Gender Swapped By Aliens! (6 page)

It was my turn to throw down my napkin.  I shot to my feet.  “The hell with this.  I don’t need you or your food.”

I didn’t know where I would go, but at the moment I didn’t care.  I stomped out of the dining room, towards the front door.  Before I could get there, I felt someone grab me around the waist.

“Don’t go!” Karen wailed.  “Please?”

She pressed her face into my stomach; from the way her shoulders shook, I knew she was sobbing.  I gently rubbed her back.  “Hey, it’s all right, kid.  I’m not going anywhere.”

I groaned as I picked her up.  She started to sob against my cheek.  “You went away before.”

“I was sick.  I had to go get better.”

She looked up at me with teary eyes.  “You promise you won’t leave?”

“I promise.”

My arms were beginning to quiver from her weight, so I had to set her back down.  I kept hold of her hand to walk her to the dining room.  “I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s all right, sweetie,” Mom said.  “I can make you something else—”

“It’s OK,” I said.  I let Karen’s hand go to sit at my seat.  I still didn’t like the meatloaf, but I forced myself to eat every bite—even the crust.  I ate the potatoes and peas as well, though by the time I was halfway my stomach felt ready to burst.

Karen watched me eat, as if worried I might slip out if she stopped watching me.  As soon as I finished, she scurried over with her doll to take my hand.  “Mommy, can we go watch TV now?”

“Sure, sweetie.  Bedtime is still eight o’clock, though.”

“Yes, Mommy.”  Karen looked up at me to flash a gap-toothed grin.  “Come on!”

She put the latest Pixar movie in the DVD player and then curled up with me on the couch.  It was hard to remember the last time I had spent time like this with my sister.  There had never really been this kind of intimacy when I was a boy; it’s different between brothers and sisters. 

Karen began to doze about halfway through the movie.  Her eyes would drift shut and then open with a start a few minutes later before repeating the process.  She really was so adorable.  It was hard to believe she could have been dead for over twenty years.  I wondered if I could consider this Karen real or not.  Was she a fabrication created by the aliens?  Or could their machines actually alter time to bring back the dead?

There was so much about this I didn’t understand.  Even if the aliens deemed to tell me, I probably still wouldn’t have understood.  I had taken physics and astronomy in college, but this involved the sort of quantum mechanics only a Stephen Hawking could decipher.

But as Karen dozed in my lap, I had to admit it didn’t really matter.  She was alive and we could have a relationship never possible before.  Maybe I could call that ample compensation for losing Denise and my children.  That was certainly what the aliens were hoping for.

I couldn’t give it to them.  I had to stay strong.  I shook Karen awake.  “Hey, dink.  It’s time to go to bed.”

“I’m not sleepy,” she whined.

“Yeah, right.  Get going before Daddy paddles your butt.”

“Will you tuck me in?”

“Sure.  But only after you brush your teeth and all that.”

“Do I have to?”

“You better or those teeth aren’t going to grow back.”

“OK.”  I helped her off the couch and then took her hand to lead her upstairs.  She knew the way to the bathroom and which toothbrush was hers, so I let her take the lead.  She handed a purple toothbrush to me.  It was early to brush my teeth, but I figured it would help to encourage her if she saw her big sister doing it.

Once we finished brushing and rinsing with mouthwash, I let Karen take me back to her room.  She dug out a pink flannel nightgown to change into.  As a little girl, she had no hesitation about undressing in front of her older sister.  It was hard to resist the temptation to blow a raspberry on her pale little potbelly; she was a few years too old for that.

I groaned theatrically as I swung her onto the bed with her doll.  From raising two kids, I knew how to tuck her in securely, but not too tight.  I bent down to kiss her on the forehead.  “Goodnight, kid.”

“Goodnight, Billie.”  She yawned and then asked, “Will you be here tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“OK then.”  She rolled over to drift off into sleep.  I couldn’t help studying her for a minute or two.  Then I turned out the light.

Mom waited for me in the hallway.  “That was very nice,” she said.  “Karen has missed you so much.  We all have.”

“I’m not sure about Daddy.”

“You know how he is, but he has missed you.  Trust me.”

“I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused.”

“It’s all right.  You’re young.  Kids think they know everything.”

I smiled at her.  It was hard to remember when I had ever talked like this with my mother.  Again, probably never.  It’s different between mothers and daughters than mothers and sons.  She pulled me into a hug and then kissed the top of my head.  She started to laugh.

“What?”

“I thought maybe your hair would taste different, maybe like cotton candy.”

“God, Mom.”

“I’m sorry.”  She let me go and then motioned down the hall.  “Your pajamas are in the bottom drawer.  Don’t forget to take your contacts out before you go to bed.  You know how your eyes get when you leave them in.”

“I’ll remember, Mom.  God.”  The moment was gone now, leaving us as harried mother and petulant daughter again.  I stomped into my bedroom.  It would be a couple of hours before I went to bed, but I decided to get out my pajamas anyway.

There were a couple of nightgowns like Karen’s, probably leftover from my preteen days.  I opted for an oversized Metallica T-shirt.  It felt good to get the boots off, along with the stockings and leather skirt. 

On the vanity I found a contacts case along with the solution for the lenses.  Apparently my eyes weren’t a natural yellow.  I didn’t have any experience with contact lenses as a man; I had just gotten a pair of reading glasses before the aliens changed everything.

After poking myself in the eye a couple of times, I managed to get the contacts out.  The room turned blurry at the edges.  On the vanity was a pair of glasses with black plastic frames.  I slipped these on and then smiled into the mirror.  Behind the glasses, my eyes were hazel; that seemed like an improvement to me.

I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.  I didn’t see a phone or tablet like most kids my age would have.  I scanned the bookshelf, settling on a copy of
The Wizard of Oz
that had probably been there for years.

Dorothy’s house had just landed on the Wicked Witch of the East when my eyes closed.  At some point later I felt a hand take the book off of my chest.  A shiver ran through me, but it was replaced with soothing warmth as downy covers enveloped me.  Another hand—or maybe the same one—plucked the glasses off of my nose.  Hair was swept away from my face and then lips brushed against my forehead.  “Goodnight, sweetie,” Mom whispered.

“G’night, Mommy,” I squeaked.  Then, warm and safe, I fell asleep.

***

I again woke to Mom calling for me, only this time it was, “Billie, time for school!”

School?  I had finished my doctorate more than a decade ago.  With a tiny sigh, I remembered I was a teenage girl now, which meant I would have to go to school.  Yuck, high school.  I hadn’t had much fun with that the first time around.

I sat up in bed and then flailed around for a lamp.  When the light came on, I put both hands to my mouth to stifle a scream.  Overnight my room had become almost exactly like Karen’s, with toys and dolls all over the floor.  The posters for hard rock bands were now for boy bands.  And pink.  Pink was everywhere:  the walls, the carpet, the furniture, the bed I sat on, and even the baggy shirt I wore.

Inside that baggy shirt was…nothing.  My breasts had completely disappeared, leaving me totally flat.  I pulled back the covers to find a smaller, pear-shaped body and chubby legs with adorable little toes.  In a tiny voice, I lamented, “I’m a kid!”

The bed was the same height, but it took more effort to get my shorter body onto the carpet.  The edges of the room were blurry; I turned back to the nightstand to find the glasses I had worn to bed were bigger and squarer.  They felt heavier when I put them on my nose.

Only then could I toddle across the room, to the vanity.  Along the way, I felt hair brushing back-and-forth along my ears.  When I got to the mirror, I gasped to see the dark brown pigtails I sported, along with a line of bangs over my forehead like when I had been a bimbo secretary.  My cheeks had turned pudgy and dotted with adorable freckles; even I wanted to give them a firm squeeze.

Lifting my shirt, I saw the tattoos were gone now from my tummy.  So were the piercings.  I still felt a metallic tang in my mouth; opening it, I saw I was wearing braces.

Tears bubbled in my eyes.  I was a little girl now.  Those mean aliens hadn’t been satisfied with making me a teenager; they had to make me younger.  How old was I?  The braces meant I probably had my permanent teeth, so maybe nine or ten.

“This isn’t fair,” I whined to my reflection.

There was a tap on the door.  “Billie?  Are you up?”

“I’m up, Mommy!” I called out.

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady,” Mom said.  “Go get your shower.  Breakfast will be ready when you get out.”

“Yes, Mommy,” I grumbled.  I opened the door to find Mom waiting for me.  I felt my face turn warm to realize I only came up to the bottom of her breasts now.

She tousled my hair.  “Hey there, sweetie.  Have nice dreams?”

“I guess.”

“You go get ready.”

I nodded and then scuttled across the hallway, into the bathroom.  I again felt my face turning warm as I took off my oversized T-shirt and little white shorts.  My entire body was pudgy and hairless, still that of a child.

At least my chubby hands could turn the faucets to start running warm water.  As I waited for it to get to optimal temperature, I clawed at my hair to get out the rubber bands holding it into pigtails.  Somehow I looked even younger with my hair loose and glasses off.

It was good to step into the shower and let the curtain and steam hide me from the world.  The water had farther to go to reach me, so it didn’t seem as powerful as when I showered as a grown man.  I scrubbed in shampoo, doing my best to lather up all of the hair that went to nearly my flat rear.

I found myself more distressed at having to run the soap over my prepubescent body.  It should be a relief since I had been a man not to have to touch breasts or feel a woman’s curves, but I had gotten used to them in six months as a bimbo.  They might have been girly, but they had also been a sign I was an adult—a very attractive adult.

It took an act of will not to break down into sobs.  That was something I would have to be careful of now; as a child my emotions would be running a lot closer to the surface.  I only hoped I was mature enough not to throw a tantrum when I didn’t get something I wanted.

I finally turned off the water and then stepped out.  There was a fluffy yellow towel on the counter that was big enough to go around me at least twice.  As a woman I would use a second towel for my hair, but as a child I figured split-ends didn’t matter anymore.

I scrambled into my bedroom as quickly as I could.  I opened a drawer.  Pink.  Everything seemed to be pink:  T-shirts, sweatshirts, and blouses.  In another drawer I found mostly pink jeans, leggings, shorts, and overalls.  With a sigh I took out a pink T-shirt and blue jeans.  Feeling a chill, I took out a pink sweater.

Mom was in the kitchen, stacking pancakes on a plate.  Karen sat at the table, looking the same as the day before.  “Hi, sweetie!” Mom said. 

“Hi.”  I sat down opposite Karen.  I had to resist sobbing again when I found my feet could no longer touch the floor when I sat.  I looked down shyly at my empty plate.  It didn’t stay empty for long; Mom slid a trio of pancakes onto it, topping them with a pat of butter and a lake of syrup.  “Thank you.”

She tousled my damp hair.  “You’re so polite this morning.”

“I’m polite too,” Karen whined.

“Of course you are,” Mom said.  She gave Karen’s hair a tousle as well.  “You girls hurry up and eat.  The bus will be here in forty-five minutes.”

“Yes, Mommy,” we said at the same time.  As she ate, Karen paused to open her mouth, displaying mashed-up pancakes and syrup.  When I grimaced, she started to giggle.

“Mommy, she’s being gross,” I whined.

“Karen, eat your breakfast.  Don’t play with it.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Of course Karen showed me a mouthful of food a minute later.  I resisted the urge to tattle on her; as the big sister I was supposed to be more mature.  It was markedly different from when I tucked Karen into bed last night, but again our relationship had changed.  I was no longer the prodigal sister returning home; we were just two little girls fighting for the love of our doting mother.

My tummy was full after two pancakes.  I forced myself to eat the third anyway.  I washed it down with a glass of milk—boring white milk, I lamented.  Why couldn’t we have yummy chocolate milk?