….
Patrick O'Donnell didn't even give me a second glance as I pulled my wheelchair next to his. That pissed me off a bit because I had always looked at every cute girl that crossed my line of sight, and I knew that now I was a good-looking girl.
For a few minutes, I just looked at my former body. I wasn't bad looking in 1974 I realized, but had never noticed it. Over the years, it was the lack of attention to my own health and fitness that landed me in hospital, overweight, short of breath and with a failing heart.
I looked around to make sure nobody was paying attention to us and I whispered, "Pat."
He glanced at me and then deliberately looked away.
"Patrick," I said more urgently.
He just told me to leave him alone. I didn't have time to be playing these games.
"Patricia!" I said, which finally got some attention. He looked at me and told me to fuck off. He probably figured I was yanking his chain over his claims that he was really a girl.
Obviously she didn't recognize her former self, or there was just something about that body that made who ever lived in it a total prick! I checked around again and since nobody was looking, I slapped him, hard, right across the face.
That got his attention.
"Listen you stupid bitch," I said. "I know who you are. I am probably the only person in the world who does, so you better pay attention to me and start behaving yourself."
He was mad, rubbing his cheek which had a red mark on it. I knew I had hit him hard as my own hand was stinging. His eyes narrowed.
"You look like..." he started.
"Brilliant deduction Sherlock... I'm you."
I thought he was going to cry. I had to remind myself that there was a girl inside that body, but barring another Divine Act of bad jokes, we were stuck with the bodies we had, and I didn't know how much time we had to swap stories.
"I need to know everything about you," I said, "and in return, I'll tell you everything about who you are now."
"But I don't want to be you," he sobbed.
"Unless you've got some really good connections Pat, I don't see where you got much choice. What's the last thing you remember before waking up in my body?"
He looked at me for a few moments. "You're wearing makeup. Mom didn't let me wear makeup till I was 16."
"Yeah, well things are different this time around in case you hadn't noticed."
"Oh, I noticed. Like this cock between my legs," he said, slapping at his crotch.
"Hey go easy on that!" I said.
"Why should I?" he retorted. "Stupid thing never goes down. All the ones I've ever known went soft all too fast."
"Known many?" I asked with a smirk.
"Quite a few, after that bastard screwed me over," he said. The mind of Patricia Johnson was starting to stir. I could see it in his eyes. I wondered who the bastard was that had screwed her over, then had to remind myself that like me, Pat was older than the body she had been thrown into. "I don't get it," he continued. "I'm not turned on in the least, yet I have a constant hard-on."
"Yeah, teenage hormones. Best thing you can do is beat it and that will give you some relief."
"You mean masturbate?"
I just shook my head. "Listen genius. It's called whacking off, jacking off, or any other term you like, but guys don't call it masturbating."
"That's disgusting," he said.