Craig glared at the email from the district office with notes from the principal. They were only giving him a fourth of the money he asked for to repair the vandalized boy's restroom. He'd had to bring supplies from his other jobs and make custom repairs to keep things together.
But a bunch of hooligans, who got away, had ripped the seats off and ruined the paper dispensers, not to mention what they had done to the sinks. Just wiping it down had taken a whole evening.
With a sigh, Craig stared forlornly at his budget as he clicked through the first results on Google. Going deeper and deeper, he paused when he finally came across a site with a weird name but better prices than anyone else.
Flush With Pride? He snorted at the name but gawked at the breathtaking prices. His eyes glossed over, and he frowned at some of the fine print, but it looked legit. He ordered plenty of everything. Seats, holders, covers, new faucets, cleaners, and a set of urinals to replace the broken ones. He even bought a feminine product dispenser. Mostly to thumb his nose in the vandals' direction. The district was moving towards all-gender restrooms anyway. And if they messed with it, then the seller would reimburse.
He even went and ordered some spares since it came in under budget. Within a week, a mountain of packages bearing the site logo arrived at his office.
Setting aside time after classes, Craig went to work. He put on his tough overalls, boots, and jeans and made sure everything was okay. Bolting it all in was a cinch. The smell of fresh equipment and an alluring aroma he couldn't quite place overwhelmed him.
The packaging had warned that "exposure to multiple products could have mental and reality effects" but he had all the windows open and, as he liked to say, "this wasn't his first rodeo".
Soon after the faucets and with a vigorous application of the cleaner, Craig noticed that he'd staggered in place. He didn't feel woozy, but he got a breath of fresh air and brushed his long, dark hair back before retying his ponytail.
Finishing with the mockingly placed feminine product dispenser, he suddenly felt a rush in his groin. Slipping into the nearest stall, he lowered his jeans and sat on the toilet. A heavy flow gushed out of his crotch. He noticed his penis wasn't bumping up against the edge of the seat. This notion made him worry until she chuckled and noted that she didn't have one of those.
Gently wiping her crotch with the fresh toilet paper, Carol checked the rest of the bathroom and gave her nod of approval. Not bad. She did it all by herself. Adjusting her bust against the rough overalls, she secured her tool belt and closed up the restroom for the night.
Those naughty boys will have quite a time trying to mess with the restroom now, she told herself.
----
David Ford hacked into a handkerchief as he waited for the faculty restroom. Straightening against the wall sent a surge of aches through his back. He almost considered calling for a sub, but his pride got in the way. With how often he scolded his English classes for missing days, he couldn't bring himself not to show up if he could get on his feet. Besides, this was nothing.
Just the years creeping in and undercooked chicken. He was three times the age of his freshman students at forty-two, balding and gray around his beard, so he had to give three times the effort, as he liked to pontificate for the drowsy masses.
Gurgling deep in his bowels threatened to erupt, and the 1950s-style door was showing no signs of opening. Too dignified to knock, he resolved that he needed a Plan B. Between here and his classroom was a student restroom he'd heard needed to be remodeled due to vandals. If it was done, then he would have no problems and just explain that he was checking in on it if anyone got nosy. If it wasn't finished yet, then he could beg the janitor, a lovely gearhead gal named Carol, for some respite for his guts.
Settling on this plan, he strode as confidently as he could make himself appear, with suspenders holding his black slacks up and a plaid shirt and tie secured around his neck. It was all polyester, and it all felt uncomfortable, making him sweat like he was under a constant heat lamp.
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The halls flowed with light foot traffic. He held out a formal wave to one of his students, Rebecca Bell, as she made her way over to the school library. She waved excitedly over her head with a bundle of books under her other arm. Fortunately, she didn't stop to ask him some academic questions.
He hurried the rest of the way and was surprised to find the restroom not only open but looking much better than any of the others. Striding across the tile, he paused to marvel at the interior.
It smelled good, fresh, and with a touch of sharp floral hints. He smirked and wondered if the boys would complain about that. Peering through his thick glasses at the tampon dispenser to one side, he double-checked that he was in the right restroom, but the urinals seemed proof enough.
Clutching his side, he opened the nearest stall and planted himself on the seat with relief. He expected a loud and smelly result, but the sound and odor seemed muted, swallowed up by the chemicals and fresh restroom aroma that pervaded everything.
Scooting his plump rear back on the seat, David soon noticed that there seemed to be more seat than he was expecting. Steadying himself with the railing, he took a breath and shut his eyes. Another peach-like presence enveloped him, like a teen girl's perfume sprayed in his direction. But it didn't overwhelm or press him to sneeze. Instead, it was warming and nice.
Leaning back, he attempted to adjust himself so he wouldn't spray out the front notch in the seat. But he couldn't find himself. Blinking his eyes open, he suddenly felt weird in so many places. Gushing straight out of his bladder without the dangling length of his dick was a drippy, messy wave of pee.
Fearing for a moment that he'd been mutilated by some hidden razor, David soon realized other things had changed too. He could see without glasses. His legs, burly and rough in those polyester pants, were slim and soft with a swath of gentler corduroy. On his shoulder rested a long, twisted shape that connected to his head. And on that shoulder and wrapping around his chest...
Fumbling with nervous denial and fear, David staggered to his feet and finished his business. His gut was quiet, but the shape of his rear felt strange. Dabbing the wet, empty place between his legs set his brain on fire with panic.
Desperately trying to put on clothes that weren't his own, he staggered to the mirror and gazed in shock at his reflection.
A disheveled freshman girl with light-brown hair tied into a ponytail past the middle of her back stood there with wide, blue eyes. Her nails were painted a sharp, pastel blue, which shimmered even in the dim light of the restroom. Below, between a pair of soft, narrow arms, David could see the broad, obvious but underplayed pinnacles of her breasts jutting through a blue-and-white tie-dye top. Snug, black corduroy pants showed off the shape of her girlish legs, and blue sneakers completed the ensemble.
Venturing back into the stall, David spotted a bright-blue purse bedazzled with sparkling stars and a weighty backpack similarly adorned. Dragging them away, she soon found a student ID labeled "Lacey Bell". Checking the mirror, she realized that she bore a striking resemblance to her sister, Rebecca...David shook her head. Sister?
She had to get out of here. Bolting and jiggling through the door, she blanched with a last look at the tampon dispenser. Scooting to the side, embarrassed about coming out of the boy's restroom and not exactly sure why, David did his best to cling to his male memories.
But they faded even more when Rebecca caught up and gave her a big, sisterly hug. He knew he used to be David Ford, but who wanted to be that old loser when she could be smiling, happy Lacey, just fourteen, and with so many cute teen boys around? Shame she couldn't wear anything prettier without making teachers mad. For now, she pulled her top snug against her breasts and put on a playful grin.