I didn’t run to the cabin again.
God knows I was tempted, but what good would it do? Mary would know how to find me, and out in the woods, so far from prying eyes…
I didn’t trust myself.
At least in the house there was the ever-present threat of Belle. The real Belle, in my wife’s body. At any point, I knew that she could walk in on us—the thought was terrifying enough to stop me from going too far.
Well, to stop me from going any further than we’d already gone.
Instead, I returned to the 556.
Because it was open twenty-four hours a day. That’s genuinely what I thought the motivation was, as I drove across town. I told myself it was a logical place to go because it was always open.
But as I parked beside my wife’s car—‘the big car’—I wondered if my subconscious had been two steps ahead of me.
I entered the diner cautiously, but I needn’t have worried. Belle—in Mary’s body—wasn’t paying attention to anyone but Spike.
And Spike wasn’t paying attention to anyone but Mary.
I watched for half an hour before slipping out again. I didn’t want to chance the pair of them deciding to call it a night, and my daughter spotting me watching them.
The situation was already precarious enough. A confrontation would be enough to send the entire body-swapping house of cards tumbling down.
To her credit, Belle didn’t look like she was doing anything inappropriate with her mother’s body. She was just talking to Spike, just making conversation. At 1am. With a teenage boy.
It wasn’t until the drive home that I realized:
I was jealous.
The thought made me laugh out loud.
I was jealous of someone less than half my age.
It wasn’t as if that was really my wife, either. It was my teenage daughter, navigating my wife’s body who’d spent the evening chatting to him. Staring into his eyes. Flirting with him.
Despite my recent actions—my recent realizations—I have to emphasize, I have zero interest in my daughter. The only way I’ve been able to get through our recent interactions is because it’s been my beloved wife inhabiting her body.
But just as I’ve struggled with the fact that Belle’s eyes were the ones looking up at me when my wife gave me head, I had a similarly primal response that evening to watching my wife’s body show obvious signs of interest.
I know it wasn’t Mary, sneaking out to spend time with a teenage boy. Of course I know that.
But my lizard brain doesn’t—all it saw was my wife (my wife) flirting with a teenage boy.
And it didn’t like it.
I lay awake in bed for over an hour, until I finally heard the ‘big car’ pull into the driveway.
I know my daughter. There was no way that she’d use her mother’s body to do anything inappropriate. Even with whatever draw Spike held for her, she wouldn’t make Mary—my Mary—cheat on her husband. She would respect the sanctity of her mother’s marriage.
She’d respect her mother’s bodily autonomy. She wouldn’t do anything with the boy. I knew they’d just spend that time talking, nothing more.
After the car pulled in, it was ten more minutes before I heard the door actually open. She was just thinking, I assured myself. Belle had just had a very confusing evening, spent with her crush, inhabiting her mother’s body.
She wouldn’t do anything inappropriate.
I listened as my wife’s body made its way into the house, into the spare room. I finally closed my eyes, ready to sleep, when a thought struck me.
Now, in case it hasn’t been made clear yet, I love my wife. I truly think she’s the most amazing woman on the planet—there’s nothing she can’t do, if she sets her mind to it, and she always acts with our family’s best interests in mind.
But it occurred to me that Mary, just a few days in, had found herself unable to resist acting on her desires. She had done everything I’d been assuring myself Belle wouldn’t—she’d violated our daughter’s bodily autonomy. From a certain point of view, she’d made me cheat on her.
We’d partaken in incest, because she’d been unable to resist succumbing to temptation.
She’d claimed it was the hormones, and if my memories of being a teenager were reliable, I could definitely understand that argument. But ultimately, she’d given into lust, and done everything I’d told myself Belle wouldn’t.
Mary and I typically made love three or four times a week. Mary’s body was accustomed to having sex at least several times a week.
It had been nine days since the switch.
Just as Mary had been unable to resist the pull of Belle’s hormones, perhaps Belle would find her mother’s needs overwhelming. And I knew with one-hundred percent certainty that she wouldn’t be able to make love to me, her father—just the thought of it made me shudder.
What had she done in the hour since I left the 556?
Had she come home alone?
An image passed through my mind—my wife’s body bent double, fellating Spike while parked in the driveway. It made my blood boil, and I gave myself a moment to calm down.
I was being irrational. Jealousy has always been one of my weaknesses—it had overtaken me just from watching my wife’s body, watching her be so entranced by another man.
I knew that Belle wouldn’t do that to me. To her parents.
But ten days ago, I would have said the same about Mary.
We’d been telling ourselves that it wasn’t cheating, not really—it was my wife, after all. She was just in a different body.
But by that logic, Mary’s body partaking in sexual congress with Spike…that wasn’t cheating either.
At the thought of Mary’s body riding Spike…our logic suddenly didn’t seem so iron-clad.
These thoughts ran through my head again and again, alternating between assuring myself that I was crazy…and reminding myself that the whole situation was crazy, and that the women in my life were more driven by lust than I ever could have imagined.
It was several hours later before I finally fell asleep, flashes of Spike’s face and my wife’s body haunting my nightmares.