Trading Places

He shuffled through the morning paper want ads, searching for something. Anything. Just two years earlier, he had been a college student, but he washed out. His mom was gone, his dad gave him nothing but grief for being a failure and had cut off all contact. After bouncing from one job to another, he had be come something of a drifter. He did just about anything to get by, leaving each town when he got into a little too much trouble, taking on a new alias in the next town to cover his tracks. He didn't like the direction his life was taking, and would take just about any job that showed promise. One ad caught his eye. It said:

"Farm hand needed. Good honest work, no experience needed. Room and board included."

The phrase "Good honest work" was what intrigued him. He hadn't had much of the honest kind lately. It was worth a try. He called the number listed, and arranged to head out to the farm that afternoon. He hitched a ride, and was dropped off at the end of the long dusty road that led to the old farmhouse, carrying his only possessions in a knapsack. He figured if this didn't pan out he'd hitch to the next town. It was only April, but already the Tennessee sun shown down with and intensity that made him sweat just from the walk. He walked up onto the porch and knocked on the door. A woman answered, and showed him in.

She said her name was Laura. She was a number of years older than he was but still attractive, with a long mane of blond hair and a sweet smile. The dress she wore made her look like an innocent country girl, but a glint in her eye made him suspect otherwise.

"It's hardly and exciting job, but like the ad says, it's good honest work and a roof over your head. I need an extra pair of hands, to feed the horses, repair the fence, do some miscellaneous farm work. Tons of it. I'm all alone here now, and I can't keep this place up by myself. Now it's your turn. Tell me a little about yourself." She said.

He gave her the short version, that he was down on his luck and looking for a job that would turn him around.

"I think a summer working here will change your life in ways you never thought possible" she said. "But you never even told me your name."

"Oh, uh. Paul. Paul Smith," he said. Paul Smith? He was used to saying whatever name came into his head but he knew this one sounded like a lame made up name the minute he said it. Well, he'd said it now, so he was stuck with it for the duration.

"The job's yours if you want it. You can have the guest room, and start at dawn tomorrow. I'm about to make dinner, let me know now whether I'm making it for one or two."

Just the thought of a decent meal was enough to seal the deal for him. "OK" he said.

"Great. I'll show you where to put your things."

After getting situated, "Paul" came back into the living room and made himself comfortable in a big, well worn leather chair next to the fireplace. He detected a sweet aroma, and then noticed a big rack of pipes up on the mantel. Another circular rack, with a tobacco humidor in its center, sat on the side table next to him. Laura had said that she was alone, but this was obviously a man's room. His gangly, scrawny body felt out of place in the big chair. She must have been desparate if she hired me for physical work, he thought. Laura set out a big meal, a feast by Paul's standards, and offered him a beer. The food was delicious, and with between being full, and the relaxing effects of the beer, he began to feel more comfortable in conversation with her.

"So, what happened to your husband?" he blurted out at one point.

Laura looked taken aback. "He left me, several months ago," she replied, looking down at the table.

"Oh, I'm sorry, that's really none of my business. Sorry I brought it up." He could kick himself for asking. Only here a couple of hours and already he put his foot in his mouth. He thought it odd that a woman whose husband had left would keep his things around, right there in the living room, like some kind of shrine, but he asked no more questions. One gaffe was enough. They continued to talk on other subjects, and he had two more beers. Then to his surprise, she brought up her husband again.

"His name was Ben," she stated. "We had so many good times together. I miss him so much." She sighed and looked away. Paul didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry," he said. It must be very difficult for you alone out here."

"It is" she replied. "It's really the companionship I miss the most."

Paul sensed a hint here. He began to wonder where this was going.

"I was wondering" she said, haltingly. "No, never mind. It's silly."

"What?" Paul asked. "What is it?"

"I was just wondering if you might do me a little favor, but it's stupid. I'm a little embarrassed to ask," she responded.

"No really, go ahead and ask. It can't be that bad." Paul said.

"Well I was wondering. One little thing I miss about not having Ben here, well is the smell. The smell of his pipe."

"His pipe?" Paul asked. This wasn't exactly what he expected.

"Yes. I miss the sweet aroma of his pipe. He always lit up his favorite pipe after dinner, and sat in his chair. Would you be willing to... well, smoke it, so I could enjoy that smell?"

"Um, I don't smoke. I'm sorry, but..."

She looked dejected, almost on the verge of tears, which he couldn't bear. A few long, awkward seconds passed.

"Oh well, sure, why not?" he said, relenting.

"Oh good thank you. I'll show you how." With that, she got up from the table and gestured him over to the big chair. Then she reached up on the mantel, and pulled out a big 3/4 bent briar with a billiard bowl and a saddle bit, a massive Peterson. She carefully filled it in even layers, showing Paul as she did so. Then she handed it to him. It was huge in his hand. He put it up to his mouth, and placed it between his teeth. He knew this enormous briar must look ridiculous on his small frame. Then she pulled out a pipe lighter, flicked it on, and tilted the flame over the enormous bowl.

"Draw in, gently, not too hard. Again. Again." She instructed. "That's it. It will go out in a minute, but that's normal. Then just light it again and it should stay lit a while".

He drew on the pipe. He had never tried this before, but the thick sweet smoke filled his mouth, and It felt good.

"You're a natural" she said, smiling. He continued to puff on the pipe, feeling more comfortable with each draw. Laura left the room. He liked the feel of the warm, smooth bowl in his hand. Yes, he thought, he could learn to like this.

A few minutes later, Laura returned. Now, she was wearing a silky translucent negligee. She leaned seductively on the door frame. "God, I love that smell. It's a complete turn on for me, you know." Paul stared at her, very surprised, but also very aroused. He began to get up.

"No," she said. "Stay there. I'm going to do all of the work."

She strolled over to him, and to his amazement began undoing his pants. She pulled out his quickly firming dick, and then gently sat down, facing him, straddling her legs. She gently lowered herself on top of his dick, and moaned. He felt the rush of sensations and she began moving on top of him. It had been a while for both of them. As she moved and writhed, she pushed her face close to his, placing her cheek gently against the warm briar bowl of the pipe. Paul puffed more vigorously, and the smoke began to fill the room, seeming to create a shroud around them. She continued to move up and down on him, again and again for a long time. Then she pushed her left breast against the briar, moaning again in ecstasy. Then she did the same with here right breast. She seemed to be far more aroused by the pipe than by Paul, but he didn't care. He hadn't felt this good before. Ever. She began to writhe and climax, at the same time as he came. Then she leaned forward against his chest, breathing in deeply the sweet smoke. He had kept the pipe going the whole time.

"Like I said, you're a natural," she said. After a few minutes, she got up, and walked silently from the room. He continued to puff on the pipe, trying to understand what had happened. When he finished the bowl, he tapped out the pipe on the knocker in the ashtray next to him. The action seemed natural and familiar to him. He carefully placed the pipe back in its place on the rack, and went to bed, dazed.

The following morning, he arose to the smell of breakfast, and got dressed. How should he act? He wondered. Was last night a one night stand, just two lonely people, or was it more? He wandered out of his room and went into the kitchen. Laura said a simple good morning, but showed no sign of acknowledging last night. He guessed that he had his answer, and ate silently. The meal was huge, but he was ravenous and asked for seconds. Laura also packed him a lunch and placed it in a knapsack for him to carry into the fields so he would have no need to return for lunch. He worked hard all day, digging new fence post holes until dusk, but he had trouble taking his mind off the night before. He returned for dinner, and again it was rather awkward and silent, but he was so hungry he ate every bite. Never before had he had such an appetite.

After dinner, Laura again went to the pipe rack, pulled down the same huge Peterson, and handed it to him, smiling. This time he filled it, as she had showed him, and lit it. Huge clouds of smoke billowed around him. Again she left , and returned in her negligee, and again they had amazing sex. The only requirement which she demanded was that he let her do all of the work, and his only job was to keep the pipe lit the entire time. Very strange, he thought, but too enjoyable to question. As she moved on top of him, she said "I'm going to show you things you never dreamed possible. When I'm finished with you, you're going to fit that huge pipe. It will look good on you." He imagined the kind of guy he would have to be to look good with the huge briar. A big, burly, bear of a man, nothing like the scrawny loser he gazed at every morning in the mirror. He would give anything to make her fantasy come true. He found the though of it extremely arousing, and began to cum inside of her.

For the next few weeks, this became daily routine. A huge breakfast, hours of backbreaking work, then an enormous dinner and the pipe, the sex. One day out in the field, he opened the lunch knapsack Laura prepared for him each day and was surprised to see a pipe and pouch tucked inside. Not the big Peterson, but a beautiful smaller, half bent. Funny. He had just been thinking how nice it would be to enjoy a pipe after lunch and now he could. This, too became part of his daily routine. It was about this time that he began to notice that the hard work and big meals were having an effect, too. He was getting broader in the shoulders, his muscles growing and more defined, and his pants were starting to get a little tight. He could swear he also looked a little older too, but dismissed it as his imagination. Over the weekend, he went into town and bought better fitting clothes. When he returned, Laura wasn't around. He walked through the house, calling for her.

"Laura? You home?" he called.

"In here," she answered, from her bedroom. He walked to the door, and looked in. She lay on the bed, naked, smiling.

"Come on in. I have new things to show you." She said.

This was a first. Before it had always been in the chair. With her making all the moves. He eagerly joined her and began stripping off his clothes, anticipating taking charge this time.

"No wait," she said. "We need the pipe."

He dashed into the living room and grabbed the huge briar and went back to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and lit it, then moved towards her.

"No," she said, "I'm still going to do all the work. You are still in charge of the pipe."

He was a bit disappointed, but why fight it. He knew whatever she had in mind would be pleasurable, to say the least. She ordered him to lay back , with his head against the headboard. She fondled his dick, and then began to suck. He puffed in rhythm to her sucking, closing his eyes in enjoyment. She drew again and again. Then something amazing happened. As he felt himself about to cum, he looked down. Instead of cum, he saw smoke wafting out of her mouth. This couldn't be. Not possible, he thought. But as she continued, he felt the smoke draw from his own mouth, down through his body, and out his dick. She seemed to be smoking him. The sensation was beyond anything he ever imagine, and he was transfixed, motionless, feeling the smoke pulsing through him. She smoked down the entire bowl. He was breathless.

"I told you I would show you things you never imagined," Laura said. Paul just lay there, staring straight ahead, trying to comprehend what he had just seen. It made no physical sense, but he was becoming used to the bizarre, and it felt so good he just told himself to go along. "Remember Paul, your job, your duty, is to serve me. Let me do all the work, and you lay back as still as you can, and let me bring pleasure to the both of us." She now allowed him to stay in her room rather than retiring to his quarters.

The next morning he awoke. Again he felt odd; sluggish. He pulled himself out of bed. He caught himself in the mirror, and was startled. His chest was hairier, broader and more muscular than before, and he had a slight gut. There was now no question that he looked older, if he didn't know better he would say he was pushing 30. He could swear he was a little taller too, but that couldn't be. He looked down and was amazed to see that his cock was much bigger that the day before. As a matter of fact, it was huge. He noticed how heavy it felt with each step he took. Even though he wasn't as small and scrawy as he had been, his dick was out of all proportion with his body, and looked nearly as odd on him as the big briar did. The new clothes that had fit loosely the day before, were now tight. His heart pounded as he studied his changing body. How could this be? This is not natural. By this time though, he thoughts were clouded by the amazing pleasure he was feeling. For the first time in his life, he was enjoying himself, so he forced these thoughts from his mind. It was as if he was under a spell.

Laura acted as if she noticed nothing at breakfast. Afterwards, Paul took 3 pipes form the rack, placed two in his shirt pocket and another in his knapsack, along with the one Laura had tucked in there, and loaded extra tobacco, as if this was a normal routine, though he had never done it before. Throughout the day he smoked almost continuously, favoring 3/4 bent and oom-paul shaped pipes that sat comfortably in his teeth so that he could work with his hands. It now felt natural and normal, and he couldn't imagine going for more that a few minutes without a lit pipe in his mouth. He had gone from being a non smoker to an avid pipe smoker in just a little less than two months.

Over the next few weeks, the sex again developed into a routine, with him lying silently while she "smoked" him. He routinely smoked all of the pipes in the collection in the Living Room, but saved the big Peterson only for the bedroom, as Laura demanded. He cared for the pipes, cleaning and maintaining them expertly, though no one had ever showed him how. It was odd to him that that he knew all about pipes. He knew shapes, manufacturers, the good, the bad, different tobacco blends. He had never been told any of this, but he knew it like and old pro. As time passed, he became increasingly disoriented. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember his real name. His old life was fading from memory, and strange new memories were taking over. He had memories of Laura in her wedding dress, of the day he bought the farm. None of these were his own memories, of course, but they were firmly planted in his mind, as vivid as any other. One day, as he was riding the tractor, the engine began to sputter. He hopped off, tinkered with the carburetor, and had it humming in a few seconds. Strange, he thought, since he'd never known how to repair engines and had always been mechanically inept.

The changes in his body were coming more quickly now, and every morning he checked the mirror to see what was new. His hairline had receded slightly, with a hint of gray at the temple, and he had developed tiny crow's feet at his eyes. He had grown a couple of more inches, and his upper body was becoming massive and powerful. He knew that this was all impossible to explain, but he just accepted it as what must be. He loved the new man he was becoming, and remembered the words Laura had said; that she would make him fit the huge pipe. It appeared it was going to happen, and he wanted it more than anything.

After sex that night, as he lay next to her, she said, "I think you should grow a beard."

"Probably not a good idea" he said. "I tried once, and it was a scraggly mess. Some guys just can't grow a beard."

"Try." She responded.

He did as ordered, and stopped shaving. To his surprise, after only a day he had a thick five o'clock shadow, and after three he actually had a short but very visible, even beard.

Then, less that a week later, he got up at dawn, as usual. Laura was already up, cooking his breakfast. Though he had become accustomed to finding new changes in his body almost daily, he noticed that it was even more profound that usual today. His body felt heavy, and even more massive than ever. He pulled himself out of bed, and looked in the mirror. There before him stood a massive bear of a man, at least 6'4, more than 250 pounds, His biceps were the size of what his thighs had once been. His beard, which he had only been cultivating for a week, was now thick and full, a curly brown mass with a tinge of red. His ruddy complexion was that of a man who lived an outdoor life, and he once again looked older, perhaps about 45. He liked what he saw, and in his now typical disoriented state, he was unable or unwilling to accept that these changes were beyond reason, beyond what is physically possible for any normal man. Once in the shower he noticed, too, that his dick was now even more massive than before, but fit his new physique perfectly.

After his shower he lumbered his great powerful body over to the closet to select his work clothes for the day. He realized quickly that his own clothes were once again too small. He looked at the other end of the closet, where Ben's clothes still hung. His were the clothes of a mountain of a man. Surely they were too big, and would fit him like a tent, but what else could he do? He had to wear something. He pulled a flannel and a pair of work jeans out, and slipped them on. To his amazement, they fit perfectly. He also found a pair of, huge, well worn leather boots. They fit his feet as if he had broken them in personally.

His mind reeled at what he had become. He had to get his bearings; think clearly. Naturally, he reached for his big briar, still sitting in the ashtray on the nightstand from the night before. He loaded it absent mindedly, as if he had been doing it for many years, and lit it up in a huge cloud of smoke. He puffed deeply, feeling his mind begin clear. He strode back to the mirror, his huge boots thumping across the wood floor. Once again he gazed at himself. The pipe, clenched in his bearded jaw, fit his face perfectly now, and he could feel his dick beginning to harden with excitement at his own reflection. Maybe Laura would be up for a morning romp, he thought. As he looked closer now, however, his mind cleared by the tobacco, he began to worry. He now could not recognize a single thing about the body he occupied. Not a hair on his head, not his eyes, nose or mouth, of course not his build. He no longer had a sense of his body changing; rather he now sensed that his body was gone, replaced by a completely different one, one in which he was only an occupant , not its owner. He looked into his own eyes and thought " at least they're still brown" but he was stunned to see them change, right there in the mirror, to blue. "What the..." he thought. His heart pounded at what he had just witnessed. This was too much.

"Laura!" he bellowed out in his loud baritone. "Get in here! Now!"

She turned down the stove and hurried to the bedroom. He expected her to be aghast at the changes in him, wearing her husband's clothes, but her expression did not change. She stood there in her bathrobe, appearing perplexed.

"What is it?" she asked.

"What do you mean, what is it?" he retorted. "Look at me!" He noticed that he was now speaking with a deep baritone and a thick Tennessee accent, involuntarily.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" she smiled, in a voice of mock confusion.

"I've gone along with all of this for months, because it felt good, telling myself that there was a logical explanation for how I've changed, but you know as well as I do that there's much more going on here than that." He drawled. You know what's going on, and I demand and explanation. Now."

She looked down at the floor, then out the window, that finally spoke. "Well I guess there's no harm in explaining now. Your fate is sealed."

He didn't like the sound of that. What the hell did she mean?

"You see," she continued " My husband didn't really leave me. About a year ago, he fell ill. He was a very sick man. The doctor in town couldn't do a thing, and referred us to a specialist in the city. They didn't have a clue either, and we bounced from doctor to doctor, trying to find someone who could help. Ben's condition worsened, and we became more and more desperate. We even tried all sorts of alternative medicines. Holistic, herbal, faith healers, quacks, you name it. Nothing worked. Finally, when Ben was on his deathbed, an old friend of his from the army sent over another healer. He said he was a shaman, but who knows what the hell he really was. At that point we would listen to anybody. He looked over my husband, and pronounced that there was no way he could save his body, but he could save his soul. I thought, great, just what we need--another faith healer. But that's not how he meant it. He explained that he knew how to transport one's soul from the body as they were dying, and could save it in another host, an inanimate object, something of personal value to the dying person. There, the soul could reside until another host was found. Then, his soul could be transported into the new host."

Paul's heart was beating faster now, and he puffed on the pipe, trying to calm himself. She went on.

"With my husband's last breath, the shaman said and incantation over him, and closed his eyes. He then told me that my husband now resided in his favorite pipe. The one you're smoking now."

Paul gulped hard, trying not to believe the ridiculous story. "And you paid this guy?" he mocked, trying not to show his fear. Still he puffed on the pipe, no more able to remove it from his lips that he could remove his own arm.

"You see, each time you have smoked the pipe, a little of my husband's soul, his essence, has made its way into your body, and a little of yours has entered the pipe. You've been trading places. That's why you've been feeling disoriented and detached. You're, shall we say, not all there. Since much of your consciousness is already in that pipe, when you smoke it."

"I feel whole again," he interrupted.

"Exactly. Because that's increasingly where you reside," she replied.

He rolled his eyes in disbelief, but now he was really worried. If what she said was true, that he was gradually being pushed out of this body, there was only one possible way this would end. He puffed heavily on the pipe, trying to figure out what to do next. He was angry and scared at what had been done to him. Could it be that he had really been seduced into giving up not only his own identity, but also his human body?

"I don't believe you," he said.

With that, she pulled out a photograph from between books on the bookshelf, and handed it to Paul. "That is my husband," she said.

He gazed at the photo, shocked. There in the photo was Laura, with a man standing beside her. He was tall, barrel chested, with a thick reddish beard, blue eyes, about 45. He was in every way the spitting image of Paul. Or, rather, Paul looked just like him.

"Now that you know, you have to understand that this is your fate, your destiny." She said. "There's no point in fighting this. If you let go, you'll be much happier. If you fight it, it will only become more difficult for all three of us, but it will still happen. You have to realize that by now." She said. "You no longer control that body, Ben does. Go ahead and let go. For your own good."

How could this have happened? He thought. This wasn't fair. Finally, after drifting for so long, he had found a life that he loved, and felt good about himself and what he had become. No way would he give that up.

"No!" he bellowed, "This is sick, twisted. There's no way I'm going along with this. I don't know why you think I would believe that story, but there's no way I'll ever give in. I'm getting out of here." He pushed her aside and stormed out of the bedroom, and strode across the living room towards the front door. To his horror, he realized that with each step, his body was slowing. He fought to stay in control, to make it to the door, but he could feel his body fighting him. Finally he stopped cold. He wanted with all of his remaining will to leave, but the body was no longer his. He drew even more heavily on the pipe, searching for clarity and the power to hold on. Unable to move forward, he stood and thought for a moment, then turned and stormed back to the bedroom with a new resolve. Laura was still standing there, as if she expected him to return. He flung her onto the bed, and yanked open her robe. She smiled and made no attempt to resist. He undid his pants and dived on her, sitting on his knees, towering over her on the bed.

"You want to see who's in control? I'll show you !" he shouted. He thrust his huge, already hard dick into her, and she moaned in ecstasy. He pushed in hard and angrily, again and again, and she began to writhe in rhythm to his thrusts. He was furious, pushing into her with all of his might. The pipe was still clenched within his teeth, and the smoke swirled around him and clouded the air.

"Yes!" she cried. "Again! That's it!"

He continued, pushing into her over and over for what seemed like an eternity. Surely this would show her that he was in control, that this nonsense about her husband had to end. The sensation of his dick pushing deep inside here was beginning to overwhelm both of them, and she was beginning to climax.

"Yes!" she again moaned. "Let go, let go, let it happen!"

As she said this, he felt himself reach the point of no return, beginning to cum powerfully inside of her, and with it he realized she had set a trap for him, and he had taken the bait. As his dick pulsed inside of her he knew that he was losing control for the last time; that this would be his last act as a human, but he could not stop it now. With each pulse he felt himself fading away, his arms going numb, then his legs. Still he pushed into her, unable to stop, trying to hold on to this sensation which he was fated never to feel again. With his last push, he blacked out.

A moment later, he felt as if he was floating outside his body, looking at what had been his face a moment before. But where was he? He felt as if he was lying down, but seemed to be floating in midair. He could see the thick reddish beard, the chiseled features and ruddy complexion, the blue eyes, all right in front of him, but he was clearly not in that body anymore. He tried to get his bearings. He looked at where his legs should be, and saw instead a sweeping curve of black plastic, the familiar saddle bit stem of the Peterson, a extending right up into the mouth of the man before him. He instinctively reached out to feel this stem, but instantly realized that he had no arms, no hands. In fact, he had no ability to move. He then saw that where he ought to have a torso, he now had the beautiful grain of a satin smooth briar shank. His head felt warm " no wait " he thought, not a head. A bowl. Filled with tobacco. He could feel the smoke coursing through his bowl, into his shank, and up his stem and into the bearded mouth. He understood now that Laura had smoked him to train him for this moment, so that it would feel natural and instinctive to him. The sensation brought him more ecstasy than anything he had felt as a human, and as the smoke coursed rhythmically through his new body, he felt a sense of calm and peace, and settled in to his new form.

At the same moment that Paul entered the pipe, I finally entered my new body. I looked down, and saw myself on my knees, towering over my wife, my dick still inside her. I rubbed gently back and forth inside, re-familiarizing myself with this sensation. I looked at my hands, and flexed them back and forth, getting used to the idea of movement . How strange, to have a human body again. I gently pulled myself out of her and slid up onto the bed next to her, still puffing on the pipe that had been my body seconds before.

"Ben?" she asked. "Is that you?"

"Yes," I replied, "I'm back."

She breathed a deep sigh of relief and layed her head against my chest, and held me tight. We said nothing for several minutes.

"And Paul?" She asked.

"Well, let's just say he's exploring his new body." I said, as I gently stroked the sides of his warm bowl with my fingers, knowing the amazing sensation that would give him.

Years have past since that day. Paul has served me well; he has embraced his instincts as a briar, and he gives me a better smoke that any other pipe in my collection. When I smoke him I can understand his thoughts, and he mine, and he barely remembers his days as a human. He is actually quite grateful to Laura and me, believing that his driftless youth was because he was never really meant to be human at all. His destiny was always to be a briar pipe, and he thanks me often for showing him the light. However, I truly miss being a briar myself, and several times I have offered to trade places with Paul once again, and let him have this body. He will have none of it, and I understand why. You see, there's nothing like being a pipe. There is the feel of riding in your master's breast pocket, nestled against a leather pouch of sweet tobacco. The thrill as your master reaches into his pocket, pulls you out, and dredges your bowl through the tobacco, then the feel of the coarse tobacco leaves scratching against the hard black lining of your briar bowl as he tamps it in. Then there's the rush as pinches your sensitive bit in his teeth and flicks the lighter, the flame licking deep into you, the smoke building within, then coursing down into your shank and stem, and into his mouth. He smokes you down and the heat penetrates every inch of your briar. Your master cradles you in his huge palm, stroking your warm, satin smooth bowl with his rough fingertips, sending a shiver through you. Then he knocks the ash out of your bowl, places you in your home in the rack on the mantel to rest, awaiting the next chance to serve. I want to go back. Someday, when my time comes, I will.