Alex woke from her nap and yawned. The late afternoon sun was warm on her pale skin. She stood and examined her body in the mirror. She’d put on some extra pounds in the years since turning thirty, and her breasts and hips had taken on a matronly roundness. She sighed. She could still see the ghost of her teenage cuteness in her face but it was obscured by age and responsibility.
She reached into her dresser and pulled out a fresh bra - 36 DD - and was jealous of her wife’s slim figure and youthful face. Asians just age better, she thought.
She went downstairs and saw Lance sitting on the couch watching soccer. The boy thought he lived here. She suspected he was sleeping with her daughter but hadn’t found firm evidence. Looking around, she noticed the camera that had caused all the commotion last night. She picked it up and inspected it, noting the awareness switch and the faded options around the radial dial.
“What’s that,” asked Lance?
“Just a little thing Kylie was playing with.” She turned the camera on Lance and snapped a photo, unaware that he was ‘locked.’
“It’s clearly nothing,” she laughed, not paying attention to the boy as he sat upright and started looking around the room. She turned the camera on herself and snapped. It was still in revert mode, of course, and she was unchanged since waking. And just like that - she changed - without changing at all.
Alex screamed. Why did he have breasts? Why was he standing in some suburban house? Why could he feel hair trickling down his neck. He dropped the camera and began looking desperately for the other men in his unit. Just moments before he had been on a routine patrol in Afghanistan and now he had tits and cunt.
Was he insane? Had he been sniped and gone to hell? He looked at Lance and screamed “Who the fuck are you and where the hell am I!”
Little could he know that Lance had also suffered mental trauma. He was now...