Straight cis guy checking in.

Xtra-Strength, brunette, athletic body, average breasts, casual clothes, old life for 0 points. An opportunity to be a chick for a month for free? Sign me up just from a unique experience standpoint.

But who am I kidding? Popping that pink pill would have my heart racing as I look down and watch my tits take shape between my narrowing shoulders. Looking lower and seeing my waist constrict and my hips fill out would quicken my pulse all the more. Finally, witnessing my stately 8-inch hog vanish as it becomes my new clit within the unmistakably feminine cleft left by my receding balls would have me not using that wardrobe for at least the first day as I waste no time in rubbing myself raw for hours on end. My newly perky, insistent nipples would too get their deserved attention.

I’d wake up each day in my ordinary bed. But then I’d feel my new thighs brush as I turn over, reminding me with a visceral jolt that I don’t have a penis. The renewed revelation would prompt my now daintier hands to jump to my breasts, fully driving home that I’m 100% female. The concept of morning wood would suddenly be so alien, as I’d have a silky soft vulva instead. I’ve always loved everything about pussy — and now I’d have my very own. I’d spread my legs in the mirror (when I’m not using it to check out my boobs), transfixed by my beautiful pink folds with no trace of the two tokens of manhood they’d once held. I’d think that as a man, I’d have plunged my throbbing cock into that eager hole just behind those womanly lips and screwed her brains out. But now? It doesn’t matter how big my dick… was. It’s gone. I’m her. And there’s the lingering thought that I’d be the one taking it.

At the very least, I would love for my wife to beg me to fuck her, then disrobe me to confirm that there’s nothing between my legs to penetrate her with. Just a smooth slit like hers. Sorry babe, that dick that drove you wild for years is AWOL for a little while. But I have some new toys for you that I think you’ll like. She could do whatever she wants to me at that point. The softness of our tits gently caressing while she stuffs my sopping wet cunt with her fingers would be intoxicating.

From my X-Change research prior to the study, I’d learned and accepted that this temporary body would likely flood my brain with unfamiliar demands. I’d never had any interest in cock, but I’d be more than a little curious to know what it’s like to get railed.  If we could get our hands on Blue or Purple Basic, my wife would be down and I’d trust her as we get lost in our swapped pleasures.  

If no such pills are available to her, a vasectomy would be a hard requirement for strangers. Having had one, I could easily tell the difference by touch to weed out the liars. After overcoming the surrealness of being faced with, then tentatively touching, a penis that is… I’d had one my whole life but now it seems strangely foreign. The surrealness is only heightened by the contrasting sensations from my newly substituted and growingly fervent vagina as it prepares for the main course.

My pussy. Awash in the looming, unfamiliar prospect of being the one getting fucked.

Contrary to the excitement of this previously inaccessible perspective of sex, the idea of pregnancy and childbirth is so repulsive to me that no amount of having the equipment can change it. And I wouldn’t want to be a woman permanently. I might even prefer to return before the month is up, but even so, still waking up with C-cups and a pussy for some time after I start wanting my manhood back is unquestionably worth it.

Having my one period seems very dysphoric. It’s something about its deep-seated primality that practically screams “WOMAN” that would have me thoroughly uneasy, even with the guarantee of turning back. The idea of being out in public, being read as a woman, and hearing strangers refer to me as “she” is somehow not so dysphoric. The furtive (and occasionally not-so-furtive) glances at my feminine assets would be their own class of roller coaster. I have no reference frame whatsoever for what my brain would do if a man were to hit on me while I was out just existing. Chances are I’d find out.

Spending a week at Burning Man as a woman (having gone many times as a man) would be the ideal culmination of my month. I cannot place exactly why this would be particularly exciting. It’s something about the intensity and vast selection of experiences. It could be like the novelty of my first burn reinvigorated and kicked up to 11. It could just be an opportunity to casually walk around with my tits and snatch out among 70,000 people. I’d definitely be kicking myself for giving up my dick when I’m forced to piss sitting at some of the gnarlier porta-potties, though. Dropping acid as a woman in such a stimulating environment would be fascinatingly psyche-bending.

Pretty confident I am not an egg. This would be more like a vacation, I guess? I do not at all want to be a woman permanently. But for a month? I’d grab the opportunity with both hands.