Switch Hitting

 Switch Hitting

(Also published as Alien Exchange Program)

By Robert Lubrican

Bookapy Edition

Copyright 2015 Robert Lubrican

2^nd Edition edited 2023

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Rights to cover art purchased at iStock.com

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Table of Contents

Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven

Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Epilogue | Afterword

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Foreword

The foreword to a book is supposed to tell you something about the book. But this one is going to tell you something about the author. Specifically, it's going to share with you the author's frustrations about coming up with titles for books. Thinking up what the book is going to be about is a walk in the park. Writing it is a lot of work, but also a lot of fun. Naming it?  Ahhh, now there, is the rub. At least for me.

There are guidelines, of course.

You want the title to be eye catching. If possible, it should be quirky. It would be nice if it is tied closely to some aspect of the book. You want it to be memorable, so people will be able to come up with the right title when they tell their friends about it. It should be the kind of title that appeals to the genre of readers you're trying to appeal to.

For some reason, doing those things is very difficult for me.

This book is an excellent example, and that's what I want to share with you, the kind reader who has chosen this in an effort to find entertainment. But not right now. The examples I have in mind would contain some spoilers. So I'm going to put the rest of this foreword at the very back of the book. Sort of an afterword.

So now, settle back and prepare for a bumpy ride, along with a pair of teenagers to whom something terrible ... and yet wonderful ... happened.

See you at the end.

There is one other thing I'd like to mention here. It is actual foreword type material. To those of us who peruse the kind of book this is, viewing porn on the internet is a "given." By that, I mean most of us who read this kind of entertainment also take it for granted that everybody else has seen the kind of images we see in porn photographs and videos, and learned from those photos and videos the same kinds of information about things sexual that you and I have learned. But that is not the case. There are millions of people out there who, while they may know porn exists on line, do not seek it out. That's usually a personal choice, or, perhaps, something they are taught in the home to avoid. The reasons for that are not important in this setting. What is important is for us to remember there are those kinds of people in the world. This story, in fact, is about such a family.

Bob

Additional foreword, 2023.

This book was originally written and published in 2015. As it is being read in 2023 some of the phrasing may seem eerily familiar. Identities are discussed, and the pronouns various people want to be known by. It is important to understand that this was not written with the LGBTQ+ community in mind. It should be taken exactly as it is presented and not pulled out of the book and put into the political and social arguments going on in 2023 about gender confusion, non-binary lifestyles and so on. It's just a story based on a plot idea I had back in 2015.

Bob

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter One

Ladies and gentlemen, hobos and tramps, cross-eyed crickets and bow-legged ants! I'm here before you, because I'm not behind you, to tell you something I know nothing about.

Actually, that's not true. Actually, I know all about what happened to Carly and Craig Austin. But it's so weird, that I'm still a little freaked out by it all. Hence my somewhat odd opening. But it's appropriate, because the whole story is odd. Except that "odd" doesn't cover it at all. They haven't invented an adjective that's appropriate for what happened to my nephew and niece.

I was sworn to secrecy when I learned of it, but I'll be honest. Keeping this in any longer would drive me crazy. So I've changed the names, and the location, and there's no way you'll ever find out who they really are.

Besides, in one sense, the public has a right to know. I mean, after all, if it happened to Carly and Craig, it could happen to anybody. Including you!

But maybe only if you have a twin.

I don't know. I've thought about this until my brain hurts.

Why don't I just tell you what I know, and maybe you can come up with an explanation that makes more sense than the one we came up with.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It all started while the Austin family was on vacation in Grand Teton National Park. They were hiking, as a family. While it doesn't matter, in terms of the seminal event that changed their lives, the family included Fran, who is my sister, and Jack, who was my best friend in college. That's how he met Fran, when she came to my graduation. They fell hard for each other, got married and had two kids, twins, named Carly and Craig. And that's all the background you really need to know, except that all of them were as normal as the day is long.

I'm rushing. Sorry. I guess I should probably tell you more about the twins, since what happened, happened to them, and that's what I'm going to tell you about.

As I said, they were normal. They were fraternal twins, of course. They were seventeen, when ... the incident ... happened. Craig wasn't on any organized sports teams, but he loved sports and played whatever kind of games he could get others to play. That included sand lot baseball, racket ball, basketball, tennis, pretty much anything that let him explosively use the muscles he had carefully cultivated in the gym. He was a little vain about those muscles, to be truthful. But he worked hard building them and defining them, so I guess he had a right to be proud. He was taller than Carly by probably three inches. He was one of those boys who chafed when the weather was bad and he couldn't go out and burn off the endless supply of energy he seemed to have. You never saw him curled up in a chair, reading a book, unless it was homework and he was required to do that sort of thing.

Carly was shorter, as I said, and not so muscled as her brother. She ran, but that was about it, in terms of physical fitness. That said, she could run Craig into the ground. He was actually the one who got her started, because he kept pestering her to go out with him on long runs. It turned out she loved it, and eventually she started training to run a marathon. When Craig eventually dropped out, shaking his head in amazement, it was at the seven mile mark.

If you saw Craig, the first thing you might think was, "Now there is a guy who spends a lot of time in the weightlifting room at the gym." On the other hand, if you saw Carly, the first thing you wouldn't think was, "Now there is a girl who is so skinny she must be a runner."

You wouldn't think that because she didn't look like your average marathoner. She had curves out the ass. Actually, part of those curves was her ass. Looking at her from the back, at the pool, where clothes didn't cover her up, you saw the classic hour glass figure of a grown woman. From the side, you saw a flat plane from her feet up past her abdomen, until you reached her chest, where mountains grew. If you could take your eyes off those mountains, and looked at her face, you weren't disappointed that you'd stopped looking at her breasts. She was a beautiful young woman, with auburn hair that came clear down to her shoulder blades, and what they call a heart-shaped face, in which sat startling, green eyes.

Craig had the same eyes. And I suppose he was handsome. Being a guy, I'm not sure what constitutes "handsome." I can do "beauty" all day long, but it feels a little gay to apply that to a guy, you know? They were bright, intelligent, got good grades, and were as normal as pie. He was popular with the girls, and she was chased after by all the guys.

Anyway, that's a cursory description of them. That's the basics.

As I said, they were on vacation, and that was normal too. They went somewhere every summer and spent a week camping and hiking. Jack called it "recharging.” Fran was just crazy about Jack. She was in pretty good shape too, considering she'd had two kids. But she drove a UPS truck, and got lots of exercise, so hiking wasn't a big challenge for her.

They had been at the park for three days, and had just come back from hiking the trail that went through Garnet Canyon to The Lower Saddle, below the Grand Teton itself. It was a strenuous all-day trip, and they were all tired. For that reason, Jack and Fran went to bed early. Or maybe they wanted to get frisky before the kids came to bed. They were all sleeping in one tent.

The kids, of course, being in a little better shape than their parents, or at least younger, stayed up, roasting marshmallows and talking. When they told me what happened, they couldn't remember what they talked about, but it probably doesn't matter. They brought lawn chairs with them when they camped, so they didn't have to sit on the ground or improvised seats.

Suddenly, they were surrounded by a bright light. They described it as if ten or fifteen spotlights had all centered on them at the same time. There was no sound, and they were completely blinded by the light.

The next thing either of them remembered was waking up, still sitting by the camp fire, which was now only ashes. It was early morning. Dew covered everything around them, but neither of them was damp in any way. They weren't chilled, even though they felt the chill immediately, as they woke. They woke at the same time.

The next part is somewhat garbled. You'll understand why in a moment. And, because two people are involved, each telling his or her own story, things are going to shift back and forth between them a bit. I'll try not to jiggle you too much, but be patient. The twins were jiggled a hell of a lot more than you'll be by what happened to them. So count your blessings.

I'll start with Carly.

When she woke, she felt confused. Not the normal kind of confusion we all feel now and then when we transition from being asleep to being awake. This was more like the world-looked-a-little-tilted type of confusion. As her eyes moved around, colors looked a little different. The cooler, for instance. It was blue, but it was a slightly different shade of blue than it had been the night before, when she got the marshmallows out of it.

The next thing she noticed was that her head was lying to the right, on her shoulder. Except it felt wrong, somehow. Her shoulder didn't feel as bony as it normally was. And her head felt too heavy. She thought about all this as she raised her head and looked around. This was when things got weird.

She saw herself sitting beside her, right where she'd been sitting the night before.

She blinked, but the image remained right there. Her image was moving, as if it had just awakened too.

She said, "What?"

Her voice sounded wrong. It felt wrong.

She leaned forward and stood up, pushing herself out of the chair with her hands on the arm rests. Her body was off balance. She almost fell into the ashes of the fire. She froze, trying to get control back, or at least the feel of control and, in the process, looked down. She saw thick, muscled legs and a pair of Nike running shoes.

Except they weren't her legs, and they weren't her shoes.

They were Craig's.

She heard a female voice, next to her say, "What the fuck!" and turned to look at the impossible image of what she could only describe as "herself." She saw her lips move, and, again, heard a female voice say, "What the fuck?!"

I have to take a second to remind you that, while we all "hear" ourselves speak whenever we do it, what issues from our mouths doesn't sound quite like what we hear. What we hear is transmitted through the bones in our skull, for the most part. What others hear is processed through their ears. You know what I'm talking about if you've ever listened to a recording of your voice. It doesn't sound like you. Not to you. But to others, it sounds completely normal. That's why Carly said she heard "a female voice." It was, as it turned out, her voice. She just didn't recognize it as hers. Not at that time.

As odd as it might sound, what bothered her in those initial few seconds, was that this spitting image of her had used the word "fuck" so casually. She didn't bandy that word around. In fact, she tried not to curse at all. Craig did it all the time, and she thought it made him sound coarse and uneducated. Perhaps it was that feeling that caused her to speak herself.

"Don't curse," she admonished her image.

What she heard, vibrating through the bones of her skull, was not her voice.

It was too deep.

Much too deep.

That was what caused her to lift her hand and look at it.

It wasn't her hand.

It was a male hand, attached to a male arm, a muscled male arm. She leaned over and frantically looked at the rest of her body.

It was also a male body, wearing Craig's T shirt and running shorts.

What's more, there was a huge bulge in the front of the shorts.

Those muscular, big, male hands went to the elastic waistband of the shorts and pulled it outwards.

She found herself staring at an erect, undeniably male, human penis.

That was when she screamed.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

When Craig woke up, he felt too light. That was the first thing he noticed. The second thing was when he moved his head, and found that, somehow, overnight, his hair had grown a foot or two. That was bad enough, but when he looked down at all that hair, spilling down off his shoulder onto his chest, he saw what looked for all the world like ... breasts!

He lifted his hands to feel them, and saw slim, beautiful fingers. The nails had pink fingernail polish on them, and were long and pointed. They continued, even as he goggled, to cup, squeeze and move the bulges on his chest around.

He could feel those hands. What freaked him out the most, though, was when, perhaps unconsciously, his male mind did what his male body liked to do whenever possible. It moved those fingers to find, and then squeeze the area where, in theory, nipples might be.

And when he did, the electric sensation that shot from the tips of ... somehow his breasts ... streaked to his groin.

"What the fuck?!" he said.

Except that it wasn't his voice. It was a girl's voice.

He got it first. He realized that, somehow, overnight, he had become a girl.

"What the fuck?!" he gasped.

He stood, and the message his brain sent to his legs was calculated to lift his normal 180 pounds out of the chair. Except his new body only weighed 115 pounds, and his feet left the ground. It was aided by a male yell, right next to him. It was a sort of "Auuuugh!" that croaked, rather than issued smoothly from the throat.

In a panic, he turned to see who had yelled, and things got ultimately weird.

He stared at himself, standing up and almost falling into the fire.

"What's going on out there?" came a plaintive call from inside the family tent.

Craig looked at the tent. He didn't have enough information yet. Something was terribly wrong. He was pretty sure he was hallucinating, for some reason. But he knew he needed help. He didn't like this hallucination.

"I think I'm sick," he called out.

Again, it wasn't his voice. In the hallucination, when he spoke, it was with the voice of whoever's body he found himself in. A female body! This was one weird dream.

"What's wrong?" That was his mother's voice.

"I think I'm having a bad dream," he said, listening closely to his voice.

"Why did Craig yell?" asked his mother.

"I told you," he said. "I think I'm having a nightmare or something."

"Not you, Carly," said his mother's voice. "I heard Craig yell. What's going on out there?"

That was the first inkling that Craig had that the body he found himself in ... was his sister's body.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Carly was so shocked by the sound of the "scream" she'd produced that she just froze in place. She'd expected, on some unconscious level, to hear a high-pitched squealing kind of noise. You know what I'm talking about. Everybody has heard girls scream. Under the right circumstances, it can sound a lot like a pack of coyotes howling. Or the other way around. Whatever.

But what she heard was like the sound a scared boy might produce.

"What's going on out there?" came a plaintive call from inside the family tent.

She looked over at "herself.” That image called out, "I think I'm sick."

"What's wrong?" That was her mother's voice.

She watched herself say, "I think I'm having a bad dream."

"Why did Craig yell?" asked his mother.

That caused her to think about where Craig was. She looked around as her doppelganger said, "I told you. I think I'm having a nightmare or something."

"Not you, Carly," said her mother's voice. "I heard Craig yell. What's going on out there?"

She looked at her hands again. The left one was wearing Craig's favorite ring, a silver skull that she thought was creepy.

She remembered the bright light.

While Craig was realizing he was in his sister's body, his sister was realizing that she was in her brother's body, and that somehow, that bright, white light was responsible for it.

She looked over at her body.

"Craig?" she said, with her male voice ... Craig's voice?

He stared at her.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked.

"What is going on out there?" There was rustling in the tent.

"I think I'm ... you," she said. "And I think you're ... me."

He looked at his hands and arms. His hands went to her breasts, the ones he suddenly had.

"What the fuck?"

"Will you stop saying that?" she hissed.

"This can't be real."

"I'm coming out there!" came the strident voice of their mother. "You two had better have a good reason for making all this racket. You know, some people might still be trying to sleep."

Carly stepped carefully towards her double. Her muscles felt all wrong. She was too heavy. It took concentration to make things work so she didn't stumble or fall down.

She didn't understand how all this had happened, but her mind was acknowledging what had happened. Somehow, her consciousness had been transferred into her brother's brain, while his had moved to her brain. Except she was thinking with her brain, so that wasn't it. Their brains hadn't switched. There were no scars on her clone's forehead ... on her forehead. She struggled with the concept that she wasn't looking at someone who looked like her. She was looking at ... herself!

She had no idea how this had happened, except that it had to have something to do with that white light. Her normal, teenage mind, however, instinctively assumed that, somehow, she was going to be in trouble for all this when her parents found out.

"We're okay," she said, with Craig's voice. "I got a cramp, that's all." She looked at herself. "I think when I yelled, it scared Carly. I mean it gave her a bad dream, or woke her up from one or something like that."

"Why are you two up so early in the first place?" asked her father.

"We were going for a run," she said.

Their mother came out of the tent. She looked a trifle sleepy.

"So you got up early to go for a run, but somehow, Carly went back to sleep and had a bad dream, which you woke her from by yelling loudly enough to wake the dead. Which, by the way, you still haven't explained. You two are up to something. I can tell."

Their father came out of the tent, stretching. There might be some tomfoolery going on, but his priorities were different than his wife's.

"What's for breakfast?" he asked.

He was no slouch, though, and, having broached the most important subject, he commented further.

"And why are you kids wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday? Didn't you bring enough changes? I've told you time and time again that changing clothes is important when you can't take a shower every day."

Carly knew that the jig was up. She had enough on her mind already. Trying to come up with a bunch of lies to answer her parents' questions was just too much for her to deal with, in the present circumstances.

"I think we fell asleep out here last night," she said.

"You think you slept out here last night?" Her mother's skepticism was plain to hear. "Are you two on drugs?" Now there was tragedy in her voice.

"No!" she heard herself say. She looked at herself. Or at Craig. This was going to get confusing.

"Sit down," she said. "We have something we need to tell you about."

"Oh my God, Jack, they are high on drugs!" moaned their mother.

"No we're not," said Carly. "But you may wish we were when we tell you what happened."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Carly knew they were going to have to try to explain things. But she didn't have a clue as to how she was going to do that. She needed more information. The pain in her groin gave her a chance to delay the inevitable.

"But first, I have to pee," she said.

"I can tell," said her father, looking at her hips.

She looked down. That obscene bulge was still there. She had ... an erection! It was crazy. The term "morning wood" popped into her mind. Craig had said something about that sometime in the past. She hadn't understood it then, and she didn't understand it now, but apparently, that's what she had. She had seen Craig "make adjustments" to his groin before, moving things around so they weren't so noticeable. Boys got boners all the time, and Craig was no different.

She stared at the bulge again. The tip of "her" penis was pressed tightly against the cloth. It looked disgusting. Intuitively, she realized that, if she lifted the thing upwards, at least it wouldn't stick out quite as much.

She reached into Craig's shorts and gingerly grasped Craig's penis with thumb and one finger. She could feel it, though, and she realized that thinking about that penis as "Craig's" was wrong. It was hers now.

That was pretty disgusting too.

"Craig!" barked their mother. "Have a little tact, please!"

Carly looked up to see that her mother had observed her handling her penis.

"Sorry," she croaked. She looked over at her body. "Carly has to pee too," she said, meaningfully, looking at herself. Or at him. This was going to be confusing. "Don't you ... Carly? Don't you need to go to the bathroom?"

She watched "her" head turn, and "her" hands came up to lift "her" hair and look at it. They clumsily tossed it over her shoulder. His shoulder.

This was already confusing.

"We'll tell you all about it when we get back," she said. "Come on, Jewels." She used his pet name for her, based on her middle name, which was Jewel. She secretly loved that nickname, but publicly complained about it. She had known that, if she complained, he'd keep using it. He had, and she did now.

"I'm not -" He made her voice sound reedy. Plus she didn't want him to finish that sentence, because she knew what he was going to say, and if he said it, they'd never get this chance to talk, to exchange information. To try to figure out how on Earth they were going to explain all this to their parents.

"Come on!" she blurted, interrupting him. "Let's go. I'm going to pee your pants if we don't hurry."

"What?" Her mother's surprise was obvious. "What do you mean ... pee his pants? "

"I meant he'll pee his pants," she said, hurriedly. She was going to have to stop thinking about him as her.

She took his hand, and briefly marveled at how big her hands were now. She was also surprised at how soft his hands felt. Her hands.

This was impossible!

Neither of them saw the look that Fran and Jack exchanged as their children moved off, hand in hand. It was a look every parent would have recognized, that look parents give their children when it's obvious something strange is going on, but they haven't figured out what that is yet.

Carly waited until they were out of earshot.

"We've switched bodies somehow," she whispered urgently.

"That can't be," he said.

"Look at us!" she hissed.

He looked at her. She knew he was seeing his own body, as if in a mirror. Except he was holding his own hand.

"Well , switch us back!" he said.

"Don't you think that if I knew how to do that, I'd have done it already?"

"Well how did this happen?"

"Remember that bright light last night?"

"Yeah."

His sloppy speech sounded strange, coming from her lips.

"What do you remember after that light surrounded us?"

He was silent for a couple of heartbeats.

"I can't remember anything until I woke up."

"Me either," she said.

It was quiet for a while longer as they both tried to wrap their minds around things.

"You think we were abducted by aliens or something? That always involves bright lights."

"In the movies," she said, dismissively.

"Well do you have a better explanation?"

"No."

"Well, there you go, then. Aliens abducted us and did experiments on us and switched our minds."

"That can't be true," she moaned.

"Why not?"

"Because if that's what happened, then I'm going to be stuck in your body forever!"

A silence of at least five seconds ticked by this time.

"Fuck," he said softly.

"Would you please stop cursing with my mouth?" she groaned.

"Whatever," he said, dismissively. "We're fucked, Carly. If we can't figure out a way to change back, we're just fucked. Those aliens might have abducted us once, but they don't come back for seconds. Or if they do, it's years and years later, so they can see how you have progressed."

She started crying, and let go of the soft hand she already missed having. Her fingers came up to wipe at the tears spilling out of her eyes.

"Hey! Don't do that!" he complained.

"What?" She sniffled.

"You're making me cry. Don't make me cry. That's not manly. You're making me look like a wimp."

"We're stuck in each other's bodies and all you care about is me making your stupid body look like a wimp?"

"I have a reputation to keep up," he said, sounding injured.

"No ... I have a reputation to keep up," she said, her voice gravely. "This is my body now, and there is no way I'm going to be all macho and strut around like I'm better than everybody else."

"I don't do that," he scoffed.

"That's exactly what you do," she argued. "But not me."

"People will think I'm gay if you make my body act like you do."

"So maybe you are? Just because I'm in your body doesn't mean I've stopped liking guys."

"You can't do that," he said, horrified. "You can't go out with guys while you're in my body. I'd just die of shame."

"So you're going to give up girls?" She arched one eyebrow at him.

"No," he said, automatically. He started thinking about that. "It's different for girls. Girl on girl is sexy."

She wanted to argue with him, but her bladder was sounding alarm bells.

"I have to pee!" she moaned.

She took off running. By now the bathroom was only fifteen yards away.

She went in the women's side automatically. She didn't even think about it until she had to negotiate new ground in actually urinating.

She shut herself into a cubicle and dropped her shorts as usual. Then things got weird.

Don't roll your eyes. I'm aware things were already weird. But, up until that time, she had barely touched her new appendage with her bare hand. And, to be honest, that had been so quick that it hadn't sunk in yet.

Now, though, she not only had to touch it, she had to manipulate it. Most of us don't think of "urination" as anything special, but in Carly's case that first time of peeing – as a male - was actually a sort of event in her life.

First off, it was long, and thick, and ... just hard. That alone was fascinating. She found she had to grasp the thing, to aim it down, lest it just fountain up all over the place. It felt very weird in her hand. She'd touched a penis before, during a date. She'd even jacked off the boy, who showed all the signs of not being able to control his urges. She only did that, though, because she was afraid that if she didn't, he'd force himself on her. She had never gone out with him again.

But what she'd done then seemed like a shadowy memory. It had been fast, and furious, so the details were fuzzy. Now she could almost leisurely inspect a penis. Except that her bladder was killing her.

Gingerly she aimed it, and tried to relax. She'd been holding it so long it took her a frustrated minute to get anything going. At least the relaxing part of things seemed to feel normal.

Once it started, she stared at it in amazement. The stream was so strong it shocked her. It felt just as good as it had, to do this thing when she was in her own body, but at the same time things were different. She could feel the movement of the urine through the penis, which was long and both soft and rock hard, all at the same time.

She felt splatters on her hand, and realized it was backsplash. She was horrified. How did boys manage this wild, unruly thing?

Then the stream slowed, and she let herself relax some more. She inspected her penis. It had a foreskin, which only let part of the head show. At the tip of that exposed head, her yellow urine finally came to a halt. Something inside her demanded to be flexed, and when she did, another spurt was ejected. She could feel the penis getting softer already, which compounded the relief of having an empty bladder. Now maybe it would lie down and be good in her pants.

She thought briefly about the clothes she was going to have to wear from now on.

She decided her brother needed to go shopping for something decent to add to his wardrobe.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Next door, in the men's side of the campground restroom, which Craig had also gone into automatically, he went first to a urinal, and then realized how fruitless that was. Then, once he was in a stall, he sat, fumbling, trying to figure out what to hold while he peed. There was nothing. All he could do was sit and hope that the stream went where it was supposed to.

He looked down at his crotch. Except it wasn't his crotch. It was his sister's. He was staring at his sister's pussy! It was incredible.

His complaining bladder finally opened up, and a yellow stream issued from between fat, closed pussy lips. It felt almost like it did when he didn't skin his foreskin back before peeing. He didn't like that feeling, and it made his cock smell bad. He looked at the lips, thinking he might be able to spread them apart and improve the sensation.

But he couldn't bring himself to touch that pussy. It was his sister's pussy. He just couldn't think of it any other way.

Not that he was averse to the idea of seeing her pussy. He'd tried to figure out ways to sneak a peek at her naked body for years. But she was always covered, either by a towel, or a robe or PJs or something.

Now he owned her body. But he still couldn't touch her pussy. His pussy? No way. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that that was his pussy. He remembered squeezing the breasts earlier and looked at them. They looked huge, unmanageable, in the way. On impulse, he lifted his shirt. There was a bra there, which suddenly intruded on his consciousness. He could feel the bra, stretching tightly around his body.

His hands went to pull, and suddenly big, white breasts fell free. He stared. They were gorgeous. The nipples were pink. Fingers went to tease them, and again he felt that twang of sensation run between those nipples and where the urine was now only dripping.

He realized he'd have to wipe and got some toilet paper.

It took him a full minute to actually use it, dabbing it ineffectually, at first, to sop up the remaining urine between his labia.

Next door, his sister was gingerly using a piece of toilet paper to dab at the tip of her penis.

Chapter Two

The reality of the situation still hadn't sunk in as they started back to the campsite, walking side by side. That said, teenagers have an astonishing ability to roll with the punches, to adapt, improvise, and overcome.

"I can't believe this is happening," said Craig. "This can't be real."

"It is real," she said, tersely. "The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

"What can we do about it?" he asked, helplessly.

"I don't know," she said, miserably.

"What are we going to tell Mom and Dad?" he asked.

She thought. It was going to be impossible to keep this a secret from their parents. She didn't want to tell them, because she already knew what their response would be. They wouldn't believe it. But if they explained their theory of what had happened, then at least they could say they'd been truthful, should anything get out of control. She couldn't think of what that would be, but the future was completely up in the air at this point.

"We have to tell them," she said.

"Like they'll believe us?"

"I know they won't, but we still have to tell them."

"Okay, why?"

"Because when you have your first period, and freak out, they need to have a basis to understand why you're freaking out," she said.

He stopped.

"Fuck!" His jaw dropped, but then he recovered a little. "That's going to happen to me?"

"Unless you get pregnant," she said. It was a joke, but he didn't think it was funny at all.

"No fucking way. I'm not going out with guys. You're not going to date until this gets fixed."

"Yes I am," she said, sweetly.

"Not while I have control of your body," he growled.

"I'm not talking about my body," she said. "I'm talking about yours." She smiled. It was weird, but she thought she might enjoy some aspects of being "a guy." She could do what she wanted, go where she wanted. She didn't have to worry any more about guys hassling her, or worse. She felt powerful. She raised her brother's arms and flexed them. She watched the muscles bunch and felt the power in his body.

She thought, 'I could get used to this.'

That thought was followed instantly by astonishment that she could feel good in a male body. It was insane.

"You're not going to make me look like a faggot," he said.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," she said. "I have no idea what's going to happen to us. That's why I think it might be a good idea if Mom and Dad know what happened, even if they don't believe it at first."

"I think you're crazy."

"I think you'd better be more cooperative, or I'm going to go up to Jerry Lindstrom and plant a big, wet kiss on his lips," she said, calmly.

"Fuck!" he said, explosively.

"And I told you to stop cursing with my mouth!" she snapped.

She saw her image slump, and her sad face look up at her.

"Do we really have to do this?" he asked.

"I think so," she said. "What other option do we have?"

"They won't be able to fix this," he moaned.

"No, but at least they'll understand what we're going through." She sighed. "Eventually ... I hope."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

When they got back, their parents were actively engaged in preparing breakfast. Today that consisted of scrambled eggs and sausage, with salsa on the side. Bananas had been laid out, and yogurt as well, as another option. Their mother looked up as they approached.

"Better now?"

"Yeah," they said, together.

They looked at each other. That simple response reminded them that they were still twins. They often said the same thing at the same time. Secretly, both were pleased by that. They had always been close, which nobody thought was unusual. The competition they had engaged in lately had more to do with adolescence and peer pressure than any real desire to lessen the bond they had always felt.

And now, the simple act of answering together somehow made things better. They would get through this, somehow, and they'd do it together.

Their dad stirred the eggs and moved the cast iron skillet containing them off to one side, away from the active flames. He stood up.

"Have a seat. We're waiting."

His meaning was obvious. They weren't waiting for breakfast to be finished cooking. They were waiting for an explanation.

Craig looked at his sister. The fact that he was deferring to her wasn't strange, in the sense that he usually deferred to her when they had done something they were in trouble for. She was better on her feet at creative bullshitting. But it bothered him, somehow, maybe because he was in a girl's body, that he didn't step forward to take charge. He watched her ... his sister ... in his body ... preparing to do what she always did.

Except, for their parents, it wasn't going to be what they were used to.

"You're not going to believe what we tell you," said Carly.

"Why don't you let us decide what we believe and don't believe," said their dad.

"I'm just warning you that the story will seem fantastic, and unbelievable," she said. "You're going to think we're pulling a prank, or telling a tall tale, or maybe even outright lying, but everything we're about to tell you is true."

Her mother moaned, "Oh, Jack, they really are on drugs!"

"Be quiet, Fran. I want to hear this," said Jack.

It struck Craig, inside his now female body, that his mother did exactly what she was told to by their father. She didn't look happy about it, but she followed his orders. It was the first time in his young life that he actually saw the dominance of a man over a woman in such a subjective way. He suddenly felt helpless. It was an unusual and somewhat terrifying feeling, and when the tears began to spill out of his eyes, he was suddenly glad he was in a female body. It was the first time in his life that he felt like crying was normal, and that nobody would make fun of him for doing it.

He thought, 'I don't want to stay this way, but maybe it has its compensations.'

"We don't know everything," said Carly. "And we understand even less, but we were sitting here last night, roasting marshmallows."

"I found the bag, still half filled, ground into the dirt," Jack commented.

"I don't know about that," said Carly. "We were sitting here, and suddenly there was this light all around us, like a beam, except it was like a hundred cars with their headlights on high." She took a breath, but nobody interrupted her. "And then we woke up and it was morning. We couldn't remember anything. We don't actually know if we slept in our chairs ... or not."

"That's ridiculous. If you woke up in your chairs, where else could you have slept?"

"There's more," said Carly.

Their parents just stared at them.

"I'm not really Craig," she said.

"Of course you're Craig," said Jack.

"What I mean is that the person you're talking to right now, is Carly. Somehow, my mind got transferred into Craig's body. And his got put into my body." She pointed at her body.

It was silent. Their parents kept staring at them. It went on so long that she had to fill the silence.

"That's really all we know. We don't know how it happened, or where we were when it happened. The only thing we can think of is that maybe aliens abducted us, and they caused it. I know that sounds crazy, but that's all we can think of to explain all this."

Jack looked at Fran. He opened his mouth and started to speak. Then he closed it, and remained mute. Fran looked at him, and her face showed only confusion. At length, he opened his mouth again, and finally spoke.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe they are on drugs."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The pan of eggs sat over ashes, its contents uneaten, and grown dry and cool as time had passed.

The interrogation had been unrelenting for a full hour. The kids had sat, helplessly, unable to answer questions.

"Was it acid?" asked Jack, at one point. "Did you take LSD?"

"No," they groaned, again together. Now Craig spoke up, in his sister's voice.

"We're not bullshitting you, Dad. I've never taken drugs in my life, and I'd bet my life that Carly hasn't either."

Jack blinked. Both of them had been talking about each other like that, referring to the other as if it were the person who should be making the noises coming out of their mouths. It was eerie, because they never screwed up. It was like they had practiced this bizarre prank for ages. He clung to the idea that this was all some kind of joke. Except that no crack had shown in their defenses for an entire hour. His stomach growled, and he glanced at the eggs. They were ruined. They'd chew like rubber now. And the sausage had had time for bacteria to grow on it that nobody should eat. He unconsciously used a coping mechanism by reaching for the pan and dumping the contents into the coals of the fire. It would be a cold breakfast for them all, this morning.

Fran suddenly spoke, addressing the person who looked like her son.

"If you're actually Carly in there, tell me where we went that day after I bought you your first bra." She looked over at the form of her daughter. "And don't you utter one word." She looked back at Craig's body.

"You mean to Zales?" asked Carly.

Her mother looked tense. "Why did we go there?"

"You said it was to celebrate me becoming a woman."

Fran blinked, and leaned forward.

"What did you want that I wouldn't buy for you?"

"I wanted to get my ears pierced, but you said I had to wait until I was fifteen."

Fran leaned back, so hard that the lawn chair rocked back, lifting the front legs off the ground an inch.

"Good Lord, Jack, they may be telling the truth!"

"Come on, Fran," he said. "It's not possible."

"I never told you about that trip to Zales. I never told anybody about it. It was something I wanted to be one of those little things between a mother and daughter."

"You got her a charm bracelet," said Jack. "I remember that."

"Yes, but I didn't tell you where we went ... or that other part."

Jack looked at the image of his daughter.

"She told him about it. You know how they are. They tell each other everything. They act the same. They say things at the same time. They're twins, Fran!"

"Ask him something only your son would know," said Fran, gesturing to their daughter's body. Her usage of the pronoun "him" was observed by all present. It was profound, in the minds of the two teens, and gave them their first spark of hope that someone might actually believe them.

"Okay," said Jack, aggressively. Then he went silent.

A full minute later Fran spoke again. "Jack?"

"I'm thinking," he growled. "It has to be something only Craig would know."

"Ask me about one of our hunting trips," said Carly's body. Carly had never been hunting. She didn't like guns. It was something her brother had teased her about.

Finally, Jack spoke.

"How many times have I taken a shot at a deer and missed?"

"Over all three hunting trips we've been on?" asked Carly's body.

"Yes, all of them." Jack folded his arms across his chest.

Carly's body ticked them off on her fingers.

"Four," said Craig, with Carly's voice.

"Four?" Fran goggled. "You missed the target four times? Where did those bullets go, Jack? You told me you always hit what you aim at."

Jack looked uncomfortable, but ignored her. He looked at his daughter.

"How many times have you missed?"

"Once," said Craig. "Unless you include that first time, when you said I had buck fever and couldn't shoot. You said I'd missed the perfect chance. Does that one count?"

"Jack, you never told me any of this," complained Fran. "I let you take him out there because I knew it was important to you, but you assured me that nobody could get hurt except the deer. If you two are just shooting willy nilly, those bullets could end up anywhere, Jack."

"Nobody got hurt!" snapped Jack. "We were in the middle of the woods, for Christ's sake. It's no big deal."

"If it's no big deal, then why didn't you tell me?" argued Fran.

"Because no man wants to admit that he missed," he finally said.

"So you lied to me because you wanted to look all macho." Fran looked disgusted.

"I didn't lie. I just didn't tell you everything," he complained.

Fran looked at her son's body.

"Did he tell you that he couldn't shoot a deer, or that he missed when he tried to?"

Carly shook her brother's head.

"We never really talked about the hunting trips. I mean he said it was fun, and that cleaning the deer is messy. I think he just told me that part to creep me out. He said they ate the heart raw, because the Indians claim that will make you more of a man, or something."

"That wasn't really true," said Carly's body. "We never really ate anything raw. You were right. I was just messing with you."

"Son of a bitch!" barked Jack, who was suddenly ghost pale. "It's fucking true!"

That fact affected the adults so much that Fran didn't even scold him for using language like that in front of the children.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It is one thing to accept a premise as fact, on a cerebral or academic level. It is another entirely to accept it on an emotional one. This phenomenon leads to situations in which you know something is true, but have a hard time believing it anyway. If you need more detail, or are a researcher, I'll hook you up with the Austin family. Well, I'll tell them what you want. Don't be surprised if they aren't interested in trying to prove things to you that took them months to adjust to themselves.

During that first day, there was very little "adjusting" and a lot of questions. Pretty much everybody asked questions. Both teens and adults had questions, but of a different variety. The kids were asking questions from a viewpoint of, "What do we do now?" For the adults, there wasn't anything to do, except try to understand how this had happened. And that diversity of viewpoints was, quite possibly, what led to the eventual resolution of the whole mess.

What was that, you ask? Well, you will learn of that in due time. To be fair - and by "fair" I mean to put you on the same shale-covered mountainside that the kids were on, where every step might cause you to slip and fall off the mountain - you are going to have to take the same journey they took. Thank your lucky stars it isn't literally the same journey. But don't get all miffed and stop reading because you're too impatient to know how things turned out. As I said earlier, this could happen to you, and it would be handy if you knew what to do about it.

The adults ran out of questions first. Unfortunately, the plethora of questions - from both viewpoints - did not generate many answers. To distill it all down to the common denominator, we'll just say it was basically like this:

"What are we going to do?" asked the kids.

"The only thing you can do is go on with your lives until we can figure out whether or not this situation can be resolved somehow."

"I can't live life as Carly," groaned Craig. "She's a girl!"

"There's nothing wrong with being a woman," sniffed Fran. "You're a beautiful young woman, now. You should be proud of your femininity."

"I am not a young woman!" barked Craig. "Being stuck in my sister's body does not make me female!"

"Well you're going to have to learn how to act like one," said Jack. "Because if you don't, people are going to think there's something wrong with you."

"There is something wrong with me!" wailed Craig.

"What I meant," said Jack, calmly, "is that if you can't act like your sister, you're going to end up in the loony bin, and there won't be anything your mother or I can do about it. Not right away."

This gave Craig pause.

It was clear that Carly wasn't excited about impersonating a male either, when she said, "And that means I have to act like Craig?" His voice, powered by her mind, sounded sad about that, but both Fran and Jack had already begun adapting to the situation, and their reaction to the bizarre visual things going on around them had already lessened.

"Yes," said Fran. "At least for now. Don't worry. Your father will think of some way to fix all this, and then you can have your body back."

"Me?" croaked Jack. "I have no idea how to fix this!"

"You'll figure it out," said Fran, with complete confidence.

"Really?" That was Carly, making Craig's voice sound like an alto.

"No pressure there," said Jack. Sarcasm dripped in his voice.

"What if he can't?" asked Craig, who had tensed Carly's entire body. "What if this is ... permanent?"

"Then you'll just have to do the best you can," said Fran.

"What does that mean, Mom?" asked Craig.

"What it means is that, if it's permanent - and it could be some temporary result of the al-" She stopped. Everybody knew she'd almost said "aliens" and everybody knew why she'd stopped. "It could be a temporary result of whatever happened to you," she finished. "But we won't know which it is until some time passes. So until then, the two of you need to teach each other how to act, so that nobody outside this family finds out that this happened. It's hard enough for your father and me to believe this. Nobody outside our family ever would.  And I do not want my children confined in some institution."

"The booby hatch," said Jack, as if her statement needed clarification.

"Stop that!" snapped his wife. "You'll scare them."

Jack laughed. It was both explosive and completely inappropriate for that particular situation. The other three were shocked, and it was obvious on their faces. He didn't bat an eyelash, though. Instead, he just stared at his wife.

"You think they aren't already scared?"

"You're not helping," she said, her voice level.

"Listen to me," he replied, his voice just as firm and level. "The single thing they need to concentrate on most in the world is that they do not want to end up doing something that will lead to the kind of questions that will, in fact, land them locked up in a room with rubber walls, or a government laboratory somewhere in which they are poked and prodded or even operated on. Political correctness isn't what's needed here. Raw truth and a clear understanding of the dangers they face is what they need to guide their actions right now. And this beginning time is the most dangerous time of all, because they aren't used to this yet. They need time and training to be able to pull this off. We can't just hide them away, because that would cause its own set of questions. They can't avoid their friends forever, because that would cause questions. In fact, the only way I think we're going to pull this off at all is to just move, where nobody knows us and nobody will see any differences between how they used to act, and how they act now!"

"Calm down, Dear," said Fran, soothingly. "It's not as bad as you think. Both of them are bright, intelligent kids. They understand the stakes. They'll do whatever is necessary to protect themselves. And everybody knows that teenagers are erratic and unpredictable. If there are any little slips, people will think it's that."

"Or we can say we were messing around," said Craig, who was already imagining what kind of "slips" he was likely to make. Like going into the guys bathroom in a public venue, without thinking about it.

"See? They'll be fine, Darling. Don't get your blood pressure up."

"If this isn't an excuse to have high blood pressure, there is no good excuse," said Jack, still fired up.

"Of course there's no excuse to have high blood pressure," said Fran, firmly. "Don't be silly. Speaking of which, did you take your medicine this morning?"

"No," he said, a little grumpily. "My morning routine was, shall we say, interrupted?" There was more sarcasm in his voice.

"Well , go take it," she said. "I don't want to have to deal with this alone, and have the fuss of burying you piled on top of it."

Her calm, matter of fact attitude was a little unnerving. It almost suggested that possibly having to bury her husband was the least of her concerns, at this particular moment.

He stalked off towards the tent. Fran turned back to her children.

"This isn't the end of the world," she said, her voice low. "You two might as well have been each other anyway. You know what I'm talking about. You finish each other's sentences. You like the same things and you think the same way. With a little practice, this won't be as hard as you think. And it really may be temporary, some kind of shock to your psyches or something. For now, just talk to each other and teach each other how to be each other." She looked confused. "Did that make sense?" she asked.

"Yes, Mom," said both teens together.

They looked at each other. They were used to doing that ... saying the same thing at the same time. It was not something that had genetic roots, regardless of what their parents thought. When they had been small, they had noticed the reaction of the adults around them when, occasionally, completely by accident, they said something together. They thought that reaction was funny. And it got them extra attention. So they practiced doing it. And, perhaps, unknown to them, there really was some genetic component to it, because after a while, they didn't have to glance at each other, or make any signal to pull their pranks. After a while, it just became natural. It wasn't magic or anything. They simply understood what the likely answer to a question was, or the likely remark to some stimuli, and then said it at the same time. If they were right, it sounded like "Twin Speak" and if they were wrong, nobody noticed.

The same thing happens with siblings who aren't twins. They answer or say things at the same time. Sometimes they say the same thing. If you're the parent of multiple children, you've heard it happen in your own family.

In any case, not to belabor the subject, by the time Jack got back from taking his blood pressure medicine, Fran had more eggs cooking, and the kids had their heads together, talking quietly.

"We're not going back home early," announced Jack as he approached his family.

"I don't remember anyone saying we should," said Fran.

"Don't you want a doctor to examine them?" he asked, frowning.

"What good would that do?" she asked. "Their bodies aren't injured, and a doctor can't see their minds. A doctor wouldn't believe them anyway. You know that."

"I don't want to take them to a doctor," he said. "I just thought I was going to have to talk you out of that. And I assumed they'd want to go home."

"Why? What can they do at home that they can't do here?"

"And without any of our friends showing up before we're ready for that," added Carly.

"Oh," said Jack, trying to salvage his dignity. "Good, then."

"And we mustn't let this destroy our vacation," said Fran. "We haven't finished recharging. We may as well try to get used to it as soon as possible."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

"We planned to hike the Cascade Canyon trail today," said Fran, ignoring his barb. "I think we should still do that."

"So do I!" argued Jack.

"Then stop stomping around and making decrees, like you're the king of the world, or something," said Fran. "The children have enough to worry about without their father going all macho on them."

"I'm not going all macho!" he groaned.

She gave him a long, level stare. "Oh yes," she said. "I forgot. You already went all macho on me back after that hunting trip."

Jack stomped over to his son and took him by the shoulders. Then, remembering that this wasn't his son, he moved to Carly's body and did the same thing. Still, it was very strange, and it gave him pause.

"Craig?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

It was Carly's voice, but the instant reply reassured him that he was, in fact, talking to his son.

"Let this be a lesson to you. It is impossible to understand a woman. My children have been abducted by aliens, and their minds have been switched, and what's my wife all fired up about? She's all fired up because one day, five years ago when I brought home a deer to put meat in the freezer, I forgot to tell her I missed when I fired at the first one!"

Fran sniffed. "You didn't forget to tell me ... you decided not to."

"It was four years ago, Dad, not five," said Craig, who couldn't have told you why he corrected his father in this situation.

Jack stepped back. A look mild horror came over his face. In his mind, the same thing he'd just complained about, concerning his wife, had just happened again.

"Oh my God!" he gasped. "He's turning into a girl already!"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"I'm not turning into a girl!" growled Craig, for perhaps the ninth or tenth time.

"I know," said his sister, soothingly. Then she grinned. "You already are one!"

"Stop that," came their mother's voice, from behind them. Their father, who was leading on the hike, neither turned around nor said anything. He had apologized to Carly/Craig, (he looked like Carly, but was Craig), saying it was the stress of the situation that had made him say that, but hadn't said much since then.

Carly walked behind "herself" in the line. It had been quite interesting, because, for the first time in her life, she'd gotten the chance to see what her body looked like as it performed various tasks. Give a girl a mirror, and she'll watch herself for hours. A guy generally looks only until he's convinced everything is perfect (or that nothing else can be done to improve on the train wreck he sees), and then walks away. But girls love a mirror.

And this was even better than a mirror, because she could see all sides of herself. She could see how the muscles in her calves tightened and relaxed, as Craig put her body through its paces. She could see the swell of her hips, and how her butt cheeks rose and fell as he walked. She'd had to help him get dressed. She'd chosen her favorite jeans shorts for him to put on, with the thin checkered shirt.

It had been comical. When they got into the tent, and began disrobing to change clothes, he couldn't get the bra undone. He could get her arms behind her, which he said was amazing, but her muscle memory was overcome by his inexperience and his fingers couldn't make the catch of her bra work.

Then, after she helped him, and he pulled the bra off, he stood stock still, looking down at "his" breasts.

"Wow," he whispered.

"They're just breasts," she giggled. "See if you can put this on." She handed him a clean bra.

That was comical too. In the end, she had to help "her" fingers complete the task.

"I'll never be able to do this," he groused.

"Yes you will," she said. "Now, put this on, but leave the top two buttons undone and tie the tails in a knot just below your breasts."

"Stop calling them 'my' breasts," he complained.

"They are yours!" she hissed. The look on his face made her moderate her attitude. "At least for now."

"So I can do this?"

He reached, cupped the breasts in question, and squeezed them.

It was quiet in the tent.

"I guess you can," she finally said.

"Wow," he sighed. "That is so weird!"

"You'll get used to that too," she said. "They're just breasts. Every girl has them."

"I'm fully aware of that. But I've never had any. And I certainly never had access to any I could look at and touch and play with whenever I feel like it."

She tilted her head.

"I guess they are fun to play with ... sometimes." She looked down at her crotch. "I guess I have something new and interesting to play with too. Isn't that right?"

"Shit, Carly!" gasped Craig.

"Well if you get to play with my breasts, then isn't it only fair that I get to play with your penis?"

"Oh, man," groaned her own voice. It was still shocking to hear her voice saying things that she wasn't actually saying.

"Maybe we should move on," she said. "Tie the shirt like I told you to."

"That will leave my belly bare," he said.

"Obviously."

He stood still.

"I get it," he said. "I mean I know why girls do that. They want to show off their bodies. But this feels really weird. I think I'll just leave the shirt regular."

"No. You'll make me look like a tomboy, and I don't want to look like a tomboy."

"It isn't your body anymore," he countered.

"So I can wear a pastel pink shirt with a shawl collar and white bell bottomed pants?" she asked, sweetly.

He frowned.

"Okay. I get it," he said. "But this makes me feel gay."

"I know you're not gay," she said, firmly. "And nobody else is going to know there's a boy in that body. Nobody will pay any attention to you."

"Except all the guys who stare at me," he said.

"Guys don't stare at me that much," said Carly.

"Yes they do. I see them do it. You're kind of a babe, Carly."

"Aww, thank you," she said.

And then it was time for her to change. She didn't have any trouble getting undressed, or redressed, but she still paused, when she was naked, and stared at the appendage hanging between her thighs.

"Talk about weird," she whispered.

"You'll get used to it," he said. "I don't even think about it unless I get a boner."

She looked startled.

"Do you think that will happen ... to me?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I mean sometimes they just happen to me, and I don't even know why."

"What do I do if that happens?"

"You just move it up and to the left."

"To the left?"

"It points a little left when it's hard," he said. "It's more comfortable if you put it up and to the left."

"This is so weird," she whispered.

"You're telling me?"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Now, as her body walked in front of her, and she got the chance to see what her butt looked like, and how narrow her waist looked, compared to the swell of her hips in those jeans, she liked what she saw. It was completely different from looking at herself in a mirror. She couldn't explain why, but there was no comparison. She looked good, and that made her full of both relief and happiness!

Suddenly she stopped. There was something wrong in her groin. Strange tingling things were happening down there. It was almost like what she felt when she got turned on, but different in ways she had no frame of reference to use to describe it.

"What's wrong?" asked her mother, who had stopped behind her.

The other two had kept going, unaware she had halted, but then stopped and looked back when Fran spoke.

"I don't know," said Carly. "I might have pulled a muscle."

"No way," said Craig, bringing her body back towards her. She looked at her bare midriff. Even her belly button looked good. "I'm in too good of shape to pull a muscle just walking along this trail."

"It's your sister who something's wrong with, not you," pointed out Fran to the person who actually looked like her daughter.

"I meant my body ... my old body ... is in too good a shape to have pulled a muscle," said Craig.

"Well something's wrong," said Carly.

"Where?" asked Fran.

"Right ..." Carly pointed with one finger at the zipper of her pants. That zipper was bulging for some reason. "... there," she said.

Her body moved toward her. Her brain told her it was Craig, but she still thought of that body as her own. She saw her hand reach and felt it squeeze the front of the body she was in.

That squeeze felt good!

"I told you that happened sometimes," said Craig. "It's just a random boner. Do what I told you to do."

"You two talked about erections?" gasped Fran.

"And what to do about them?" Jack joined in the astonishment.

"Not that," said Craig. "I just told her where to move it, so it would be more comfortable."

"And that makes this better?" asked Fran, sounding almost hysterical.

"Just move it," said Craig again.

Carly moved her hand to the material that she had to admit her penis was pushing against. The jeans were tight. She had no idea how to make the thing under the cloth move.

"I don't know how to do this," she complained.

"You want me to do it?" asked Craig.

"No!" gasped both parents, again in tandem. It had been bad enough to see their daughter walk up to their son and casually reach to feel his crotch.

Neither twin noticed their parents' consternation, nor would have understood, had they seen their faces. They reacted as twins, now, who just normally wanted to help each other if there was a problem to get through.

"You can suck in your stomach and reach inside to move it," said Craig. "But you don't want to do that in public. If you don't want anybody to see what you're doing, you kind of push on it to make it shift a little. But if it's pointed down when it gets stiff, you're screwed. In that case, you either go to the bathroom to do things, or duck into a doorway or whatever.”

Carly sucked in her stomach, which felt different than she was used to. But everything felt different than she was used to, so she didn't really dwell on it. Carefully, she put her right hand into her jeans. She slid by the waistband of her jockey shorts, but without the thickness of the jeans in her way, it was easy to find and grasp the offending member. It moved easily, at least a little bit, until the jockey shorts wouldn't stretch any more. But when she let go, it seemed to settle into a comfortable position, as if it actually knew where to go.

She pulled her hand out.

"That's better," she said.

"I'm not sure I can take this," said Fran.

"Yes you can, Dear," said Jack. "I'm not doing this alone, either."

Chapter Three

The hike continued, but Carly noticed almost none of the scenery they were walking through. She was too fascinated with paying attention to her new body. Or at least one part of her new body. When she had grasped her penis, it had felt good to touch it. It was a new kind of "good" in her mind. Both the feel of the thing between her fingers, and the feeling in the thing between her fingers was completely new. She recognized it as the same thing she probably felt when she was turned on. An erection meant her body was turned on ... right?

But this was a different feeling than what she was used to. What she was used to was for her nipples to tingle and for something deep inside her belly to almost writhe. This was all centered just slightly below that penis. Her mind told her that meant it was in the testicles, but since she'd never actually touched "her" testicles, it felt off kilter, somehow.

Automatically, her hand reached between her legs and found the bulge that she knew those testicles were under. Just the touch of her fingers on the outside of her jeans filled in a blank, and, suddenly, she thought of them as "hers." And by touching them, she confirmed that this was, in fact, where the center of turbulence was in her body.

As she contemplated all this, her senses noted that the stiffness in her penis was fading. She could actually feel it getting softer. It was astonishing. If this happened very often, how did boys ever concentrate on anything?

She realized she'd been walking, but hadn't seen anything. She'd been on autopilot. Everything looked normal. There was her body, walking ahead of her. Right now she thought of that as half her body and half Craig. Still, she couldn't resist admiring her form.

Just like that, she could feel things firming up down there, again. It was already in "the comfortable position" so she didn't have to do anything, but she could feel the differences happening.

The question was ... why was it happening?

They came to a clearing, where there was a railing that protected people from falling off the cliff below it. The view was spectacular. Carly acknowledged that view, but part of her mind still monitored her groin, and noted that the boner was softening again.

"Let's rest a while," said her father.

"Everybody drink something," said Fran, pulling bottles of water from her back pack.

Carly looked around. There were five other tourists at the overlook. Two were an older couple, who reminded her of her grandparents. Two more also appeared to be together, and were maybe in their twenties. The guy was a hunk. She examined the woman with him and dismissed her as competition, even though they were together. It was automatic. She didn't even realize what she was doing.

The other one was standing apart. He was maybe fourteen or fifteen, too young to be out here by himself. That issue was resolved when the older couple wandered over to the boy and suggested they continue. She decided he must be their grandson.

She looked back at the scenery, her eyes wandering over far away trees, and strata in rock walls that would take days to climb. She saw movement on the opposite side of the ravine, but couldn't determine what it was.

"Shall we go?" asked Fran. "We're having stew for supper, and it takes longer to prepare. I want to get back earlier rather than later."

Carly turned, and saw the young couple were in an embrace, kissing ardently, apparently unconcerned that others could see them. She idly wondered what it would be like to be that woman.

And her penis, which had softened while they rested, sprang back to life.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

She waited until they got back, and her mother was involved with putting the stew together. Their dad was sitting in a lawn chair, reading.

"Come with me," she whispered to her brother.

"Where?" he asked, his voice loud.

Carly shot him a glare and announced, loudly, "We're going to the bathroom."

"All right," said Fran, who paid no further attention to them.

She waited until they were twenty-five yards away.

"Your penis won't behave itself!" she hissed.

"What do you mean?"

"It keeps getting hard!"

"I told you it does that," he said.

"You didn't tell me it would do that all the time."

"It doesn't do it all the time," he argued. "Just every once in a while."

"Well it was hard almost the whole hike," she complained.

"Really?" He looked surprised. "That's strange."

She stopped. "Why?" She was suddenly worried.

"It just doesn't do that. Not unless I'm around a bunch of hot girls or something. Like at the pool? If there are a bunch of hot chicks at the pool, in good bikinis, I have to wear a jock strap under my suit, because I'll, be hard all day."

"Well, there weren't a bunch of hot girls around today," Carly pointed out.

"What were you thinking about?"

"What do you mean, what was I thinking about?"

"I mean what were you thinking about. If I think about hot girls in bikinis, that can give me a boner."

"I wasn't thinking about hot girls in bikinis, that's for sure," she snorted.

"Okay, so what were you thinking about?"

"I don't know. Nothing. We were just walking along. I wasn't thinking about anything."

"Yes you were. You can't help but think about something. For example, I was thinking about Rhonda Tackmeyer, and how now that I'm in your body, I could invite her over for a sleepover, and when it was time to change into PJs I'd get to see her naked."

"You're kidding," said Carly.

"Nope. And that was just one fantasy I thought about. Except that they always get ruined."

"Why?" asked Carly, automatically.

"Because if I had Rhonda over, there would be hours and hours of girl stuff before the naked part, and I have no idea how to do all that girl stuff. It would never work."

"I don't like Rhonda Tackmeyer anyway," said Carly. "She's a slut."

"Which is the whole purpose of getting her naked," said Craig.

"Do I have to remind you that you're missing the part you want to use on Rhonda Tackmeyer?"

"Yes, but I could do everything else," he said.

"Everything else?"

"You know. Lesbian stuff."

"Ewwww."

"I know that's not your style," he said, "but what else am I going to do? I'm for sure not going to let some guy climb between my legs. Now that's an ewwwww thought!"

Carly thought about her very own, very secret vibrating dildo, which was carefully hidden in the very back of the bottom drawer of her night stand, under a pile of paperback romance novels. It occurred to her that that dildo, which she loved to pieces, was of no use to her now whatsoever.

But the thought of that dildo caused the tingle to burst into life in her balls.

She had an epiphany.

It was his body, reacting to her thoughts. It wasn't random at all. He was right. Whatever she'd been thinking about had caused all those boners.

So what had she been thinking about?

"We have a problem," said Craig, who had had a sort of epiphany of his own. In bringing the little fantasies he'd had out into the open, where the light of day could illuminate them, it had finally sunk in that if he wanted a sex life ... it was going to have to be that of a girl.

"Shhhh!" she said, holding her palm up.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm thinking."

To his credit, he stayed silent, and let her think. What percolated in her mind was the fact that, for a lot of the hike, she'd been thinking about ... herself. Except it wasn't her any more. It was him in her body. She'd been thinking about her body, and how she liked it. But the brain having those thoughts had been hooked up to a pair of balls.

She'd gotten a boner for herself!

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Craig's journey of exploration, in terms of his new body, wasn't as thoughtful as his sister's. That's not to say that he forgot his mind was now inside a female body. Not at all. He just didn't burn as many calories thinking about it as Carly did.

An argument might be made that one reason for this was because, unlike Carly, he wasn't horny all day long. He didn't notice that fact. Being horny was the kind of thing that, because it was more or less constant, became something one stopped noticing. Like wearing clothes. You don't think about how your clothes are touching your body every minute of the day. They're still there ... you just get used to them.

So when that constant, low level testosterone buzz wasn't there any more, it simply removed an unconscious distraction that let him notice other things. Such as how light he felt, and how powerful his legs were. He was more flexible. He felt like he could run faster, jump higher and climb tall things without getting tired at all.

This wasn't wishful thinking. Carly weighed sixty pounds less than her brother. Most of that weight was muscle, so you'd think he'd feel less powerful without sixty pounds less of muscle. But the fact is that carrying around sixty pounds uses a lot of muscle, and muscle, unless it is stretched frequently, begins to tighten up. At some point, there is a zero sum point where, while you bulk up, that bulk isn't as useful as it looks.

But Carly stretched religiously, as do most dedicated runners. And the quality of her leg muscles, along with that missing sixty pounds, made them arguably stronger than his more heavily muscled ones. There was much less bulk around his new waist, and the tightness in his chest and shoulders he hadn't noticed until it was given to his sister, was gone too.

Granted, his breasts intruded on his thoughts a lot. They seemed to be in the way all the time, though he didn't really bump them with his arms very much. They felt astonishingly heavy at first, but he got used to that quickly. The net result was that he felt like this new body was almost magically agile. The hike was amazing, because he didn't tire at all. When they got back to the campsite, he felt like he could have gone miles farther. There was one moment when he took a deep, cleansing breath, just enjoying the feel of it, and was distracted when his breasts seemed to expand. But that passed, and on impulse, he stood flat-footed on one side of the campfire, bent his knees, leaned forward, and then straightened them, leaping with both feet together. He landed clearly a foot beyond the edge of the campfire. He was amazed.

This body had some clear advantages!

The rest of the day was spent in that kind of reflection as well. He did not, in fact, dwell on things, sexually speaking, until it was time to get ready to go to bed that night. He'd only peed once that day, and since they'd been at the campsite when that urge hit him, the camp restroom was handy. This time he'd gone into the female side. It had felt strange, and he'd looked around before going in, as if afraid he'd get "caught" violating the sanctity of the women's john. Then there had been a moment of worry that some other woman would be in there. There wasn't, though, and he relaxed, once he was inside.

He'd peed sitting down plenty of times. That was the only safe way to pee when you had morning wood. Again, his urine ran hot against the insides of his "new" labia. It was uncomfortable in the same way that not retracting his foreskin was uncomfortable. His actions were, therefore, partly muscle memory of the body he was in, and partly his mind telling him something needed to be done. By the time his hand had reached, and two fingers had expertly pushed skin in a way that pulled his labia apart, he hadn't really thought about what he was doing.

It was the first time he'd behaved like the gender of the body he was in.

Getting ready for bed wasn't weird. Their parents, since they'd had showers the night before, just before they'd been abducted, suggested that baths could be pushed to the next night. Another reason getting ready for bed wasn't as weird as it might have been was that they weren't at home, where there were mirrors, and privacy, and light to see by.

In fact, neither youth got into the deep water until they actually crawled into their sleeping bags.

Since they weren't actually acclimatized to their new bodies yet, each just naturally went to the same sleeping bag they'd always used. And an interesting thing happened to them both.

When Carly crawled into her bag, her nose was assailed by the combined scents of her body wash, shampoo, and ... girl.

When Craig did the same thing, his nose detected a muskier, manly scent.

Some scientists have done studies and claim that one reason people aren't attracted toward close family members as potential sexual partners, is that the scent of a close family member of the opposite sex is unappealing. These scientists estimate that condition exists in as many as two thirds of the population.

Of course that leaves a third of the population that won't find the odor of a close family member to be objectionable.

Twins, as it turns out, are almost always in that third. And in this case, the twins' bodies reacted to the olfactory stimulation in ways that amounted to sensory ambush.

They got horny.

In Carly's case, the all too familiar erection came into raging existence. It wasn't painful, because all she had on were a pair of jockey shorts. She'd thought about that only briefly, because sometimes, when she went to bed back at home, all she wore to bed were her panties. It made her feel deliciously naughty to do that. She kept a T shirt by the bed, and in the morning, slipped it on before she left her room to go to the bathroom.

Craig, however, hadn't been in a perpetual state of heat all day, like his sister had. In fact, he'd never felt the deep, throbbing power of female arousal in his belly. This body didn't have balls, which he was used to feeling respond to a woman, or a thought, or a picture, or a bikini, or a commercial, or almost anything else. This felt like a stomach ache, except it didn't hurt.

It most certainly didn't hurt!

Carly's response was a soft groan of frustration. The fact that her hand went to the front of her jockey shorts was, as Craig had already experienced, mostly muscle memory. When a man has a hardon, it's just natural to touch it. But this time there was no thick denim between her hand and her penis to dull the sensation. And this time there were no family members watching.

This time ... she could explore what things felt like down there.

Two feet away, Craig's hand went not to his missing cock, but to his belly, above where the pleasant ache was. Soft, slim fingertips pulled up the T shirt his mother had given him to wear over his now bare breasts, and traced an irregular circle on the surface of the skin he had just uncovered.

It tickled. It felt good. But it only made that deep, odd feeling expand.

For the first time, he reflected on how his fingers had access to a pussy.

And it was dark. No one would know.

Slowly, the fingers he'd been unconsciously stimulating his uterus with, drifted toward the panties that were almost no protection for an exciting frontier of exploration.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Fran had nodded off and was almost asleep when she heard a soft groan. Her maternal instincts kicked into high gear, which meant that a special part of her brain lifted its metaphorical head and listened, a sort of sentry, peering into the darkness. The rest of her brain went into stasis, ready to drop further into sleep if the sentry assured her everything was okay. If the sentry sounded the alarm, that part of her was already awake, and the rest would soon follow. It was a complicated kind of arrangement most men would be unable to understand, but which every mother develops within minutes after the last, exhausted push in the delivery room, when she has delivered something she'll worry about for the rest of her life.

The sentry detected breathing that was too fast, and an almost silent grunt. Skin rustled against cloth. But nothing sounded alarming. A moan followed, and the sentry tensed. It sent a tendril of warning to her sleeping self, which roused enough to evaluate the information the sentry was providing.

The children were uneasy.

Evaluation took place. That the children were uneasy out in the wild was understandable, under the circumstances. There would probably be a lot of that for a while.

She told the sentry everything was fine, and dropped off into real sleep.

The sentry, having been told that soft moans, and rustling cloth were nothing to worry about, paid no attention as the teenagers three feet away from it masturbated in their new bodies for the first time.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Many say that masturbation is instinctive. Any grandparent will tell you about a granddaughter who, while playing horsey by riding on your shin , will unconsciously rub against your leg. Any parent will tell you they've had to tell their little boy to stop playing with himself, only to be told, "I wasn't playing with anything!" The fact is that sexual organs enjoy being stimulated by touch. We just don't recognize that on a conscious level until puberty. Until then, it's simply another part of the body that occasionally needs brief attention. Like scratching. You itch ... you scratch to ease that itch. You don't think about it. You just do it.

But puberty changes everything. When puberty gets going, the itch doesn't just go away, like it used to.

It demands more scratching.

And, under the right circumstances, enough scratching finally eases the itch.

The problem is that "the right circumstances" to Mother Nature, means sexual intercourse.

In times long past, we acted much like we see a pair of dogs act now. If you've watched dogs mate, what usually happens is that the male shows interest. Eventually, he tries to mount the bitch. If she isn't interested, she walks out from under him. If she is, she moves her tail to one side. He's ready, and moves into an instinctive position, whereupon he starts thrusting. He might not hit the target right away, but keeps trying. Once he does make it go where it's supposed to go, things happen quickly. A bulb near the base of his penis expands, locking things in place so that, if she changes her mind, she can no longer just walk away. More instinctive movements happen and, presto, puppies.

That was a preview of Switch Hitting. To read the rest purchase the book.

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