Damn, What a Mom

Jennifer Harrison seemed like the perfect woman.

Especially from the outside.

Especially from Bobby’s point of view, who often lingered near their house in the evenings, supposedly to play with her son Mark, but in reality just to catch another fleeting glimpse of Mrs. Harrison herself.

Tall, well-groomed, always reservedly elegant, she knew how to wear even simple clothes in a way that made them look provocatively alluring.

— Damn, Mark, your mom is hot, — Bobby once blurted out, and of course Mark only smirked.

— Chill, that’s my mom, — Mark muttered. — And don’t ever say shit like that in front of me again.

Bobby really did freeze every time Jennifer walked past in a tight skirt or in a robe tied just above her knees. He dreamed of being in her husband’s place. Just for one night. To pin her down in bed, to hold her close, while her gorgeous tits pressed firmly against his chest. He even fantasized about her robe sliding off her shoulders, about the soft fabric catching on her hips… and then his thought would snap apart in sweet tension.

And right now, he was lying on his couch, staring at the ceiling and once again picturing Jennifer drawing the curtains in her bedroom at night. In his mind, he stripped her layer by layer, until that familiar sweet tension swelled in his chest. The pressure was already building in his pants, and he was just about to slip his hand under the waistband, when suddenly everything around him jolted.

As if someone had flipped a switch: the ceiling melted away, the couch disappeared from under his back, his body seemed to lose all sense for a second. But it lasted only a moment. Bobby jerked, suddenly realizing that instead of lying down he was now sitting up, and as he moved, something heavy swayed on his chest.

— Wh… what the fuck?.. — he muttered, hearing his own words sound completely different from what he expected.

He instantly snapped his eyes open and saw not the ceiling of his room, but a large oval mirror in front of him. And in it — the reflection of that very woman he had just stripped in his fantasies.

Bobby swallowed hard, twitched his shoulders, and again felt the weight swaying right on his chest. He sharply dropped his gaze and nearly screamed.

A black lace bra stretched tight across full, heavy breasts. Black stockings hugging long legs. A thin strip of fabric at the hips, where the wide thigh muscles trembled, looking way too big from this angle, just like the breasts.

— No… no… this… this is bullshit, — he exhaled, feeling the bra strap dig into his skin painfully, confirming that this body was really his.

He raised his eyes again and froze. In the reflection stood Jennifer Harrison. Her hair tied up high, dressed in black lingerie, holding a jar of cosmetics in her hands. She stared back with wide-open eyes, her face mirroring his emotions completely.

"I… I’m in her body… God, is this Alt Shift? But… it was supposed to be over?! Why… why me?!"

His hands trembled. He instinctively squeezed his thighs together, and at once a strange, pulling sensation answered through the thin panties, as if a new, unfamiliar nervous system had been switched on down there. The mass body exchange — or, as people called it, mass hallucination — had happened a year ago, and he knew damn well how hard it had been for those who were forced to become someone else because of those laws that now had only grown more punitive.

— Shit… — he grabbed the edge of the vanity table, scattered with mascara, lipstick, perfume. — This isn’t a dream… this isn’t a dream!

And as if to crush him completely, a knock came from the door.

— Jenny? — a deep, confident male voice called, painfully familiar. It was Richard Harrison. Her husband.

Bobby froze, his heart hammering faster and faster. He pressed his hand to his chest and immediately felt the breasts rise heavily with each breath. The soft flesh sank slightly under his palm.

— I… uh… just a minute… — he forced out and clamped his mouth with his hand.

— Darling, — Richard continued from behind the door, — I’m already going to bed. Don’t be long.

Bobby’s head spun. He looked back at the mirror and saw Jennifer again, her cheeks flushed, her pupils wide. She looked like she had just stepped out of a love scene.

"I wanted her, not to become her! Fuck, I don’t want to go through all this hell because of this Alt Shift… No… But to be her, with her HUSBAND? Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

The doorknob rattled slightly.

— Jenny?

Bobby clutched the edge of the table, struggling not to betray his panic, realizing that if he gave himself away now, he was one hundred percent screwed.