Body swap with yogi Brooke The Remote of Transformation chapter 5 by bodyswapbabe

Trevor Doyle hated Brooke.

Okay, not hated, but avoided her like the kale aisle. She was always floating down the street with her recycled water bottle, all calm smiles and yoga pants so tight it made it hard to focus during his cooldown laps.

So when the world glitched, mid-step, Trevor assumed maybe he’d overheated. His breath caught, and for a moment he swore the air around him twisted—like a heat shimmer, but inside his skin.

He stumbled. His balance was wrong.

The sidewalk swayed.

He looked down—no shirt. His pecs were different. Smaller. Firmer. Too perky. And not pecs.

“Huh?” he croaked. Then screamed.

His voice—wrong. Feminine. Grounded, but smooth.

His fingers flew to his chest. Full. Round. Warm. The sensation of grabbing them made his knees buckle. He nearly fell.

“NO.”

He grabbed a car window and stared.

Long brown hair in a loose bun. Soft, tanned face. Sporty, toned figure. His—her—eyes wide with horror.

“Brooke?” he whispered.

A voice behind him—his voice, but flat, annoyed—made him spin.

“There you are.”

He turned.

It was him. Trevor. In his real body. But not acting like him. Standing there with arms crossed and an unimpressed scowl.

“What the fuck is going on?! Why do I look like you?”

Brooke—in his body—sighed. “I don’t know. But based on how you just grabbed my boobs in public, I’m guessing you deserve this.”

“I didn’t—okay, yes, but I didn’t mean to! This is messed up!”

“You’re telling me.” She gestured down at herself—his body, still glistening with sweat. “I’m not sure what’s worse—your posture or the fact that your playlist is just one Nickelback song on repeat.”

Trevor flushed. He hated how easily his face looked smug when she was wearing it.

“This has to be a prank. Or like—AI. Hologram. Something.” He looked down at his tight tank top and yoga pants. The bra underneath definitely wasn’t designed for his comfort. He fidgeted and winced. “And how do you breathe in this thing? This is actual torture.”

She took a slow breath, calm as ever. “I don’t know what did this. But until we figure it out, maybe try being less of an asshole. You might enjoy it.”

Trevor scowled. “Fuck that. I’m not spending one second as some smug, stretchy vegan bitch who thinks astrology is science.”

Brooke raised an eyebrow. “Then you better hope this isn’t permanent.”

Trevor’s stomach turned. He looked down at his hips, flared wide and clad in tight spandex. A breeze caught between his legs. He crossed his thighs.