Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction)

by P. T. Dilloway

“I don’t know. I’ll tell you later.”

  They don’t throw rice at us on the way to the limo. A few people toss handfuls of confetti as we make our way to the car. Mac helps me into the backseat and then the driver shuts the door for us. I finally let out a breath.

  “Well, Mrs. Macintosh, here we are,” Mac says. Protected by the tinted windows of the limo, we kiss a lot deeper than at the altar.

  “Aren’t you glad you went through with it?” I ask him.

  “I am. Thank you for helping to give me the courage to do it.”

  “All you needed was a good kick in the ass,” I say.

  We relax in our seats for the ten minutes it takes us to get to the hotel. The driver opens the door for us to get out. He even holds out a hand to help me get out first. I wait there for Mac to get out. He takes my arm so we can march in together.

  The ballroom has been decorated the way Maddy and I—mostly Maddy—planned. There are the two dozen tables spread out, a centerpiece on each one. Maddy’s idea was to have each centerpiece reflect a Cole Porter song. For example, the “Anything Goes” table has flowers of all different colors, plus a few cattails and pussy willows too. “Night and Day” has a mixture of white and deep purple flowers. There’s also a CD at each table, a bootleg copy of one of my shows Maddy made.

  We’re a little early; we arrive before the rest of the wedding party. There’s no one to formally announce us, not that we care. There is applause from those who have arrived. Mac and I make our way to the raised platform at the opposite end of the ballroom. We have a centerpiece too: True Love. There are red roses, along with a picture of Mac and I from a few months ago, when I still had my bright red pigtails.

  The rest of the wedding party arrives a few minutes later. Maddy of course chides us for being too early. “I should give that limo driver a piece of my mind,” she says. “He wasn’t supposed to take you straight here.”

  “It’s all right,” I say. “I don’t need to be announced like I’m royalty.”

  She’s still angry, but she sighs and nods. “The centerpieces turned out great,” she says. “A lot better than I thought.”

  We settle in then to have a good time. Once everyone’s seated and got a drink, the best man makes his toast. I suspect he had some help from Maddy, as it seems he hasn’t read the words before. “I don’t know Stacey, but I’ve known Mac for a long time. He’s the kindest, gentlest, most understanding person I’ve ever known. Anyone he chooses to marry must be really special. I hope you’ll join me in wishing them a long and happy life together.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I say.

  We have prime rib and salmon for our entrees. There are also steamed vegetables for guests—notably Maddy—who don’t eat meat. I pick at my food, still not hungry. I’m sure at some point it’ll catch up to me, maybe tomorrow morning after Mac and I get a workout in our room.

  We’re not much hungrier for the wedding cake. It’s a five-layer cake, much more than we’ll need. On the top tier the bride has brown hair like me and holds a microphone. She’s posed to sing to the groom, who lies on a little couch like the stereotypical shrink’s patient.

  Mac is too dignified to do the old bit of shoving the cake into my face. I’m not so dignified, so he winds up with white, gluten-free frosting all over the lower half of his face. For revenge he smears a little of the frosting on my chin. We wipe each other’s faces off while the audience laughs.

  For our first dance as husband and wife, of course our song is the Cole Porter song on our centerpiece. It’s not our favorite, but it has the most appropriate title for today, the day to celebrate the true love that brought us together. Since I disappeared for a month, Mac and I haven’t had time to take dancing lessons. We do the best we can; we mostly sway to the music. As the song ends, we kiss like we did at the altar.

  I don’t have a father, so again Jake fills in. He’s an even worse dancer than I am. More than once he steps on my toes during our song, “My Heart Belongs to Daddy.”

  “Does this feel a little surreal to you?” he asks.

  “You’re doing fine, Grandpa,” I say. “Just watch the toes, OK?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Mac leads his mom onto the dance floor while I switch over to Tess. She’s actually a much better dancer than I am. “Jacob and I took lessons before our wedding,” she says.

  “He must have forgotten them.”

  “He has heavy feet,” she says.

  “Like me?”

  “You’re just nervous, dear,” she says.

  “Thanks for everything so far, Grandma,” I say.

  “It’s been a privilege watching you grow up,” she says. “When Jacob first brought you home, you were so untamed.”

  “Like a street urchin?”

  “Yes. Now look at you, a sophisticated young woman with a college degree and a new husband.”

  “Hard to believe isn’t it?”

  “Not at all.”

  As the song ends, I give her a hug. Then the DJ puts on something a little more modern and up-tempo: Creedence’s “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” Maddy still doesn’t understand why I asked for it, but Mac and I do. The dance floor starts to fill while Mac and I do our best to twist and jive to one of Steve Fischer’s favorites.

  I’ve had such a good time, I forgot all about the fact there’s an escaped serial killer on the loose. That is until the music screeches to a stop. A woman’s voice says, “I’m sorry to interrupt your good time, but there’s something important that needs to be said.”

  Only then does the woman step away from the darkened DJ area, into the light. It’s Grace with the microphone. Her hair is back to its natural brown, though cut much shorter. The jewelry is gone from everywhere but her ears too. She wears a drab dark blue dress. In other words, she looks like a grown-up.

  “I’m sorry to do this, but I didn’t think anyone would listen to me otherwise. I want you all to know I’ve been a fool. I did terrible things to my best friend and to the woman I love. Stacey, Madison, I’m so, so sorry. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.”

  She does something even more unexpected: she gets down on one knee. “Madison, I come to you on bended knee. Won’t you please marry me?”

  I watch as Maddy makes her way through the crowd of people who were dancing, but now gape at Grace. While I want Maddy to take Grace back and accept, part of me wants her to slap the bitch silly.

  That part of me gets its wish. Maddy slaps Grace hard enough to stagger her. She barely manages to stay upright. “How dare you come here like this and interrupt Stacey’s wedding!” Maddy roars. “You’re such an inconsiderate, thoughtless, heartless bitch…who I’m going to marry.”

  Maddy lifts Grace from her feet and then plants a long, hard kiss on her lips. Most everyone in the ballroom—except for old-timers like Tess and Mac’s mom—applaud in approval. After they come up for air, Maddy whirls Grace around like she’s as light as Mrs. Hoppy. Then she shouts, “Come on, everyone, let’s dance! It’s a party!”

  I can’t argue with that. The DJ gets the music going again and the party resumes.

  Chapter 18

  I’m sure the Radisson’s honeymoon suite is very nice. I don’t get much of a look at it. I do get a glimpse of the living room and balcony as Mac carries me over the threshold. The good thing about my last shot of FY-1978 is it made me so light he doesn’t strain himself.

  He steps inside the honeymoon suite, but he doesn’t put me down. I start to giggle and kick in his grasp as he carries me towards the bedroom. “You’re only supposed to carry me over the threshold,” I say.

  “Nonsense. I’m going to take you into the bedroom and ravish you,” he says with a faux-evil grin.

  “I bet you’ve been thinking about this for four years, haven’t you? You traditional types have such dirty minds.”

  I let out a scream as he tosses me onto the king-size bed. The ravishing begins when he bends down to kiss me on the lips. I expect him
to crawl into bed with me, but he doesn’t. “I’ll be right back,” he says. He punctuates it with a kiss on the cheek.

  “You want me to get more comfortable?” I ask.

  “You stay just the way you are,” he says.

  I decide to take that literally; I don’t even take the veil off while I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. This is it, the big moment. Mac will finally make a woman out of me. I feel a nervous flutter at that thought. Will this make me feel any different? Will I feel more grown up? Will I feel more feminine? I don’t know, but I’m excited to find out.

  Mac returns a couple of minutes later. He’s still fully dressed except for the bowtie and cummerbund. He has a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. “Oh, I see,” I say. “You’re going to get me drunk now.”

  He sets the glasses down on the nightstand so he can start to open the champagne with a corkscrew. “Don’t worry, my love. Soon we will consecrate our marriage.”

  I laugh behind my hand. “Stop talking like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a Jane Austen novel.”

  “Just trying to set the mood, to woo you properly.”

  “You don’t have to woo me. I wanted to marry you, remember?”

  “Very true, my lady.” The cork bursts from the champagne bottle and shoots across the room. A bit of foam drips from the bottle, onto the carpet. “Here we are.”

  He pours some for each of us; he fills his nearly to the top. “A little nervous?” I ask.

  “A little.”

  “You have done this before, haven’t you?”

  “Not with my soul mate,” he says. He kisses me on the lips again. When he pulls back, he holds up his glass for a toast. I take my glass and raise it. “To the love of my life.”

  “To the love of your life,” I say with a grin. We clink our glasses together. We both drain our glasses to drown our nerves. There’s still a little left in the bottle. He splits it evenly between us. We don’t make a toast this time; we just touch our glasses and drink.

  I set my glass aside and then lie back on the table. “So, Dr. Macintosh, are you going to ravish me now?”

  “You’re damned right.” He leaps on the bed and awkwardly rolls to straddle me. We don’t need any words for what to do next; I claw at the buttons on his shirt while he unzips my dress. Despite all the talk about ravishing, we’re careful not to tear anything.

  It doesn’t take long before he wears only his socks and I’m down to the veil on my head. I move to take that off, but Mac stops me. “Leave it on,” he whispers and then kisses me.

  Five years ago, after I first became a woman, I would have freaked out at the idea of a man’s penis inside me. Just the sight of Mac’s dick would have been enough to make me run for the hills. Now I spread my legs to let him in.

  It turns out while the time I fucked Grace was a horrible mistake, it’s actually helpful right now. Grace indoctrinated me into the female mysteries, as far as lovemaking goes. Thanks to her, I know all about my erogenous zones. I help Mac to find these; I encourage him to take my left nipple in his mouth.

  “You’re sure?” he asks.

  “Just do it,” I whisper.

  Mac is a bit of a dirty boy as far as what he likes. He encourages me to dig my fingernails into his back. “You like that?” I ask.

  “Yes. Get a little deeper.”

  About the only thing I’m not prepared for is the thrusting. Grace used her hand inside of me, which was far gentler. I feel like one of those bucking bronco rides in a country bar as Mac goes to town on me. At one point he thrusts hard enough that my tiara cracks against the headboard.

  “You all right?” he asks.

  “Just keep going,” I say.

  All my fears of not being able to perform adequately are put to rest. There’s a moment where my entire body tenses and then I feel that rush. When I come, I hit the highest note on my scale. I turn it into a long, one-note song, like an opera singer.

  Since he’s a gentleman, Mac comes after I do. He doesn’t sing like me. He just groans and then lets out a contented sigh. Spent, he pulls out of me and then collapses onto the bed next to me. “That was everything I thought it would be,” he says.

  I grab hold of him and pull him against me. “Just wait until we do it again,” I whisper.

  ***

  We wake up at ten in the morning to the sun in our faces. I sit up with a groan, as if I have a hangover. When I run a hand through my hair, I finally knock the veil off. “Wow,” I whisper.

  By any definition I’m a woman now. Mac and I did it three times that night, until we were both too tired to do anything but cling to each other. He’s still next to me on the bed, his hair sweaty and sticking up in places. I smooth it down as best I can. “Morning, sunshine,” I whisper into his ear.

  He groans and then blinks his eyes open. A smile spreads across his face. “Morning, Mrs. Macintosh.” He kisses me, but that’s as far as it goes.

  “You want to order some breakfast?”

  “I could eat,” he says. We’re both in need of some refreshment after that night. “You stay right here.”

  He crawls out of bed and puts on his pants and shirt from the night before. There’s a phone right by the bed, but he insists on going out into the living room to call room service. I pull up the sheets over my chest and sigh. Today is our first full day as man and wife. I have no idea what we’ll do. We could stay in here for all I care; as long as Mac is with me, that’s all that matters.

  He returns a few minutes later with an envelope. “I forgot your wedding present last night.”

  “This must be our Top Secret honeymoon,” I say.

  “That’s right.”

  “Where are we going? Vienna, so you can piss on Freud’s grave?”

  “Close,” he says.

  I open the envelope to see not just two tickets or even four, but a whole slew of them. Like a game show announcer, he explains, “We’ll leave tonight for London. Then over to Ireland for a couple of days. And then across the channel to Paris—”

  “Paris? Oh my God, Maddy is going to be so jealous!”

  “There’s a week there before we fly to Rome. Then up to Venice—”

  “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

  “We’ll finish by going to Athens and take a cruise of all the Greek islands. Then we fly back home.”

  “Holy shit,” I say as I sort out all the tickets to confirm what Mac said. “How long have you been planning this?”

  “About four years.” He leans down to kiss me on the lips again. I’d like to pull him back for a little good morning fuck, but he pulls away. “Your grandparents are going to send over your clothes and stuff for the trip. Your friend Grace is going to keep an eye on Mary Anne for me; she has a lot of experience with addicts. All we have to do is go and have a good time.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” I say. Before Mac can get away, I pull him back onto the bed.

  ***

  As Mac said, everything is taken care of. A couple of suitcases show up that afternoon with my clothes and makeup in them. My falsified passport is in there too. The picture is of the me from up to a couple of months ago. I was at least smart enough not to have my hair dyed bright red for that picture. If anyone looks too carefully they might notice the slight differences besides my hair. I doubt they’ll check that closely. If there will be any problem it’ll be to get back into the country.

  With nothing to do until six that night, we spend most of the day in bed. I lose track of how many times we fuck. In between bouts, we cuddle together, but don’t say much of anything. Mac calls room service in the afternoon for some lunch. I’m hungry enough that I eat a whole steak by myself, as does Mac. Then we go again.

  I’m pretty sore by the time I have to get out of bed. “I never would have waited if I knew it’d be this good,” Mac says.

  “Me either.” I’m a little glad when he doe
sn’t follow me into the bathroom. After so much fucking, I need to relax a bit with a nice, hot bath.

  We have our first domestic squabble as husband and wife when Mac knocks on the door and says, “Honey, don’t take all night. We have to leave for the airport in an hour.”

  “I’ll be done in plenty of time,” I shout.

  I win the argument; Mac goes away. I sink into the tub and close my eyes as the water washes over me. I surface a minute or so later with a groan. I’d like to stay in the water for a little longer, but I suppose I should get on the move. I don’t want to miss our honeymoon flight.

  As I use the hotel’s hair dryer, I lean in close to the mirror again. Those crow’s feet I saw before seem even more pronounced now. There are some fine lines at the corners of my mouth too. Once my hair is a little dryer, I notice something glint by my temples. I lean in even closer to see a couple of silver hairs. I remember the saying about plucking a gray hair will breed two more, so I decide to leave them. I doubt Mac will even notice. If he does, it’ll make me look more distinguished, or that’s what they say about men. I’m sure those will be the last gray hairs for a while, now that the stress of the wedding is over. Now is the time to kick back and have some fun.

  Chapter 19

  I wake to someone shaking my shoulder. When I don’t move, he brushes hair away from my face. Mac whispers into my ear, “Rise and shine, chipmunk.”

  That’s his new pet name for me. I like it because I’m small and my voice does sound chipmunkish. Nevertheless, I don’t get up. I groan and then try to burrow deeper into the pillows. “Not yet,” I grumble.

  “It’s already ten in the morning. Are you going to sleep through your first day in Paris?”

  “Maybe,” I say, though I know he’s right. I’m just exhausted after the long plane/train trip from Dublin to Paris. Mac and I saw a little of the city last night on our way to the hotel. We saw the Eiffel Tower lit up for night and then mostly I saw Mac’s face as we made out like a couple of kids in the backseat of the cab. We managed to keep it PG-13 until we got to our room, where we tested the strength of the bedsprings.