The next day, as soon as my wife finished school in my daughter’s body, she bounded into my office where I was finishing up some contracts.
“Hey honey,” I said without looking up. She hadn’t come into my room that morning, and I hadn’t seen her at breakfast. For a moment, I’d even forgotten about the swap that my wife had orchestrated and wondered if Belle had returned to her old ways.
There was no response, and I turned to see Belle standing there, her hands twisting together nervously, my wife’s eyes peering out at me from my daughter’s face.
“What’s up?” I asked warily.
She stopped abruptly, and threw herself face-down onto the couch. From between the cushions, I heard a muffled “Oh, god…”
“What is it? Honey, what’s wrong?”
I sat down on the couch next to my daughter’s prone body, and put one arm on her shoulder. She shrugged it off; a move totally foreign to my wife, but one very familiar from my daughter.
Had it worn off? Had they swapped back, twelve days early?
What was happening?
“No,” the muffled voice replied. “It’s still Mary.”
“What the hell’s happened?”
She rolled over, and looked up at me with big, sad eyes.
“Honey, this is so much harder than I thought it would be.”
My mind started racing with potential problems and their solutions. If she was struggling with school, we could take her out for a few weeks. If she missed her friends, we could…they were trustworthy, surely? Maybe we could explain to a few of them what had happened.
I mentally ran through a dozen different possibilities before my wife continued.
“I…oh god, this is so embarrassing!”
She flipped back over, and buried her head in the cushions once more.
“Honey, I promise—whatever it is, I’m not going to judge you.”
“Yes you are!” came the muted reply.
“Stick a needle in my eye, I’m not.”
My wife rolled over again, revealing a solemn look on her blushing face.
“Honey, this is the strangest thing I’m ever, ever going to ask you, and I want you to promise that you’re not going to hate me for it.”
“Of course,” I urged. “What’s wrong??”
Another sigh, and for a second I thought I’d lost her, and she was just going to hide her face in the couch again. Her blush deepened, and her response was so quiet I couldn’t make out the words.
There it was again, that whispered response.
“Honey, if I don’t know what’s happening, I can’t help.”
“…I want to make out.”
I felt like I’d just been slapped. I stood up in shock, and at the strength of my reaction, a tear appeared in my daughter’s eye and began rolling down her face.
My mouth was suddenly dry, and it felt like it took a few minutes before I could gather up enough saliva to reply.
“Oh god, I told you that you’d hate me.”
“Honey, I don’t hate you. I just…I just don’t understand.”
“It’s the hormones, Andrew, it’s these damned hormones! I couldn’t tell you the full of it because I didn’t want to admit it myself, I didn’t want to weird you out. There’s no way you can understand—it’s like there’s a thousand ants running around my body at all times.”
“I mean, I was a teenager…—“
“No,” she interrupted in a whine. “You don’t understand. When you’re a teenager it’s all abstract, it’s all just ideas. I know. I know what it’s like to be fucked so hard that you lose count of your orgasms, I know what it’s like to cum around the cock of the man you love.”
I blinked twice, taken aback by the crude words coming out of my teenage daughter’s mouth.
“I know what it’s like to be truly sexually satisfied…and I know what it’s like to be touched. Oh god, Andrew, please…I just want to be touched.”
“Honey,” I stammered. “I can’t. I…you know I can’t. I just can’t.”
She sighed, and threw her head back.
“I know! I know it’s weird! God, don’t you think I know it’s weird? But I spent all day today surrounded by teenagers, knowing that every one of them was going through the same thing as me. All of them are craving to be touched, are just desperately wanting to feel a pair of hands on their skin, to feel wanted…”
My wife sat up abruptly, and gestured to our daughter’s body.
“And I know we’ve never talked about it, but none of this would be a problem if Belle wasn’t hot. Honey, our daughter is gorgeous. It just makes it worse—with a word, with a gesture, I could convince any one of those greasy, sweaty teens to take me into the supply closet. I could have their hands on my body, I could have my hands on their cock…”
She slumped back again, and I realized my mouth had gone dry once more.
“I love you,” she said quietly, staring up at the ceiling. “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, and I never want to be with anyone else. I never, never, never want to cheat on you. But it’s cruel, telling me I can’t have you and then surrounding me with sick temptations. If I have to spend another day around all those boys, around all those cocks…”
Her eyes glazed over slightly at that last word, before she swallowed and continued.
“…then I genuinely don’t know if I can resist.”
Mary sighed, swung her legs around to the side of the couch, and looked me dead in the eye.
“I know how weird this is for you. I know how weird this is for both of us. But if you don’t kiss me, if you don’t touch me…I’m going to go mad. Please. Shut your eyes and pretend I’m me, but just…I need to make out.
“I need to feel wanted.