it so I may as well flaunt it I thought, it’s not every day I have an impressive set of tits to show off).

  I had no idea what size I would be, so I took a selection into the changing room to try on.

  My first few guesses were way too small, but I didn’t want them to fit TOO well, as I was going to have to talk my boss into not firing my “brother”, and I had to use very bit of my new found feminine charm to full effect.

  I finally plumped for what I thought was a good size and paid the cashier for my new outfit.

  I had thought about make-up, but realised I didn’t have the first clue about how to put it on. And there was no way I was going to try and sweet talk my boss looking like Coco the Clown!!

  Then I remembered the large department store in the centre of town.

  They had a huge make-up/woman’s things section, but more importantly they had a whole load of demonstration stands where an army of overly made-up middle aged women with bright orange fake tans battled relentlessly against each other to give free makeovers.

  I wandered in and picked the stand with the best looking assistant.

  Poor girl.

  By the attention she lavished on me I guessed I must have been her first client of the day and you could almost hear her face drop when I walked away at the end without buying anything, but to be fair, she did an awesome job on me and I looked like a different pers
on when she showed me in the mirror at the end (well, more different than I already was).

  I hailed a taxi for the short journey across town to my office.

  My heart was thumping in my chest as I pushed the button for the reception.

  Marie, the receptionist answered.

  “Er hi” I said, “This is Sally. I’m here to see Mr Walters”.

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “Er…no. It’s about my brother, Andy”.

  “Well I guess you better come in then” she said.

  When she saw me, you could see her face turn and I knew she was thinking “slut”.

  Good. That was the look I was hoping for.

  “Mr Walters will see you now if you’d like to go right in” she said.

  I knocked on the door to his office and went in.

  Normally even the sight of Walters made my blood boil as he seemed to go out of his way to make every day I spent at work a complete misery, but today I saw him in a different light.

  It was obviously my new found sexuality at work, but I found myself admiring the tautness of his shirt against his chest, and my eyes were drawn to the not inconsiderable bulge in his jeans.

  “Ah, you must be Sally, Andrew’s sister. Please, take a seat. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

  “Oh, a coffee would be nice” I replied, taking a seat and crossing my legs, giving him a good look at my long, lean thighs, “Milk, with one sugar please”.

  He buzzed Marie and ordered.

  What was I doing!! Why was I flirting with Walters? I hated the guy.

  But I couldn’t help myself. I was drawn to him, almost like I was hypnotised.

  “So Sally, what’s the problem with Andrew?”

  “First of all Bernie, I can call you Bernie can’t I?” I found myself saying.

  “Why of course Sally. A lovely young lady like you can call me whenever she likes” he replied, laughing.

  Good god!! He was flirting back with me. I felt myself flush red.

  “Oh you’re such a tease Bernie” I replied.

  It was like someone else was controlling me, like a ventriloquist’s dummy!

  The Andrew part of me just wanted to clamber over the desk and punch him right in the face, but the Sally part of me wanted to rip his pants of and swallow his cock.