Back before you could peel a banana and make a vagina, Harry and Sally were married in nineteen hundred and eleven and begat three children in their roles as father and mother, of man and wife, of living in the genders that they loathed. And while Harry dipped his banana in her vagina on the three instances that produced your grandparents, these two pioneers in gender speculating history had had enough of dealing with reality.
These two were ready to switch roles.
So Harry became Sally.
And Sally became Harry.
Harry no longer had to be prisoner to his banana and had Sally tuck it between his legs every day while Harry tied Sally's minimal mammaries tight so she could be the flat chested man she always wanted to be.
In an interesting twist of fate, they both shared the same clothing size in their alt gender speculation.
Harry found Sally's clothes to be refreshing and made him feel like the woman he always knew he was. And Sally found Harry's loose fitting shorts to be a comfort on her loins and she grew accustomed to the tethering of her breasts that hugged her in a reassurance that her gender speculation provided for her.
And so Sally is now Harry.
And Harry is now Sally.
The children were so young that they didn't know momma was dadda or the reverse.
They didn't know that momma shaved and dadda didn't have to.
As Harry grew older, her facial hair finally gave her lips a covering of darkness she craved.
Sally grew fond of wigs and found his strangled family jewels were less robust with man hormones and his facial hair disappeared altogether and breasts started to grow where none had ever been.
This is how Harry met Sally.
This is how Harry became Sally.
And how Sally became Harry.
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