“Put on a face for me.”

“Whose?”

“Mine.”

“I can't”

“You don't want to.”

“It's not mine.”

“It is.”

“Just let me touch your breasts.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“They are not real.”

“But I want you.”

“You want to be me.”

“I do not.”

“Bullshit.”

“I want to fuck you.”

“You want to feel me being fucked by you.”

“Stop.”

“You know I'm right.”

“Stop.”

“Step out.”

“I can't.”

“You won't.”

“I'm ashamed.”

“It's okay.”

“I want to be you?”

“You know what you have to do.”

“Give me the razor.”

He cuts off the skin of her face and places it over his face.

“Nice work,” she says.

“It's not right.”

“It's natural.”

“It doesn't feel right.”

“It will.”

“I'm ashamed.”

“Get over it.”

“How?”

“Put on this blonde wig.”

“Blonde like yours.”

“See, fits nice.”

“You are a witch.”

“How does it feel?”

“Almost good.”

“Try on these panties.”

“They're thong panties.”

“So?”

“So, you know about my anal leakage.”

“Forget about it.”

He looks down and is horrified.

“We're connected.”

“We're not.”

“What is this?”

“You know.”

“You know what?”

“I'm you.”

“I'm who?”

“I'm me.”

“Me?”

“Yes, me.”

John feels much better now—but scared. He walks to the lingerie store several blocks away.

The End