"So long as my family won't bother me now," you figure, "I can maybe rest." You look at Mom's bed, which you haven't slept in since you were four. As if on cue, all the tension in your body swells at that moment, and you grow haggard. You feel the stress and toil your mom has dealt with, raising a family by herself and working a clerical job at your town's community college. It hurts to keep standing.
You stretch out and decide that you - and by proxy Mom - deserve a rest. You think about how to approach the bed, whether you should change into pajamas or remain as you are. In the end you make a compromise: taking Mom's sweater off and changing out of her tan slacks into silk pajama pants you find in her closet. You stare in wonder as you walk around the room, half-dressed and with your breasts consuming the view. You can't resist picking at them. The bra feels warm and stretched, tight across your stretch. You hate to admit that being in your mom's body is starting to turn you on, or at least arouse your curiosity, and you tell yourself over and over that's not true, you're getting comfortable to lie in bed, you take your shirt off as a guy too. But being shirtless as Mom is not the same as being shirtless as a guy. You know that.
You look at the clock. It's been about fifteen minutes since you shifted bodies. Hardly any time at all. With a yawn you wonder how exactly you want to rest.
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