I went to sleep and woke up in my wife.

I can’t explain why it happened, or how, all I know is it did. The first time it was a shock, but soon I longed for it. The freedom of it. No longer a man, no longer burdened with the same sins that had been committed against me.<br><br>It was my reward, my privilege, my cross to bear.<br><br>We had been married for ten years when it first happened. We were happy, or at least I thought we were. I remember the day very clearly: January 15th, 2013. The day I went to sleep and woke up in my wife.<br><br>It was as though I had been swapped into her body whilst she was swapped into mine. It was bizarre, to say the least, and I’m not sure how I coped, how I managed to keep our life together. But it was one of the greatest experiences I’d ever had.<br><br>I woke up, opened her eyes, and looked at myself. It was surreal, almost dreamlike. But, as soon as I saw my own face, I knew it wasn’t a dream. It was reality, a reality in which we had swapped bodies.<br><br>I tried to move but I was met with resistance. I grunted and groaned but I soon came to realise it wasn’t me I needed to get out of bed, it was her. I tentatively moved her arms and her legs and it was awkward. She was smaller and weaker than me, and I could soon tell that. But I wanted to see what she felt like, how it felt to be her, to see the world from a different perspective.<br><br>I felt very awkward, moving her arms and her legs as she moved them, but I practised. Walking, sitting, moving. And it felt strange, but it slowly became easier. She was obviously used to moving her body, not me. I tried to make myself a coffee but I soon came to realise that it wasn’t as simple as I thought. The coffee machine didn’t seem to react the same way as it used to, my aim was off and I burnt my hand on the hot milk. I tentatively moved her hand under the cold tap.<br><br>What was easy for me, was not easy for her. And obviously vice versa.<br><br>I tried to eat some toast. A simple exercise, I thought. But again, I struggled. The butter knife didn’t seem to work as well as it once did. I managed to butter a small corner of the piece of toast and I tentatively moved it to her lips. I took a small bite and I had to scrape her teeth against the toast to get a piece off. I managed it eventually, and as the toast touched her tongue, I felt a rush of flavour into her mouth. It was unnatural, and it tasted like cardboard. I tentatively moved the toast to her lips, took another small bite and chewed it up, her teeth grinding against each other, and the flavour that touched her tongue sent a rush of satisfaction to her brain. I swallowed, and the toast travelled into her stomach. I hadn’t eaten a piece of toast like that in years.<br><br>I decided to stop. As I couldn’t do anything, I may as well go back to sleep, back to my own body. I tentatively moved her to the sofa, lay down and soon fell asleep. And the next time I woke up, I was back in my own body.<br><br>That morning was a very satisfactory morning. I was refreshed, rejuvenated, and obviously pleased with myself. I got out of bed, made myself some toast and a coffee and took it back to bed. I sat on the bed, and as I looked at my wife. I felt sorry. Why was it so easy for me and not for her? I took a bite of the toast and I looked at her again. I wanted to get in her head, see how she felt, see the world through her eyes. I looked at the toast and I took another bite. I chewed it slowly and swallowed, and as I swallowed, I felt a strange sensation.<br><br>I looked down at myself, and I looked at my arms. They were smaller, weaker. I was no longer a man, I was a woman. I tentatively moved my new arms and I stood up. I was in my wife’s body.<br><br>I practised walking, sitting and standing, and it slowly became easier. I thought I understood what she went through until I made a simple mistake. I walked to the kitchen, to make myself a simple breakfast. I opened the fridge and I was shocked. It was full to the brim with food, not what I was expecting at all. A woman, I thought, would have a tidy fridge. I soon came to realise that women aren’t stupid, silly, weak creatures. They’re stronger than us men, they survive better, they live better. I was beginning to understand why my wife was never fazed, why she was never flustered. She was stronger than me, far stronger than I could ever be.<br><br>I reached for the milk, and the bottle fell to the floor. It cracked, and the milk spilled everywhere. I groaned, and I soon came to realise, I groaned like a man, in a woman’s voice. I tentatively moved her arms, and I moved towards the cupboard, I opened the door, I pulled out a cloth, and I mopped up the milk. It took me almost thirty minutes to clean it up. I practised opening the cupboard and closing it again, opening the door to the fridge and closing it again, opening the door to the kitchen, and closing it again, and obviously opening the door to the bathroom, flushing the toilet, and closing it again. It was awkward, but as I practised, it slowly became more natural.<br><br>I slowly became accustomed to being a woman, to seeing the world through my wife’s eyes. And the more I became accustomed to it, the easier it got. I felt a sense of freedom, the freedom to become anyone I wanted. And I realised that freedom must be what she felt like every day. I soon came to realise, my wife is stronger than me, and I could never be her.<br><br>Slowly but surely I began to resent her. She didn’t need me, and she never had. I was nothing but a burden to her, a burden she carried, a burden she took care of. But I wanted her to need me. I needed her to need me. I practised opening and closing everything. I practised using her hands, her face, her legs. I practised being her, and it slowly became more natural. I slowly became her, and she slowly became me. And slowly but surely, she needed me more and more.<br><br>I practised for months until it became second nature. I was no longer a man, I was a woman. I was no longer in a man’s body, I was in a woman’s body. And it took me almost ten months to fully adjust to it, to fully understand what she went through, to fully understand how hard it was. And it took me almost ten months to fully resent her. She made it look easy, but it wasn’t. It was hard, and she was a bitch.<br><br>One day I woke up in my own body. I looked at my arms and my legs and I was back to being a man. I slowly got out of bed, I opened the door, and I saw my wife sitting on the sofa. She was looking at a photo album, photos of us together. I tentatively moved my new arms and my new legs. I walked to the sofa and I saw her. She was a bitch, a woman, a person I resented. But in that moment, she was the person I loved more than anyone in the world. I slowly sat down next to her and I looked into her eyes. She was still the woman I married.<br><br>“Don’t I look beautiful?” She said.<br><br>“Yes. Yes, you do.” I replied.<br><br>“Even though I’m old, and grey, and wrinkly?”<br><br>I looked into her eyes. They were still the same eyes, the eyes that I fell in love with, and as our eyes locked, I knew we were back to normal. We were a man and a woman, a husband and a wife.<br><br>“Forever young, forever beautiful.” I replied, as I kissed her.<br><br>As our lips locked, I looked into her eyes, and as I looked into her eyes, I saw a woman. I saw a person stronger than I could ever be, a person who could carry a burden, survive against all odds, and still, manage to live better than me, and still, manage to look better than me. And as our lips unlocked, I smiled, and she smiled, and we were a man and a woman, a husband and a wife.<br><br>And I knew, I knew in that moment, our love would last forever.