The TFP body swap.

I got this thread idea from reddit. OK guys, give me instructions on how to live your life for however long you need a hiatus for. Could be a week, 9 months till that fetus explodes out of your vagina ... the next semester, tomorrow for that big meeting, however long you need. How can I live your life? Show me a glimpse into your daily workings.

Me: Got done with finals. Classes for summer start soon and I need this semester behind me. You need to maintain a good GPA and good rapport with my co-workers. Also, try to get me promoted mkay?

I wake up in the morning, I don't shave because I have a job and so license to look homeless. I need a haircut cropped short every two weeks. My roommate can take care of that. I eat a massive breakfast of fried egg omelettes, ham sausage, waffles and coffee. Work is around the corner so don't stress about commute. At work early at 9. Lunch at 2:30 of whatever you had last night. Out of there by 6. Gym by 6:30. Out of there by 7:45-ish. Homework. Check blackboard. Study. Dinner. Study. Casein, study. Reddit. Fuck I was supposed to be studying. Forget to go to bed at a decent hour. Wake up angry as fuck cause I had like 6 hours sleep.

Groceries need to be replenished weekly. But I have since delegated those tasks to the girl in favor of cleaning. She's a better cook, you see.

My body does not have any special instructions, no allergies, just constant exercise to keep me motivated because my brain WILL wonder off while studying if I don't exercise. Don't let the gas alarm you and by god, ignore the libido, for it is strong within you or you WILL get fired and beaten up.

So, what are your life instructions for a body swap?

 

You want to live my life?
Get up early and don't fuck up my job.
Keep the grass mowed and the animals fed
And keep your hands off my wife til I get back.

Meanwhile I'm going to go be Snowy and never take my hands off my boobs.

 

This thread is no longer work-safe. Someone should update the title.
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Summary Version: For a week or less, just call in to work and email my two professors and say you caught the plague. Then go grocery shopping (organic, please) and hole up in my room until it passes. You can't handle my life in its current state.
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24 hours into Poetry

5/2/13
12:00AM

You're having sex with a man. Dark brown hair, square jaw, tattoos on his arms and down his spine. He's hot and a little viscous. He has his hands around your throat as he thrusts into you, slapping you across the face every so often. You smile at each hit. He flips you over and finishes doggie-style keeping you steady in a choke-hold, his bicep thrusting into your windpipe.

You keep smiling.

He finishes and withdraws, but your haunches keep twitching upwards, looking for him. You rearrange the pillows and pass out.

9:30AM

Your alarm clock goes off. You've grown to hate the mellow chime, like you do with every alarm tone you've ever had. It goes off three times before you can untangle yourself from the sheets and the cat that apparently spent the entire night sleeping on you. You walk across the guy's bedroom and ask him to make you eggs while you get dressed. He wanders into the kitchen naked.

You check out his ass. You smile.

You dig into your overnight bag and pull out all the necessary items, starting with underwear and jeans. You don't like your thighs, so they're always the first thing to get covered up and the last thing to reveal. You dress, tossing a poncho you bought at a love hotel in Shinjuku over the whole thing. Today is mellow and you've gained a couple pounds since coming back to the US.

You don't shower. You like going into the office smelling like sex. If anyone notices, they don't say anything. While he cooks, you brush your hair and teeth, put deodorant on, and shave the remnants of hair on your chin that laser hair removal didn't quite get, reminding yourself for the six bazillionth time that you need to schedule another appointment with them.

He walks into the room wearing an apron and nothing else. It looks like a butcher's apron, black and covers the entire front of his body. You look at his arms and his backside when he walks away untying the straps around his waist. Beautiful.

You eat the eggs he made and the cats circle around you. He tells you not to give them scraps-- they'll just start begging for more all the time. You eat, kiss him good-bye, make plans for the following Wednesday, and walk out to the street.

He lives off of Sunset and Vine. There's rarely parking-- you had to park almost to Gower, by the studios. You walk back to you car with your duffle, laptop bag, and purse over one shoulder-- your spine is slightly twisted, so everything stays on one half of your body so you have better balance. You pass a guy on a bike. You check out his thighs and face. Nice. You get to your car and toss your duffle and laptop bag into the trunk and take off, going a few blocks down Sunset before hopping on the 101.

The 101 is clear. You jam down it to the 5 listening to Florence and the Machine with one song, Blinding, pretty much on repeat. You daydream about dancing in clubs and the hot, recently single general manager at one of your vendors.

You get to the office just before 11AM and check for the boss's car. Not there. Good. You like it when he's late because it makes him look bad-- not that he needs any additional help on that. He looks bad a lot. But it undermines any complaints he makes when you're late, like you are today, because he's late so often himself.

You throw your laptop bag over your shoulder, grab your purse, and head in.

The head of Marketing is sitting at the front desk with his headphones on, like he always is. He flashes you a peace sign and a fake smile, like always. You thought that relationship had started getting repaired, but clearly someone has been whispering into his ear and you need only one guess on who that is.

You set your stuff down on the red leathery couch in the lobby and start prowling to find who else is about. IT is in the meeting room with the Communications girl. You don't get along with IT very well-- he's a bit of a jackass and has no respect for anyone, really. Communications chick is sweet, but she's dumb as a post and is constantly behind on work.

You check the back office. Finance and HR are in their office, you say hi and do a brief catch-up. The CEO, apparently, is out at Costco getting lunch and cake. It's the IT guy's birthday.

You settle down in the lobby with your laptop on your lap, starting to go through email, but IT calls you in for a meeting with a new ticketing vendor he has selected, overriding your previous decision. You hate this. You spent two months finding the perfect ticketing vendor for the event, vetted and met with each possibility multiple times, but the CEO met a local ticketing company's CEO and fell in love with him (probably, you note sourly, because the other company's CEO is a total alpha dog and attractive, something your CEO wishes he was so befriends as many men like that as possible in order to somehow transform himself through osmosis) so the CEO has been shutting down every attempt you've made at finalizing the ticketing vendor that you've already selected through your research.

You snarl your way through the meeting, making snide comments, until IT snaps at you to stop being a dick and actually listen to the presentation. You realize he's correct, so you do.

They still suck.

As the meeting wraps up, the CEO arrives with boxes and boxes of pizza and garlic knots --neither of which you can eat-- and a chocolate birthday cake with giant frosting balloons. Everyone moves into the lobby to eat the pizza, so you move your stuff out of it. You respond to an email from the general manager you were fantasizing about earlier, trying to pin down when the two of you are going to have some private time and share breakfast. He says mid-May because of work and that his daughter is in town.

You drag IT into the meeting room with his pizza to meet with the representative for your chosen vendor. They talk. Afterwards, with the vendor promising to get the last bit of information needed, you get a promise from the CEO and the head of IT that if the ticketing vendor you've already selected does the one goddamned thing they're concerned about, they'll sign off on them.

This is the third or fourth promise the CEO has made to you, guaranteeing the same thing for different requirements. He's broken each of those promises in a desperate fight to force you into choosing the other vendor.

You check your email. The contract has finally been signed by one of your celebrity guests. Fist pump. Four more to go.

The Director of Operations arrives. You want him. You won't ever have him, at least while he's working for the company, because he's clearly nuts in a Taiwanese way. (That only sounds racist if you've never dealt with Taiwanese business men.)

You go over some stuff and glance at your email (94 of them waiting right there for you), but it's suddenly 2:30PM and that makes it meeting time.

All the directors come into the meeting room. A few people dial in. You take notes. When it hits your turn to report in, you do a quick bullet point of things accomplished this week and things in the works. You silently note that two of the items that you've accomplished are sponsorships, bringing your gained sponsorship total to $16,500, while the head of Marketing has yet to bring in a single sponsorship.

You send the notes out to everyone when the meeting ends.

You start trying to get through your email. You get called into the office with your ticketing vendor on your phone, followed by IT and the CEO and the head of HR, who is the CEO's wrangler because he needs one. You go through your call with her. You note that, once again, the sales rep has failed to listen to your instructions on what to bring up. She repeats herself a lot. You get frustrated and talk over her, bringing up the salient points. When you're done, she repeats herself again.

You hang up. IT heads out. The CEO looks innocent and swears he's not pushing anything, but you know he is. You talk to HR about the situation-- the convention is two months away and now all of the time put into the ticketing vendor is being reset and you have a concert to announce that you can't even sell tickets for. After a couple ranting minutes, you realize that you'll just make that IT's responsibility. He wants to be involved? Fine. He'll select the vendor and work with your Ticketing department. Whatever.

You consult with IT and he agrees.

You print out your time off request for the TFP meet-up. You had already submitted one where you were visiting a friend in New York before heading into Toronto, but your friend alerted you last night that he would not be available before the Toronto meet-up, only after. Your boss had already signed off on the previous request, so you figured he'd sign off on this one, as only one day was changing.

He wouldn't. Because he's an asshole and won't let you take your time off until the date for the post-con wrap up meeting is set-- something that HR was going to do by working around your time off request. Which your boss fails to acknowledge. So now you have to chase that down for the next week while airfare increases. HR tells you to buy your tickets anyhow, but HR isn't going to reimburse you for their loss if you have to cancel.

3:15PM, you snag the division head of Interactive Events and drag her out to your favorite local Mexican restaurant to go over email things and an HR meeting set for later that night. While you're driving over, you call one of your assistant managers, as she texted you during the 2:30 meeting to call her. You go over things with her and update her to the ticketing vendor situation, which she is not happy about at all (join the club, you think, but try to refrain yourself from saying because you're trying to be more supportive of the organization and that includes not being catty about people), and she requests a meeting to go over seating arrangements in the main events area.

The hot vendor you're going to be boning in about two weeks is responsible for that seating chart.

You fill with glee. Squirmy, wet, hot glee.

Your division head talks while you jam food into your mouth (have to get back to the office and get her off to her next job ASAP) and make comments every so often. She takes off at 4PM and you wrap up your meal and head back.

4:05PM, you send a text to another guy you've been seeing:

So, how 'bout them... um...

I've got nothing. Sex when?

He responds back that he's free tonight around 10PM. You consider it. You still smell like the other guy and, after checking in the bathroom, should probably shave your legs. You run home, fighting the beginning of rush hour traffic, rinse off and quickly shave, then toss on a shirt you got the previous night with the other guy at Forever 21 over on Hollywood Boulevard. You had a really good time, but are glad the previous night's guy is so unsuitable for you on so many levels, otherwise you'd be far too interested.

You decide against make-up. He doesn't care. You throw on mascara and bolt out the door.

You reach the office a little after 5PM. You check for who is still in and explain to Marketing that the reason why you can't have a specific brand holding a fashion show at the event you're designing is because you promised the brands you did sign that no other competing brands would be appearing at AX. Marketing understands and you head back into the meeting room to do email only to stop because HR is back from an errand she was out running.

You politely kick Finance out of their office so you can have his desk and then your phone rings, reminding you of your gag to yourself: changing the ringtone of every guy you've ever banged to Mindless Self Indulgence's Bitches. Unfortunately(?), one of your newest employees was someone you had been banging for about a year, so it's sometimes inconvenient. But since it's just HR, you let it ring all the way through so she can hear all the words:

Bitches love me because they know that I can rock,
Bitches love me because they know that I can rhyme,
Bitches love me 'cause they know that I can fuuuuck..!

You both start laughing and then you call him back and fill him in one details about a possible department shift.

You then find out, after hanging up with him, that the departmental shift you just spoke about won't happen. Mental note to yourself to let him know later.

You start on email again. Usually you get through more than this, but the ticketing vendor situation has completely fucked up your day. Not your problem anymore. You realize you need to create the budget for one of the bands. You've never done this. You work with the CEO to come up with a list of expenses and plug them into Exhibit B on the musician's contract and send it off to Legal.

The Chairman of the Board shows up. It's now 7:17PM. You listen to the CEO fill the Chairman in on what has been accomplished. You listen to him state things incorrectly and make things up. You get into a discussion with HR about the proper way to handle this, but nothing gets said to the CEO. Nothing can be accomplished-- he's too far gone into his mental illness.

You continue plowing through email.

At 8:07PM, one of the division heads shows up. You have a meeting with her, one of her managers, and HR because her manager is certain that he's the newest Machiavelli but, unfortunately, he's about 30 IQ points below Mr. Machiavelli, so just ends up creating a lot of unneeded drama.

You have the meeting. HR stays to one end and you let your div head lead-- she's his direct boss. But she's uncertain and stuttering because this is her first time, that you're aware of, leading a sort of reprimandy meeting. So you leap in every so often to support and explain. You don't think he's getting it, but you just have to get through the next two months with him and if he doesn't get it as long as he does his job, it's okay for now.

At 9:00PM, you tell them you need to go and that you need to discuss an email HR mentioned earlier in the day with the div head. The three of you head back to the Mexican food place. It's the only place nearby that you can eat at while on your diet. When your div head gets in the car, she makes fun of the copy of Don Quixote that is sitting on your passenger seat, saying that if anyone is the love-them-and-leave-them type (like Quixote), it's you. You explain that it's not your first choice, it's just what life is right now.

You drive and discuss this email that this psychobitch sent after a very pleasant meeting a couple weekends ago that was so relaxed and mellow that she was "so grateful" for and then immediately turned around and wrote directly to the CEO how you and HR had confronted her and treated her horribly and insulted us a ton and... yeah. Informed your div head that her manager was going to be released if anything happened between now and the con and would be released after the con.

The Mexican food place just closed. You grab a cookie at Starbucks and sigh.

You take the head of HR and your interactive events div head back to the office, then munch on a pair of daifuku's you bought in Little Tokyo the previous day as you head over to the 5 to get into LA.

The freeway is clear so you blast up it, listening to Sneaker Pimps and Fever Ray until you pull up in front of your male friend's house. He's running a little late, but texts you when he arrives-- you barely notice, you've been reading an email from your sexually-inclined vendor anyway-- so you head up.

You haven't seen this guy in probably about two months due to work and traveling in Asia. Since then, he's grown out this crazy pair of chops that make him look way older than he is.

You hate that you admire him, you think, as he stands there. He's 33, just four years older than you, and yet... he's so together. So much so than you are. He's built and covered in tattoos and is a screenwriter for a living and works out all the time and does jiujistu and wrestles and has this amazingly mellow life and he's so freaking smart and mature (mostly mature, anyway, you think wryly of his love of Tosh.0).

He needs to shower after playing some sort of ball game, so you join him in the bathroom and think back to the second time you two ever had sex when you were 25 or so. He showered and you waited. That was when he owned the huge house in Eagle Rock and had a full-sized hot tub in his bathroom. You prop yourself up on the counter and place your feet on the edge of the tub. Shiny Doc Martens run up your legs, stopping just below your knee. You admire the boots.

You catch him up on what you've been doing while he showers, then the two of you move into the bedroom. He torked something in his back while working out, so you give him a rub down. You're lucky, you know. You can feel things in people, where muscles lie, where they cramp, more than most people you know. You can trace knots and pulled muscles without thought.

He moans as you rub him then, after about 30 minutes of this, he gets onto his knees and stretches his back out by leaning forward onto the bed, dragging you behind him in one quick movement, his desires clear.

You bury your face in his ass, tongue-fucking his asshole, licking from the base of his balls to the top of his ass. You have a short tongue which, at times like this, is fortunate, as you bury it in him again and again.

Soon, he's face-fucking you and occasionally pausing to let you mellowly go down on him for a moment before he does it again. Eventually he grabs a towel --you squirt-- and lays down on his back, putting on a condom and lubing himself. You go to sit astride him and he shakes a finger at you, telling you that you already fucked someone else last night in the standard way, so your pussy has had enough love.

You force him into your ass, getting him about two or three inches in before your muscles clench down. He suddenly slaps you so hard across the face you see white for a moment, and your body responds by sucking him straight into your ass. He laughs and likens it to a Hoover.

He starts thrusting. You're sitting on his lap, facing him. He's going at an odd angle but it feels divine and, suddenly, you're squirting everywhere. He's making you squirt solely through anal penetration. This man is a god. He does it again and you feel it pooling on his stomach and running down your thighs.

It's beautiful. You're alternating between laughing and moaning and whimpering because it feels so goddamned good.

Eventually he pulls out, tugs off the condom and wipes himself off. He makes you lick all of your ejaculate off of his crotch, stomach, and thighs. You take joy in this because he squirms under your tongue-- it's the only time he loses his cool. Then you're back tongue-fucking his ass and then he's got you on your back and is forcing you to deep-throat him so you're gagging on his cock and everything is perfect.

You end up in a spooning position, grinding your ass against his cock, playing with yourself, while he jerks off by stroking himself and rubbing the head of his dick against your asshole. He orgasms.

It's midnight.

 

I doubt Xerxes is going to want to toss salad...

but he's crazy so he just might do it.

 

Poetry suddenly I remember its national masturbation month.