McGirly

Chapter One

Paul's POV

A lot of things can go wrong after a drunken night out on the town.

Even worse things can happen the following morning. For example, you could wake up in bed next to a stranger, with absolutely no memory of what happened to land you in that situation. You could discover that your wallet and car keys have been stolen. You could even wake up in an entirely different location, not the place you had been at last night.

Fortunately for me, none of those happened.

Oh no, something far worse happened to me after a drunken night at Abbey Road studios.

The lads and I had been celebrating the success of our latest album with our manager, Brian, our producer, George Martin, and a close friend, Mal Evans. We were all having a great time together, larking around and downing drink after drink. At around ten o'clock, everyone started to get a bit tipsy and silly. I think John even tried sneaking kisses from the other lads!

I wasn't a little bit tipsy; I was flat-out drunk (which is odd, seeing as I don't drink an awful lot). I was staggering around the studio, drunk off my arse, a bottle of beer clutched in my hand. I went to take a swig only to find that it was empty.

"Shit," I said, dumping the bottle on the floor and kicking it away.

I quickly scanned the room, on the prowl for more beer. I spotted something sitting on a nearby counter. My vision was blurry from all the alcohol I'd consumed so I couldn't quite make out what it was, but it looked like a glass bottle. I ambled over to the counter and picked up the unusual object; it was a glass bottle! I uncapped it and drank the contents without a second thought.

For a second or two, nothing much happened. I was about to turn on my heel and go back to enjoying the party, when I felt a sharp pang in my chest. It was such a sharp pang that I nearly fell over. I clutched my chest and sucked in my breath, wondering if I was having a heart attack.

"Oh, Christ," I muttered. The pain went away quickly, but it was soon replaced by a horrible burning sensation. It was awful, like I was experiencing the worst heartburn in the world. It only got worse rather than ceasing, and soon it felt like my entire body was on fire.

I screamed; a horrible, agonized scream. I heard the sound of footsteps rushing over to me. John's frantic voice was shouting. I felt two pairs of arms trying to haul me upwards. I could hear and feel everything that was going on... but my vision was so fuzzy that I couldn't take anything in.

All I remember is John screaming, asking if I was all right and what was happening.

I tried to answer him - I really did - but I blacked out before I could utter a single word.

* * * *

I awoke some hours later. The sunlight was just peeking through a gap in the curtains, streaming directly onto my poor, pale face. I blinked in the sudden light. My head felt extremely heavy, like it was too big for my body. My sight was still blurry and there was a terrible, stale taste of alcohol in my mouth. I glanced around the room.

"Where am I?" I thought, then I realized. I was back home in my own bed. It was early in the morning, my head was throbbing, and I felt like death.

I heaved my sorry self out of bed and stood up, digging my toes into the carpet. It felt nice under my cold feet. I was still wearing the clothes I'd worn last night to the party, but they were hanging off of me like they'd suddenly grown two sizes too big. (I didn't find this unusual at the time as I was too tired and sore to think properly.)

I shuffled across the carpet to my en suite bathroom and flicked the light on. I blinked again as everything suddenly shifted into focus.

"My God," I grumbled, rubbing my eyes. "I probably look a sight. Where's the sink?..."

I found the sink, turned on the water and reached for my razor. I felt my face with my free hand, expecting to feel hard, prickly stubble dotting my chin. I didn't feel anything. My face was completely smooth... and oddly soft.

"That's strange," I said, putting my razor back. I splashed my face with the cold water in the sink. Everything was becoming clearer. My vision was almost back to normal. I could almost see my reflection in the mirror properly.

When my sight was fully restored, I had a good long stare at myself in the mirror.

I froze when I saw my reflection.

If it was my reflection. I couldn't be sure.

I raised my right arm. The reflection raised its right arm. I wriggled my shoulders. The reflection wriggled its shoulders. I shook my head. The reflection shook its head.

It was my reflection! The person in the mirror was me!

Then the reality set in. I let out a horrified gasped, which quickly turned into a loud, high-pitched scream. I raced out of the en suite, nearly crashing straight into the wall in my panic. I ran around my bedroom like a startled rabbit, screaming my head off.

"Oh my God!" I shrieked. "Oh my God! Oh my God! I'm a - "

I stopped dead in my tracks. I tried to calm down and suss out the situation like normal human being - without completely losing my head. I pinched myself hard on the arm, making sure that everything was real and I wasn't just dreaming (or stuck in a hellish nightmare).

"I'm a... woman?" I said with a question in my voice.

I peered down at myself cautiously. Sure enough, there was a fresh, new pair of boobs where my flat, masculine chest used to be. They were still quite small - only about the size of small oranges - but they still stood out. I gave them a small, playful squeeze and giggled childishly.

I gingerly felt the top of my head. My hair had grown longer, right down past my shoulders in thick, loose waves. I could feel it brushing against my shoulders. It made me shudder. I clasped my elbows, hugging myself, desperate to calm down. I looked at myself in my wardrobe mirror.

"How did this happen?" I murmured. I noticed that my voice hadn't changed much; in fact, it sounded pretty much the same as before. It was so strange hearing my deep man's voice coming out of my girly, heart-shaped lips.

"Oh God," I said, "this is not good. I can't show up to the studio like this!"

I had a sudden bright idea. I opened my wardrobe door, got down on my knees and began sifting through some boxes on the floor of the wardrobe. One of them, I knew, contained a collection of my mother's old clothes, straight out of the late 40's and early 50's. I found the right box and put on a blouse, skirt, and a pair of cream-white high heels.

I examined my outfit in the wardrobe mirror. I grimaced at how old-fashioned I looked, but it would have to do. I pinned my hair back to stop it from falling in my face, then headed out of the house. I made my way downtown to Abbey Road studios, a horrible feeling of dread resting in the pit of my stomach.

I had no idea how the other lads were going to take this new transformation.

I barely understood it, so there was no telling how they would react to it.

"They're my friends," I consoled myself as I walked, wobbling a little in the high heels. "They have to help me. They're a clever bunch, all three of them. They'll know what to do... I hope."

Like I said, drunken nights never go right, and they never pay off.

If this experience didn't put me off drinking for all eternity, I didn't know what would.