A family of four who take each other for granted get a chance to walk in one another’s shoes, and clothes, and bodies. Stephen swaps places with his mother Michelle, and Stacy with her father Mark. Was it the fortune cookies? Or that freak lightning strike? Or was it merely what was meant to be?
Mark Robinson got home late from work that Friday, having been in a meeting with his domineering boss that lasted well after the time he usually left the office. His family was annoyed because they'd had plans to eat out at their favorite Chinese restaurant. "Hey, everyone," he said as he came in the door, loosening his tie. "Sorry I'm late."
His wife, Michelle, was all done up, which made him feel even worse. She was wearing a tight, pale pink V-neck sweater over a silky white blouse with big lapels. She was 38. Her body definitely looked like it had borne two children. It was curvy, but her figure was well-defined, with a generous bust and wide hips and a narrower abdomen that had a bit of a tummy. Her face was pretty and youthful with a hint of makeup and her thick blonde hair was partly clipped back. She could still turn him on, but right now she was irritated, though she wasn't about to admit it. "We didn't know when to expect you," she said.
"I'm sorry," said Mark, setting down his briefcase and pulling off his tie. "I got away as quickly as I could. We're still on for dinner, aren't we?"
"I guess so."
Mark put his arms around her middle and tried to kiss her. She kissed back quickly but then turned away. His heart fell. He'd been hoping for sex tonight. It was a diminishing prospect.
When Mark, who was 46 now, had married Michelle, everyone had commented on their age difference, but now it seemed like nothing. He was in good shape, half a foot taller than her, with dark, receding hair and glasses.
"How are the kids?"
"Stacy is pretty upset. She got another rejection letter today."
"Oh. Well, she applied to a lot of schools. She'll get one sooner or later."
"That's what I told her. You try convincing her of it."
Stacy was a senior and hoped to go away to a prestigious school, but her background just wasn't too good. She was smart enough. It was just a matter of extracurriculars, which she'd never participated in much, being a rather shy person, even though she was just about the prettiest girl at her school.
"I'll have a talk with her," said Mark.
"And something's wrong with Stephen," said Michelle. "He's really moody. If I didn't know better, I'd say it's girl trouble."
"Do you know better?"
She shrugged. "He's never shown an interest before."
"He is fifteen."
"I know. You know how he's always just programming at that computer of his."
Mark had planned on changing clothes but now saw that the delay would just annoy his wife. "Well, let's go out," he said. "It'll cheer everyone up." He raised his voice. "Stacy! Stephen! Come on!"
A moment later the kids trudged into the room. Stephen was awkward and skinny, with his mother's blonde hair cut short and badly in need of a brushing. Stacy was wearing a vintage dress from the fifties, as she often did. It was blue and had a high collar with rounded lapels, bell cap sleeves, and buttons down the back. She wore panty hose and dainty blue flats. Her dark hair was parted at the side. Her face was almost angelic, with big dark eyes and dimples and a pointed little chin, but she rarely smiled. She'd never had a boyfriend, despite her looks.
"It's about time," Stephen complained. "My body was beginning to digest itself."
"Hey, sorry, guys," said Mark. "Come on, I'll make it up to you."
"How?" asked Stacy. "By taking us out to dinner?"
Mark didn't have an answer for that. They all went out and got into the car. Mark drove them to their favorite restaurant, China Lotus. It had a little indoor pond with a wooden bridge and a waterfall in the entryway. It was the most hideously faux Asian restaurant in town but they didn't know that. The owners were German and the kitchen staff was Mexican, but the waitstaff was Chinese, which was all that mattered to them.
They all ordered, and Mark started remarking on random things, the way he always did when he knew he'd screwed up and just wanted to get past it. This was a pattern with him. If he'd just been a little more firm and definite, then Michelle probably wouldn't have gotten irritated with him so much. Instead he was always trying to please her with his words while doing things he knew weren't considerate and trying to evade her anger.
As usual, though, he gradually wore Michelle down, who loosened and began responding. They talked about their days. Michelle was a lonely housewife. She was envious of how everyone else got to go out all day. But she did her best to be pleasant.
"And how were you guys' days?" Mark asked the kids.
"Fine," they said in unison.
"Anything new?"
"I got another rejection," said Stacy.
"Yeah, so your mother told me," Mark said. "Don't let it get you down, hon. That's just how it works. If they all accepted everyone, they'd all ... you know..."
"That doesn't really make sense, Dad," said Stephen.
"At any rate, you'll get into one soon and find that it's the right fit. You just need to enjoy yourself right now. It's your senior year."
"There's that homecoming dance coming up," said Michelle. "Do you think you'll go with anyone?"
"No," Stacy replied in a flat voice.
"I don't understand, sweetheart. You're such a lovely young woman. I sometimes think your problem is that you just don't give yourself a chance."
"Her problem is that she's a weirdo," said Stephen.
"Maybe you should ask Stephen his plans for the dance," Stacy said, smiling smugly. "I saw him having quite the conversation with Patty Jenkins today."
Stephen's face turned red. "Shut up," he said. He began fiddling around with the lazy Susan in the middle of the table, which held all the condiments and sauces.
"Patty Jenkins," said Michelle. "Why, she's two years ahead of Stephen."
"And about half a foot taller," said Stacy.
"Shut up!" Stephen repeated. He jerked the lazy Susan, and some of the bottles fell over.
"Stephen, stop playing with that," Mark said. Michelle picked everything back up.
Just then the food came. The conversation lightened up as they ate. They talked about their plans for the weekend. As they were finishing up their fortune cookies came. The waiter put them on the lazy Susan, which Stephen kept idly whirling around, partly because he knew it was driving his parents nuts. They finished and Mark paid the bill.
"Well," he said, "dessert. Let's see what the gods have in store for us."
"Oh, joy," said Stacy.
They took their cookies out of their cellophane wrappers and cracked them open. Each had the usual fortune on a slip of paper, followed by a smiley face, with lucky lotto numbers on the back.
"Oh, dear," said Michelle. "I think I got the wrong cookie."
"Why?" asked Stacy. "What does it say?"
"'Young hearts will find their match in the dance of life.' Well, I'm not exactly young, but I am young at heart! But I think this must have been meant for one of you two."
"Patty Jenkins," whispered Stacy. Stephen tried to jab her in the ribs with his elbow but she evaded him, laughing.
"Mine says, 'There are many schools in life but your next will be of your own choosing,'" said Mark. "This one must be for Stacy."
Stacy read hers. "'When a door closes at your work, a window opens.' Shows what cookies know. I don't even have a job."
"Lazy butt," said Stephen.
"What does yours say, Lover Boy?"
He looked at it, then blushed. She snatched it out of his hands, read it, and burst into peals of laughter. "'You will soon find joy in being the bearer of new life.' Oh, I can't wait to help you pick out some maternity wear!"
Now it was Michelle's turn to blush. She and Mark had talked about trying again. It really was almost like the cookies had been meant for them specifically, but that they'd gotten them mixed up.
When they went outside they found that it had started raining. Lightning flashed down from the sky in jagged bolts. They ran to the car and got in and headed out. Mark drove slowly, hardly able to see. The wipers were going full speed. Hardly anyone was on the roads. Lightning flashed almost nonstop. Thunder roared.
They got home and scrambled inside. The living room was dark. "My goodness!" exclaimed Michelle. "Will someone get the light? Never mind, I've got it." They had a touch lamp close beside the entryway. She reached out to it. As she laid her fingers on it, lightning struck right in front of the house. The lamp lit up as brilliant as the sun. Dazzling light played about the family of four. Then everything went dark.
Stephen awoke first. He groaned. His voice sounded strange in his throat, thicker, somehow, but also more ... musical. He was sprawled out on the couch. He tried to take stock of himself but everything felt off. Why did he feel so much ... fuller? So much more soft and ... fleshy? Slowly, he opened his eyes to look down at himself.
At first they could make no sense of what they saw, which was two big mounds wrapped in what appeared to be a pink sweater. The collar of the sweater was low-cut, and exposed the upper part of a white button-up blouse whose lapels rested on the sweater's collar. Of course he recognized his mother's clothes. But why was he wearing them, and why did they make his body look so ... ?
He sat bolt upright, feeling his whole body shift and bounce as he did so. Blonde hair fell around his face. Earrings swung at his earlobes, bouncing against the smooth flesh of his neck. He lifted his hands. They were slim, feminine. His mother's wedding band and engagement ring were on his left hand. "Oh, my God," he said in a rising voice that was not his own but which he now realized he knew very well.
With a growing feeling of horror he scanned the room. His dad's body was curled up on the floor in front of the couch. His sister was sprawled out on the floor. And ... his own body was draped across the easy chair, completely passed out.
"This can't be happening," he started to say, but he stopped himself when he heard his mom's voice coming out between his lips. His lips! His whole mouth felt completely different, his lips coated with some waxy substance. He got to his feet, feeling like he was directing a big, fleshy robot. He staggered over to the mirror in the entranceway. It was hard maneuvering in this body, with its radically different center of balance.
When he got the mirror he froze. His mom's mature, pretty face was staring back at him in shock, her big eyes opened wide, her pink lips slightly parted. Static electricity had messed up her hair. He raised his hands to his face, and his mom's reflection raised hers. He touched his cheeks. They were soft and downy. He felt a little base come off on his fingers. He looked down again. There, again, was his own mother's buxom body, her necklace hanging down from the rounded ledge of his bosom, swinging gently. He leaned over a little, and saw his mom's wide hips in the jeans she'd been wearing, and the flats on her small, feminine feet. He turned in the mirror and looked at his behind, which seemed impossibly huge now. It had to be some kind of nightmare or hallucination!
Stacy awoke from her stupor to find herself lying on the floor. Bit by bit she became aware of the strangeness of the sensations entering her brain. There was a hard strength in her limbs, a strange potency like she'd never experienced before. She felt powerful and ... somehow bigger. But her body had a rigid economy, a ... straightness ... that had been alien to her since she'd started to develop. All except in one place. For there was a package of flesh between her legs, pinched uncomfortably in the folds of the strange garments, loose yet constricting, that she was inexplicably wearing.
Slowly she opened her eyes and looked down. Glasses sat awry on her face. Glasses? Her eyes got wider as she took in the view. She was wearing a man's button-up shirt. It was blue, just like the one her dad had been wearing. And she had on gray slacks like his, too, and black loafers. Her hand lay curled before her face. It was large and rough and had a hairy back. Her dad's wedding band encircled one finger.
Somewhere she heard her mom's voice begin to say something, then suddenly cut off. She pushed up with her muscular arms and turned over. Her mom was standing in the entryway, turning in the mirror with a weird expression on her face. "Mom?" she grunted, only to shock herself at the sound of her own voice.
Her mom turned and looked down at her. "D-dad? Did you just call me ... ? I -- I'm not really Mom. I'm ... "
"Oh. My. God," Stacy said, exactly as a teenage girl would have said it, but with a middle-aged man's voice. "Stephen?"
"Stacy?"
"What happened to us?"
"I don't know!" wailed Stephen, wincing at the sound of his voice. "I just ... woke up like this!" He gestured at his womanly body. "I remember a flash of light, and then ... "
"This can't be happening," said Stacy. "I think we swapped bodies with Mom and Dad." She shifted uncomfortably. The ... thing ... in her pants was moving around, constricting with her growing horror at the situation. She looked down and groaned. "Oh, my God, I have a penis. I have Dad's penis."
"If we're them," gasped Stephen in his mother's musical soprano, "does that mean ... ?"
Stacy's eyes met his. "I guess ... they're us."
It was discomfort that woke Michelle up. She was lying across the easy chair. How on earth had that happened? Of course, she'd been reaching for the touch lamp, and had received some kind of shock. Lightning still flashed outside.
She heard voices. Mark, and some woman she couldn't quite place. She began gingerly gathering her limbs, but was struck by how thin she felt. Like she hadn't felt in, well, in ages. And agile, too, and full of energy. Had the shock done something to her nervous system?
She rolled herself off and got to her feet. Mark was facing away from her, talking to the woman. The woman ... looked exactly like her. How could that be? "What on earth?" she exclaimed. But her voice sounded all wrong. Deeper in pitch, but more nasal, with a tendency to break. She tried to clear her throat. The sound was horrible. She started to put her hands to her neck, but froze when she saw them. They'd gotten bigger and blunter, somehow, with chewed-off fingernails. Then she looked down at her body, and screamed.
Stacy spun when she heard Stephen's body scream. In two steps she was at her mother's side. "Sssshhhhhhh, it's okay," she said, taking her mom by the shoulders.
"Mark, what's happening? I don't understand. That ... that woman ... "
"I guess you're Mom. Michelle, that is. 'That woman' over there is Stephen. And you, well, get ready for a shock."
"Mark, you're not making any sense."
"I'm not Mark. I'm Stacy. Come here. Come over to the mirror."
Michelle let her husband's body lead her to the mirror. In the mirror she saw Mark and Stephen. She shook her head in confusion, and Stephen shook his. At last it began to dawn on her. "I ... I'm ... Stephen." She turned toward her own former body. "And that means ... "
Stephen shrugged his shoulders. That made his breasts bounce a little, and he winced.
They heard a groan, and all turned to face the source. Stacy's body was sitting up, shaking her pretty head. She looked with consternation at the legs stretched out before her, which protruded from a skirt and were encased in nylons. She frowned, which only made her look cuter.
"This is so freaky," said the real Stacy.
Mark in Stacy's body looked up at the trio. "What the hell?" he grunted. At least it was intended as a grunt, but it came out as a girlish little growl. He caught sight of his body standing there, and his jaw dropped.
"Come on, Dad," said Stephen from his mother's body, "I'll help you up." He went over and extended his hands to Mark, who took them in his own. Stephen pulled, and Mark got awkwardly to his feet. Neither of them were used to their new balance, of course, and Mark fell against his wife's former body, so that their breasts bounced against one another's. That made Mark gaze down at his new torso. He raised his hands to the bodice of the vintage dress he was wearing and gave his B-cup breasts an experimental heft.
"Daddy, please," said Stacy.
Mark looked at her. "Who ... ?" He shook his head, and felt his dark brown curls bounce.
"I'm Stacy," said his body.
"I'm Stephen," said Michelle's body.
"I'm Michelle," said Stephen's body, blushing and looking at the floor. "We ... we all swapped bodies."
"How did this happen?" Mark demanded.
"I think it was a lightning strike," said Michelle.
"Yeah," said Stephen. "I saw that touch lamp flash really bright at the same time. I think that had to do with it."
"Well, maybe there's some way to reverse it," said Mark. "I mean, if it was a physical effect, we should be able to reproduce it, right?"
"In about a million years, maybe," said Stephen.
"You guys," said Stacy, "it wasn't the lightning at all. Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?" asked Michelle.
"The fortune cookies! Remember? Remember how they were all, like, mixed up? What did mine say? 'When a door closes at your work, a window opens?' I don't even have a job! But Daddy does! And Daddy's said, 'There are many schools in life but your next school will be of your own choosing.' And I'm waiting to hear back from colleges!"
"Mine said, 'Young hearts will find their match in the dance of life.'" said Michelle. "Stephen, there is that dance coming up at your school."
"Yes," said Stephen. He blushed. "But I don't have a date or anything."
"What were the words of your fortune again?"
A look of distaste appeared on his face. "'You will soon find joy in being the bearer of new life.' Guys, does that mean ... ? I mean, I ... I don't ... "
Stacy broke in. "There. You see? We got each other's fortunes! It was the cookies that did this! Maybe all we have to do is get more cookies and trade with each other."
"But won't the fortunes we already have have to come true before anything else can happen?" asked Michelle.
"I think it's worth a shot," said Mark. "It doesn't make much sense, but then again none of this does."
"Well, we can try it first thing tomorrow," said Michelle. "What now?"
They all looked at one another. Finally, in a tiny voice, Stacy said, "Bed?"
"Where do we sleep?" asked Michelle. "In our own beds, or ... you know ... in our own beds?"
"Our bodies' clothes are in each other's rooms," said Stacy.
"I'm sleeping in my bed," said Stephen. "My own bed." He stumped off before anyone could object.
He went into his room and shut the door. He stood there for a minute, clenching his fists, digging his long, polished nails into the palms of his hands. Ought he to ... get undressed? Put on his own clothes, something comfortable to sleep in? His mind rebelled at the thought of seeing his mom's body in her underwear, even if he was the one wearing both body and underwear. He decided to just go to sleep as he was.
He threw himself on the bed. The shifting masses on his chest made it uncomfortable to lie down. At last he settled on his side, curled up, his arms crossed beneath his big breasts, his head in a cushion of blonde hair on his pillow. He fell asleep.
Mark and Michelle had gone to their own room. While looking up at the ceiling, Michelle took all the clothes off her skinny body. She stepped into a pair of her panties and pulled them up. They were too large and hung loosely from her hips and rear, while her new anatomy seemed intent on slipping out the front. She pulled a long sleeveless nightgown over her head. It also was too voluminous for her teenage boy's body. But she didn't care. She was still a lady, and she was going to dress like one.
"Help me," said Mark. He'd gotten off Stacy's shoes and was fumbling with the buttons at the back of her dress. Michelle glided over to him. "Lift your hair," she said. He lifted his glossy brown curls. She undid the buttons. "Thanks," he said.
He slid the dress off his shoulders and wriggled it to the floor. He stepped out of it. He looked down at his full breasts, which were upheld by a plain but elegant white bra.
"She has a lovely little body, doesn't she?" Michelle observed, a statement that sounded quite strange coming out of her mouth.
"Yeah," said Mark, blushing. He hooked his thumb inside his panty hose and peeled them off and tossed them into a corner. He strode over to his dresser and got out a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of boxers. "Hey," he said, reaching back. "Unhook this thing, will you?"
"I'm in bed. Just pull the strap down and unhook it. It stretches."
He did as she suggested. It took a moment, but he was surprisingly limber in his girl's body, and got it in the end. Looking at the ceiling, he hastily slid the bra off his shoulders and breasts and let it fall to the floor, then yanked his panties down and stepped out of them. He quickly put on his boxers and undershirt. They hung loosely on him, doing little to hide the curves of his nubile form. He went and got in bed.
He and his wife lay facing away from each other at opposite edges of the bed, now a teenage girl and teenage boy, physically sister and brother instead of husband and wife. He switched off the light. Silently, he put a hand up to one of his breasts. It filled his hand. He squeezed it gently, feeling the nipple through his undershirt, and sighed.
Stacy stood in the middle of her room, filled with a strange mix of emotions. It was horrifying to be trapped in an adult male's body, but it excited her, too. She felt so ... strong, so ... virile. She unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it open, revealing an undershirt. She ran her hands up and down her chest and stomach. They were so firm, so straight. She was so much bigger and stronger! She pulled the shirt off and tossed it to the floor. She kicked off her shoes. Her feet were gigantic.
She turned in the mirror, looking at her new backside. A wallet bulged out of her father's pants. She pulled it out and opened it. Mark Robinson, it said, beside a picture of her current face. For all intents and purposes, this was her now. Mark Robinson, a 46-year-old man. She put the wallet on her vanity. She undid her belt and unbuttoned and unzipped her pants and let them fall to the floor. She was wearing boxer shorts. She could feel her strange new anatomy shifting around within.
As quietly as she could, she went into the bathroom that adjoined both her room and Stephen's room. She listened at Stephen's door for a minute, then knocked gently and whispered, "Stephen?" No answer. She pushed the door open. He was in his bed, lying on top of the covers, eyes closed, breathing gently. His lips were parted. His arms were crossed under his breasts, which rose and fell with his breathing. Something about it gave Stacy a weird feeling. She hastily withdrew and shut the door.
Standing in front of the mirror, she pulled down her shorts. Her father's big penis met her gaze. She looked down at it. It was hers. Her own penis. She put one of her masculine hands to it, felt it respond with pleasure. Experimentally, she began feeling it all over. It started to get firm. Throbbing, it grew longer and longer. She shut her eyes and began rubbing in earnest. Soon she felt the pressure building up inside her. She gasped and hastily waddled over to the toilet. Hot white fluid spurted out of the end. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Oh, I'm a man, I'm a big man."
She got herself cleaned up, a little disturbed by what she had just done, but feeling extremely satisfied, too. She pulled up her shorts and went back into her bedroom. She thought about changing into some of her pajamas but knew she'd only ruin them. So she got into bed as she was.
Stephen awoke the next morning feeling extremely uncomfortable. His clothes had gotten all twisted up around his body. Had he slept in them again? Why did his body feel so big and soft? He looked down. "Oh, no," he said in his mother's voice, "it wasn't just a nightmare."
Groaning, he sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. He hadn't even taken off her shoes. He got unsteadily to his feet, swaying with his new center of balance. All at once he needed to go to the bathroom. He'd wanted to hold it until they got switched back. For a moment he paced back and forth, swaying his hips, trying to walk off the urge. At last the relief he'd get on the toilet outweighed his reluctance to deal with his mom's private parts.
He pushed into the bathroom, locked Stacy's door, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, yanked them down with his panties, and sat down. His big behind filled the whole seat. He reached down out of habit but pulled his hand away when he got nothing but wiry hair. Shutting his eyes tight, he let go. The pent-up urine sprayed out between his legs, and then he defecated.
"Ugh, this is so gross," he groaned. It was really weird that this was all from stuff his mom had eaten and drunk. When he was done he sat there a moment. Then, overcoming his fear, he looked down.
His soft white thighs were pressed together before him. He opened them slightly and saw a patch of blonde hair. His pants and underwear were around his ankles. The panties seemed enormous. They were beige, of a thick, silky material, and had fussy stitching around the top with a little bow in front, and an absorbent pad at the bottom.
A knock sounded on the door. "Stephen? Is that you?" It was his dad's voice.
"Yeah," he said in his mom's voice. "I'm almost done."
"Hurry, because I've got to go."
"Just a minute. This is kind of a lot to deal with, okay?"
He wiped himself. He'd always thought of women as having nothing down there, but this was definitely ... something. He stood and pulled up his panties and jeans and flushed. He was surprised when he looked in the mirror. His mom never looked this disheveled. He ran his fingers through his thick blonde hair and tried to straighten her blouse and sweater. It didn't do much good. For the first time he gave his big breasts an experimental squeeze. It was strange to feel his hands feeling his own breasts.
Another knock. "Stephen!"
"Okay already." He unlocked Stacy's door and went out, shutting own door behind him. He heard Stacy burst into the bathroom. "Aaaaah," she moaned. He could hear her peeing. "Oh my God. This is so weird but so much easier."
"How do you think Mom and Dad are doing?" Stephen asked.
"I wonder. I just hope they didn't put on their own clothes. I had the impression they were going to."
"Gross. Of course, being in someone else's body is pretty gross, too. Maybe it would make you feel normal to wear your own clothes. I might wear mine, but they wouldn't fit."
"Same," said Stacy. "I'm done in here. Can I come in?"
"Yeah, I guess so," said Stephen.
Stacy opened the door. "Wow," she said, "you look really ... bad."
"It was a rough night, okay?"
"You should at least brush your hair and wash your face. Your makeup is all over the place."
"It's Mom's makeup. Later. You really think we can undo this?"
Stacy shrugged. "Maybe it was the lightning, maybe it was the fortunes. I don't know. Those fortunes were pretty pointed. Seems like we'd at least have to, you know, fulfill them."
Stephen shivered. "That means I'd have to get pregnant."
"Look on the bright side," said Stacy. "Maybe you're already pregnant."
"You'd better hope so," said Stephen.
Stacy laughed. "Oh, I don't know. Mom looks pretty good for her age. I'd definitely call her a MILF."
Unconsciously, Stephen looked her over. She was wearing a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of boxer shorts. He had to admit that his dad looked pretty good for his age, too, although he was older than his mom. He shook his head, realizing where his mind was going.
"What now?" he asked. "Do you want to go see if they're up?"
"Let me just put on Dad's pants," she said. She went and did that and they went out.
They found their mother and father sitting in the kitchen with cups of coffee before them. Mark was wearing his dark blue robe. Michelle still had on her nightgown.
"Mom," whined Stephen, "you're making me look so gay."
"Stephen," said Michelle, "you didn't sleep in my clothes, did you? You'll ruin them that way. And you're lucky you didn't tear an earring out of your ear."
"You guys sleep okay?" asked Mark, trying and failing to sound gruff with his high-pitched girl's voice.
"Pretty well," said Stacy, sounding much more the man of the house.
Mark took a sip of his black coffee. "This is terrible," he said. He had a thought. "Stephen, you take a sip."
Stephen took the mug from his dad and tasted the coffee. "Yeah, it's pretty bad," he said, "but I've never liked coffee."
"Try your mom's," said Mark.
Stephen took his mom's coffee, which she'd loaded with cream and sugar, just like she always did. He took a sip. "Mmmm," he said. "Now that's good."
"Stacy, now you try mine."
Stacy tried Mark's coffee. "Not bad," she said, "and I don't even like coffee."
"You see what this means, don't you?" Mark asked.
Michelle looked at him. "It means that we didn't just swap bodies. Stephen has my likes and dislikes, and I have his. Same for you and Stacy."
They all felt very uncomfortable with this. "What else did we swap?" Stacy wondered aloud.
"There's no telling," said Mark. "I'd say it's time to go down to that restaurant and put an end to this nonsense." He was still trying to play the part of head of household but, given his teenage girl's body and voice, the result was a little pathetic.
"Great," said Stacy, unconsciously usurping his role. "I guess I'll be driving."
"I don't think so," said Mark. "You have a driver's license. I can drive in your body."
"It would look a little strange, wouldn't it, a teenage girl driving her whole family around, with her parents in the backseat?" said Stacy. "When we go out that door, we need to act like owners of the bodies we're in. Otherwise people will think we're crazy."
"But ... "
"No buts," said Stacy. "I mean it."
"I ... I think she's right," said Stephen, suddenly wanting to be a peacemaker for some reason. "I don't like it either, but we might see someone we know."
"Well, I hope you're ready to go parading around town as your own mother," Mark said petulantly.
Stephen looked down and blushed. Michelle got up and hugged him. He put his arms around her in response. It felt strange to her, being hugged by her own body, feeling her own breasts press into her torso. "It'll be okay, honey," she said. "We'll help each other. We'll get this fixed soon."
"It's settled then," said Stacy. "We'll all help each other get dressed and looking natural. Let's do it."
"Come on, Stephen," said Michelle. "Let's go to my room." Stephen followed her back. She went into her big walk-in closet and turned on the light. Dresses hung on the right rack, blouses, skirts, and pants on the left. Shoes occupied cubbies at the back. A stack of drawers filled with underwear, sleepwear, and swimwear stood at the end of the dresses. Everything was neat and organized. This was Michelle's inner sanctum.
She pulled a cream-colored blouse off a hanger and took a pair of black shorts off another hanger. The blouse was sleeveless and had ruffles down the front. "Can't I just wear a T-shirt or something?" Stephen complained.
"Around the house, sure, if you were cleaning or something. To a restaurant, no. Some women might. I wouldn't. And that's the point right now. Come on. This is casual." She laid the items on the bed. "Get undressed, and we'll get your face washed."
"Right now? With you watching?"
"It's my body, silly. It's not like I haven't seen it before."
Blushing, Stephen peeled off the pink sweater. It came inside-out as he did so. He pulled it up over his head and off his arms. It made his lapels stand up and further disarranged his hair. He undid his pants next, then pushed them down over his big bottom and wiggled them down his rather thick legs. He'd forgotten to take off his shoes, so he kicked them off as he yanked his pants past his ankles. He was just wearing the blouse now. He unbuttoned it, realizing for the first time that women's shirts buttoned on the opposite side. He slipped it off his shoulders and stood there in bra and panties, wanting to look down at himself but too embarrassed with his mom standing right there.
"Go ahead, take a look," Michelle said, as though reading his mind. "It's natural enough. God knows I'll be doing it when I change."
Blushing again, he looked down. He saw two big breasts supported by a beige underwire bra with big, padded cups and a little bow between the cups. Bending a little further, he saw a slightly protruding belly, cut into by the hem of the panties he was wearing, which matched the bra. The front panel cupped his soft mound. Craning his neck, he looked at his backside, and saw two enormous cheeks restrained by the flimsy beige fabric.
"You've got quite the booty, there's no denying it," said Michelle. "A lot of women wouldn't like that, but they don't realize how much men like something to hold at night."
"Mom! TMI!" Stephen protested, hastily looking back up. "Come on, let's get this over with." He picked up the shorts, which seemed amazingly large.
"First we need to get your face cleaned off." She went into the bathroom. He followed her in. She showed him the facial soap she used to remove makeup. After he got it off he was a little shocked how plain and pale his face looked, and how splotchy his skin was.
Next she showed him how to put her makeup on. She made him do it himself. "It'd be too hard to do it from this angle," she said. She kept it pretty low-key: a little base and blush, subtle rose lipstick, brown eyeshadow with just a hint of lavender. When they got done he looked in the mirror again. He was really pretty now! He'd always thought of his mom as rather old-looking, but now she seemed ... well, exactly his age.
Next she helped him brush his hair and fix it. Then he put on her clothes. The shorts, which had seemed way too large, turned out to be pretty tight. The blouse was tight, too. It buttoned in front, with buttons that went through loops instead of buttonholes, and it had ruffles around the collar and down the front and along his shoulders. It clung to his curves, especially his breasts, and the neckline exposed a hint of his cleavage.
"You look exactly like me," Michelle said to herself as he put on a pair of her sandals. She said it partly to convince herself of it, because, somehow, right now, Stephen didn't look like her. He looked like ... her mom. She shivered. "Well, I guess I better get changed."
"D-do you want my help?"
"I think I can manage. You can come if you want."
Together they went to Stephen's room. Stephen sat on a chair. Having his mom's big backside was like having a built-in cushion. He sat with his knees together and his hands folded on his lap. Michelle shut the door. She pulled off the too-large nightgown and let the loose panties fall to her feet. She was completely naked now. Stephen was taken aback by how young she looked, and how small, how ... scrawny.
She eyed her fifteen-year-old male body critically. Her penis was bigger than she'd expected, but smaller than Mark's. "I woke up with an erection this morning," she said. "Is that normal for you?"
Stephen blushed deeply. "Uh, yeah, I guess so."
"How long does it usually take for it to go down?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Um, I ... I don't really know."
"Oh!" Now it was her turn to blush. "Well, guess I better cover up." She opened his underwear drawer and got out a pair of briefs. "So, this Patty girl Stacy was teasing you about. Is it serious with her?" She put on the underwear.
"She's just this girl I talk to. I help her with her homework and stuff. She's a junior."
"Maybe she's interested in you."
"No, Mom. I mean, she's really pretty and ... well, she's taller than me."
Michelle pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped a green and gray baseball tee with three-quarter-length sleeves over her head. "Well, I think you're a very handsome boy," she said, putting her arms through the sleeves. "Any girl would be lucky to have you."
"Sure, Mom," said Stephen, rolling his eyes a little. "Anyway, right now, you're the very handsome boy. I'm a 38-year-old mother of two."
"True," she said. "But I'm sure we'll get this taken care of soon." She put on socks and shoes and they went out into the living room.
Mark was sitting there in Stacy's body, wearing some of her vintage clothes: a pair of dark blue high-waisted slacks and a white button-up cashmere sweater over a white blouse with a scalloped collar. His hair was pulled back into a pretty ponytail with a blue-and-white polka dot scarf. He was wearing makeup. It was darker than Stephen's because that was what Stacy wore. It went better with her dark hair. He looked a little sullen.
"What a cutie!" Michelle said. "You really went all in, didn't you?"
"Stop," he growled. It sounded funny in his new voice. "I let her doll me up so I didn't have to wear a dress again."
Stephen just couldn't get over how young his dad looked. He'd never thought of his big sister as being young-looking. But he was a little proud of how pretty his dad looked, too. He wondered if he was seeing him as a middle-aged woman and mother would see him.
Finally Stacy came in. She was wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt and slacks and boat shoes. "Ready, everyone?"
Stephen shrugged. "I guess we might as well get this over with." He started for the door.
"Aren't you forgetting something, 'dear'?" Stacy asked.
"Huh? What?"
"Your purse."
"Aw, come on. We're just going to the restaurant."
"You don't know what will happen while we're out. Mom never goes anywhere without her purse. And that goes for you too, Dad. You need to take my purse."
"But, Stacy," Stephen protested, "it'll make me look so gay."
"First of all," said Stacy, "don't use the word 'gay' as an insult. It’s offensive and immature. Second of all, you are in fact a lady right now, and ladies carry purses."
"Fine," he said. He went and got Michelle's purse and slung it over his shoulder. Mark hadn't budged.
"You too, Dad," said Stacy.
"No," said Mark. "I'm not carrying a purse."
"Help me out here, 'dear,'" Stacy said to Stephen.
Stephen sighed. "I guess she's right, Dad. Go on, get her purse. Really it's not so bad."
Mark looked from one to the other and, seeing no way out, stumped off to get Stacy's purse, ponytail swinging. "All right, already," he said as he returned. "Let's go."
They went out to the car and got in. It felt strange to Mark and Michelle to get in the backseat. It made them feel like children. Stacy took the driver's seat and Stephen got in on the other side. He buckled up, wincing at the sight of the belt cutting across his breasts, making them stand out.
"There's one last thing," Stacy said, adjusting the rear-view mirror to look at her parents. "While we're out, we need to address each other by our bodies' names. You guys need to call me Dad or Daddy, and Stephen Mom. We'll call you Stacy and Stephen. And Stephen, you call me Mark. You're Michelle now. Got it?"
"Got it," said Stephen.
"Guys?" Stacy asked, eyeing her parents. They didn't say anything.
Stacy nudged Stephen. He sighed. "Stephen and Stacy. Answer your father."
"Okay," Michelle muttered.
"Okay, what?"
"Okay ... 'Dad.'"
"Stephen?"
"Got it, 'Dad.' Can we go already?"
Stacy drove them to the restaurant. Although she was usually a bit of a reckless driver, she drove slowly and methodically, much like her father. They arrived at China Lotus and all piled out but found the door locked because it was only 10 a.m. and the restaurant opened at 11 a.m.
Michelle put her face to the glass, cupping her eyes with her hands. "Someone has to clean that glass, uh, 'Stephen,'" said Stephen. Michelle hastily stepped back, embarrassed to have been reprimanded by her son. Why hadn't she thought of that?
"What now?" asked Mark. "Go back home and wait?"
"We could go hang out in the mall," said Stacy.
"Sounds fine to me," said Stephen. Neither of the 'kids' wanted to do it but they were overruled. They walked across the parking lot into the nearest entrance, which happened to be for Dillard's. Inside they found themselves in the middle of the lingerie section.
"Figures," muttered Stephen, eyeing the racks of bras and panties and nighties that were now tailored to fit his body type. He'd always been embarrassed by this section in stores, partly because it kind of turned him on, but now it was twice as bad.
They hastily made their way through the lingerie and then the ladies' fashions to the middle of the store, where they normally would have divided up after deciding on a place to meet. But now they were in a quandary. Stephen wanted to go look at video games or music, while Michelle would have perused clothes in a department store like the one they were in, accompanied by Mark, while Stacy went to a designer clothes store. But of course now that wouldn't have worked.
"Well," said Stacy, after this had been pointed out, "why don't you 'kids' go entertain yourselves someplace that isn't too out of keeping with your current identities, while me and 'Mom' look around here. Be back at 11."
That seemed agreeable to everyone. Mark and Michelle went out into the mall, running the gauntlet of perfume counters, where lady after lady offered to spritz Mark. Michelle proposed splitting up but Mark objected. "What if some guy hits on me?" he whined.
"You just shoot him down," said Michelle. But Mark wouldn't hear of it, and they couldn't agree on a store that wouldn't look weird for them to enter, so they just decided to walk around.
Mark kept fidgeting, tugging at the cashmere sweater that hugged his substantial curves, brushing loose hairs out of his face, readjusting Stacy's purse. "This is so weird," he said.
"How do you think I feel?" Michelle asked. "I'm walking around with a penis between my legs."
"I definitely have it worse," said Mark. "Not only do I have the same sex change and age regression you have, but there's all this pressure for me to look ... pretty."
"Well, you're not just pretty, you're gorgeous," said Michelle. "Or you would be if you'd stop messing with yourself. Just put one hand on your purse and let the other swing at your side."
"Like ... like this?" he asked, consciously trying to adopt a ladylike poise.
"Uh, yeah. Wow. That's perfect, um, 'Stacy.'"
"Well, 'Stephen,' if you don't want people talking about you, you need to slouch a little bit and put your hands in your pockets or something."
"Oh. Right." She did as Mark had suggested. "I'm a little worried by how easily we're slipping into our bodies' roles."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, what if we lose ourselves? I mean, have our bodies take over so much that we just decide we'd rather stay with our new lives?"
"Not going to happen," Mark said with a contemptuous swing of his ponytail.
Meanwhile Stacy and Stephen were looking through the women's clothing at Dillard's because Stacy insisted that that's what their mom and dad would be doing. "It might be fun," she'd said. "We have their credit cards. We could buy Mom whatever we want!" Stephen hadn't agreed with that but he'd gone along with her all the same, not knowing what else to do.
Stacy was picking through the sundresses. "These look really good on Mom," she said. Every so often she'd pull one off the rack and hold it up to Stephen's buxom body. "Please," he growled under his breath. "The salespeople are looking at us. If you want me to hold something up, just tell me. It's better than you making Dad look like a ... you know."
"Okay, but only if you'll try a couple on."
"I'm not trying on dresses here!"
"Suit yourself." She pulled a dress and held it up to him. "Oh my Gawd," she said, almost shouting, "this is so cute!"
"Okay, okay, I'll do it," Stephen hissed. "Just cut it out, all right?"
"I thought you'd see it my way." She looked a moment longer, then handed him a dress on a hanger. "I'll wait out here by the door," she said. "Make sure to come out so I can see it."
"Here," he said. "Hold my purse. Make sure to just hold the strap. Don't put it over your shoulder or you'll make Dad look like even more of a weirdo."
He took the dress into a changing room. He unbuttoned his mom's tight blouse, revealing once again his generous bosom upheld by her heavy-duty bra, then unbuttoned and unzipped and wiggled out of his shorts. He put on the dress, which was yellow with a floral print. It had a square collar and a shallow V-neck with white buttons running down the front with short sleeves and a flared skirt. It was easy to put on. The material was thick but soft and stretchy. It hugged his rather thick form tightly. He spun in the mirror, watching the way the skirt floated up around his wide hips. He went out, blushing.
"Stand up straight," said Stacy. He obeyed, pushing his big bosom out into space, something he'd been unconsciously avoiding by slouching. Stacy looked him up and down critically. It gave him a strange feeling to have those eyes on him like that, the eyes of the person who was, physically and legally, his husband. "Turn," Stacy commanded. Once again he obeyed. When he faced her again she nodded. She had a peculiar, eager expression on her face. "Yeah," she said. "That's the one. Makes Mom look great. She'll thank us once we get this reversed."
"Can I change back into my own clothes now? I mean, you know, Mom's own clothes?"
"Sure."
He went and hastily took off the dress and got back into his mom's shorts and blouse. They went and paid at the cash register. Stacy used her dad's credit card and signed the receipt. She got a funny look right after she did so. "What is it?" Stephen whispered as they walked away with the bag.
"I wasn't even thinking about it, but I just signed with Dad's signature. Like it was my own handwriting."
"That's not good," said Stephen. He got Michelle's big wallet out of her purse and used a pen to sign her name on a slip of paper. He compared it to her signature on a cancelled check. They were identical. "I'm doing it too," he said. He thought carefully. "I ... I still feel like me. I mean, I don't feel like I've always been Mom. I've got all my own memories, and none of hers, I think."
"Same here," said Stacy, searching her mind. "I guess a lot just goes with your body. I mean, your brain is part of your body."
"I know," said Stephen. "What exactly did we switch? That is, I still feel like Stephen, but in a way -- maybe in the most essential way -- I'm Mom and always have been."
They were at the appointed meeting place. It was 11. They waited a quarter of an hour before Mark and Michelle showed up. "It's about time, guys," said Stacy.
"Sorry," said Mark. "We didn't have a clock."
They returned to the restaurant, which was open now, and went inside, Stacy holding the door for everyone else. Stacy went up to the host. "We'd like to speak to the manager," she said.
"Manager? Yes, one moment please." He bowed and went into the dining area and vanished from sight. A moment later he returned with a short, solidly built man with pale blue eyes and hair that might have been white or very light blonde. The man was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and white slacks. "Yah?" he said in a German accent.
"We'd ... like to speak to the manager," said Stacy, slightly puzzled.
"I am Hans Bundt, the manager," the man said. "How may I help you, please?"
"Oh! We, uh, we were in here last night and ... Look, this may sound crazy to you, but our fortune cookies came true, and put us in a very awkward position."
Hans had a look of consternation on his face. "My cookies? They ... make you sick?"
"No, no, nothing like that. They ... well, we think we got one another's fortunes, and then -- it sounds incredible, I know -- we swapped bodies. You see, I'm really the daughter. That used to be me, over there." She pointed at her father in her pretty body. "But now I'm my own dad. I'm him and he's me. And my brother and mother swapped bodies, too. It happened after we got fortunes that seemed to be for each other."
Hans was nodding slowly. "So, brother gets mother's fortune, and mother gets brother's fortune, and they trade bodies, yah?"
"Right. So we thought you must know something about it."
The manager shrugged his shoulders. "We buy cookies from wholesale distributer. Same ones every restaurant gets. How did trade happen? Was it right away?"
"No," said Stephen, speaking from his mother's body. "We got home. There was a storm. Lightning struck outside just as Mom was turning on a lamp, and we all blacked out. After that, we were like this."
"Then it was lightning that did it, and not cookies, maybe?"
"Yes, but it happened right after the cookies," said Stacy. "The way we all traded bodies matched the fortunes we got. That can't be a coincidence, surely."
"Maybe, maybe not," Hans said. "Maybe you get right fortunes, and they predict lightning strike."
"That would mean that we're stuck like this until lightning strikes us again," said Stephen. "That's what I was afraid of."
"Did fortunes come true yet?" Hans asked. "All the way true?"
"N-no, none of them did," said Stacy.
"If fortunes were true, you will not return to bodies until they come true all the way."
"Can't we just get some cookies and swap them and see?" Mark broke in. "I don't see where all this talking is getting us."
"You want cookies?" Hans asked. "I give you cookies."
"Maybe we should reproduce the exact circumstances," said Stacy. "We'll dine in."
"Ah, yes, good. You want buffet?"
"Sure."
"Good. I bring you cookies myself when finished."
They went into the dining room and got plates of food. They got the plates they would normally get, but when they sat down no one found what they'd chosen appetizing, so they swapped plates as they'd swapped bodies, with Stephen eating what his mom normally would have and so on.
Afterward Hans brought them their cookies and put them on the lazy Susan. Stacy rotated it so that her cookie went to Mark, Stephen's to Michelle, Mark's to her, and Michelle's to Stephen. With trembling hands they all opened their cellophane wrappers and cracked their cookies. They read their fortunes in silence.
"Well?" asked Michelle in a quiet voice. "What does everyone have?"
"I'll go first," said Stacy. "I have, 'The flames of old passion will be reignited.'"
"But ... but you've never even had a boyfriend," said Michelle.
"No, Mom, I've never had a boyfriend," said Stacy. "Thank you for that observation. Next?"
"I've got, 'First love will find you where you least expect it,'" said Mark.
"'While nurturing others, forget not to nurture yourself,'" read Stephen. "Oh, my God, another motherhood fortune. Except that it's more like advice than a fortune."
"Mom?" asked Stacy.
"'Size matters not,'" she read. Despite their predicament, they all burst out laughing while Michelle's face turned beet red.
"No good?" asked Hans.
"We just got more fortunes for the bodies we're in," said Stacy.
"Try more cookies?"
"No way!" said Stephen. "It's already bad enough."
"Yeah," said Stacy. "I don't know what else we can do except wait for the fortunes to come true, or find some physical way to reverse this. Maybe it's been researched or something."
"Well, lunch is on house," said Hans. "Please come back any time, my friends."
"Thank you," said Stacy. "We will."
A bit later the switched-up family stumbled dejectedly back into the house and sat around the living room. "Well," said Michelle, "what now?"
"Obviously, there's only one thing we can do," said Stacy. "We have to assume one another's identities and fulfill our fortunes. I don't know if that will swap us back, but we aren't going to swap back until it's done. Mom and Dad, that means you'll have to go to school for us. I'll go to work for Dad, and Stephen will take over Mom's duties at home."
"How can we do all that?" asked Stephen. "I mean, I can handle what Mom does around the house, I guess, but how are you going to go to work for Dad?"
"We have the rest of today and all day tomorrow to learn what we need to know for our new roles," said Stacy. "I'm sure we've all noticed that our new bodies come with certain ingrained habits. I think we can rely on those once we get pointed in the right direction."
"And what about our fortunes?" asked Michelle. "Don't we need some kind of game plan?"
Stacy thought for a moment. "No, I don't think so," she said. "I think we can just trust those to work themselves out. We just need to keep them in mind, because once they're all fulfilled we can think about how to swap back."
"Easy for you to say," said Stephen.
Everyone looked awkwardly away. "Well," said Michelle after a moment, "shall we get started?"
They split up. Mark and Stacy went to Stacy's room while Michelle took Stephen to her own room. Michelle started her son turned mother in the bathroom, showing him how to go through her nightly routine, shower, shave his legs and armpits, use maxi pads, and so forth.
"Do ... do you have any of those tests to see if ... if ... you're pregnant?"
"No, baby."
"Do you think ... ?"
"I hadn't expected to tell you about all this for some time yet, but it may as well be now. You see, when a man and a woman love each other, they -- "
"I know about sex, Mom. Duh."
"Oh! Well, your father and I haven't had ... relations ... in a long time."
Stephen nodded. He looked down at his body yet again, surveying the curve of his big, soft breasts with the ruffles of his blouse and line of buttons in loops in between them. He sighed.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," said Michelle, "but, if it means anything, you have my permission to do what you see fit with my body. You're an adult woman now, and you have your own needs and desires."
"Thanks," he mumbled, his face reddening. "At any rate, I've got to ... you know ... don't I? Or else we can't swap back."
"Well, like I said, you do what you're comfortable with. The rest will sort itself out."
They moved into the bedroom. Michelle gave him a tour of her closet space, particularly of her drawers. She explained what kinds of underwear she wore with various outfits and why, and how to match shoes with slacks, skirts, and dresses. Stephen found it all overwhelming. Being a woman was complicated! He was reflecting on that and not listening to his mom when he realized that she was getting another outfit down and laying it out on the bed.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Are you listening? I said you need to take a shower. It'll be a good test. Once you're dressed and everything, we can go over your school day and all that. Okay?"
"Um, okay," he said, although it really wasn't. He hadn't yet seen his mother's body naked yet, but there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Michelle went out, closing the door behind her, leaving him alone in her personal space, with all her clothes and accessories and makeup, which were technically his now.
He took out the big earrings and removed her wedding band and diamond engagement ring and put them in her jewelry box. He went into the bathroom and slowly unbuttoned his blouse and let it fall to the floor. He undid his shorts and wriggled out of them as well.
Now he was down to his underwear again, his mom's heavy-duty, matching unmentionables. He reached back and fumbled with the broad strap of his bra and got the three hooks unhooked. The thick cups came loose off his breasts. He eased the straps forward off his shoulders and slid it off his arms. He held it up, turning it in his hands, marveling at how big it was. There was a tag on the broad back strap. 38D. "Whoa," said Stephen.
He dropped the bra to the floor and, slowly, looked down. For the first time now he saw his mother's bare breasts. They sagged down a little without support but were still firm for her age. The nipples were incredibly big, with tips that stuck out like pink pencil erasers. He put his hands to them and squeezed them gently, and felt their tips harden in his fingers. It was so strange, and yet, somehow, it felt so natural, so right, to have them. He felt so ... mature, so ... motherly. And that was good and right.
He pulled down his panties and stepped out of them. Gently, he probed his new genitals, beginning to get aroused. His crotch got a little wet and slippery under his fingers. Then he remembered whose private parts he was touching and hastily withdrew his hand. He sat on the toilet and peed, then leaned back there for a moment, feeling relaxed.
He held up his hands. They were small, feminine, though a bit larger than his own had been. They were a woman's hands. He put them on his protruding abdomen and rubbed it a little. He had been inside of it, years ago. Slowly, he slid them up to his breasts again. He cupped them, squeezed them. They were so warm and soft and round. He was getting aroused again, this time more strongly.
With a pounding heart, he opened his legs, revealing his mother's mound and the patch of auburn hair beneath. He laid one slender hand against her hairy cleft. It was moist. His middle finger slipped easily inside. He slid it further and further up, until it was as far as it could go. He sighed in contentment. It felt so good to be filled like that. He began moving it in and out, and found that the pleasure came from one small spot. He focused his efforts there, moving in and out more and more rapidly, kneading his round, firm breast with the other hand. His lips were parted and flushed, his eyes rolling back in their sockets. Suddenly pleasure exploded through his body. He jerked and shuddered, clunking against the back of the toilet.
He cleaned himself up and flushed and got up. Standing in front of the mirror, he smiled at himself. He really didn't look old at all. He was really pretty. Shrugging, he turned away from the mirror and climbed into the shower.
He took his time showering. He lathered his big body with strawberry-scented body wash, soaping up his big breasts over and under, surprised at how good it felt to handle them like that, and rinsed off, then cleaned his hair with shampoo and conditioner. Last of all he shaved his legs and armpits, which took a while. When he was finished, he got out and dried himself off quickly, then wrapped his long hair in the towel with scarcely a second thought, and wrapped a second towel around his breasts.
He went into the bedroom and sat at her vanity. Part of his task was putting makeup on himself. He started with base and a little blush brushed onto his cheeks. Next he applied some dusky lavender eyeshadow. His mom wore a lot of makeup but she used subtle tints. Last of all he applied some rose-colored lipstick. It was a bit strange, running the stick over his lips, reflecting that it had been shaped by his mother's lips, which were the very lips that he now had.
Now he turned to the clothes his mom had put out for him. The underwear included a cream-colored bra with thickly-padded cups and a pair of cream-colored panties. The bra was another hefty underwire thing, size 38D, with three hooks on the big strap. The cups were decorated with a floral imprint. The panties were a little worn and seemed impossibly huge. Zigzag stitching ran around the waistline and there was a little bow in front.
He dropped the towel from his torso and pulled on the big panties and then put on the bra, sliding the straps over his shoulders and settling his breasts in the big cups before hooking it behind. He hooked it deftly, as though he'd been doing it all his life.
The outer clothes included a pair of denim capri pants with sparkles on the back pockets and a pink shirt that said "World's Best Mom." It was a shirt he'd gotten his mom for Christmas the year before. Rolling his eyes, he got into the pants -- they were extremely tight on his bottom, and he had to wiggle back and forth to get them on -- then took his hair down and pulled on the shirt. The shirt was of a thin, stretchy material, with very short sleeves and a low U-neck. It clung to his every curve, with the "World's Best Mom" stretched proudly across his big breasts.
He went into the bathroom and used a blow dryer on his hair and brushed it the way his mom had shown him and then pulled it back with a clip. Finally, he put on rings as well as earrings -- small gold hoops this time -- and went out, hips swaying, bosom bouncing at each step.
Meanwhile, Mark was doing his best to explain his job to Stacy. It was a lot to take in, so he was writing her notes as he went. He was chagrined to discover that, try as he might, he couldn't keep from using his daughter's handwriting. He used little circles to dot his i's, for instance, and once he even dotted an "i" with a heart. And without thinking about it he drew little clouds around the really important points.
Stacy was nodding but her mind wandered. It would be so strange to show up to her dad's work in her dad's body and be treated as a man. Would she really be able to pull this off? More importantly, would her dad really be able to pull off being her? She'd gone over her schedule and homework assignments. They'd decided that he needed to do her work, given their swapped handwriting styles. It wasn't the work that worried her, though, but the kids at school. She wasn't really close to anyone, being a reserved sort of person, but she still had her reputation to maintain. She didn't want her dad making her look like a weirdo.
Her mind started to stray toward her brother. No one in the family knew this, but, deep down, she was really attracted to women, not men. Her mother's body was something else entirely, of course. Could she really ... ? She felt a stirring in her pants as she thought about it. She tried to suppress the thought. That was just wrong! Was it, though? In what sense was that person her brother ... or mother? Wasn't she really an adult male now? And wasn't that technically her ... wife?
"Stacy," said Mark. "Stacy! Are you listening?"
"What? Oh! Sorry, Daddy. Yes, you were talking about the Higginbotham account."
"That was two minutes ago! What's on your mind?"
"Nothing!" she said, her cheeks growing hot. She tried to quickly adjust her pants but he caught it.
"Oh," he said. Now it was his turn to blush. It made his face look even prettier. "Yeah, I guess you ... have a lot to come to terms with. If you ... have any questions ... "
"Ew, Dad, gross, no. I'll figure it out."
They returned to Mark's work. When they got done she left him to his own devices, in her room, and went out to find Stephen. He was in the living room, sitting in their mom's usual place on the couch. He looked up at her as she came in. She chuckled at his shirt. "'World's Best Mom.' I'll believe it when I see it." Her gaze lingered a little too long on his bosom.
"Hey," he said, "my eyes are up here."
She rolled her eyes. "Please. At this point you should feel complimented."
"Well, I don't. You really think we can pull this off?"
"We're going to have to."
"You're telling me," he said, looking down.
"Hey," she said tenderly, unconsciously putting her hand on his, "it'll be okay. We'll get through this."
He responded by squeezing her hand. "I just have so much ... I don't know, anxiety, about ... you know, everything."
"It'll be okay," she repeated, softly. They were searching one another's eyes, Stacy looking down into Stephen's face but seeing her mom's mature, pretty face, which was, for all intents and purposes right now, her wife's face.
She leaned in and touched her lips to his full, feminine ones. He didn't reciprocate but he didn't pull away, either. She put one hand on his soft stomach and touched her tongue to his lips, which parted slightly. He laid a slim hand on her shoulder and began to push back with his lips. His hand slid to her neck and massaged it lightly.
She rubbed his middle, brushing the bottom of his breast through the thick cup of his bra with the edge of her hand. "Mmmm," he moaned into her mouth, but then he pulled away. "Whew," he said, shaking himself. "Yeah. How about helping me make dinner?"
"Okay," she said, drawing back, giving his hand one final squeeze.
Together they put together a pasta meal with asparagus on the side. When it was ready they called in their parents and everyone sat down to dinner. Michelle was impressed and said so. It was strange, sitting at the table with her kids in her own and her husband's bodies. It was hard to avoid feeling like she really was the teenage boy, and they really were her parents. She found that she had an enormous appetite now but that she couldn't stand asparagus. Everyone else found their usual tastes swapped, too.
After dinner, Stacy and Stephen made their parents clear the table and wash the dishes. Whereas the kids had worked well together, Michelle and Mark kept bickering about how to divide up the task and calling each other names. After everything was cleaned up. they all went into the living room to watch TV together.
Star Trek was on, and, as luck would have it, the episode was "Turnabout Intruder." "Ugh," groaned Mark, "change the channel."
"I want to watch this," said Stephen.
"This is what we're going to watch," said Stacy. "You're welcome to go do something else, Daddy."
But he stayed, unable to tear himself away. It was weird to watch something unfold in fiction that was happening to them in real life. They kept remarking on points that seemed especially realistic. All in all, it wasn't badly done, though a bit on the chauvinistic side. They wondered why everyone considered it one of the worst Star Trek episodes. "Just political correctness, I guess," said Mark.
Stacy laughed at the part where Kirk, in a woman's body, held Mr. Spock's hand. "He could always have done that if he'd really wanted to," she said. "He didn't have to wait to be in a woman's body first."
"But he's not just in a woman's body," said Stephen. "That's what makes it so realistic. He really is a woman right now, and he knows it." Stacy gave his hand a little squeeze.
When the episode was over everyone decided that it was about time to turn in. "Same arrangements as last night, I guess," said Mark.
"No," said Stacy. "Until we fix this, I think we need to sleep in the rooms that go with our current bodies. That's where our clothes are, for one thing."
"No way," said Mark. "Listen, whatever I may look like right now, I'm still the man of the house, and I'm not going to sleep in a teenage girl's room."
"You're not a man, though, Dad," said Stephen. "You really are a girl. You're just going to have to get used to that."
Mark got to his feet and put his hands on his hips. "Stephen," he began.
But Stacy cut him off. "That's another thing," she said. "I think we need to call each other by our bodies' names even when we're at home. This isn't Stephen right now to you guys. This is Mom or Mommy. And I'm Dad or Daddy. And you need to treat us with respect, just like we treated you when you were in these bodies."
Mark snorted and opened his mouth to make a sarcastic remark, but Stephen surprised everyone by interrupting him and saying, "And anyway, the sooner your 'dad' and I get used to sleeping together, the sooner we have a chance of swapping back."
That shut everyone up. Stacy put a hand on his back and rubbed it, feeling the big strap of his bra through his stretchy shirt. No one said anything for a minute. "So," said Stacy at last, breaking the silence, "I guess that's settled, then. Okay, 'kids'?"
"Okay," they both muttered.
So they all went to their new rooms. Stephen went into his mom's closet and closed the door to change. He peeled off the pink shirt and denim pants and tossed them in the hamper, then unhooked his bra and slid it off and hung it up on a hook on the back of the door. His big breasts swung freely again, and it was a bit of a relief.
He went through his mom's sleepwear drawer and got out a nightgown she often wore. It was sleeveless, lavender, with ruffles on the shoulder straps and across the high neckline and around the bottom hem. It slid snugly over his body. He could see the bumps of his nipples through the stretchy fabric. He pushed them in with his fingers, but that was a mistake, because they just got stiff and stuck out more. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror, still not used to seeing his mother's body staring back at him. His breasts, sagging slightly though upheld by the tight gown, pointed in different directions, the nipples clearly visible. He bounced on his feet, and they jiggled up and down. "Man oh man," he muttered. "What a fix."
He went out into the bedroom. He could hear Stacy going to the bathroom. He took his earrings out and put them away. Stacy came out wearing just a pair of boxer shorts.
"You look ... pretty," she said.
"Thanks," said Stephen, blushing slightly.
"Can ... can I kiss you again?"
"Okay."
They moved toward one another. Stacy put her hands on his big hips. He took her shoulders in his hands. Tilting their heads slightly in opposite directions, they pressed their lips together. Stephen's breasts pushed against her chest as they did so. They stood like that for a few minutes, swaying, searching one another's mouths with their tongues. Stephen's hands locked behind Stacy's neck while hers slid to rest on his voluminous backside, squeezing his buttocks lightly through his nightgown and panties.
Stephen pulled away. He gave her one more peck on the lips and then stepped back. "That's enough for now," he said.
Meanwhile, Mark was in Stacy's room, going through her drawers, none too pleased with his loss of status. He undressed quickly, still extremely uncomfortable with the new body he was wearing, and got into a tank top and shorts Stacy often wore to sleep in. He looked at himself in the mirror, to all appearances a very cute teenage girl. He stumped over to her bed, got in, and turned out the light. As he lay there in the darkness, he massaged one of his breasts again, and sighed contentedly in spite of himself.
Michelle lay awake in bed with the lamp on, very conscious of how different this body was from her own. She put her hand into her underwear and felt herself. It was so strange, but, somehow, she kind of liked it. She got up and reached under the mattress and pulled out the magazine she'd found there a few weeks ago while cleaning. She opened to the centerfold and looked at it. Her mouth fell open and she went stiff at once. Absently, she reached down and began massaging herself. She thought about being with a woman like that, about burying her face in those breasts and ...
She rushed to the bathroom and let herself go.
The next morning the swapped family got up and ate one another's breakfasts, still wearing one another's pajamas. It was Sunday morning and, after some debate, they decided to go to church. It was a fairly nonthreatening way to test how convincing they could be in their new bodies.
Stephen put on a short-sleeved floral dress of his mother's, red roses on black, the first dress he'd worn on her body, other than the one he'd tried on at the store. It tied in back and had a tight bodice with a low scalloped neckline and buttons down the front. He paired it with open-toe cloth-covered black high heels and black hose. He hadn't worn heels before, either, but somehow he found it no trouble to walk in them. He clasped a string of pearls around his neck and admired how they rested on his bosom. Last but not least, he spritzed a little perfume onto his neck.
Stacy was in the bathroom. She shaved at the sink. In a way it felt like she was shaving a mask as she peered into the mirror at her own father's face, which she was now wearing. It was strange to be shaving her face and not her armpits or legs. It was strange how rough her skin now was.
She finished and got undressed and got in the shower. This was her first shower in her father's body. Actually, it was the first time she'd been completely naked in her father's body. She looked down at herself, at her hard, masculine form. The hot water running down it felt good, especially on her penis and big, hairy testicles. She bent over a little to examine them. She hadn't realized how uncomfortable they could be -- the balls, really, not the penis -- but right now they felt very nice. Gently, she cradled them in her big hands. Her penis began to grow and stiffen.
She took the detachable showerhead off its hook and held it beneath her, so that the hot water pelted her groin from below. It tickled deliciously. Her balls contracted and her shaft lifted. It was almost shocking to her how long and thick it became.
She closed her eyes and began thinking of Stephen. She thought of kissing those big, motherly breasts, of sliding her hot shaft deep within the folds of his vagina, of moving in and out while he looked lovingly up at her and came to climax. She thought of Stephen on hands and knees on the bed, of coming up behind him and entering him that way, of having his enormous ass pressed against her stomach, of wrapping her strong arms around his torso and thrusting hard while he called out. She thought of standing before him as he knelt down, looking up at her, and unzipped her pants, and gently pulled out her huge penis, and, still staring into her eyes, slid his soft pink lips around ...
She ejaculated. Her body jerked uncontrollably. Her legs almost buckled. She grabbed the bar at the side and dropped the showerhead. Water began spraying everywhere. Quickly she picked it up again and replaced it.
A knock sounded on the door. It was her mother's voice -- no, Stephen's voice -- no, her wife's voice, full of motherly concern: "Is everything okay in there?"
"It's fine," she called. "I, uh, just dropped something."
As she finished showering, her head now clear, she thought about her current state. For a long time she hadn't really believed the stuff they talked about at church, about your soul and all that. Now she supposed she kind of had to believe in souls. But it was different than she'd always thought. A soul wasn't just this kind of ghost that could hop into different bodies. No, it somehow bore the stamp of its body, or maybe it was more correct to say that it was the stamp of its own body. At any rate, she had the memories of a teenage girl, but she had the body and brain of an adult man, a father and a husband. Wasn't it really the memories that were out of place, and not the body? It wasn't that she had the wrong body, but that she had the wrong memories. A kind of madness? Still, she was who she was. She still had that side of her, feminine, graceful. She wasn't so ready to just give that up.
When she got out and dried off she decided on nicer clothes than her father ever wore to church: a fine suit with a vest and a matching tie. She even sprayed on some cologne, which he usually didn't bother with. She had to get Mark to help her tie the tie. Mark himself was wearing a short blue and green plaid dress with a white collar and pockets, hose, and low heels, and barrettes in his hair. Stacy looked him over approvingly as he showed her how to tie a Windsor knot.
They went out and found Michelle in a pair of jeans and a nice button-up shirt. Her hair was combed more neatly than Stephen ever combed it. All together, they were a handsome, well-dressed family.
They walked into church together, Stacy holding the door open for the others, and took their seat on their usual pew. Stacy sat where Mark usually did, on the outside, with Stephen in his mother's place beside her, and their two parents on the inside. Stacy unconsciously put her arm around Stephen, and he unconsciously moved toward her. This was the first time they'd been around people they knew, and it made everyone feel like they were in disguise. Especially when it came time to shake hands, and the people around them treated Mark and Michelle as the kids, and Stephen as a lady and Stacy as a man.
After church an old woman came up to them as they were leaving. "Just one moment, please, ma'am," she said, putting her hand on Stephen's arm. Stephen glanced at his mom to see if she knew her, but all he got was a blank stare. "Yes?" he asked, smiling uncertainly.
"I just have to tell you that you have the most beautiful family. You must be very proud."
"Uh, yes," said Stephen, "I am."
"May I say a blessing over you all?"
"Sure," said Stacy.
The old woman took each of their hands. "Lay hands on your children for me," she ordered them. With their free hands, Stephen put his hand on his mother, and Stacy put her hand on her father. "Lord God," the woman said, bowing her head, "bless this lovely family, and give them goodness and happiness, and let them grow in love, supporting one another, and finding their true life callings. And give this beautiful couple more children to love. Amen."
They all said amen. "Thank you so much," Stephen said after a poke from Stacy. The old woman patted his arm maternally and moved away.
In the parking lot they were hailed by Angie, one of Michelle's friends. "Michelle!" she kept calling. Stephen almost walked right past her, forgetting that, right now, he was Michelle.
"Hey, Mom!" Michelle growled under her breath. "You're up again! We have a date tomorrow. She's probably wanting to talk about it."
"Oh!" said Stephen, turning. "Hi, uh, Angie." Angie was a little shorter than him, with long black hair, olive skin, and Latin features. She was wearing an orange shirt-dress with a big vinyl belt that matched.
"Are we still on for tomorrow? Hi, Mark."
"Hi, Angie," said Stacy.
"Yes, of course," said Stephen, trying to smile like his mom. "I'm looking forward to it!"
"Pick you up at a quarter till?"
"Sure," said Stephen. "See you then."
Angie left, and they all got in the car. "Any other dates you've forgotten to tell me about?" Stephen asked as he settled the seatbelt across his breasts.
"I have a salon appointment on Tuesday. I'm getting my nails done. That is, you're getting your nails done."
Stephen looked down at his nails. "They look fine to me. Anyway, can't I do them myself?"
Michelle shrugged. "I guess it's up to you, 'Mom.' They're your nails. It's another thing I'd have to teach you to do. This is one thing you can pay someone else to do."
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
When they got home, they had lunch together, keeping on their Sunday clothes, which was a kind of tradition with them.
Afterward they all changed. Stacy got out of her father's suit and put on a loose button-up shirt and khaki slacks. Mark opted for a snug white vintage top with a bow at the front -- blue with white polka dots -- and shorts that matched the bow. He set to work on "his" homework. Michelle put on a T-shirt and shorts and worked on "her" homework as well, surprised to find herself writing in Stephen's angular scrawl.
Stephen had planned on wearing a T-shirt or something but for some reason he instead went for something a bit more ladylike. The shirt he put on was white and tight and had short sleeves with button flaps and a plunging V-neck with a big bow at the bottom, between his breasts, whose shape and size were accentuated by the pleats running across them from the bow. Vertical seams ran down the shirt, which followed the contours of his mother's torso, and the collar had pointed lapels.
He paired it with black slacks which, as usual, looked way too big in the seat until he actually had to wriggle his posterior into them. They hugged his assets more than the other clothes he'd worn had, and for a while he felt self-conscious moving around in them, feeling the way his ass shifted this way and that as he walked. But once as he passed a mirror he caught himself admiring the curve of his bosom exposed by the neckline of his blouse, and the contour of his large but shapely behind, and wondering what Stacy thought of them.
They spent the latter part of the afternoon going over lessons on how to be each other. In the evening Stephen and Stacy made dinner together. They had a good time, laughing over small things. Sometimes, when they accidentally touched one another, they lingered in contact for a moment longer than was necessary.
At dinner Stephen sat beside Stacy and looked over his family. His family. As that strange old woman had said, it was a beautiful family, and it was his family. He was a mother right now, and those were his two beautiful children. His breast swelled with pride to think of it. True, they hadn't been his for long, and he hadn't done the hard work of bearing and raising them. In a way, though, he had, hadn't he? Because his mom's life was his life now, regardless of what he had bouncing around in his head. He just needed to accept that, accept his role as mother and wife, at least until they got this all reversed.
That night when he went into his mother's closet to change, he put on a black satin nightie with spaghetti straps and a lacy neckline. It ended just below his hips, so that his panties could be seen in the back, especially if he bent over. He wore matching black panties, also lined with lace.
He went out and found Stacy just emerging from the bathroom, wearing boxer shorts and an undershirt. They froze and looked in one another's eyes for a moment. Then Stephen strode deliberately forward, put his hands on her face, and gently drew her lips down to his. He kissed her firmly and gently, then slid past and whispered hotly into her ear: "I'm ready to reignite the flames of old passion. I want to bear new life within me."
"Oh, Stephen," whispered Stacy.
"Michelle, remember? Call me Michelle."
"I love you, MIchelle."
"I love you, Mark." He took her earlobe gently in his teeth then slid his tongue around her ear. Her hands went around his torso and slid down to his big buttocks as he wrapped his arms around her neck, pressing his generous bosom against her chest.
They locked lips again. She slid her large tongue into his sweet mouth. He pushed back with his own tongue, sliding all over hers as it moved across his teeth. Holding his satin-encased bottom underneath his nightie, she thrust her groin hard against his. He could feel her erection. He reached down gently with one of his slim, womanly hands and cradled her gently. She jerked in surprise and faltered a moment, then groaned deeply.
One of her hands slid up his torso to his full breast. She began to fondle it, squeezing it gently through the lacy fabric. Stephen released her and put his hand on hers to guide it. He moved it so that she palmed his entire breast. She kneaded it, feeling the nipple go hard beneath her fingers.
Stephen moaned and began to kiss her all over. "Is it okay if we move to the bed?" he whispered between kisses.
She nodded. He kissed her a last time and moved back. She turned out the light. He peeled his nightie off and got quickly into bed, lying flat on his back, propped up a little on the pillows. For a moment Stacy looked down at her mother's mature body lying naked there, wearing nothing but panties, big breasts spread out but still firm and full, slightly thick torso shuddering with anticipation. Her legs were open, inviting, her black panties cupping her soft mound, with a few stray hairs escaping out the sides. But no, she corrected herself, this wasn't her mother's body. It was her wife's body. She stripped.
Stephen, watching her, had something of the same thought process. Here he was, inhabiting his mom's body, awaiting the crushing embrace of his father's strong arms, his vagina moist and eager, almost hungry. He watched his father's body strip, shocked for a moment at the big penis standing out erect, bouncing a little with the rhythm of his heartbeat. But then he told himself, no, this is my husband, and I am his wife. I am Michelle. I am a beautiful woman. He desires me and shall have me.
Mark climbed onto the bed and over his wife's body. He began kissing her neck. She writhed with ecstasy, moaning as his teeth nipped gently at her flesh. He moved slowly down to her big white breasts. She took his head in her hands and directed him to her nipple. He took it in his teeth and began to suckle. She gasped as it filled his whole mouth and his tongue circled the spongy tip. "Oh, Mark," she groaned, "I want you inside of me so bad."
"I want to be inside of you," said Mark.
"Soon," said Michelle. "Soon."
She pushed him gently off her breast. He was a little disappointed until he realized that she just wanted him to move to the other breast, which he did. She wrapped his legs around him and began thrusting against him a little. He could feel the moisture through her panties. The musk of her womanhood filled his nostrils. He moved off of her and slid his hand down into her panties. She fell completely limp as he moved over her soft, hairy mound and massaged her. "Oh, Mark, that feels so nice," she said.
"I just want to be a good husband to you," said Mark.
"And I want to be a good wife to you. I'm ready."
He withdrew his hand. Michelle pulled down her panties and tossed them off the bed. She spread her legs while Mark positioned himself between them. He moved over her. The tip of his penis touched her. They looked one another in the eyes as Michelle gently guided it into her. It slid inside easily. Mark pushed up as far as he could go. Michelle's eyes and lips opened wide at the sensation of being filled. Mark began pumping. She wrapped her legs around him and encircled his torso with her arms and moved with him.
They fell into a rhythm. Michelle moaned a little with each thrust. Her moans got louder and louder until she was almost shrieking. Then her whole body went rigid, and she sobbed. Her nails dug into Mark's back. "Ohhhhh, my God," she moaned. "Oh, what's happening? It feels so good." Mark kept thrusting. "Okay," she said, panting. "Just a minute. I need just a minute." He stopped. They looked into one another's eyes and shared a quick, sticky kiss.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "Do you want to stop?"
"No. Do you?"
"No, but I want you to be on top now."
"Okay."
They switched positions. Mark settled himself into the warm, moist nest she had made with her body, and she clambered somewhat awkwardly on top, straddling him. She got up on one leg and maneuvered herself down onto his penis. It slid up inside her as she lowered herself onto it. She sat there for a moment, settling her big buttocks on his lap, leaning over him, breasts swaying before his face, arms on his shoulders. Then she began moving. She rocked back and forth as Mark moved his pelvis in unison. He cupped her breasts in his hands. She looked into his eyes, lips parted, breathing heavily.
"Oh, God," he groaned. "I'm about to. Oh, I am." She felt him spurting hotly deep within her. At the same instant she came to a climax for the second time that night. Her arms got weak and she cried out in ecstasy. She collapsed on top of him, pressing her soft, sweaty bosom against his hairy chest, draping her thick blonde hair over his face.
"Okay," said Stacy after a moment. "I have to come out." Stephen pulled away from her and lay at her side, snuggling up to her.
"You should lay on your back for a bit, with your knees up," said Stacy.
"Why?"
"It increases the chances of conception."
"Oh! I forgot," said Stephen. He did as she'd suggested. He kept trying to snuggle with Stacy but she was completely uninterested in him now, so eventually he gave up. I didn't know women stayed turned on for so long, he thought. After a bit they got cleaned up and dressed in their night clothes again and went to bed for good.
Michelle lay awake in Stephen's bedroom. She'd heard them making love. It made her feel strange and uncomfortable. For a while she tried to understand her feelings, then realized: she was feeling much as any teenage boy would feel upon hearing his parents having sex, combined with a strange sense of loss, as though she were the one who should be making love, but that this right had been taken away from her, stolen from her, while she was imprisoned in this awkward adolescent male body.
Stephen awoke to the alarm. He turned it off and got up and went to the bathroom, forgetting that he needed to sit down until he pulled up his nightie and pulled down his panties. After relieving himself he quickly went to his closet to change before the "kids" saw him in such sexy sleepwear. He put on a pair of black yoga pants and a sports bra and a stretchy pink workout shirt, a type of outfit his mom typically wore around the house when she didn't want to get fully dressed yet. Stacy was sitting up in bed as he went out to start the coffee.
Mark had beat him out to the kitchen, much to his surprise. He was dressed in dark blue slacks and a white button-up blouse with a scalloped collar and a periwinkle cardigan. His torso filled out the blouse nicely. His dark brown curls were pulled back in a ponytail tied with a blue-and-white polka dot scarf. He was wearing a little makeup and had studs in his ears. He looked very pretty.
"Good morning, uh, ‘Stacy,’" said Stephen. "C-can I get you some breakfast?"
Mark rolled his eyes, looking more like a teenage girl than ever. "No thanks, 'Mom.'" He poured out a bowl of shredded mini-wheat -- a cereal he normally hated -- and began eating at the bar.
Stacy came out wearing a suit and tie and exuding confidence from every pore, looking perfectly at home in her male body and role as she poured herself a cup of coffee and a bowl of granola like her father always did. She asked Mark a few last-minute questions. He was still sullen about his loss of status, though, and brushed them off with annoyance.
Soon enough it was time for Stacy to go. Stephen followed her to the door. They looked to make sure Mark couldn't see them, then embraced and kissed.
"Have a good day," whispered Stephen. "You'll do great."
"Thanks," said Stacy. She gave him one last kiss. "Bye."
"Bye."
Stacy went out the door. Stephen went back to the kitchen. Michelle came in wearing Stephen's usual T-shirt and jeans. She ate a bowl of the sugary cereal Stephen always ate. At last it was time for her and Mark to head to school. Out of instinct they hugged their "mom" on the way out the door, a ritual Michelle always insisted on but which they now performed almost unthinkingly, each of them only realizing the weirdness of it when they felt Michelle's soft, motherly body, now inhabited by Stephen, press up against their own new bodies.
A moment later, Mark, driving Stacy's car, glanced sidelong at his former wife and asked, "Are we in character or out of character?"
"Out, if you like."
"Okay, then. How's it going?"
She shrugged. "How do you think? I'm trapped in the body of a 15-year-old boy." She blushed, then said, "I heard them making love last night."
"What? Really?" He felt like he should be indignant, but instead he was just curiously resigned. "I guess I should be disturbed by that," he said, "but they are a married couple right now. It's perfectly natural. They kissed when Stacy left for my job this morning."
"I'm just scared I'll never get back to being myself. That I'll be stuck like this forever."
"Based on the fortunes we got," said Mark, "their being intimate is the key to reversing all of this."
"But what if they decide they like being us?" Michelle asked. "What if they don't want to swap back? What if ... what if I decide I don't want to swap back? I mean, what if I get so used to being Stephen that my mind adapts and I start feeling like I really prefer being him?"
"There's no sense worrying about all of that," said Mark.
"And there we are again," Michelle said.
"What do you mean?"
"You always say something like that when you're tired of talking about something .You never accept the responsibility of dealing with a problem. You always just leave it to me. I don't feel like you ever really think about me as a person. I'm just this thing for you to deal with."
"That's not true," he insisted, feeling helpless, the way he always felt when he was trying to evade Michelle's accusations. He resented her being on his case but that was because he didn't really have any defense for himself. Deep down, he knew that he really did just "deal with" her, that he pretty much did just do what suited him while weakly trying to make it seem otherwise to his family. But facing that fact irritated him. "Every time you don't like something I do," he said, "you tell me how I 'always' do this and I 'always' do that. How can I answer for everything at once?"
"And there you go again, analyzing how I'm arguing with you instead of just, I don't know, saying, I'm sorry and I'll fix it."
"I'm sorry and I'll fix it," he said. "There. Is that good enough?"
"Sure," she spat. She folded her arms and they rode in silence until they got to the school. Mark parked in the parking lot. They sat there looking at all the high schoolers streaming into the building, feeling very inadequate, very insecure about how weird they might seem to their new classmates, as adults hiding in the bodies of teenagers of the opposite sex.
"I'm kind of nervous to go in," said Michelle.
"So am I," admitted Mark. "Sorry about earlier. I should take more responsibility and put you all first. If I had been doing that all along maybe we wouldn't be in this crazy predicament right now."
"It is pretty crazy, isn't it?"
"Yeah." He sighed. "I'm Stacy. I'm Stacy! I have to keep repeating that to myself. I'm afraid of blowing it today." He looked at his pretty face in the rear-view mirror. "My name is Stacy Robinson. I'm 17, going on 18. My mom and dad are Michelle and Mark Robinson."
"You're more than nervous, aren't you?" asked Michelle. "You're scared. Can't say I blame you. I think it is harder being a girl than a boy."
"I guess it is," said Mark. "It's more than that, though. We just don't know anything about Stacy's social life."
"No," said Michelle. "Stephen has Randy and Jared. Randy drives me nuts, but they're both pretty good boys, and we know them pretty well."
"Don't forget Miss Patty Jenkins."
"I don't think she counts," said Michelle. They both laughed. "Well," said Michelle, we don't want to be late."
They got out and went in.
As Mark went through Stacy's classes that morning, he noticed how all the other kids talked and laughed together in their various cliques, but that no one talked to him. There wasn't animosity. Stacy just didn't seem to be close friends with anyone. He supposed he should have known that, would have known that if he'd been a more attentive dad. But right now he realized that Stacy had been practicing a kind of aloofness, partly because of shyness, but partly because of something else he didn't quite understand. It was in there somewhere, at the back of Stacy's brain, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The vintage clothes were part of it, a way of seeming to set herself apart by choice, a way of making it less painful for her. He was starting to understand his daughter much better. He just wished it hadn't taken literally becoming her to do it.
Michelle, meanwhile, was chagrined to find that she was a lot shorter and scrawnier than most of the boys and many of the girls in Stephen's grade. Worse yet, the social awkwardness she'd started to inherit from him made her the butt of everyone's jokes. She started to understand why Stephen never wanted to talk about his day.
It really came home to her during his PE class. With the other boys she was out running cross country. Dave Watson, a big, athletic junior, lapping her, grunted, "Out of my way, you fucking homo weakling." Angered, she shouted a little comeback rhyme she'd often used during her private school days. Dave stopped, looked at her in wonderment, then beat the shit out of her.
As she picked herself up off the ground, groaning with pain, she blushed to think of how she'd recommended that comeback to Stephen when he'd tried to come to her about the bullying he faced two years before. It dawned on her how out of touch she'd been as a mother.
She crept ashamedly into the locker room at the end of the period. Nothing could have prepared her for what she now had to endure: a room full of naked boys strutting in and out of the shower room, mostly sporting penises much bigger than her own. She kept her eyes carefully averted after the first shock, unconsciously trying to hide her own smaller equipment. As she got dressed in Stephen's regular clothes again, a thought came unbidden to her mind: "Size matters not."
At lunch she sat with Stephen's two friends, Randy and Jared, who had a social status similar to Stephen. Both boys, but especially Randy, had always annoyed her as a mother, but now she realized that they had Stephen's back and he had theirs. She began to laugh and goof around with them in spite of herself, and began to feel more confident.
After lunch, she was changing textbooks at Stephen's locker when a girl came up to her. The infamous Patty Jenkins, no doubt. Patty was a few inches taller and had a pretty face with curly brown hair pulled back in a clip. She was wearing a tight cream-colored top with a denim shorts-and-jacket combo, faded rose print on cream. Michelle unconsciously put Patty's breasts at C-cup and felt a vague stirring in her pants. Right then, she decided she was going to win this girl, who undoubtedly had a secret crush on her handsome son, as a date for that dance. She was going to show everyone that her boy wasn't just a "homo weakling."
"Hi, Stephen," said Patty, simpering. "Did you have a nice weekend?"
"I did," said Michelle, speaking confidently and looking her in the eyes. "How about you? That's a cute outfit, by the way."
"Uh, thanks," said Patty, not quite certain how to take this. "Listen, I really need some help with this algebra today, so I was wondering if you could help me out during study hall."
"I'm busy then. How about your place right after school?"
"Oh! I ... guess we could do that." She looked surprised. "Um, okay, sure."
"Here," said Michelle, holding a piece of paper on one of Stephen's books. "Give me your address." Patty wrote it down. "Will your parents be home?" Michelle asked nonchalantly.
Patty looked up at her and a strange smile spread slowly across her face. "No," she drawled. "Now, Stephen Robinson, what has come over you?"
Me? Nothing. Why? What do you mean?"
"Okay, Stephen. See you this afternoon, Stephen." She sauntered off, waving her shapely behind. Michelle turned toward her locker, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Patty looking back at her curiously.
Stephen spent all morning doing his mom's chores, following the list she'd written for him. He cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms, then began gathering clothes to start a load of laundry. He went into his old room, and was a little surprised to find his clothes strewn all over the floor, given that his mom was always on his case about not using his hamper. Had she done it on purpose, or was she falling into his old habits?
The weirdest part was picking up the clothes he'd been wearing the day of the switch. He'd put them on, and his mom had taken them off. As he cleaned the pockets of his jeans, he came across the original fortune, all wadded up. He straightened it out and examined it again. "You will soon find joy in being the bearer of new life." He looked down at his body again, seeing only his mom's two large mounds restrained by her pink shirt and sports bra. He sighed and went on with his work. At one point he put the fortune down on his parents' dresser, reluctant to throw it out for some reason.
He was a couple of loads in when it came time to get ready for lunch with Angie. He went into his parents' bedroom to get dressed. He stripped and showered and dried his hair. For the first time he was able to just walk around naked in his mother's body. It still appalled him to look down and see her womanly, middle-aged form, but the freedom felt good. He put on beige panties and a matching bra, then began going through her blouses and pants and skirts and dresses, sliding the hangers down the rod one by one, debating what to wear.
He tried to pick an outfit that his mom wore when she went out with her lady friends. The top he decided on was a layered combination, a silky black sleeveless shirt with a high neckline and a row of small buttons with loops -- his mom seemed to like buttons like that -- under a short-sleeved heavy cloth blouse with a floral print, low neckline, and big black buttons. It was very snug -- his mother didn't go in for hiding her body's "imperfections" the way some women did.
The top went with a pair of purple slacks with buttoned back pockets that made his ass look enormous when he turned and examined himself in the mirror. The outfit was a little dowdy for his taste but somehow he knew that other ladies his current age would find it "cute," and that was what he was going for. He wore matching purple pumps on his feet, a few gold bracelets on each wrist, and big gold earrings. He did his hair and put his makeup on last of all.
When he was all finished he couldn't help but admire himself in the mirror. It was the first time he'd gotten himself ready in his mom's body without his mom's help, and he'd done a perfect job. He looked every bit the classy middle-aged woman out on a lunch date. He looked down at his big-bosomed torso, at the rows of buttons on his mother's tops going up over the twin mounds and vanishing over the rise. This was him now. He was Michelle. He spritzed on some perfume and got his purse and went to wait outside.
Angie pulled up a few minutes later. She waved when she saw Stephen. He got into her car and buckled up and they were off. Angie was shorter and about ten years younger than his mom. She had long, wavy black hair and olive skin and a pretty face with full lips and big dark eyes. Today she was wearing a button-up blouse with pink and white vertical stripes and a gray skirt. They were modest but showed off her full, womanly curves. She was a single mom who taught at a community college.
She was talking about something that had happened at the store that morning. Stephen commented every now and then, feeling extremely awkward. He was glad Angie was so chatty because he really didn't know what to say. He kept thinking about how this woman, who had been a kind of honorary aunt to him, was now much younger than him. He'd always had a crush on her -- he thought she was really pretty -- but right now he couldn't feel anything like that about her. She was more like ... a little sister.
They ate at a little tea room she and his mom liked. He ordered soup and a sandwich that sounded good to his current body. As they chatted he began to feel more natural. He didn't have his mom's memories, but he had her brain, and instinct began to take over as he caught Angie up on his "husband" and "kids." When he got to "Stacy," Angie broke in and said:
"Now, there's something I need to ask you. My nanny just quit. I can put Celeste in the daycare during the day, but I teach night class two nights a week. Do you think Stacy would be interested in babysitting? I'd pay thirty dollars an hour."
"Oh!" said Stephen, knowing that "Stacy" would most certainly not be interested, but that that was also pretty good money. "Well, I think she might be. Of course, she's got her, um, homework and everything to keep up with. I can ask her." Stephen smiled to himself. It tickled him to think of his dad as a teenage babysitter.
"Well, how about you send her by my place this evening?" said Angie. "I can show her around and she can play with Celeste for a bit and see what she thinks."
"Sure, okay," said Stephen.
He paid for lunch. It was exciting to use his mom's credit card, which came out of her wallet, which he got out of her purse. He had to show her ID as well. He glanced at it as he put it back. Michelle Robinson, age 38. That was him.
When Angie dropped him off he was surprised to see his dad's car in the driveway. He went in and found Stacy sitting on the couch, staring at the floor. "Hey," he said, "what's going on?" She didn't answer. "Is something wrong?"
"I lost Dad's job today," she said with a catch in her voice. "I screwed up this big deal they've been working on. Dad's notes ... I don't know, they were crazy. He lost more in the swap than he realized, I guess. In the back of my mind I kept thinking, no, this isn't right. I should have listened to my instincts. But I was like, I'd better stick to what Dad said. Now what are we going to do? Mom and Dad are going to kill me."
"'Stephen' and 'Stacy' are in no position to come down on you for anything," said Stephen. He set his mom's purse down on a table and sat beside Stacy. "It's not your fault. In a way, it's Dad's fault, for insisting that he was still the one in charge. Don't they have to give you two weeks' notice or something?"
She nodded. "They did. I'm not officially terminated yet. But I was pretty upset so they gave me the rest of the day."
Stephen put his soft arms around her and gently drew her head down to his breast and shoulder. She turned her body, putting her feet up on the couch, so that she was looking up at him. He lowered her onto his pillowy breasts and cradled her big, manly head, looking down into her troubled face.
"That's nice," she said. He took off her glasses and began stroking her hair. "I can hear your heart beating," she said. "When I was little, Mom used to hold me like this, and the sound of her heart beating always calmed me down."
"Me, too," said Stephen. "Now it's my heart beating."
She reached up and touched his face. "Yeah, I guess it is. Now you're the mother, and the one who has to calm other people down. Who will comfort you?"
"Well, I guess technically Grandma is my mother now," said Stephen, smiling wryly.
"Oh, man," said Stacy. "I never thought about all that. Weird. Like, when our cousins come over, we'll be the adults drinking wine with our aunts and uncles in the kitchen, and Mom and Dad will have to go entertain the kids." She snuggled against his bosom. "This is kind of a dowdy outfit. All those buttons."
"You're one to talk. But I wore it for lunch with Angie. We went to a tea room. She wants to give Dad a job as a nanny."
"Oh, he'll love that. Is it weird, having these things?"
"What? Oh, those. It was at first. I guess it still kind of is. I mean, they just stick out everywhere. It's the first thing people notice about you. You kind of want to do things to hide them or something. But eventually you're just like, this is my body, and I might as well be proud of it."
"They're big," said Stacy. "Mine weren't anywhere near that big."
"They're D-cups."
"Wow."
"Yeah, they can be pretty uncomfortable. But Mom has some pretty good bras. I can tell they cost money." He hesitated a moment, then leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. He rubbed her chest. "I know where you can get another look at them, if that would make you feel better."
Stacy smiled at him. "Thanks, but ... well, frankly I don't think I have it in me right now. I'm too depressed about the job. It was really embarrassing."
"I'm sorry."
She sighed. "Thanks for being so understanding. I don't know what we're going to do for money. I guess with my residual expertise and dad's resume I can probably get another job pretty soon. From that fortune I thought I was going to get a promotion or something. 'A window closes and a door opens.' I guess I was shown the door all right."
"Oh, yeah," said Stephen. "Well, at least that means we've covered another fortune." Suddenly a thought struck him and he looked off into the distance, thinking, his big earrings swinging.
"What is it?" asked Stacy.
"Just a minute," said Stephen. "Here, get up."
"Okay," said Stacy, mystified. Stephen jumped up and ran out of the room. He ran all the way to his parents' bedroom, body bouncing at each step. He snatched up the slip of paper he'd found earlier, the one fortune they had left.
Stacy burst into the room behind him, bewildered. He was laughing triumphantly. "Why didn't we think of this before?" he cried.
"What do you mean?"
He handed her the fortune. "Here," he said. "Take a look at that."
"I know, it says you'll bear new life within you. Congratulations, you're going to be a mommy. What about it?"
"Turn it over, dummy."
She did. "L-lucky lotto numbers. What a minute. Do you think ... "
"Everything else came true! We just wait for a big jackpot and play those numbers, and you'll never have to work again! That's your 'door'!"
He took the fortune from her and put it down. They looked into one another's eyes for a moment. Then, like two magnets released, they flew into each other's arms and began kissing passionately. Stacy's hot hands roved all over Stephen's womanly body. "How about now?" he whispered into her mouth.
"The kids will be home soon."
"We'll just have to be quick, then," said Michelle.
"I know just the thing," said Mark.
Two minutes later they were on the bed, both with their slacks and underwear around their ankles. Michelle hadn't even taken off her purple heels. She was on her hands and knees. Mark was kneeling behind her, between her outstretched legs, pushed up against her big buttocks, shaft thrust deep into the velvety folds of her vagina. He was pumping her, hands on her wide hips, pulling her hard against his groin. With every thrust she released a small, high-pitched "Oh!" or "Oh, Mark!" As she took over the rhythm herself, pushing back and forth on her husband's engorged penis, his hands roved up her sides and came to a rest on her big breasts, cupping them through the thick fabric of her two tops and underwire bra.
Unbeknownst to them, Mark -- the other Mark, the Mark inhabiting Stacy's body -- had just gotten home. He heard the noise from his former bedroom and went and looked in. He saw his own body kneeling on the bed when it oughtn't even to have been home, pants around its ankles, grinding against his wife's former body from behind, his wife's body on its hands and knees, moaning in unison with the rhythm of their motion. His body turned and saw him there. They exchanged a knowing glance. "Oh, my God!" shrieked Michelle's body -- or, rather, Michelle -- digging into the sheets with her manicured hands. Mark's body returned to the business at hand, finishing off inside his wife's body.
Mark in Stacy's body, slightly repelled but more resentful than anything, turned and went to Stacy's room. He closed the door behind him. If they were going to treat their bodies with such wild abandon -- Michelle had never let him try it from behind! -- he was going to do as he pleased with Stacy's body. No more of this pretentious vintage crap. He threw open the doors to her closet and began going through her clothes.
A few minutes later Stacy poked her head in. She was surprised to find her father wearing a floral-print empire top with spaghetti straps and short white shorts, an outfit she hadn't worn in more than a year. He was sitting on her bed, flipping idly through a fashion magazine. "Wow," she said, "you look really ... cute."
He looked up. "Is that all you have to say?"
Stacy's face got hot. "Sorry about earlier. We didn't think you'd be home so soon."
"Just glad you're comfortable in your new skin," he said sarcastically.
"Well, what do you expect us to do? You know what Stephen's fortune said."
"And what are you doing home so early?"
"I, uh, lost your job."
Mark's jaw dropped. "What? Good God! What happened to all the instructions I gave you?"
Stacy looked at the ground. "Actually, those were what got me fired. I should have just followed my instincts. What you gave me were more like what a teenage girl would advise me to do if she knew next to nothing about my job."
"That ... that's impossible! I'm still the same person on the inside!"
"I don't know if that's really true, Daddy," said Stacy. "Don't worry, though. I think I can get some good references. With my growing background knowledge I should be able to get something lined up pretty quickly. The Kincaide Associates comes to mind."
"The Kincaide Associates ... would be a step up," he agreed.
"Where's Mom, by the way?" asked Stacy. "'Stephen,' I mean."
"She's tutoring that Patty girl."
"Is she. Hmmm. Interesting. Oh, by the way, Angie wants you to come over tonight. Something about being a nanny so she can teach night class a few times a week."
"What? You guys didn't even ask me!" He sounded exactly like a petulant teenager.
"There's no pressure to accept," said Stacy. "Just go over as a courtesy. But it sounds like good money. Give you something to buy clothes with."
"I have a bank account to buy clothes with," Mark snapped.
"Not right now you don't," said Stacy.
"And anyway, I can't see myself taking care of babies."
"What are you talking about, 'Stacy'? All girls are good at taking care of babies." She smirked and quickly left the room.
Stephen decided to change. His lunch clothes were uncomfortable, and anyway they were a little the worse for wear from their lovemaking session. He kicked the heels off in his mom's closet and stripped down to his panties and bra.
He went through his mom's clothes yet again, this time selecting a stretchy dark blue sleeveless top and a pair of jeans. He got into them quickly. Both were tight on his rounded form. The top had a high neckline with flowers embroidered in white below and, below that, pleats to accommodate his expansive bosom.
He went to the vanity and cleaned his face and hair up a little. He fell into a reverie as he stared at his mother's pretty face. Mrs. Robinson. That was his name and title now. He picked up a wedding picture of his mom and dad and looked at it. His wedding day. That pretty, slim young woman in white was him, though he didn't remember it.
Well, he had a good opportunity to fold some laundry now, and then it would probably be time to start thinking about dinner.
Meanwhile, Michelle was over at Patty's house, helping her with some algebra homework. Michelle had always been terrible at math herself, and she certainly knew nothing about quadratic equations, which was the topic Patty was studying in class. But somehow as she looked over the section it all "came back" to her, seemingly out of nowhere. All her life she'd felt so dumb. It was exciting to be smart, even if it was with her son's teenage brain.
It was even more exciting to be using that intelligence to help a pretty girl. She kept stealing glances at Patty's face in spite of herself, and enjoying the warmth of Patty's body, which was seated so close to her own. She felt a little thrill whenever their hands accidentally touched. They were at the dining room table. No one else was home. Patty had taken off her short-sleeved jacket, and her cream-colored top showed off the curve of her torso. Michelle had to fight to keep her eyes away from Patty's breasts as they brushed up against the table.
"What's got into you today, Stevie?" Patty asked, apropos of nothing, as she copied a solution down.
"What do you mean?" Michelle asked.
Patty shrugged. "I dunno. You're just acting different. Kinda funny." She wrote a bit more, then said: "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were hitting on me earlier."
"Do you have a date for the dance?" asked Michelle.
Patty put down her pencil and leaned her cheek on her fist to peer into Michelle's face. "Stephen Robinson, I do declare. Don't you think you're a little ... young for me?"
"No," said Michelle. "Do you?"
Patty smirked. "Maybe."
"Will you go with me?" asked Michelle.
"You are just full of surprises, aren't you? It so happens that I don't have a date, because my boyfriend and I just broke up. So I guess I don't have a good excuse not to go with you, do I? Suppose I say yes."
"Then I'll pick you up at seven," said Michelle.
Patty laughed. "With what? Do you even have a learner's permit?"
Michelle blushed. "I, er, mean I could come by here, you know, walk over, and ... "
"I would be honored to give you a ride."
"Great! Then I'll come by here at seven, okay?"
"Sure, Stephen." Patty leaned in and kissed Michelle softly on the lips. It was very strange for Michelle to be kissing a young woman who was both larger and older than her. As they lingered there, the thought shot through her mind that this was Stephen's first kiss, that she was stealing a momentous occasion from him. Well, he would thank her later, when he saw what a pretty girlfriend she'd gotten for him.
But just then Patty's mom got home, and they had to get back to business.
By that point Mark was at Angie's, being shown over the house and given instructions for how to take care of Celeste, Angie's baby. Mark had always been a little attracted to Angie. She was small but very pretty and had a nice figure. He found himself still attracted to her, which surprised him a little, given everyone else's altered ... preferences. But he found himself attracted to different things now. Her body didn't do much for him anymore. He thought she had a very pretty face, and liked very much how she did her hair and makeup and how she wore her clothes. None of those were things he'd ever really thought about before.
Then Angie showed him her room -- she was giving him a kind of tour since it was a new house -- and he saw into her big walk-in closet with all her things hanging in order. He longed to just go in and touch her clothes and maybe even try some on. And then it struck him that maybe his preferences had changed, that what he had now were in fact Stacy's own deep attractions. Stacy was attracted to women.
Of course he took the job.
As he drove home he thought over how blind he'd been not to realize what was causing his own daughter such stress. How often had his and his wife's obtuseness hurt her? And to think that it took him literally turning into her and living her life for a few days to make him understand. His brown curls bounced as he shook his pretty head. It would serve him right if he got marooned in this body forever, and had to deal with all the problems he'd made for this life he'd been forced to take over.
When he got home he found Stacy and Michelle sitting on the front patio and talking. To all appearances it was a father-son exchange, but of course right now it was a daughter-mother exchange instead. The daughter just happened to be an adult man, the mother a teenage boy.
"Hey, guys," he said in his girlish voice. "What's going on?"
"We're talking about guy stuff," said Michelle from her son's body.
"Oh? Well, I happen to know a thing or two about that," said Mark. "Any questions?"
"Yeah," said Stacy. "How do men ever get comfortable with these things wiggling around between their legs?"
They all laughed. "What's Ste-Mom up to?" he asked.
"'Stemom' is making dinner," said Stacy.
"Tsk tsk. And you're out here enjoying yourself, while she's in there cooking food for you."
Stacy blushed and looked a little sheepish. "I guess I'd better go help. You kids enjoy the fresh air." She went inside, and Mark took her place.
"So," he said, "how'd you make out with the infamous Patty?"
"Funny you should put it that way," said Michelle.
"Are you serious? Do you mean ... you kissed her? I ... I don't know how I feel about that."
Now it was Michelle's turn to blush. "Look, I just want what's best for Stephen, and to get us all back in our right bodies. You would do the same thing. You might have to, given your second fortune."
"Yeah, I thought of that," he said, biting his lower lip and looking very cute as he did so. "Listen, Stacy's never had a boyfriend, has she?"
"Not that she's told me about."
And I'm pretty sure I know why, Mark thought to himself. But he didn't want to say anything to Michelle about it yet. He did note that his fortune was not gender-specific.
A while later the switched-up family had dinner together. It was one of Michelle's special recipes, and Stephen had made it flawlessly. It was a little better than usual, in fact. Everyone praised it and thanked him, which made him feel very good inside. Afterward Mark and Michelle cleaned up, and this time they got along perfectly.
Afterward Michelle went and found her son. He was flipping curiously through one of the mystery novels she liked to read. She cringed inwardly to think of the steamy scenes he'd encounter if he decided to try it. "Hey, um, 'Mom,'" she said. "Got a minute?"
"Oh!" said Stephen, putting the book down, a little embarrassed to have been caught. "Sure," he said, feeling suddenly big and awkward in his mom's body. "What is it?"
"I got you a date for that dance," said Michelle. There was a note of triumph in her voice.
"What? Are you serious?"
"Patty Jenkins. See? I knew she liked you."
"Dude, Mom, are you sure?" he asked, slipping into his old way of speaking in his surprise. "She, like, literally said, 'I'll go with you'?"
"Yeah, of course. I tutored her at her house today."
"Her house? Did ... did she suggest that?"
"No," said Michelle, "I did. Sometimes you just have to take the initiative. Girls like that."
"Huh. Well, okay. That's one fortune down, I guess. Hope you enjoy yourself. What are you wearing?"
"Wearing? Just ... I don't know. Pants and a shirt."
Stephen rolled his eyes. "Mom! You need a new outfit!"
"I do?"
"Good grief! Of course you do. Let's see. The dance is Wednesday. Let's plan to go shopping tomorrow, and we'll get you something sharp."
Michelle grimaced. "Do we have to? I've got my church clothes and everything."
"Yes, we have to. I'm surprised at you! My own mom was going to make me look like a slob on my first date with a pretty girl."
"Okay, already, 'Mom.' After I get home from school then." She wandered off to her room, shaking her head. Something was off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what.
Stephen decided to go to bed with the book he'd found. He put on pajamas, a stretchy pale blue long-sleeved top with a little bow at the neckline and a pair of blue-and-white floral print pants that tied in front. The top wasn't too flattering to his sagging breasts, and the clingy cotton made his nipples clearly visible, but the set was the most comfortable thing he'd worn in days. He snuggled down and started reading.
Stacy was in the living room watching a cop show her dad liked. A beer commercial featuring bikini-clad young women walking down the beach kept coming on. One of the girls had larger boobs than the others, and they bounced as she walked. Stacy found herself mesmerized by them, and by the swing of the girls' hips and asses as they passed the dudes checking them out.
After the third or fourth time she analyzed her attraction. As a female she'd been attracted to women with pretty faces, nicely applied makeup, and a certain style of clothes. She'd never really been all that interested in their bodies like this. She concluded that her current preferences were more her dad's than her own.
She went to bed after the evening news. Stephen had turned in. She stripped down to her underwear and got heavily in behind him. She wrapped her arm around his soft midriff and he put her hand on hers and squeezed it. His big behind was pushed up against her lap. She went to sleep enjoying that soft warmth pressed like a living cushion against her male anatomy.
Stephen was the first to get up the next morning. He went into the bathroom and pulled down his mom's pajama pants and lowered her big behind onto the seat. As he sat there, going, he reflected that fiction like the book he'd read the night before never really touched on details like this. Occasionally a rather crass book might refer to peeing, but stories just about never portrayed their characters pooping.
That was the strangest part of this whole ordeal: pooping with his mother's body. He'd never really thought about it, but it seemed that every body had its own patterns in that respect. And that made sense. He had a whole different set of plumbing now, and put different things into it than he'd been accustomed to eating in his old body. It was much older, too, and female. Actually, he found it a little easier to go in this body, though it was hard to appreciate that, since it disgusted him so much.
He got done and cleaned up and put on a silky blue quilted robe of his mother's -- he didn't feel comfortable wandering around this house without a bra on under his pajamas -- and went out to the kitchen. He made a pot of coffee and a bowl of his mom's oatmeal and sat down at the table with a full bowl and mug. His mom came in a few minutes later, a little bleary-eyed, and began automatically fixing herself a bowl of the sugary cereal he always ate.
"Hey, uh, Stephen," said Stephen, "I have that appointment today, right?"
"Huh? What? Oh. Yeah. The mani/pedi. Glad you remembered that. It's at ten o'clock. You know the place I go to?"
"Yeah. I was wondering. What should I wear?"
Michelle sat down with her cereal and began eating it, crunching loudly and slurping the milk. She shrugged. "I dunno. Anything, I guess."
"Really? There's not a certain way you would dress for something like that?"
"Just something comfortable." She really couldn't think of anything, and it irritated her a little. It was like she'd suddenly lost her sense of taste or something. So she feigned complete indifference. Stephen found this a bit peculiar. He felt fairly certain that she would dress up for something like a nail salon appointment. He decided to go on instinct rather than listen to her.
Mark came in next. He was wearing a cute baby blue top with straps and an empire waist, tight jeans that flared out at the bottom, and sandals. He had on big earrings and more makeup than Stacy usually wore. It was a very different look, a combination of the way Stacy used to dress and sensibilities he must have picked up from his wife. He seemed pretty self-conscious about it, so Stephen didn't make any comments. Michelle seemed oblivious to the change.
Stacy had risen right after Stephen. She took a shower and got dressed in some of her dad's sharpest clothes. It made her feel good to button his shirt up over her manly chest and tie his tie in the mirror. Today was the day. She was going to seize control of her destiny with her strong hands. She put on her dad's loafers and tied the laces and put his wallet and keys in her pockets. Pockets. It was so good to have pockets! Men didn't appreciate them. She strode out to meet her family with an air of supreme confidence.
Stephen got up and got her a cup of coffee. She didn't want anything to eat. She sat there with him, chatting, while they sipped their coffee and he finished his oatmeal. The black coffee was hot and good. She drained the last drops, put the mug in the sink, gave her “wife” a goodbye kiss on the cheek, told the “kids” to have a good day, and headed out, ready to conquer the world.
Once the “kids” were out the door Stephen set about getting ready for his appointment. It took him a while to decide what to wear. In the end he settled on a silky cream-colored button-up blouse with big lapels and puffy sleeves, a pale green floral-print button-up vest that tied in back, khaki capri pants, and wedge sandals. It was an ensemble he'd seen his mom wear a few times. He finished his outfit with big hoop earrings, a few bracelets on each wrist, and a gold heart locket on a slender chain around his neck. He fixed his hair and makeup and looked in the mirror. His mom looked back, very pretty and very satisfied with the job she'd done.
He wasn't all that keen on going to the nail salon. It was like the inner sanctum of womanhood or something. Glancing at his mom's fingertips and toes, though, he had to admit that they did need some work. He reflected that it was kind of like taking a car to the garage. He wasn't the owner of this particular car, his mom's body. He was just driving it around for the time being. So as a courtesy to the owner he was keeping up with the maintenance schedule. It wasn't really him going to the salon at all. He was just driving his mom's body there for the appointment she had already made, and waiting around while it was tuned up.
He got her purse and slung it over her shoulder -- that was like the paperwork in the glove box -- and headed out. It was his first time to drive, but that didn't really faze him. His Mom brain just kind of took over when he got behind the wheel and, anyway, he'd played plenty of driving games.
Of course he didn't know the ladies at the salon, but they certainly knew him. "Good morning, Mrs. Robinson!" the receptionist said as he stepped in. He smiled, still a little uncertain of his mom's facial expressions, and said good morning back. The lady who did his nails was a younger woman named Misty. He went back and she got to work immediately. They chatted nonstop throughout the process. Stephen found himself enjoying the visit in spite of himself. It felt good to have someone taking care of him for a change.
Afterward he went home and made himself a tuna sandwich for lunch. Then he took off his blouse and vest and put on the sleeveless blue top he'd worn the evening before. He had a lot of housework to do. He began with the laundry, reflecting on what an unending task this was.
Today he did his mom's laundry. It was strange going through her hamper, which represented about a week's worth of clothes. At the top were things that he'd worn, but at the bottom were things that she'd worn, with the transitional outfit -- pink sweater, white blouse, jeans, panties -- in between. In a way, washing them felt like washing away the last vestige of his mom in this body. Well, aside from her bras, of course. He knew she didn't wash them as regularly.
The phone rang in the middle of the afternoon. It was Stacy. "Hey," she said excitedly, "John Harmon, Dad's boss, just offered me his job back. He said anyone can have a bad day and I'm too valuable a teammate to lose. Asshole. You should have heard how he talked to me yesterday. I don't know how Daddy puts up with him."
"But that's good, right?" asked Stephen in his mom's soft voice. "It means you don't have to go job-hunting after all."
"I turned him down."
"What?"
"It's time for me to move on. I'm worth more than they're paying me. I was pretty blunt about it."
"Was he mad?"
"No, he seemed kind of scared. He even offered me a big bonus if I'd stay. Either Daddy's got something on him, or he's worried about Daddy taking trade secrets to the competition. That doesn't really matter to me, though. What matters is my dignity, and the stability of our family. It's not good for us if I'm spending my days in a toxic workplace and not standing up for myself."
"Well, good for you, then," said Stephen. "I ... I'm proud of you."
"The best part is that I'm in a much stronger position now to apply for a job at Kincaide because I can describe it as a mutual separation rather than a firing, and I know a couple of the execs here will back that up. If they know Harmon, they'll know exactly what happened. I'll have to take a pay cut, but, if those, uh, those lucky numbers pan out, it won't matter too much, will it? There's a big drawing this Friday. You should get a ticket tomorrow."
"If we win that," said Stephen, "you won't have to work at all."
"We'll see. I think it would be good to keep my hand in. Anyway, I'll let you go now. Just wanted to let you know."
"Okay, thanks."
"Oh, also, I'll be coming home late tonight. There's a couple projects I want to look into carefully before I wrap them up. Mainly just for the experience. Don't hold dinner for me. I'll grab something on the way home."
"Okay, dear, thanks for letting me know," said Stephen. "See you tonight, then."
"Bye."
Mark and Michelle came home together that afternoon. Mark headed over to Angie's, as this was his first night of babysitting. As promised, Stephen took his mom out shopping for an "outfit" for the dance. It was pretty strange driving her around. It brought home their role reversal -- how he was now the mother and she was the teenage son -- so sharply that they both became deeply embarrassed as they got in the car and buckled up.
They didn't talk for a few minutes while Stephen drove to the store. It was Michelle who broke the ice. "I didn't realize how hard school was for you," she said quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"I got beaten up by a kid named Dave Watson in PE yesterday."
"Jeezus, what'd you say to him? Usually he's just an asshole."
Her face flushed. "That doesn't matter. It wasn't just that. You're bullied, Stephen. Pretty severely at times."
"Yeah, well," he said, staring straight ahead as he drove.
"I never knew, and that's my fault. You've tried to talk about it, and I don't think I was really listening. I'm sorry. My school experiences were pretty sheltered, I guess. They didn't really prepare me to understand yours. Some of those kids at your school are real sadists."
"You've got that right."
"Anyway, I'm sorry, Stephen. I'm sorry it took me literally walking in your shoes to understand. I hope you can forgive me."
Stephen was starting to tear up, which was strange, because he hadn't cried in years. He instinctively got a tissue out of his mom's purse and dabbed his eyes with it so his makeup didn't run. "That's okay, Mom," he said. He reached out and gave her hand a motherly squeeze, making his bracelets jingle.
"You've done a really good job being me the last few days," Michelle said. "You've done better than any of us, I think. I know it's been hard adapting, but I don't think I've seen the house so clean or the laundry so caught up in months. And you look really good, too."
"Thanks," he said. "Though I guess you wouldn't wear this to the mall." He picked at the stretchy blue top he was wearing.
Michelle shrugged. "What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, I just ... felt a little self-conscious stepping out in it. It's fine for around the house, but, you know."
Michelle shrugged again. "I think you look great in it. I think it's fine."
They got to the mall and went into Dillard's at Stephen's suggestion. His mother kept insisting that she had good enough clothes at home and that she was afraid of looking like a dork. But Stephen found that he had very definite ideas about how a handsome young man should dress for a dance. They ended up buying a button-up shirt, slacks, and a necktie. Unbeknownst to himself, Stephen had settled on exactly what his mom would have wanted him to wear had their situations not been reversed, and it was very dorky indeed.
Mark was finding that he kind of liked taking care of Celeste. She was too little to play with much, but he read to her and made her laugh with peekaboo. He'd been afraid that he would feel all female and motherly about it, that he'd want to start having babies or something. But he didn't. To him Celeste was just a little person who needed help with some things. He attended to her for about two hours -- feeding her, changing her diaper, playing with her -- before rocking her and putting her down in her crib. She went right to sleep.
Then, although he knew that what he was doing was wrong, he went into Angie's bedroom and opened her closet door and switched on the light. All of Angie's clothes hung before him. One by one he slid the hangers down the rod, looking at her dresses and blouses and skirts, touching them now and then, or perhaps holding them up to his body.
A green dress particularly caught his eye. It was businesslike, something he'd seen Angie wearing before, made of a heavy woolen material, with a matching short-sleeved jacket. He took it out to the bedroom and laid it on the bed. He touched it gently, imagining that he was touching Angie. Hastily, he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and pulled them down over his hips and bottom and off his legs to the floor, then peeled off his top and dropped it on top of his pants. Now he was in just his panties and bra.
He took the jacket off the hanger. The dress underneath was sleeveless. He unzipped it and stepped into it and pulled it up over his body and slid his arms through the holes. Zipping it up was pretty hard, since he'd never done anything like that before, but his nubile young body was much more flexible than his old one had been. He got the zipper all the way up and did the clasp at the back of his neck. The dress was a little too large for his figure. It had a slippery lining that felt nice on his skin. He put on the jacket and went and stood in front of the mirror. It didn't fit him too well but it made him feel good to wear it, almost as though he were wearing Angie somehow. He got out a pair of her high heels but found that his feet, though narrower than Angie's, were too long for her shoes. So he just walked up and down barefoot, turning in the mirror with his hand on his hip like a model on a runway.
Wearing Angie's clothes was an immense emotional release. He didn't understand what he was doing, but it felt like something bottled up for years was finally getting out. He did know that it was wrong, but the euphoria he felt overpowered his qualms. Eventually he took the dress off again and put it back where he'd found it. Approximately, anyway. He couldn't remember the exact location on the rod.
Still in his underwear, he went back out to the bedroom and started peeking in Angie's drawers. He saw her panties neatly stacked. They were satin and lace, much nicer than the underwear he was currently wearing. For a moment he thought about trying them out, then decided against it. In the next drawer he found her sleepwear, though. He took out a set of silk pajamas -- bottoms and a button-up top -- and put them on. They were a little loose on him, and a little too short for his legs. He carefully folded back the bedclothes and slipped in between the sheets, stretching languorously and enjoying the sensation of the fabric against his smooth skin. He laid his head on the pillow in a cushion of his own hair and closed his eyes and pretended that he was Angie, or perhaps sleeping with Angie.
Half an hour later he happened to glance at the clock and realized that Angie was due home at any minute. He darted out of the bed and put everything back exactly as he'd found it, or tried to, at any rate. He got dressed in Stacy's clothes again and went out to the living room. He hadn't been sitting long when Angie came in.
"So," she said, "how'd it go? Pretty well, I guess. It's quiet in here."
"Celeste went down an hour ago. Everything went very well." He told her everything they'd done.
"You got something to eat, I hope?"
"N-no. I didn't realize ... "
"What? Didn't I tell you to help yourself to the icebox? I thought for certain that I had. Make sure to do that from now on. Actually, if you'll let me know what you'd like, I'm happy to stock up on it."
"Okay, sure," said Mark.
"I feel so bad now, though. Can't I at least make you a sandwich?"
"Sure," said Mark. Angie made him a watercress sandwich. They sat together while he ate it, and drank hot tea. Angie asked him a lot about his -- rather, Stacy's -- future.
As he drove home, he found that he'd lost an earring somewhere.
The next day, Stephen, inspired by his mom's admiration of how well he'd done pretending to be her, decided to wear a dress, the second he'd worn since swapping bodies with her. It was a long lavender floral-print dress with butterfly sleeves and pearly buttons. Without being tight it followed the curve of his torso, hips, and posterior, and flowed and bounced with his every step.
It was grocery day. He made a list in his mom's handwriting and went to the store. Somehow he knew where everything was. Checking out was especially strange, given that the pimply nineteen-year-old at the register treated him with the respect due an adult woman, quite the opposite of the offhand treatment he usually got. He bought a lotto ticket with the numbers from the fortune and signed his mom's name to her check. "Here goes nothing," he muttered as slid the ticket into his mom's purse. A bagboy accompanied him to the car and loaded the groceries in the trunk.
Stacy called him during her lunch break, and they talked for a while. Given the strange circumstances they were living under, it was nice to have someone to be able to open up to and not have to pretend with.
Mark and Michelle both had fairly good days at school. Mark kept thinking about Angie and the fact that he would get to babysit again that night. But he also struck up conversations with a couple of girls in his chemistry class, and they warmed up to him quickly, and told him that what he was wearing was cute. (It was a tight, ribbed white top with a scoop neck and a long floral skirt and sandals.)
Michelle of course just kept thinking about the dance that night. She didn't see Patty all day -- hadn't seen her the day before, either -- but that was fine with her, because she would only have been nervous. On Monday she'd interacted with Patty with the confidence of a grown woman controlling a teenage boy's body. Now that had all evaporated. She was vaguely apprehensive about how Stephen was dressing her but suddenly also completely unequal to the task of talking to females. Instinctively, she kept the date a secret from Stephen's two buddies. They horsed around during lunch, and she got a reprimand from the vice principal. It embarrassed her deeply. How could she have behaved so immaturely? That vice principal was younger than her, and someone she'd talked to at dinner parties!
She and Mark got home that afternoon to find their mother -- no, their son -- cleaning in the kitchen. They went their separate ways to do homework since they were both going to be busy that evening. Michelle couldn't concentrate, she was so nervous about the dance. It seemed like just a daydream. There was no way a girl like Patty was going out with her. She had kissed her, though. Surely that must mean something.
Mark wished her luck as he went off to babysit. She heard her dad -- daughter -- get home. Her parents' voices rose and fell in the other room. Then she heard approaching footsteps, and Stephen put his head in the door. "How's it going?"
"Fine."
"It's about time to get ready, isn't it?"
"I guess so."
"Need any help, or are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said.
"Okay, then." Stephen winked and left.
Michelle got up and got dressed. She eyed herself critically in the mirror, collar turned up, trying to tie her tie, almost amazed at how dorky she looked. She'd tied Mark's ties many times, but somehow now she couldn't get her fingers to do what she needed them to do. Maybe it was the angle. Swallowing her pride at last, she went and asked for help.
Stacy tied it for her. "Took me a few times to get the hang of it, too," she said with a fatherly wink.
At last it was time. She set out for Patty's house. It was warm out, and she started to sweat, and her hair, already combed down and parted by Stephen, stuck to her head like a helmet. It also didn't help that her heart was hammering the inside of her chest.
She rang the doorbell at Patty's house. Patty's mom opened the door with a flourish, then, when she saw Michelle, froze in place. "Oh!" she said. "I ... er ... "
Patty skipped into view, wearing a beautiful party dress, brown curls bouncing. "I've got it, Mother!" she sang. "I think that's for me!" And then she saw Michelle and pulled back in surprise. Unaccountably, she started to laugh. "Oh, my God, Stephen!" she cried. "This ... this is so ... so ... " She had a hand over her mouth. She was having a hard time getting the words out.
"H-hi," said Michelle with a heart already in her toes. "A-are you ready to go?"
"Mom, this is Stephen," said Patty. "He helps me with my algebra sometimes."
"How do you do?" her mom said, smiling confusedly.
'We were joking around the other day, and I guess I took it too far. Let me talk to him for a minute, okay?"
"Yes, sweetheart," said Mrs. Jenkins, moving away from the door. She retreated further into the house, out of earshot but still visible.
"D-does this mean ... ?" croaked Michelle. "I, I thought you said yes!"
"Stephen," said Patty, growing very serious. "Of course I appreciate how much you help me with my math. You're, like, the sweetest guy I know! But you've got a thing or two to learn about levels."
"Levels?"
"Listen, you're super cute in your own way, but you're like, a five. And I'm -- well, maybe not quite a ten. A nine at least. Someone who's a nine or a nine point, like, six can't go around with a five."
"Oh," said Michelle, a little angry now. Her little boy was not a five!
A car pulled up. The bad dream became a nightmare as Dave Watson got out. He was wearing a silvery dress shirt with a gray jacket and slacks. He was big and handsome and had a sneer on his broad face. "What the fuck is this homo weakling doing here?" he laughed. "Guess he didn't get the message. Fuck off, you little shit. She's not into you. Fucking weirdo."
"Stop it, Dave," said Patty, rolling her eyes but still smiling. She called back into the house. "Bye bye, Mom! My date is here!" She stepped out. "Stay sweet, okay, Stephen?" As she walked toward the car, arm in arm with Dave, Michelle heard her laughing. Phrases like "oh my God that tie," "kind of weird but sweet," "more like a four," and "can't believe he took me seriously" drifted back over the lawn.
Michelle watched them get in the car and pull out, standing forlornly in the Jenkins' yard. Dave shot her the bird when Patty wasn't looking, and then they were gone. Michelle wandered off down the sidewalk, wondering what she was going to do all night. There was no way she could go home now.
Mark got to Angie's house right on time. Angie was strangely distant. He was afraid at first that she'd found out what he'd been up to the night before, but, to his relief, she said nothing, and headed out to work. She was beautiful in a lacy button-up white blouse and black skirt and flats.
That evening went much as the previous one had, except that he decided to stay away from Angie's room. He felt pretty virtuous about that. He made himself a sandwich instead.
He'd just finished washing up when Angie got home. "Hi!" he said cheerfully, then froze when he saw Angie's face.
"Did you eat? Good. Can I talk to you?" There was a note in Angie's voice he didn't like.
"Sure," he said softly.
"So, last night I got into bed and found this under my pillow." She held up an earring. The missing earring. "Do you know where it came from?"
"It's mine," said Mark in a small voice.
"Do you know how it got under my pillow?"
Mark didn't say anything.
"Did you have a boy over here, Stacy?"
"N-no."
"I don't believe you. You violated my trust, Stacy. You let a boy in here that I didn't know and didn't even tell me. It's not that I'd mind a boy so much, if I knew about it ahead of time and knew him enough to trust him around my daughter. It's the violation of my privacy. You, you used my bed! People don't do that, Stacy! Do you understand? Now look at the position I'm in. I can't just fire you. I'm friends with your mom! How am I going to explain this to her?"
"It's not true," said Mark, hanging his head in shame. "I didn't have a boy over."
"What, then? What were you doing in my bed?"
"I ... I just wanted to lie down there. I'm sorry. I'll just go. I'll tell my mom I quit or something. I never should have accepted the job."
"I'm afraid I'm going to need a bit more of an explanation than that."
"The truth is," said Mark, a tear rolling down one cheek, "I'm very attracted to you." Angie didn't say anything, so he plunged ahead, silently begging Stacy forgiveness for how much he was screwing up her life. "I know what I did was wrong, but there was no boy. I just wanted to ... to feel near to you. I know that's really weird and creepy. I just ... I don't have any friends, and I'm all alone, and I ... I just have always thought you were really great, and, and pretty, and ... "
"Have you always had these feelings?" asked Angie. "About ... girls, I mean."
Mark nodded. "I mean, I think so," he said. "It's like I didn't really know myself until just recently, so it's hard to say."
Sympathy showed in Angie's face. She stepped closer and put her hand on Mark's shoulder. "It's okay. You shouldn't have done all that, Stacy, but I understand. Maybe I know a little bit about where you're coming from." She smiled. "It is hard, isn't it?"
"D-do you mean ... ?"
"I've always been attracted to women, too," said Angie. "Not many people know. I don't think even your mom knows. This town is so ... well, you know. I'm afraid I would lose my job if it got out. It's a lonely life."
"Yeah," said Mark, looking into her eyes. He took her hand from his arm and held it in his hands. It was smaller than his, but stronger, while still soft and warm. They stood there like that for a moment, searching one another's faces, lips parted, breathing softly. Then Angie stepped closer, took his pretty face in her hands, and kissed him gently. She pulled back then and looked in his face again. Impulsively, he slid his arms around her back as hers encircled his neck and they fell into a much deeper kiss. He felt her compact, buxom body pressed up against his own, of her breasts pushing against his breasts. He breathed in the perfume of her lustrous black hair, soaked in the warmth of her body.
Angie broke off the kiss and pushed him back a little. "How old are you, baby? What, eighteen?"
"Turning eighteen. Next week's my birthday," said Mark.
"You have plans? Going off to school?"
"I ... I'd hoped so. I haven't been accepted anywhere yet."
"You go to school. Find who you are. Find someone to love. I'll be here." Mark nodded and tried to kiss her again, but Angie put her finger on his lips. "Not that, baby. Not now. It wouldn't be right. I'm friends with your mother. Maybe, when you're a little older, and more experienced, if ... if you decide ... well, I'll be here. Go off and find your happiness."
"Okay."
Angie took his hand in hers and kissed it gently. "Now go on. I'll see you next Tuesday, okay?"
"Okay, Angie," he said. "Sorry again, and ... thanks."
"I'm always here if you need to talk. Oh, and here." She handed him the earring.
Michelle got home late after wandering the streets for hours, hoping to avoid confrontation, but Mark happened to pull up right at the same time. "Hey," he said, "how'd it go?"
"It ... went great. How was babysitting?"
"It was fine.” He yawned and stretched. “Well, I'm pretty tired. Guess I'll go to bed."
"Yeah, me, too," said Michelle.
They'd both hoped to get in after their "parents" had gone to bed, but Stephen and Stacy were both in the living room with the lights turned low, drinking wine and talking. Stacy was in her dad's work clothes but her tie was on the arm of the sofa and her vest was unbuttoned. She looked very handsome. Stephen was wearing a silky rose-print pajama set: a long-sleeved button-up top with a lacy collar and matching bottoms. The sleepwear clung comfortably to his womanly body. They tried to talk to the "kids" but somehow Mark and Michelle got by without saying anything substantial and headed to their new rooms.
Michelle felt strangely resentful, seeing Stephen in her nicest pajamas and enjoying a glass of wine as though he owned her body while she was stuck in his scrawny form, which was a four at best. She crawled into bed and tried not to think, but cried a little bit, anyway.
The next day was the beginning of a four-day weekend for the "kids." Stacy was at work, of course, and Stephen was busy cleaning all morning. Mark offered to take Michelle to the mall so they could look around and maybe get lunch at the food court. She said yes readily. Really, of course, they just wanted to talk. They got dressed and headed out. He was wearing a gray plaid dress, white tights, and black flats, with a headband in his hair. Michelle was just wearing a T-shirt and jeans of Stephen's.
"So," said Mark as he drove, "there's something I need to tell you."
"What?"
"Your friend Angie is a lesbian."
"What? No. That can't be right. I mean, she ... well ... why do you think that?"
"Because we kissed last night."
"What?" Michelle screamed. It surprised Mark, and he jerked the steering wheel on accident, making the car swerve. "What would Stacy say?" she cried.
"I ... um ... I ... I don't think it would be a big surprise to her."
"What? Of course it would. You've always been attracted to Angie. That's obvious enough."
"Look," he said, reddening. "I won't argue with that. But I ... well, it's different right now. I'm not one hundred percent certain that it's physical. What I mean is, look, how have your preferences changed since you've been in that body? Be honest."
Now it was her turn to blush. "I don't know," she said sullenly.
"Yes, you do. And you don't have to tell me. It's the same as with our taste in food, books, or anything else. You like girls now, because that body likes girls. Well, guess what? I like girls now, too, but in a different way than I'd liked them before, if that makes any sense."
"Are you saying that Stacy has been same-sex attracted all these years, and we never knew it?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
"Oh," said Michelle. She rode in silence for a moment, digesting this. Then she said, "What happened with Angie, exactly?"
Mark explained, without going into too much detail about what he'd done with Angie's clothes. "She insisted that it stay platonic," he said, "but left it open for the future, once 'Stacy' is older and more mature."
"I guess we need to have a long talk with Stacy once we all get back to normal," said Michelle.
"Yeah," said Mark. "Or a long apology, anyway."
They got to the mall and wandered around for a while. Mark looked in a few clothing stores to get an idea of what he might go for if he decided to expand Stacy's wardrobe. Michelle checked out a computer store to see how much a game cost that Randy was wanting her to get so they could play over the modem. Then they went to the food court.
Once they were settled at their table, Mark with a salad and Michelle with two slices of pizza, Mark said, "So, tell me about the big date."
"There was no big date," Michelle said miserably.
"What? What do you mean?"
Michelle told him the whole story in all its painful detail. "I was so dumb to think she'd go out with me. She's been using me all this time, that's obvious, but I thought ... well, I thought I knew women well enough to sweep her off her feet or something. I thought Stephen was just about the handsomest boy in school, and that she had to have a secret crush on him. I guess I didn't realize how much of that was Mom vision."
"She's got a lot of nerve, letting you think she was going out with you when she had no intention of doing so."
"I can't blame her too much. It was my fault only for seeing what I wanted to see. The worst part of it is that I'd thought I was fulfilling Stephen's fortune, but apparently I wasn't."
"'Dance of life' could be figurative," said Mark.
Suddenly all the color drained from Michelle's face. She looked down, shielding her eyes with her hand. "Oh, God," she said.
"What? What is it?"
"They're right over there. Patty and Dave. Let's get out of here."
"No," said Mark. "I'm going over there to give her a piece of my mind."
"What? No! Let's just go!"
But Mark was already up and walking over, brown curls bouncing, plaid dress swishing. He strode up to their table and stood over them, hands on hips. They both looked up in surprise.
"You've got a lot of nerve for the way you treated my wi-, er, my brother," said Mark.
"Listen, Stacy," said Patty with a nervous giggle, "I didn't mean -- "
"Let me finish. For months you've been letting him do your homework for you. He likes you. You know that. You took advantage of it because it made life easy for you. The least you could have done was go to a silly dance with him. Instead you humiliated him. Well, he's better off, frankly."
"Get lost, bitch," grunted Dave.
“Dave,” hissed Patty, smirking.
"Yeah, and fuck you, too, you dumb ox," said Mark. "You've got about as much intelligence and culture as a ham hock, and your girlfriend here isn't exactly the sharpest tack in the drawer herself. You're clearly made for each other."
"I said to get lost," said Dave, standing up. He grabbed Mark's slender wrist. "Get lost."
"Get your hand off of me," said Mark in a low, dangerous voice.
"Sure," said Dave. He shoved Mark back. Mark stumbled against a chair and fell over backward, legs in the air.
Michelle was on her feet in an instant and charging across the food court. Patty tried to warn Dave but it was too late. Michelle grabbed his shoulder and spun him to face her, then planted a fist on his nose. Blood spurted out both nostrils. She started pummeling him. He tried to put his hands up but the blows were coming too fast, small fists with wiry strength behind them, pelting his face and chest and belly.
Dave went backward over a chair, screeching for someone to get Stephen off him. Michelle went down after him. She grabbed Dave’s hair and started beating his head on the tiles.
A security guard ran up and pulled her off. She pointed at the bloody wreck. "Do what you want to me, but keep your dirty paws off my sister, motherfucker."
"Cool it, son, cool it," said the guard, drawing her away. "Listen, I saw the whole thing. You were provoked. Just get out of here, okay?" He looked over at Mark. "Hey, there, this your brother? Do him a favor and get him out of here, okay?"
"Okay," said Mark. "Come on, uh, 'Stephen.'" He took her hand and drew her away. They began heading for an exit.
"Hey!" a voice said as they went down the service stairs. They both turned. A girl was running after them, a girl from their school named Lydia sanchez. Her black hair was pulled up in a clip with a big bow, and she was wearing a hoodie and jeans. She was thin and short but had a pretty face. "Hey, um, Stephen, you remember me, don't you?"
"S-sure," said Michelle, still shaking with emotion. "We have Spanish together."
"Yeah, um, I thought what you did in there was, like, really great. Like, I wish my brothers looked out for me like that."
"Oh. Um, thanks."
Lydia was biting her lip. "Listen, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I, um, I was just wondering if you'd like to, you know, go get a soda or something sometime."
"Uh, yeah, sure!" said Michelle.
"Cool!" said Lydia.
With a big-sisterly roll of his eyes, Mark said, "Well, why don't you two exchange numbers so we can get out of here?" He provided writing materials from his purse and they did so. He and Michelle got out into the parking lot.
"Thanks, by the way," he said once they were alone. "You really took him down. That was amazing. Horrifying, but amazing."
"That's what 'brothers' are for, I guess," said Michelle. "And you know what the best part is? I think I just fulfilled both of my fortunes. Dance of life: Lydia. Size matters not: well, that's obvious."
"Oh, yeah," said Mark. "Hey, that's great! Maybe this is going to work itself out, after all."
They got home to discover Stephen at the dining room table, reading Michelle's mystery novel. He was wearing a pleated pink blouse with two buttons at the back and black pinstripe slacks. A string of pearls was clasped around his neck, and pearl earrings dangled from his ears. He looked up as they came in. "You read this stuff, Mom? It's pretty steamy."
Michelle blushed. "I read it for the plot."
"Oh," said Stephen. "What are you guys up to? Mind if we have a little mother-son chat?"
"I'll leave you to it," said Mark. He winked at Michelle and went out.
Michelle sat down. "What's up?" she asked.
"Well, I got a little call from Mrs. Jenkins. Seems she was witness to an unfortunate scene last night. She was concerned. Care to comment?"
Michelle hung her head. "Patty wasn't really going out with me. Maybe she was stringing me along, maybe I was hearing what I wanted to hear. She ended up going with that asshole Dave Watson.”
“Ouch,” said Stephen. “You saw him there?”
“Yeah. That’s not all, though. This afternoon me and Stacy ran into them at the mall. Dave insulted Stacy and got a little rough with her. She fell down over a chair. I got mad and beat him up."
Stephen was open-mouthed with astonishment. “You ... really beat him up?”
“Yeah,” she said.
"And then what happened?"
"A mall cop hustled me out. Oh, but I got a date on the way out. A Lydia sanchez.”
"Oh. She's ... cute.”
“Well, she’s got the hots for you now. Likes the chivalrous type, I suppose.”
“You just, what? Picked her up while fleeing the scene of an assault and battery?"
"Yeah."
"That's crazy, Mom."
"I know, right?" She grimaced and said, "Size matters not."
"Ohhhh," said Stephen. "Hey, I bet you're right. Wow, that's great! I thought it was a reference to, you know, your penis or something."
She blushed and said, "Stephen!"
"Well, can you blame me?” He chuckled. “So, while we’re on the subject, what's it like, you know, having ... it?"
She shrugged. "It's fine. I don't see what all the fuss is about."
"Oh, really."
"It's nice not having to sit down to pee. Of course, boys' bathrooms are disgusting as a result. Other than that, it's just an uncomfortable thing dangling between my legs."
"So you haven't taken it for a little test drive yet?"
Her face turned red again. "What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean. How was it?"
Her face turned redder. "It was fine."
Stephen hesitated a moment, then said, "Well, I certainly took your body for a, uh, spin around the block."
"Stephen! How could you? That ... that's inappropriate!"
"Mom, remember? I'm Mom now. Seriously. I'm a grown woman, 'Stephen,' and my body has needs, too."
"Fair enough, 'Mom.' But, in that case, it's pretty weird for you to be telling your son about your, ah, self-care routine."
"Conversation over, then. Sorry for the TMI. I was just seeing if we're on the same page. Anyway, I guess I should wish you luck with Lydia, though it's going to be pretty awkward for me if you're an item when we get back to where we're supposed to be. I don't suppose we need to have 'the talk,' do we? About staying safe and all that?"
"Good Lord," said Michelle, and got up from the table.
Stacy came home a few hours later. Stephen was still reading. He was almost done with the novel. "Hi," said Stacy. "Where are the 'kids'?"
"Off entertaining themselves. I think Mom is on my computer. Dad is reading or something. Why?"
"I don't want them to know yet. I got that job at Kincaide. Better position and a pay raise."
"What? Really? That's great!" They hugged each other. They stayed like that for a long minute, not kissing or anything, just enjoying one another, Stacy the soft amplitude of her wife’s body, Stephen the hard solidity of his husband’s.
"Well," said Stacy as they drew apart, "what's been going on around here today?"
Stephen related the events he was aware of. "Size matters not," said Stacy when he was done. "I get it. Huh. I thought it was a penis thing."
"Yeah, me, too. I mentioned that to her. Really embarrassed her."
"You know, when it comes right down to it, I don't think women really appreciate how uncomfortable it can be to walk around with these things. I mean, it changes size and shape constantly. It's always moving around. It doesn't have anything to do with sex usually. It might just be a change of mood or air temperature."
"Well, I will say this," said Stephen. "Women have to put up with a lot more discomfort than men, but having woman parts is definitely more comfortable."
"Well, you haven't had a period yet, honey."
"Yeah. What is that, exactly?"
"Oh my God. They didn't teach you that in school or whatever?"
"Well, kind of." His face reddened. It was strangely embarrassing not to know how the body he was currently inhabiting functioned. "I mean, Mom showed me these pad things I have to wear when it starts. I know it involves bleeding."
"Good Lord. Well, with any luck you won't have to experience it anytime soon."
"Why's that? I thought it came every month."
"Not when you're pregnant, dummy."
"Oh." He reddened more.
"Of course, Dad's going to have to go through it pretty soon. He'll just love that." She smiled at the prospect of her father undergoing her period in her teenage body.
"If you could go back right now, would you?"
"I -- I'm not sure, to be honest. I mean, I want to be myself again, of course, but I'm having a lot of fun being the man of the house. What about you?"
"Same, I guess. It's really, really weird being in Mom's body, but I've kind of gotten into the swing of things. I mean, at first it was all about the -- you know, uh, fulfilling the fortune. This body just had these...these overpowering urges. Now that novelty has worn off, and I'm like, well, I'm the mom right now. I'm Mom. Michelle. You know? And I'm kind of good at it."
“You sure are,” said Stacy. They smiled at one another, then shared a brief kiss.
“Well,” said Stephen, “time to get dinner started.”
The next morning, soon after Stacy had left for work, Stephen and Mark and Michelle decided to go to the beach. Randy came along, too, because he and Michelle had already made plans to hang out. It was awkward having him along, the only person who was oblivious to the fact that his old buddy was currently inside the body of the grown woman driving them to their destination, that the "kid" he was joking with in the backseat was actually a middle-aged woman piloting a teenage boy, and that that stuck-up, hot older sister in the front seat was a grown man trapped in a girl's body.
As he drove, Stephen was surprised to find Randy getting on his nerves. He was a good kid, but he was loud and obnoxious. Michelle seemed to find him hilarious, and laughed at everything he said. That annoyed Stephen even more, especially when Randy occasionally made fun of Michelle. But Stephen just gritted his teeth and kept a bland, motherly smile on his face. He knew how crushing an unkind word from an adult could be even to a kid as clueless as Randy.
He was wearing the yellow sundress Stacy had bought him at the mall almost a week ago. It was a little short for his taste, and a little tight around his torso, but it was perfect for the beach. He had sandals on his feet, a big hat on his hair, and big brown sunglasses on his face. Mark was wearing a cute floral tunic and short shorts and sandals. Michelle just had on a T-shirt and shorts and flip flops.
They split up to change at the beach. Stephen went into a stall, carrying his mom’s beach bag over his shoulder. He had brought a two-piece suit of his mom's. The tie-front top covered a lot of skin, and the bottoms were high-waisted. He was a little surprised to find that the top had padded cups like a bra, and that the bottoms had similar padding. He'd never realized women's swimsuits had that. It was a little strange pulling it on over his ample flesh in a public place. He went out to the common area, ass swinging, breasts bouncing, feeling very exposed, almost as though he were naked. Mark emerged at the same time, wearing Stacy's peach-colored bikini. He kept crossing and uncrossing his arms, trying to cover himself.
Michelle emerged last of all. Randy practically had to drag her out. Stephen wondered why at first, then realized: it was the first time she'd been topless in public. She kept glancing down at her skinny chest and folding her arms to cover her pecs and adjusting her swimming trunks uncomfortably.
They all went down to the water. Stephen waded out cautiously. The cool water slid slowly up his soft thighs. When it reached his groin and flooded his bottoms he gasped. It felt really ... different ... down there. But as he kept going deeper he liked how the water bore up his big buttocks and, eventually, his breasts.
Mark had always been a strong swimmer in his own body, and Stacy was a strong swimmer, too. He took straight to the deep water and, after an experimental pass or two, getting used to the waves in his new form, struck out on a real swim, moving parallel to the shore. It felt really good, getting that kind of exercise in this body. He decided that he should get his daughter a gym membership.
As he came back up out of the water, dripping, he became aware that a group of boys was eyeing him. He'd always kind of thought women liked to be admired, but now it just irritated him. Couldn't he just swim without being ogled by creeps? He strode past them as if they were nonexistent, conscious of their eyes on his shapely posterior as they fell away behind him.
Michelle had a good time hanging out with Randy. She wondered why she'd always been so irritated by him before. Sure, he was always talking, but he was pretty funny. It kind of surprised her that his loud jokes appeared to be annoying Stephen today. Well, it was kind of embarrassing that Randy made lewd comments about all the older girls they saw whenever he thought her “mom” was out of earshot. She had to admit that he was a bit immature. He was careful not to say anything about 'Stacy,' though he clearly had the hots for her, a fact that Mark was very aware of and annoyed by.
When it started to get hot they went back up and showered off and changed into their regular clothes and had a picnic lunch.
Stephen let Mark drive them home, dropping Randy off on the way. It was the middle of the afternoon when they got home. Stephen checked the mail and found a letter for Stacy in the box. He came in with it and handed it to Mark. "Guess you'd better open this, 'Stacy.' It's from Drummond College." Drummond was a prestigious private all-girls liberal arts university.
Mark tore the envelope open and read the letter. "I've been accepted." He looked up. "With a full ride. Four years paid for."
He and Stephen began laughing with joy, momentarily forgetting who they really were. "That's wonderful, honey!" Stephen cried as they hugged one another. "Oh, I knew you could do it!"
"I am so, so, so excited!" cried Mark. "I ... I mean, that is ... " He pulled back from Stephen and tried to regain his composure. "What I mean is, this is a wonderful opportunity for Stacy, and I'm very happy for her."
"Uh, right, me too," said Stephen, suddenly self-conscious as well. "Well, that's another fortune down, right? We just need to find you, um, a boyfriend or something."
"Yeah, about that," said Mark. "I, well, there've been developments."
"Oh!" said Stephen. "Care to elaborate?"
"No, not yet. I need to talk to Stacy first."
"Fair enough. Well, supposing that's taken care of, what do we have so far?"
"Two for me, two for Michelle. What about you guys?"
"I think it's two for Stacy, although I think I’ll let her tell her own story."
"And you?"
"Well, one of mine was really advice about, like, nurturing. I'd say that's as fulfilled as it can be. The other I think we'll have to wait for but ... well, maybe it's fulfilled."
When Stacy got home and heard the news, she seemed more excited for her dad's sake than her own. She hugged her dad and kissed him on the forehead. "Well," she said, looking past him to her "wife," "I think maybe it's time for a family meeting. Why don't you go get Mom, Daddy. Let's meet in the dining room."
A few minutes later they were all seated around the table. "It's been almost one week since we found ourselves in this predicament," said Stacy. "So I thought it might be a good idea for us to review our experiences and see where we're at on fulfilling our fortunes. These things often seem to involve learning some kind of lesson, so maybe it wouldn't hurt if everyone tells us what they've learned by walking in someone else's shoes for a week. We'll go from youngest to oldest. 'Stephen'?"
Michelle looked around blankly as all eyes turned to her, then said, “Oh! Right. Let’s see. My fortunes were that I'd find my match in the dance of life or something like that, and that size matters not. I figured the first one meant I'd get Stephen a date for that dance, but that turned out to be wrong. It was pretty vague, though. Mark and I have decided that 'dance' was just a metaphor. It looks like I might be getting Stephen a girlfriend now, though, and that happened right after I'd taken down a guy way above my weight, so both my fortunes seem to be settled.
"As to what I've learned, well, to tell the truth I've learned that in some ways I could have been a better parent to Stephen. He came to me a couple years ago about being bullied, and I didn't really listen to him. In a way I just thought that he was so handsome and so talented that he must be imagining it. Not that I don’t still think those things. I mean, it’s just different when it’s you out there dealing with your own peers and knowing how they evaluate you. Anyway, I’ve realized that, as a mother, I was just being lazy, applying my own experiences to Stephen’s life, seeing only what I wanted to see, and trying not to deal with his very real problems. And I'm very sorry for that."
Stephen said, "It's okay, Mom, I forgive you." They were all quiet for a moment. "Well, what about you, 'Stacy'?" said Stacy.
"This is going to be kind of hard," said Mark. "Stacy, I ... I've discovered that I'm attracted to women, not men."
Everyone looked at Stacy. "Oh," she said with a funny little laugh. "I was wondering if you'd figure that out."
"I started putting it together on Monday. And, like your mom, I have to apologize. If we'd been better parents, you would have felt comfortable coming to us with something like that. As it was, you kept it a secret, and endured I don't know what stress and ... and shame."
"It wasn't you guys, honestly," said Stacy. "It's this town, I guess, and the kids at my school. I was just spoiling to get out of here and live my life the way I need to."
“Maybe,” said Mark, “but you should have been able to count on us for support in that. At any rate, my first fortune was that I'd get a school of my own choosing, which seemingly just happened, quite literally. My second was that I'd find love. That … happened, too, I think. I’ve discovered that I'm very attracted to Angie. I think you must have admired her for some time, Stacy. You don't have to respond to that. But I felt a warmth toward her that didn't just come out of nowhere. I, well, I did something at her house that I shouldn't have, and ended up confessing. We kissed, but she put me off, and told me to go to school and live my life, and basically that I’m too young for her right now. I think she'll wait for me, but there are no strings attached. I'm sorry if I got you entangled in something that you'd prefer not to have to deal with when we swap back, but, well, I think it does fulfill the fortune."
“I will say that I like what you’ve done with my style this week,” said Stacy. “It’s not something I would have felt comfortable with, but maybe it’s good that you’re being a little less uptight about how you look, and more willing to, you know, be kind of mainstream, but in your own way.”
“Thanks,” said Mark. “That means a lot.”
"Now you, 'dear,'" Stacy said to Stephen.
Stephen smiled uncertainly. "Well, my second fortune was just advice about nurturing myself. I've certainly been the nurturer around here this week, and Mom even told me that I'm doing a good job as, er, Mom, so I feel pretty good about that.” He took a deep breath. “My first fortune was about bearing new life within me. I can't say for sure that that's happened, but, well, there's a chance." He blushed.
"Stephen," said Michelle, "did you start your period?"
"No. I mean, I feel kind of weird today, but I didn't start all that stuff you mentioned. Why?"
"Well, I'm very regular, and it should have started by now. The fact that it hasn't appears to confirm that the first fortune is fulfilled."
"It's weird to say," said Mark, "but we're very happy for you. I know I wasn’t very gracious when I found out you guys were … having relations. It was hard to take. It’s a philosophical question, isn’t it? From a certain point of view, you really are two married adults. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, congratulations."
"And the fortune didn't say that Stephen would actually give birth," Michelle pointed out. "It just said that he’d bear life within him."
"True," said Stephen, not certain how he felt about the idea of having a baby inside him, in his ... what was it called? His uterus. His mom’s uterus, where he’d spent the first nine months of his own life. The uterus that was now inside him. Weird. He shook himself. "I guess it's your turn now, um, 'Mark.'"
"You have to tell us what you've learned first," said Stacy.
"Oh. Well, I've learned that being a mom is a lot of hard work, and that homemakers don't get nearly enough credit. I've learned that even though I may have head knowledge about what my kids might be facing, that doesn't necessarily mean that I have all the answers. I've learned that it's okay to want to be pretty and express my feminine side. And I've learned that it's okay to want to be taken care of once in a while. Now it's your turn."
"My first fortune was about a window closing at work and a door opening. Usually people say that a window opens when a door closes, so that was kind of weird. Regardless, I’d say it was fulfilled in my rollercoaster of a week. I was fired, and then I was unfired, and then I quit and ... got a much better job elsewhere." She looked at her dad. “I interviewed with Kincaide Associates yesterday. It went very well. I’ll start there in a week.”
“What’s the salary?” asked Mark.
“Fifteen percent raise. And the boss there isn’t an asshole.”
“That’s amazing, Stacy. You’ve certainly shown yourself to possess a backbone throughout this ordeal. You put me to shame, frankly.”
“She puts us all to shame,” said Michelle.
"Well,” said Stacy, “my other fortune was about reigniting the flames of old passion and, if a passion can be called 'old' if I merely inherited it along with this body, then I'd say that that was fulfilled, too." She put her hand out, and Stephen took it.
"You guys have grown pretty close this week, haven't you?" asked Michelle.
"Yeah," said Stephen. "You know, I went kind of nuts at first. I hated being in this body, then, just when I started getting used to it, I guess the hormones kicked in, and I needed, well, you know. Yeah, that was wild. But since then I feel like I've just kind of gotten used to it. Used to being, well, a woman, and a wife, and a mother. And now I just feel kind of normal. You know, like, I’m affectionate toward my ... my spouse, but I’m not a nymphomaniac or anything."
"You've grown into married life," said Mark. "And you've done it better than we ever did, in just one week."
"You started this week as a woman," said Stacy. "You're ending it as a lady."
"Well, you've been a man in the fullest sense of the word from the beginning," said Stephen. "You've been the strongest of us."
"We're proud of you," said Mark. "We're all proud of both of you, ‘Mom’ and 'Dad.'"
"So what did you learn?" asked Stephen.
"I learned that I have it in me to stand up for what I know I'm worth. Whatever happens, whether I stay in this body or we all go back to normal, I know that I can handle what life throws at me and not sacrifice my dignity or undersell myself."
"Well," said Michelle, "I think it's safe to say that we've all improved on ourselves." She raised her voice. "Now would be an eminently appropriate time for us all to swap back." They all laughed, but they all kind of looked around, too. No bolts of lightning were forthcoming.
"Well," said Stephen, "what now? I mean, do we just wait, or what?"
"I vote on going back to where this all started," said Stacy. "China Lotus."
Hans came out to greet them when they got to the restaurant. “Ah, my friends, how are you?” he asked. “Still, ah, in our little predicament, eh?”
“Yes,” said Stacy. “But it’s been one week, and all our fortunes have come true.”
“Most strange,” said Hans. “Believe me, nothing of the kind has ever happened here. You all had good week?”
“It went better than might have been expected,” said Stephen.
“Ah,” said Hans, ducking his head. “You are son, yes? In mother’s body?”
“That’s right,” said Stephen, adjusting his mom’s purse on his shoulder and tugging absently at his sundress. “My mom is in my body, and my sister and dad switched bodies. We thought we’d try the cookies one last time.”
“Of course, of course! Same table?”
“Yes, please,” said Stephen. Hans led them to their old place. “Now, please,” he said, “your dinner is on the house. Please ask for me if you need anything. I bring you your cookies myself.”
They all ordered one another’s favorite dishes and ate. Afterward Hans brought over the cookies. He passed them out, setting them on the lazy Susan as before.
“So, what now?” asked Stephen. “Do I rotate it again, so that we get each other’s? Or do we already have each other’s, and I should just leave it alone?”
“You could go crazy thinking about it,” said Mark.
“Whatever happens,” said Stacy, “the cookies we get will be the ones we would have always gotten.”
“But what if we switch them then?” asked Michelle.
“But in that case you were always going to switch them,” said Stacy.
“But it was switching them that got us into this predicament,” said Stephen.
“Is very difficult,” said Hans, holding his head.
“Don’t forget the lightning strike,” said Stacy. “The fact that we got each other’s cookies was a sign that we were going to be swapped in that strike.”
“Then why on earth are we even here?” demanded Mark. “We should all be trying to electrocute ourselves!”
“I argue that some kind of fate or divine providence is at play,” said Stacy. “You have to admit that our being here has a kind of symmetry. Whatever caused this might like that, so to speak. If the cookies we have right now are somehow magically the right ones for these bodies or souls, and switching them would mess that up, then it would be Hans who has the power, not the cookies. I vote we take them home and eat them later.”
“You mean, just scramble them up?” asked Michelle.
“Yes.”
“Why later?” asked Mark.
“You’ll see,” said Stacy, winking at Mark. “Maybe our fortunes aren’t fully fulfilled after all.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Stephen. “How could I have forgotten?”
“What are you two talking about?” Mark demanded.
“You’ll find out at about 10:15,” said Stephen.
So they put the cookies in a to-go box and paid the bill and were bidden goodnight by a mystified Hans. There were no lighting strikes on the way home, nor even a cloud in the sky. They went inside and Michelle hit the touch lamp. It brightened but no one switched bodies.
“Hey, Star Trek is about to be on,” said Stacy. “Let’s watch.”
They watched. It was “Return to Tomorrow,” the episode in which aliens take over the bodies of Kirk and Spock and a female crewmember. After that the news came on.
“What now?” asked Mark.
“Let’s watch the news,” said Stacy.
“Okay,” said Mark, giving his “parents” a strange look and settling back in his seat. Stephen went and got his mom’s purse. He pulled the lotto ticket out and sat back with Stacy.
Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Are you guys thinking ... ?”
“What is it?” Michelle asked.
“The lucky lotto numbers. From our fortunes. They bought a ticket.”
“Using my numbers,” said Stephen. “The jackpot is 150 million tonight. Think about it. Everything else came true, right? In five minutes, we might be millionaires.”
Michelle’s jaw dropped. “Oh. My. God. I never thought of that.”
They all waited on the edges of their seats. The time for the drawing came. One by one the balls were pulled from the tumbler and displayed. At each drawing, Stephen glanced at the ticket, then glanced back at the screen. At last the numbers were all drawn. They had matched exactly one number, which was worth … zero dollars.
“Nothing,” said Stephen. “We didn’t win.”
Stacy turned the TV off. “Well,” she said, “I guess that’s it.”
“Too bad,” said Michelle. “But at least you have that new job.”
“No, I really mean, that’s it. To all of it.”
“What?”
“It’s all coincidence. The cookies, I mean. Don’t you see? That lightning strike is what switched our bodies. Otherwise how could we have lost tonight?”
“Maybe winning would have brought us bad luck,” said Stephen.
“Maybe we just need to play again,” said Mark.
“Maybe the cookies were made in a different state,” said Michelle.
“Let’s try the new cookies,” said Stephen. He got the take-out box and passed them out. They unwrapped and cracked open their cookies. In silence, they read their fortunes.
“Well?” asked Stacy in a small voice.
“Mine says, ‘A penny saved is a penny earned,’” said Stephen. “What the hell?”
“‘A dubious friend may be an enemy disguised,’” said Mark.
“‘Life is not what you get out of it, but what you put into it,’” said Michelle.
Stacy sighed. “‘A closed mouth gathers no feet.’ Cute.”
“None of these are actually fortunes,” said Stephen. “They’re more like advice.”
The family of four looked at one another, the truth finally dawning on them. They were trapped in one another’s bodies forever. Stephen was permanently his mother, a beautiful blonde woman newly pregnant with her third child. Stacy was her father, a middle-aged man with a high-paying job. Mark was a teenage girl, formerly his daughter, about to go off to college. And Michelle was a teenage boy who’d just gotten his first girlfriend. They were going to have to accept who they were.
“This is it,” said Stacy. “This is who we are now.”
“Maybe this is crazy,” said Stephen, “but ... I think I’m okay with that.”
The family hugged each other. No one’s eyes were perfectly dry.
A few minutes later they were all in their bedrooms trying to process what had just happened. “Did you mean what you said out there?” Stacy asked Stephen as she closed the door. “Are you really okay with this?”
“Strangely, I am. Maybe it’s just the hormones talking. I should be upset that I lost so many years of my life, but I’m not. This is really me now. I may not remember it, but Mom’s past life is my life now. I just want to be a good mother to this baby, and ... and a good wife to you.”
“I promise to be a good husband to you,” said Stacy, getting a bit choked up. “You’ll see. I’ll always be here for you. You’re my wife, and I ... I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mark,” said Michelle. She took his face in her hands and drew it down to hers and pressed her soft lips against his. His hands encircled her waist as hers went around his neck. “Do you want to?” she whispered into his mouth.
“Yes,” said Mark.
“Wait,” said Michelle. She gave him one final kiss, then fell to her knees. She unzipped and unbuttoned his pants and pulled his big, stiff penis out.
“What are you doing?” whispered Mark, looking down at his pretty wife kneeling at his feet, her ample bosom heaving against the stretchy fabric of her sundress. She looked up at him and kissed the tip of his penis. She slid her tongue along the bottom of it, still watching him from down there, staring into his face with the adoration of a dutiful wife.
“Oh, my God, Michelle,” said Mark, “that feels so good.” Michelle’s lips parted and she took the whole member into her mouth. She sucked on it gently, teasing it with her teeth, still rubbing it up and down with her tongue. She moaned with pleasure.
“Okay,” said Mark, gently pulling out. “We have to stop. I don’t want to go off yet.” She stood up and began kissing him wildly, planting kisses all over his face. He took her up in his arms, lifted her off the floor, cradling her. She was heavier than he’d expected. He bore her over the bed and gently laid her down, then got undressed.
“Here,” he said. He reached up under her dress and pulled her panties down and off her legs. He got on the bed and between her thighs, pushing his head up under the hem of her dress. He kissed her thighs, first one and then the other, and then began kissing her between them. He slid his tongue into her vagina.
She looked down, saw the shape of his head moving under her dress. She wrapped her legs around him, squeezed him gently as his tongue slid deeper and deeper within her. She writhed with ecstasy. Pleasure exploded throughout her body. “Oh, my goodness,” she groaned, squeezing him tightly now. “That’s so nice, Mark. Oh, I love you.”
He emerged and she pulled him down on her and they began to kiss again. She guided his hand to her breast and he massaged it through the yellow dress. She pushed him off onto the bed and, lifting up her skirt, straddled him. She dropped down onto his erect member and it slid silently deep within her. She settled the dress around her.
“I like it,” she said, working up and down on his penis. “I like this pretty dress you bought me. You’re a good husband to me.”
“I like it on you,” said Mark. “It’s beautiful on you. You’re a beautiful woman. You’re my beautiful wife. You’re a good wife to me.” He put his hands on her torso and they began roving, coming again and again to her big breasts, which seemed to be struggling to get free of the stretchy material that restrained them. He could feel her stiff nipples through the thick cups of her bra.
She began moving up and down faster and faster. Mark went with the motion, doing his utmost to please her. She brought herself to climax again, and he let himself go, flooding her with his essence.
She came off him and pulled him close, laying her pretty head on his breast, Michelle forever now, laying her head on her husband’s breast and the father of her three children.
“Mark?” she whispered.
“Yes, Michelle?”
“I want to renew our vows, Mark.”
“Let’s do it.”
“I’ll have to get a new dress, though. I don’t think my old one will fit me.”
The new Stephen could hear his parents having sex. He felt a little twinge of regret, thinking about what he had lost. He thought of the magazine under his mattress. He pulled it out and began flipping through it. Somehow, though, he kept thinking about Lydia. He hardly knew her, but he felt like he was being unfaithful to her. He put the magazine away and let himself drift off to sleep, contenting himself with being a boy forever now.
When the new Stacy got to her room she changed into a stretchy nightshirt. She looked at herself in the mirror, a pretty girl about to turn eighteen. She smiled, and her pretty reflection smiled back, dimples deepening. She was a little sad to reflect that the person who had formerly inhabited this body had taken over her position as man of the house so completely and successfully. She’d never lived up to her role, and now she was a teenage girl. But her whole life was before her. This time it would be different.
The renewal of vows took place two weeks later. Mark rented a morning tuxedo. Michelle wore a lacy champagne-colored dress and nude heels. Apart from the pastor, only their kids were present. When it came time for the groom to kiss the bride, the pastor had to look away. He’d never seen anyone make out like that right in the middle of the ceremony.
Mark’s new job went very well indeed. Within two years he was vice president of the firm. Four years after that, he was president.
Michelle went through all the phases of pregnancy. Mark took her shopping for maternity clothes, as he’d joked when they’d opened their first fortunes. Michelle’s body blossomed as the baby grew within her, and she seemed almost to grow younger. Because of her age she had their daughter by C-section. They named her Marcia. Michelle breastfed her, which was yet another new experience. In the meantime she’d begun writing, and soon after Marcia’s birth she got an agent for her first novel, a time-traveling body-swap mystery. It went on to become a bestseller, the first of many she was to write. Soon she was making as much as her husband.
Stacy went off to college. After four years she graduated and went to pursue a master’s degree at an Ivy League school. During a break she and Angie became lovers. Angie moved to follow Stacy, and Stacy became Celeste’s adopted mother. After she graduated she became a consultant and writer. She and Angie got married and Angie had another baby through a sperm donor, using Stacy’s egg, their second child.
Stephen became Lydia’s boyfriend. They broke up, then got back together, then broke up again. Stephen went off to school, then got back together with Lydia on a break. They got married. Stephen and Lydia both graduated college and got good jobs and settled down near Stephen’s parents and started having kids.
Patty Jenkins got married to Dave Watson right after they graduated. Dave went to work at Stacy’s company, but Stacy caught him embezzling and he was sent to prison. Patty divorced him and moved to Las Vegas.
Hans Bundt remained owner of China Lotus for many years. There were no further reports of swapped bodies. Just to be safe, though, he changed suppliers, not wanting to have any more unfortunate incidents.
Comments
That was very enjoyable.
That was very enjoyable.
Hugs!
Rosemary
In Their Shoes
Truly interesting story, very well done. Admittedly I would have preferred the ending to be that they all went back to their original bodies, wiser and more accommodating people, but this is BCTS so this ending isn't all that surprising either. Thanks for the quality entertainment.
>>> Kay