... your mother. She had been in the middle of saying something when the little LED light on the tip of the remote shines brightly, blinding both of you. For a minute your mind is blank. You don't notice until you snap back to attention. You're suddenly on your feet, standing in the doorway and staring at the boy who had used to be you.
"What the hell?" you say, and immediately look down. Sure enough, you see your mother's burgundy sweater protruding in front of your vision. The collar, frayed and worn away by years, reveals her cleavage. There's not a lot of space between your new, very large breasts. Your mother wears a bandau bra, so your breasts don't have individual cups to rest in. Instead, they're sqeezed and held tightly together. This is similar to the confinement beneath your jeans. Only a thin strand beneath your butt; your ass cheeks rub against the denim. The cotton presses against your flat crotch. You want to grab all these areas but you refrain, in spite of yourself.
You look back up at your old body. It's weird seeing your face outside a mirror. It looks wrong. "What's wrong?" he says. "Mom?" His concern seems genuine, although you see the remote clutched in his hand. Is your old body going on like nothing ever happened? Are you the only one who knows you're your mom now?
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