(As I became part of Harry, I began to experience things from his point of view. This is what he experienced.)
Why did my daughter have to dress like a slut?
That was what I was thinking at the moment it began. Then a sound seemed to come up from the earth, through my feet, right to the top of my head. It wasn't just a sound, more like a vibration, an incredible, booming vibration, like what you can feel when those spoiled teenagers drive by while playing their music loudly. Except this made me tremble and brought me to my knees.
I could hear Rudy screaming, but only him. Why was only Rudy screaming? I must have been shouting myself, wondering what in the world was happening. Or was it the end of the world? The end of everything?
It was over so abruptly that even now I suspect I blacked out. Suddenly I went from shaking on my knees to pulling myself off the floor, where I was face to face with my older sister's.. no, wait.. my daughter's leather boots. My older sister? Yvonne? What was I thinking?
As I was getting to my feet, I turned to look for mom -- I mean, my wife, hoping to ask her what the hell was happening. Then I saw her, standing where she had been standing when the world began to shake. Standing by the stove with a pancake turner in one hand. Standing where I had to look up to meet her gaze.
"S, S, Sar..." I began, trying to get the words out. "S, mmm." She was smiling. It was almost a cruel smile. When I saw her expression, I stopped trying to say her name, and instead spoke the only words that for whatever strange reason seemed to the most appropriate. Appropriate, but still humiliating. As they left my mouth, I turned red from the embarrassment. "Mom? What's happened to me?"
"You've changed, dear," she said, putting the flipper back in the pan. "Don't you know how much you've changed?"
That's when I heard Yvonne laugh. It was when I spun to meet the source of the sound that I felt the skirt -- my new school uniform -- flutter across my thighs. Everything suddenly seemed so much bigger. Yvonne towered over me. “What,” I stammered, focusing now on my body because looking at my sister – daughter, I tried to remind myself – was so disconcerting. “What’s going on?”
Of course, when I really began to examine it, I found my body more shocking still.
The uniform I was wearing was identical to the one Yvonne wore. The main difference was that her blouse was stretched tightly across her firm, voluptuous chest, which filled it completely. Mine hung more loosely, I found, bringing my hands up as if to confirm with touch what my eyes could see for themselves. My sister’s breasts were full and mature, nearly as large as her mother’s. Mine, as I could feel, were more like small apples, hardly even a handful, and just barely needing the support of the AA cup bra I wore underneath the blouse. They still had to grow, so I could be as sexy as Yvonne.
There was envy in that thought. So strange. For a moment, I had wished for larger breasts. But I wasn’t supposed to have breasts at all, nor should I have been thinking of Yvonne as my beautiful older sister, nor of Sarah as my mother. But those feelings were in my head, as was the knowledge of my bra size. And I found other things that were not supposed to be as I examined the rest of me. My hair was now darker and hung down my back in a ponytail. My shoulders, which had always been broad and manly, were now narrow, connecting to arms that were thin, pale, and hairless. Dainty fingers with half inch nails ran down my chest, tracing paths across my only mildly blossoming hips. Then to my legs, long, freshly shaven, and more exposed than even Yvonne’s had been.
In fascination, my fingers began to lift the edge of my skirt to explore some more. But at that moment, my mother cleared her throat and Yvonne began to laugh again.
“It was funny watching you get younger, sis. You can’t be older than fourteen now, and apparently we attend the same school.” She reached out and squeezed one of my breasts. “Did you pull your skirt up so high to make up for the tiny tits?”
Reddening some more, I leapt away from Yvonne and covered my chest protectively. My mother (Sarah, I told myself) cleared her throat again and this time I glanced her way. My hands were actually shaking after my sister’s assault and I could even feel tears coming into my eyes. Along with this emotion was a weird feeling of needing protection from my mother, as if I expected her to come to my rescue. And it wasn’t just that I wanted her to protect me from Yvonne, although that was part of it. My sister’s violation had suddenly made me realize how much things had changed.
“Mom, I’m scared,” I whispered, and she smiled again, putting a finger to her lips.