I saw Jürgen at the conference. He was standing with the other journalists at the back, watching the politicians vomiting their promises. I couldn't really follow the debate. I was struck by his manly beauty, by his body and movements.
I kept looking at him. But I resisted for only a few minutes. After that I had to run to the public toilets and masturbate. His face filled up my imagination so perfectly that it took me only a few seconds to come. I was not even disturbed by the noise around me. I cleaned myself and left.
I thought not to think too much about him even if it was not possible. At dinner, I couldn't focus on the conversation with Gina, a colleague from Boston that I sometimes see at these gatherings, because a couple of German journalists who were sitting behind me were talking about him. Unwillingly I ended up discovering more than I wanted. Besides his name, I discovered he was not a journalist but an assistant producer. Single, gay. It was like hearing people ticking boxes. Damn. He was perfect.
That night it took me forever to fall asleep. I had to jerk off a couple of times to the point that just a few drops of sperm were coming out of my penis. I saw more porn that I had done in a long time and, as it usually happens, I went to bed grumpy and dissatisfied with my life. Porn often makes me feel this way.
The morning after I see him in the park of the hotel of the conference. He was speaking on the phone, while the rest of the press was having breakfast inside. He was so sexy in his tight white shirt and jeans. I gained some confidence and went to him.
He was just finishing his phone call when he noticed me. 'Hey.' I greeted him and made up a story that I was from the New York Times and needed a German producer for a series of videos for our online journal. He was very interested. Apparently this is exactly what he needed as he wanted a change of scenario. 'Good,' I said. We walked across the park, kept talking about ambitious, unreal projects, moving away from the hotel. He kept following me, believing everything I said and nodding, like a puppy. I was acting as I usually do during interviews, simulating a confidence that I obviously don't have. When we were out of sight from everyone, hid by a thick walls of trunks, I put both of my hands on his chest.
'What the fuck, man.' He pushed me away angrily but it was too late. His fingers shortened, his frame shrunk. 'What the hell is happening?' He lifted his eyes and saw himself in front of him. I had metamorphosed in Jürgen and felt a rush of energy going through my brain and veins. It was like being drugged. 'What did you do?' 'Isn't it obvious?' I replied 'I took your body.' 'But this is not possible!'
How to explain the impossible to someone who is unfamiliar to body swapping? One can refer to the usual stock answers. It's a dream. We'll switch back in a moment. But I was bored with these things and I walked away. He ran after me and that's where he made his mistake. In front of dozens of international journalists, a middle-aged and anonymous American journalist from Baltimore was running after a young, stunning German producer. No one realised that the clothes had remained the same, but his tight fitting shirt made him look even more pathetic and gay. When we were close enough to the public I turned to him 'Enough Andy, stop following me. I said no.' People stopped eating. There was awkwardness in the air. Gina stood up and went to him. 'Andy, what's going on?' I instead went to the reception, pretended that I had lost my key and easily got into Jürgen's room. I had to pack quickly and leave to my new life, but not after having contemplated my new body. God. I felt good.
