Jen looked across the room at her mother, and realized that, for a woman of forty-five, she'd kept her figure pretty well. Standing up on that ladder with her back to her daughter, Joyce was showing off an ass that spectacularly filled out her jeans, tapering into firm, fit thighs. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted a light amber red.
Jen felt all other thoughts flee her mind as she studied her mother's curvaceous backside. She felt the sudden, overwhelming need to touch her mother's body. And not just to touch it, but to run her hands all over it, carefully stroking the contours and memorizing her mother's skin. She wondered what her mother's mouth would taste like.
Suddenly unafraid of the consequences, Jen stepped across the kitchen, already reaching her hands out for her mother's taut, sexy body. As she walked, her strides grew longer. She felt her spine stretch. She grew taller, and walked with a masculine swagger. She noticed her breasts vanish back into her chest, but she thought nothing of it. Her mind had only one focus: her mother's come-hither body.
"Oh! Jennifer!" Joyce hollered as Jen snaked her hands around her mother's waist. "What are you..." But as Jen pulled her mother off the stepladder into her arms, Joyce cast a look over her shoulder. "Bob! I thought you'd gone to work. Where's Jennifer?"
"She's gone," Jennifer said. "It's just you and I."
And as she said that, Jennifer realized it was true. Though she had every memory of her life as Jennifer, she also had every memory of her life as her own father, Bob. Her body had just shifted. The perky, obnoxious cheerleader was gone. Now she was a mature man. A mature man who lusted after his well-preserved wife.
Bob sucked on Joyce's neck, pressing himself into his wife's back. There was no way she didn't feel his raging erection pushing against her perfect butt, and he knew it. He wrapped one hand around her waist to hold her tight, and slid the other up to cup his wife's breast. "I love you, Joyce," he whispered.
"Bob! What brought this on?"
"I love you, Joyce. I love you and I want you. Let's make love."
"What? It's the middle of the day! Jen could come walking in at any minute!"
"Jen's gone, Joyce. I need you. I don't know if I've ever needed you more than I do right now."
Joyce stood speechless as Bob used every memory he had of being Jen. He remembered every place he'd wanted his boyfriends to touch his formerly female body, and touched all of them on his wife. He touched and kissed and stroked her as she stood trembling in his arms. He knew, because he remembered being his own daughter, that his wife was on the verge of an orgasm.
"Joyce," he whispered. "Let's make another baby."
"Oh, Bob," Joyce rasped.
Then suddenly the part of Bob that was still Jen let out a silent scream. *NO! This is my mother!*
And the war between Jen and Bob began.