Can't Come Down
Leo stood in the middle of the crowd at the festival grounds outside Melbourne, dust kicking up around his boots every time someone shifted. The main stage was pumping some deep house set, lights cutting through the late afternoon haze. Maya was next to him, bouncing a bit on her toes, her short denim shorts riding up as she moved. She’d been hyped all week about this one.
“You ready for the good stuff?” she said, leaning in close so he could hear over the bass.
Leo grinned. “What’ve you got?”
She pulled a small plastic bag from her pocket, two pale pink pills inside. “MD. But special. Body swap. Wears off by morning. Thought we could try it.”
He stared at the bag. “You’re kidding.”
“Nah. Mate of a mate from Sydney sorted it. Proper stuff. You up for it or what?”
Leo laughed, the sound half lost in the music. “That’s fucking wild. Yeah. I’m in. Let’s do it.”
They found a quieter spot near the edge of the dancefloor, under one of the big trees. Maya split the pills, handed one over. Leo swallowed his with a mouthful of water from her bottle. She did the same, eyes bright.
“How long?” he asked.
“Twenty minutes, maybe half hour. We’ll feel it.”
They headed back into the thick of it. The set kept rolling. Leo felt the usual festival buzz—sweat on his neck, the press of bodies, the bass in his chest. Maya kept close, her hand brushing his arm now and then.
It started slow. First the warmth under his skin, that MDMA roll kicking in proper. Everything softened. The lights looked sharper. He felt loose, happy, like he could talk to anyone. Maya was smiling wide next to him, her shoulders moving to the beat.
Then something else layered over it. A second set of feelings that weren’t his. He could sense her heart rate picking up, the way the music was hitting her, a light ache in her left foot from the boots she’d worn all day. At the same time he knew she was getting his side—the tightness in his shoulders from carrying the esky earlier, the buzz of the high building in his gut.
“Fuck,” Maya said, turning to him. Her voice sounded in his head at the same time it came out of her mouth. “You feel that?”
“Yeah. Like I’m in two places.”
They stood there for a bit, just letting it wash through. Shared thoughts flickering back and forth without trying. He caught a flash of her looking at a guy near the front—tall, tattoos down one arm—and felt the little spark of interest that went with it. She got his sudden awareness of how her top was sticking to her back with sweat.
The high kept climbing. Everything felt good. Connected. Leo laughed out loud when Maya’s giggle hit him from inside as well as out.
“This is mental,” he said.
“Told you.”
They danced for a while longer, bodies moving easy, the shared consciousness making every touch land twice. When their arms brushed it sent a double wave of warmth. Leo could feel how the bass was vibrating through her chest at the same time it hit his.
The set changed. Crowds shifted. Maya leaned in. “I need a piss. Coming?”
“Nah, I’ll hold the spot. Don’t be long.”
She nodded and slipped off through the people, heading toward the long line of portaloos at the far side of the grounds.
Leo kept moving to the music, eyes half-closed, riding the high. The shared feeling was still strong—he could sense her walking, the way the ground felt under her boots, the mild urgency in her bladder. Then it sharpened. A sudden jolt as the swap locked in fully.
He opened his eyes and looked down.
His hands were smaller. Nails painted a chipped dark red. The denim shorts sat higher on his hips than his own jeans ever did. A light crop top left a strip of stomach bare. He lifted one hand and ran it over his chest—soft, no flat muscle, just the shape of Maya’s body.
“Shit,” he said, and the voice that came out was hers.
Making his way out of the portaloo, Leo—now in Maya’s body—stood for a second, hands on the bare strip of stomach, feeling the lighter frame and the way the crop top sat. The high was rolling hard though. Everything felt warm and loose. The music was still thumping from the main stage and his feet—her feet—started moving on their own.
He pushed back into the crowd. People were denser now, the sun dropping lower, lights kicking up brighter. A guy next to him offered a sip from a water bottle and Leo took it without thinking, smiling wide. The shared consciousness from earlier had thinned out once the distance grew. He could still catch faint edges of what Maya was feeling somewhere across the grounds—tall, solid, the weight of his own body—but it was background noise. Mostly he was just high and happy in this new skin.
The shorts rode up when he danced. He didn’t care. Someone bumped into him and laughed, hand lingering a second on his waist. Leo grinned back, hip swaying harder to the beat. The high made every touch land nice. He could feel the air on his bare midriff, the bounce of his chest when he jumped with the drop. It was fun. Proper fun. He forgot about looking for Maya for a stretch, just rode the music and the roll, laughing when a group nearby pulled him into their circle for a song.
Time got slippery. Another drink appeared in his hand from somewhere—cider, cold. He drank it. Danced more. The lights blurred a bit in the best way. At one point he ended up near the front, closer to the stage, arms up, singing along even though he only half knew the words. A girl next to him yelled something in his ear about the set and he yelled back, voice still Maya’s, higher and lighter than his own. They both cracked up.
Eventually the need to find her cut back in. Not urgent, just a thought through the haze. He drifted away from the stage, scanning faces, moving with the flow of people between the food stalls and the smaller tents. The high kept him smiling the whole way. Every now and then he’d catch a reflection in a mirrored sign or a phone screen—Maya’s face, flushed, eyes wide and shiny—and it just made him laugh again.
He spotted his old body near one of the side stages. Shirt off, skin already a bit pink from the sun and the dancing. Maya was in there, moving easy, arms loose, hips rolling to the bass. A couple of blokes were dancing near her, one of them saying something that made her throw her head back and laugh. The muscles in his old shoulders flexed when she lifted her arms. Sweat shone on the chest. She looked completely into it, grinning, not a care.
Leo stopped at the edge of the crowd and just watched for a second, the high still humming through him.
Leo pushed through the last few people and stopped right in front of her. Maya looked down—his old face looking down at him now—and her grin got wider.
“Fuck, look at you,” she said, voice low and rough in his body. “You're so sexy.”
Leo felt the heat climb straight up his neck. He laughed, the sound coming out lighter. “You’re one to talk. Shirt’s gone already.”
“Needed to happen I reckon. Hot out here.” She rolled her shoulders, the muscles in his old chest shifting. “Come dance.”
He stepped in closer. The high was still thick in both of them. Maya’s hand—his old hand—settled on his waist, fingers brushing the bare skin above the waistband of the shorts. Leo let himself lean into it. She was bi, he was gay, and right now the bodies matched up in a way that just worked. Every time she pulled him in a bit tighter he felt it twice—once in the new body and once as a leftover echo of the shared high.
They stayed near the side stage for the next couple of sets. Maya kept finding reasons to touch him. A hand on the small of his back when the crowd surged. Fingers tracing the edge of the crop top when they both reached for the same water bottle. Leo gave it back just as easy—sliding a hand over the bare chest in front of him, feeling the familiar shape of his own nipples under someone else’s skin, watching her breath catch.
“You’re properly into this,” he said against her ear at one point.
“Yeah. You are too.” She turned her head so their faces were close. “That top’s riding up every time you move. Not complaining.”
The flirting stayed constant. Quick comments, longer looks, the kind of touches that weren’t accidental anymore. When a slower track came on she pulled him in properly, one arm around his shoulders, the height difference putting his face against the side of her neck. Leo could smell his own deodorant still on the skin. It should’ve been weird. Instead it just made the roll hit harder.
By the time the final headliner finished the sky was fully dark and the grounds were starting to thin. Maya steered them toward the exit, still shirtless, Leo’s old jeans sitting low on her hips. Once they were clear of the main crush she stopped, turned, and reached down. Her fingers—thicker than Maya’s usual ones—gathered the longer hair that had fallen across Leo’s face and tucked it carefully behind his ear.
“What do you say we head back to yours,” she said. The words came out steady, no joke in them.
Leo didn’t need it spelled out. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
They caught an Uber from the taxi rank. The drive back into the city took about forty minutes. Maya kept a hand on his thigh the whole way, thumb moving slow circles. Leo’s new body reacted fast—heat pooling low, the shorts suddenly feeling too tight. He didn’t try to hide it.
At his place they barely got the door shut. Maya pushed him back against it, mouth on his, the height and weight of his old body pinning him there. Leo kissed back hard, hands already on the bare chest, then lower, undoing the button of the jeans. She helped, shoving them down. His own cock sprang free, already thick and hard in her grip.
Leo dropped to his knees on the hallway floor. The angle was different in this body—smaller hands, different reach—but he knew exactly how he liked it. He took the head into his mouth, tongue working the underside the way he always did to himself on quiet nights. Maya’s hand settled in his hair, not pushing, just holding. A low sound came out of her throat.
He stayed there until she pulled him up again. They made it to the bedroom in a messy line of discarded clothes. Maya got the crop top off him first, then the shorts and the thin underwear underneath.
Leo spread his legs without being asked. Maya settled between them, mouth trailing down his stomach, then lower. The first proper lick made his hips jump. Two fingers slid in while her tongue kept working, and Leo’s hands fisted in the sheets.
She didn’t stop. Just wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, crawled up, and lined his old cock against him. Leo reached down and guided it in. The stretch was new, full, exactly what the body wanted. Maya started slow, watching his face, then picked up once he nodded.
They fucked like that for a long time—her on top, then him rolled onto his stomach, then back face to face. Maya kept talking, low and filthy, telling him how good he felt, how tight, how she could feel every twitch. Leo answered with his hands and his mouth, biting at the shoulder that used to be his, scratching down the back he knew every freckle on.
When she finally came it was with a deep sound and her whole weight pressing him into the mattress. Leo followed a few seconds later, the second orgasm pulling longer, leaving him gasping against her neck.
They stayed locked together until the shaking stopped. Maya eventually rolled off, one arm still heavy across his waist. The festival noise was a distant memory. The room smelled like sweat and sex. Leo closed his eyes, still high, still in her body, and let the quiet settle.
Leo woke up to the grey light coming through the blinds. His head felt thick, the last of the high still sitting behind his eyes. He stretched and felt the lighter body around him—the softer chest, the longer hair against the pillow. Maya’s body. Right.
He reached for the phone on the bedside table. It was hers, the case with the little sticker of a sun on the back. The screen lit up with a new message from a number he didn’t recognise.
He opened it.
A photo first. Mirror selfie, bathroom tiles in the background. A guy, maybe late twenties, dark curly hair, short beard and moustache, gold hoop in one ear. Shirtless, solid muscle, thick dark hair across the chest and down the stomach. He was holding the phone up, the other hand resting low near his cock. Completely naked. Looking straight at the camera with a half-smile.
Underneath the photo the text read:
hey sorry about this. i know it’s fucked. but i really liked being a bloke and this guy was so sexy. he offered me this special version of that MDMA that doesn’t wear off. you have to take it again if you want to switch back. oh and he lives in London and his flight is this afternoon. looks like i’m keeping him for a while. hope you understand. x
Leo stared at the screen. His stomach dropped.
He turned his head.
The body next to him in the bed was still his own—same shoulders, same chest hair, same face relaxed in sleep. But it wasn’t Maya in there.
The swap wasn’t wearing off.
Leo’s mind was still stuck on the photo and the message when the body next to him shifted. The guy—whoever he was—was lying there with one arm stretched out, looking down at the chest and arms that used to be Leo’s. Fingers tracing the lines of muscle, the edge of a tattoo on the shoulder.
Then he stopped.
He rolled over, propped himself up on one elbow, and looked at Leo properly. No words. Just a slow smile and a hand sliding down Leo’s side, over the hip, between the legs.
Leo’s breath caught. The hand was sure, already knowing what worked. Two fingers pushed inside him, curling, and the rest of the world went fuzzy at the edges. The phone slipped out of his grip onto the sheets.
The guy moved over him, heavy and warm, and lined up. He pushed in with one smooth stroke. Leo’s head tipped back. The stretch, the heat, the way the body on top of him held him down—it wiped everything else out.
He came once almost straight away, shaking, and the guy just kept going, steady and deep, mouth against Leo’s neck. Every thrust pulled another sound out of him. The anger, the confusion, the name that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue—all of it slid away. There was only the weight of this solid, sexy bloke above him, the thick cock filling him, the single clear purpose of making him feel good.
Leo held on and let it take him.
