Exchange Students

But, man, how could the doctor expect him, really, to keep his hands off?

When the professor returned with the forms, Michael quickly signed them and handed over to the doctor Marcia's purse. As he did so, he suddenly realized there were a few remaining questions. "Hey, doc, um, like where am I supposed to stay? Should I go to her apartment? I mean, like, I don't have any clothes to wear, other than these. What will I wear tomorrow?"

'Crap!' the professor thought. This keeps getting more and more complicated, although perhaps he really shouldn't be too surprised. It wasn't like he had planned this through from the beginning. "Yea, you're right, excuse me. Let's see, uh, the two of you can exchange keys to your apartments. Do you live alone?"

"Yea, sure. I'm a junior." Many of the students at Livingston still lived with their parents. If they didn't do that, most of the remaining students lived in a dorm. However, many of the juniors and seniors lived in apartment complexes. They were not the most expensive, desirable apartments in which one would want to reside, but they were certainly affordable. Living by oneself for the first time was such a treat, even if the accommodations are not so good.

"Okay, okay," he said. "Um, let's see." He looked inside Marcia's purse. Her keys were there. He wasn't sure though which one on the key chain was her apartment key and so he just handed all of them to Michael. "I'll get, um," for a moment he was getting confused as to whose keys he was getting, "Michael's keys, your keys, from Marcia. I'll be right back."

He hurried back to Marcia, thinking that this would be so much easier if they just worked it out themselves, or even just moved in with each other. But, obviously, Marcia wasn't about to do that. She didn't even want to see Michael, let alone live with him.

Marcia was relieved to get her purse back, and she quickly went through it. It wasn't like she was expecting anything to be missing, but she did wonder if that guy had been looking in it. Her face flushed as she saw the tampon, realizing that he had seen that. But, in fact, something was missing! "My key! My keys! Where are my keys?"

'Geez,' this girl really is a problem. "I gave them to Michael." Was an explanation really necessary? "We figure, I figure, that the two of you would trade places until you get switched back." Speaking matter-of-factly, "That's how we usually handle it, when something like this happens."

"Yea, well, that's not what's going to happen now." Marcia was surprised at how assertive she was. She wondered if it was because she was in a boy's body. They do tend to be more forceful. She almost smiled to herself, thinking that she could now even perhaps beat some other guy up. Boys do that, you know, and it can be pretty impressive how tough and strong they are. But, imagine, returning his body with a black eye. He probably wouldn't like that, but maybe it might serve him right, assuming that he wouldn't be entirely respectful of her body. In any case, she was not about to have him move into her apartment. "I'm not going to have him poking around my bedroom. It's bad enough that he can poke around my body." Her face went beet red just from saying such a thing. "I'm not going to have some strange guy in my room, going through my things. My goodness, doctor, he would be able to see my undies, my things, my diary!"

Dr. Minsky restrained himself from pointing out that he could already see one of her panties and brassiere. He was in fact wearing them, and would soon see what was underneath them. Still, he understood her concern about a diary, and perhaps there might be other things within her room that were of a personal nature, her "things" as she put it. And besides, each of them would probably be more comfortable in their own places. "Yea, yea, sure, we do it that way sometimes as well," he lied. "You can stay in your own places, if you wish. Here, look, why don't you empty your pockets and I'll bring everything over to Michael, and then I'll get from him everything that was in your pockets, plus I'll get the keys back. Okay? Will that be okay?" He hoped the impatience in his voice wasn't too obvious.

Marcia thought about that for awhile, wondering what she did in fact have in her pockets, in her skirt and blouse. She didn't actually have anything terribly personal there. The tampon was the worst thing, and she had that back. "Okay, I guess."

She reached into his pockets, shuddering a bit at the thought of what might be in there. What if there was some condom, or something. Or, probably a dirty handkerchief with snot all over it. But, it turned out to be pretty inconsequential. Just some pens, his keys, change, chapstick, a comb, and his billfold in a backpocket. She cursed herself for not having looked through that while the professor was out of the room. She might have been able to find out something about this guy.

She handed everything over to him, and studied the contract as he rushed back to Michael with the goods.

When he got there he explained the situation. Michael had in fact been wondering about this problem himself. He really would feel better being in his own apartment. He doubted that she had any of his computer games and, even if she did, he would need her password to get to them. Plus, he wasn't too excited about her discovering his collection of magazines deep inside his closet or, even worse, his collection of movies on his jumpdrive, if her snooping did in fact go that far. Certainly he would go that far if he was in her apartment. What else could he do while he was hanging around there, waiting for the equipment to be repaired.

He handed over her keys, emptied her pockets, which didn't have much in them, just some kitkats (he did like them), some gum, a pen, some change, and other inconsequential things. Much of her good stuff had been in the purse.

But, now there was still that same problem. "Doctor, what am I going to wear tomorrow? This body is too small for my clothes. And, you know, I might have to go out for something, like for food."

It just kept getting more complicated. "Yea, well, um....I'll see if she'll loan you some of her clothes, and make-up, and things. Anything else you might need, you just call me. I'll give you my number," he said as he wrote it on Michael's copy of the contract.

"Make-up?! I don't know nothing about no make-up, doctor, and I sure don't want to be putting on any make-up." That seemed rather gay to him. Obviously, none of his friends wore make-up. Boy, he was definitely glad that this was all confidential, at least this part of it in particular.

"Yea, well, um, I'll be right back. I need to give Marcia her keys." He didn't know what to say. He also didn't know how to put on make-up. He couldn't help Michael with that. He wondered if he should contact his colleague, Professor Kluft. She might be willing to help, but he quickly rejected that option. He really didn't want to get anyone else involved in this, or at least aware of it, not until it was resolved.

Marcia was relieved to get her keys back. She handed the professor the signed contract. He was very relieved to get that. But, not surprisingly, she now had additional concerns. "Professor, what if my friends call me up or come over?"

"Well, you could pretend you're sick whenever a friend calls, or at least just not feeling that well to go out."

"But if they call, it won't be my voice answering the phone."

"Yes, that's right, you've got laryngitis, or a cold. Just talk in a hoarse whisper."

It sounded rather flimsy, but it wasn't like she had a lot of choices here.

"Well, okay then, I guess. Well, um, okay then." She knew that there must be a hundred more questions, but she couldn't come up with one. "I come back here, tomorrow, and you'll be all set?"

"Yes, yes, that's right."

"Alright then, I guess."

"Yes, and, well," the professor added, "I'll stop by your place this evening, just to see how everything is going, and to pick up some clothes, for Michael."

"What?"

"A change of clothes. He's going to need more clothes than he has now, and he certainly can't wear his own."

He did have a point there, but this was really going too far. "Hey, he's got my body and now he wants my clothes?" It was going to be bad enough getting her body back after this guy had been in it. She didn't want any reminders of the clothes he was wearing. She doubted that she would ever again wear the clothes he was wearing now, and certainly wasn't going to hand over any more panties or brassieres and, of course, there was no way he was touching her nighties. Why would he even need them? "If he needs some clothes then you buy them for him." A boy's body can be really so assertive.

"Yea, yea, sure," Dr. Minsky replied with some frustration. But, he knew he shouldn't be surprised. Girls can be awfully picky about their clothes. He now just wanted to get this girl out of there before any other problems came up. He handed her another sheet of paper upon which to put her sizes, for virtually everything he might need. This might cost a pretty penny, he thought. And, to include her address and phone number. He did want to keep in touch, just in case a problem did arise, and especially to keep her in line. He also provided his own phone number and address. "Excellent, yes, well, I believe we're all set."

"Yea, I suppose so," she replied, with considerably less certainty and confidence than him. Marcia walked tentatively and reluctantly from the lab to the door in which she had arrived, her legs a little shaky, a little wobbly, her mind a little confused. She had come into this lab a young lady, and she was now leaving a young man. It was rather disconcerting. He sure as heck better have this thing fixed tomorrow, she thought.

Professor Minsky watched her depart, noticing that "he" looked rather odd as a guy, walking along with Marcia's purse. Marcia apparently hadn't thought about that, nor was he about to point it out. Instead, he rushed back to Michael. "Okay then, we're all set. Marcia has headed home. I've got her size and measurements. We can go out and get you some clothes." It just dawned on him that Marcia hadn't asked anything about Michael's clothes. "Um, and maybe we can stop by your place to pick up some clothes for her?"

"Why doesn't she just give me some of her clothes?"

"Yea, well, she wasn't entirely comfortable with that."

Michael was surprised to hear that. He was already in her body, wearing her clothes. What difference would an another outfit make? But, you can never predict what will bother a girl. "Yea, well, alright."

"Excellent. Here, let's get going. We can head over to Walmart for some clothes, and then I'll drive you home."

"What about the make-up?"

Nuts! He had been so anxious to finish up with Marcia that he had forgotten to ask her about that, although frankly that might have even been subconsciously intentional. He knew that she wouldn't volunteer to help Michael with the make-up.

He lied once again. "Actually, she said it's not a problem, that she doesn't wear much make-up, a little rouge, eyeshadow, nothing much. We can pick up some of that as well at Walmart. You'll be fine."

"Sure, sure," Michael replied, not feeling entirely comfortable about this.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Michael became even less comfortable as they strode into Walmart. He felt like he was a guy dressed as a girl, and that he might be discovered as such. How embarrassing would that be! Being caught wearing girls' clothes, all the way down to panties and brassiere. He did though wonder what her panties and brassiere looked like. He still hadn't seen them, and he was especially curious about what was underneath.

He quickly realized though that he couldn't get caught. Where was the proof it was him rather than her? Well, there was his wallet in the pocket of her skirt. Nevertheless, he would obviously be unable to convince anyone that it really was him even if he wanted to, rather than have to explain how and why he got into her body.

However, what if they came across one of her friends? What would he do then? He wouldn't be able to even recognize them, let alone pretend he was her. They really should have spent some time together before they separated, trading information and the like. "We better not take long, doctor," he asserted. "One of her friends could be here."

That was a good point. Frankly, the professor as well was feeling rather uncomfortable about this. What if one of his colleagues saw him? Michael was right. They shouldn't stay here long. He was taking Michael to Walmart largely because he didn't want to spend much money, and plus it was a rather anonymous store. He really didn't want a saleswoman poking her nose around them, asking all sorts of questions, wondering why this older man was buying clothes for this young, attractive coed, and you could do a lot of shopping at Walmart without ever speaking to a salesperson.

Still, if he ran into a colleague of his, how would he explain this? Professors generally don't take undergraduates out to buy dresses, blouses, panties, brassieres, and make-up. That would not look good at all. He could perhaps say that she was his niece, but isn't that such an old and obvious deception? Uncles don't buy all these things for nieces either. He hoped that none of the other faculty shopped at Walmart. They probably didn't. "Yea, yea, let's not waste any time."

They hurried through the various sections. The professor suggested that they split up, but there wasn't anything on the list that Michael felt competent to purchase on his own. He suggested that he just wait in the car, but the professor nixed that. He wasn't about to be buying all these things by himself. Plus, what if Michael had to try something on?

"There is no way, doctor, that I am going to try something on." He was dying to see what he looked like underneath the blouse and skirt, but he was not going to model new outfits for him.

The algorithms for size, though, were so darned confusing. She wrote down that she was a miss petite 12. What the heck did that mean? The professor repeatedly held up dresses, blouses, and skirts against Michael, checking to see if they looked like they would fit, embarrassing Michael all the more. The professor though was so glad that Michael hadn't waited in the car. He couldn't make any sense of this.

Michael insisted on the professor buying a few of everything. He wasn't at all sure how well anything would fit and so he wanted some options. The professor could see money drifting away as Michael tossed stuff into the shopping cart. Well, he would more than make up for this loss once the article was published.

The brassieres were the most difficult. Marcia hadn't provided her breast size (she wasn't about to tell them that). Perhaps he didn't really need to buy her more brassieres. How often does a girl wear a brassiere before she washes it? Well, he knew he should buy at least one pair. "Michael," he whispered, "at least just go to a dressing room and see what the size is. It's on the brassiere you're wearing."

"Can I help you sir?" the saleslady asked. Just when you don't want one, one does arrive.

"Oh, um, no, yes, well."

She could see that the man was having a difficult time buying clothes for his daughter. His cart was laden with all sorts of clothes: skirts, dresses, blouses. She had to work hard not to giggle at the sight of him fumbling with the brassieres. He clearly didn't know what he was doing, and his daughter was not being particularly helpful, repeatedly scowling at him. "Well, now, sweetie," she asked, "what is your size?"

"What?" Maybe it would be a good idea to go to a dressing room. Not only would he extricate himself from this very awkward situation but he would then finally have his chance to look under these clothes.

The saleswoman could see that the young lady was feeling a bit awkward about this. She had to admit that she found it rather curious herself to have a father buying clothes for a young lady. She must be in her late teens, if not early twenties. She could certainly buy her own brassieres at this point. Well, she didn't want to make her feel any less uncomfortable. She took the man by the arm and drew him a bit away from her, to whisper, "I believe she is probably about a 34B, sir, but you know, maybe perhaps she might feel better if she purchased these things herself."

He could feel his heart pounding. This was precisely what he was worried about. "Yea, yea, you're right. You're right. I'm sorry. Here, I'll, um...go over there, um, I need to get some slacks myself," and then quickly left the saleswoman with Michael.

Michael did not appreciate that. "Hey, where're you going?!"

He said over his shoulder as he was walking away, "Just got to get a few more things of my own, dear. The nice saleslady will help you," and quickly extricated himself from the situation.

The saleswoman furrowed her brow as she noticed no wedding ring on the man's hand. He must be an uncle or something, which actually made better sense for why he is being so awkward and clumsy about this. She turned to the girl, "I could see that was a bit awkward for you. 34B, isn't it?"

Michael thought they were a lot larger than that, but he wasn't about to dispute the saleswoman. "Geeez, yea, man, why does he have to be here." He realized that just speaking the truth was actually a good lie in this situation.

The saleswoman felt this girl spoke less ladylike than she would have expected, given her rather petite, feminine appearance, but adolescent girls these days are a bit more outspoken and strident than they were in her day. Plus, he had obviously been making her feel very uncomfortable. "Is he your uncle?" It really wasn't any of her business, but she was a little curious and, frankly, a bit concerned. Something about this just didn't seem right.

"Yea, yea," Michael responded. "I'm just visiting, thinking of going to college here. He's a professor, here that is, and, um, all my luggage got lost, on the flight, all of it." He waited to see if that worked. It was the best he could do.

Apparently it did. "Oh, my goodness. I'm so sorry! That can be so frustrating. That's happened to me as well." It still didn't make sense why he was accompanying her as she purchased a brassiere. Still, some men, especially older, single men can be really dense when it came to women, particularly young women. "Well, here, honey, we have some very pretty brassieres over here that are just your size. And, our panties, are over there." She decided she would leave her on her own. She was obviously old enough to do her own shopping.

Michael strolled over to the brassieres. Frankly, they did look kind of cool. It was like a colorful treasure trove of feminine frilly delights. Like any young man, his eyes would linger as he passed a display of brassieres in a store, trying not to look obvious as his eyes looked right while his feet walked forward, slowing down a bit to enjoy the colorful frilly scenery. Now he could just gaze upon them, study them as close and as long as he wanted. And, he did just that, contemplating all the various sizes, colors, textures, and shapes. There were full cup brassieres. He didn't really like them. But, these sexy half-cup ones, with all the lace, now they were pretty darned cool. Boy, would he look sexy in these. Of course, as soon as he thought that he realized how weird it was. Still, he could feel a warmth in his briefs thinking about it. Briefs? No actually, his panties. Well, he again felt weird. He selected about ten brassieres, all sorts of different colors and styles. If the professor was buying why not go whole hog. Plus, these could make for pretty good souvenirs when this was all done.